Song Heping kept his right hand on the Glock 17 at his waist as he stepped onto the shaky stairway of the apartment building.
The concrete steps were littered with cigarette butts and dried phlegm stains. The air was filled with the spice aroma commonly found in the streets and alleys of Cairo. The door at the end of the third-floor corridor was ajar, and a sliver of dim yellow light seeped through the crack.
"Utekin?"
Song Heping pressed against the wall, knocked on the door, and whispered in Russian, signaling Jiang Feng and another teammate behind him to spread out.
A few seconds later, the old wooden door made a creaky sound as a bald Slavic man appeared at the door, a faint scar at the corner of his left eye looking especially menacing in the dim light.
"Song, you're seven minutes late."
Utekin looked at his watch and then peeked down the hallway.
