275: Chapter 275 Cold Sweat Drops on the Operation Plan

Nissim suddenly felt a chill behind his neck.

He instinctively looked up.

His pupils contracted sharply.

In front of the desk, a figure appeared out of thin air.

Gray-black armor slowly materialized, as if surfacing from underwater.

Beneath the helmet visor, a pair of cold eyes were watching him.

"You—" Nissim opened his mouth to scream.

The suppressed pistol made a soft "pfft" sound.

The bullet entered precisely through his forehead.

A small mist of blood exploded from the back of his head.

Nissim's body froze in place, then slowly tipped forward, his forehead slamming heavily onto the operation plan.

Blood quickly soaked through the paper.

The figure holstered the gun.

They took a folded piece of paper from their tactical pack, unfolded it, and placed it next to the corpse.

Printed on the paper in Arabic and Hebrew were the words:

[Operation Liquidation · No. 1]

[Yair Nissim, Director of the Ministry of Defense Operations Bureau, bears direct responsibility for the deaths of Gaza civilians]

[Execution Unit: Jiasha Resistance Organization Special Operations Force]

The figure turned around.

They reactivated their optical camouflage.

They vanished into the night outside the balcony.

The entire process took less than thirty seconds.

At the same time.

Jerusalem, the parking lot of an upscale restaurant.

Deputy Director of the Mossad Operations Division, Ronen Bar, had just finished dinner.

He had had a few drinks with some colleagues from the intelligence community and was in a good mood.

Minister Lavitz's propaganda work was going well.

The pressure had eased for the time being.

He hummed a tune as he walked toward his armored sedan.

The driver had already stepped out to open the door for him.

"Home, Jacob." Bar sat in the back seat and loosened his tie.

"Very well, sir."

The sedan slowly drove out of the parking lot.

Bar closed his eyes, intending to take a short nap.

He didn't notice—

At the intersection ahead, a truck that appeared to have broken down suddenly opened its rear doors.

There was no gunfire.

There was no explosion.

There was only a transparent outline, barely visible to the naked eye, that leaped from the back of the truck and, the moment the sedan passed, attached a magnetic device to the undercarriage.

The sedan continued forward.

It drove into a relatively quiet street.

The device under the car activated.

It wasn't a bomb.

It was an EMP generator.

Hum—

All of the sedan's electronic equipment instantly paralyzed.

The engine cut out.

The lights went completely dark.

The electronic locking mechanism for the bulletproof glass failed.

The driver slapped the steering wheel in panic: "What's going on?!"

Bar opened his eyes abruptly.

Before he could react—

Both doors were pulled open simultaneously.

Two figures in gray-black armor sat inside.

One on the left, one on the right.

They pinned him in the middle.

Suppressed pistols were pressed against his temples.

"Ronen Bar." The figure on the left said in perfect Hebrew, "Deputy Director of the Mossad Operations Division. Responsible for planning infiltration and assassination operations against the Jiasha Resistance Organization."

Bar's face turned pale: "Who are you?! Do you know this is—"

"Operation Liquidation · No. 2."

The figure on the right finished.

"Pfft."

"Pfft."

Two shots.

The driver and Bar were killed instantly.

The figures took the ID from Bar's suit inner pocket and threw it onto the corpse.

They left another identical execution statement.

They exited the car.

They activated their optical camouflage.

They vanished into the end of the street.

The entire process took less than a minute.

Three in the morning.

Tel Aviv, Ministry of Defense building.

Minister Lavitz was still awake.

He sat in his office, staring at the operation map on the wall.

Red arrows marked the "next phase of the offensive direction."

The phone rang.

It was the internal line.

"Minister," the voice on the other end trembled, "something has happened."

"Speak."

"Major General Yair Nissim... has been killed at home."

Minister Lavitz stood up abruptly: "What?!"

"A statement was left at the scene. It was... it was the Resistance Organization."

"Impossible!" Minister Lavitz roared, "How could they possibly infiltrate Tel Aviv?! And get into a high-end residential area?!"

"We are investigating—"

The phone hadn't hung up yet.

Another line rang.

Minister Lavitz grabbed the other phone: "Hello?!"

"Minister, this is the Mossad duty room."

The voice on the other end was even more panicked, "Deputy Director Ronen Bar... was assassinated in Jerusalem. The car was paralyzed, and both he and the driver were killed."

"There was a statement at the scene as well."

Minister Lavitz's hand began to tremble.

"And..." the voice on the phone swallowed hard, "we just received a report. Director of the Government Press Office, Amir Cohen, was found hanged in the bathroom of his mistress's apartment. The commander of the 7th Armored Brigade... had his throat slit in his base dormitory."

"All of them."

"All of them have the same statement."

Minister Lavitz slumped back into his chair.

His face was as pale as paper.

The office door was pushed open violently.

The Chief of Staff rushed in, holding a tablet displaying constantly refreshing emergency bulletins.

"Minister, twelve targets..." The Chief of Staff's voice was dry, "Six deaths have been confirmed so far. All were precision eliminations. There are no witnesses at the scenes, and surveillance was either jammed or only captured blurry shadows."

"They... they have really come."

Minister Lavitz stared blankly at the map on the wall.

Those red arrows suddenly looked incredibly glaring.

He opened his mouth.

He wanted to say something.

But he couldn't make a sound.

Only cold sweat slid down his temple.

It dripped onto the operation plan.

A damp stain spread out.

Outside the window, the night in Tel Aviv was still tranquil.

But this city, which had thought itself safe— for the first time, smelled the scent of war burning in its own backyard.

Tel Aviv northern suburbs, high-end residential area.

When Major General Yair Nissim, Director of the Ministry of Defense Operations Bureau, parked his car in the garage, he glanced at his watch.

It was 11:20 PM.

He rubbed his throbbing temples; the arguments from the meeting just now still echoed in his mind.

Minister Lavitz insisted on increasing the intensity of the bombing, even hinting that some "special ammunition" could be used.

"As long as it can break their will faster." Minister Lavitz had pounded the table when he said that.

Nissim felt a little uneasy, but he didn't dare to speak up.

He locked the car and dragged his feet toward the front door.

The courtyard wall was high, the surveillance cameras were flashing red, and the security guard on duty was dozing in the gatehouse—everything looked very safe.

Nissim entered the password.

With a soft "beep," the door lock opened.

He pushed the door open and turned to close it.

At that very moment—

A chill suddenly hit the side of his neck.

Nissim froze; his hand instinctively reached for his neck.

It was wet and hot.

He looked down and saw his hand covered in scarlet.

"Hhh..." He wanted to scream, but only a wheezing sound came from his throat.

Under the light of the entryway, he saw a blurry human outline, seemingly formed by distorted light, standing less than a meter in front of him.

The person was holding a black dagger in a reverse grip, the tip still dripping with blood.

"For Gaza."

A cold voice, in perfect Hebrew, with a strange accent.

Nissim collapsed to the ground, his eyes wide open.

He never saw the person's face before he died.