Damascus, the night wind rises, carrying the desert's unique dryness and coolness.
A few streets away from the safe house, a seemingly ordinary, dusty van quietly parked in the shadows.
The scene inside the van was quite different, with advanced electronic surveillance equipment casting a faint glow, projecting real-time footage of the safe house's outer walls and main entrances.
Two CIA agents held their breath and listened intently, their ears pressed against headphones, capturing any suspicious sound signals, even though they knew the building had excellent anti-eavesdropping measures, and the audio information they could gather was scant.
Minute by minute, time passed, the safe house was brightly lit, yet unnervingly quiet, like a dormant giant beast.
This calmness, however, created an invisible pressure on the agents inside the van.
The dinner should have started by now, what exactly was happening inside?
Had the caviar been served?
Was the target already...
