Her fingertips lightly tapped on the red circle on the tablet screen.
Jacob picked up the crystal glass, the amber liquid gently swaying inside.
He took a sip, his gaze still fixed on Ms. M: "The 'Ghost' of Darfur—Song Heping. And the 'knife' he's forging—the last remnants of Haftar's forces."
His English carried a barely detectable Hebrew accent, cold and precise.
"He has cost us too much unnecessary blood in Egypt, in Morocco. In Mossad's archives, his name is marked with the highest level 'elimination' order."
"The objective is mutual, Mr. Yager."
Ms. M's lips curled into a smile devoid of warmth, "The existence of Song Heping, and his rapidly forming armed group, pose an increasing threat to our interests in Libya and your strategic security across the broader Middle East. He is like a nail that must be removed."
