Langley, CIA Headquarters, Director's Office.
Simon was seated behind the expansive desk, his fingertips tapping unconsciously on the smooth mahogany surface, producing a dull tapping sound.
Standing in front of him, Jackson stood ramrod straight, his slightly evasive gaze revealing his inner embarrassment and anxiety.
"Jackson."
Simon's voice was steady, betraying no emotion, yet carrying an unseen pressure, "How is the progress on the plan to 'eliminate' Song Heping? I recall you were quite confident before."
Jackson's Adam's apple bobbed slightly as he forced himself to answer, "Sir, the target is extremely cautious. His safe house is heavily guarded, with a strict selection of internal personnel. All our attempts to contact potential breakthroughs have failed. His diet is handled through independent, credible channels, and our people... haven't found a safe opportunity to strike yet."
