Once the dark web transaction had been traced to its source, Lynn Hall wasted no time. He mobilized a team and carried out the arrests personally.
The sellers? Two Middle Eastern men.
"Boss, can you believe it?" Sean muttered with clear disdain, glancing at the two suspects kneeling on the floor. "These guys are dead broke."
He handed Lynn a stack of paper. "Check this out—IOUs. Turns out they bought components for homemade explosives from over a dozen suppliers… on credit."
"The biggest debt was thirty grand. The smallest? Two thousand."
Lynn flipped through the stack, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. "They wrote it down? With itemized details? What kind of brain-dead black market are we dealing with?"
Sean shrugged. "I was thinking the same thing. Since when does the black market accept IOUs?"
One of the Middle Eastern men, his face streaked with sweat, suddenly spoke up. "That's because we have excellent credit. We've worked with most of those vendors for over three years. They let us delay payment."
"These notes weren't for them—they're for us. So we wouldn't forget who we owe."
His partner added, "Sir… if we tell you everything, will you let us live?"
Lynn was just about to respond when the second man continued, his tone strangely calm. "Please don't lie to us. We're from the Middle East. Death is a part of daily life where we're from."
"I can tell when someone's truly going to let us walk away… and when someone just needs us to talk before pulling the trigger."
Lynn leaned back against the couch, shooting Sean a grin. "Smart guys."
Then he looked back to the pair. "Only useful people get to live. Don't waste my time."
That was all the confirmation they needed.
The first man launched into it immediately. "We're members of the Hursaq militant faction. We arrived in New York three years ago."
"The bomb used in the Brooklyn explosion? We made it. Same for the one used in the L.A. terror attack two years ago—that bomb was ours too."
Sean folded his arms and chuckled. "So those L.A. boys really were that sloppy, huh? Once this wraps up, we're gonna have some fun watching that circus play out."
Lynn nodded but kept his focus on the men. "Why are you here? What's your endgame?"
The second man answered. "Sir, Hursaq used to be one of the largest armed groups in the Middle East. We controlled thousands of square kilometers of land."
"But four years ago, another group rose from nowhere. Their numbers were massive, and worse—they had advanced weapons from Stark Industries."
"In just a year, they steamrolled over dozens of factions and drove us out of our own homeland."
His voice turned bitter, burning with resentment. "We tried to fight back. Allied with other groups. But Stark tech… it's too powerful. We didn't stand a chance."
"That's why we came to New York. We needed money. For the last three years, we sold explosives—kept only what we needed. The rest went toward our fight."
He was mid-sentence when Lynn cut him off. "Wait. You're saying this group was supplied—secretly funded—and equipped with weapons from Stark Industries?"
"Yes, sir. And as far as we know, they're the only militia in the region with that kind of gear."
Lynn's eyes narrowed.
It clicked.
Tony Stark.
Two and a half months ago, Stark had traveled to the Middle East for a weapons demonstration—and disappeared.
According to Colonel Rhodes' military report, as well as what Lynn remembered from the Iron Man storyline, the group that attacked Stark had been using Stark-manufactured weapons.
If that was the case…
Tony Stark might still be alive—and in their hands.
Lynn leaned forward slightly. "Can you find them? Locate their base of operations?"
"Absolutely," one of the men said quickly, sensing the change in Lynn's tone. "That's our home. We know the region. If anyone can find them—it's us."
Reassured by their answer, Lynn holstered his weapon and stood up. "Sean. Take them in."
"On it," Sean nodded, signaling the agents to escort the two men out.
---
Thirty Minutes Later — FBI New York Headquarters
Lynn knocked on the door of a senior agent's office.
"Working late, Richie?"
Inside, Special Agent-in-Charge Richie Hood looked up from his desk and smirked. "Back already?"
> [Richie Hood – Favorability: 7]
He gestured for Lynn to sit, then pulled open a drawer and offered him a cigar.
"Thanks, but I'll pass," Lynn said with a casual wave, pulling out a cigarette instead.
Richie lit his own cigar, sighing. "Big explosion in Brooklyn—Director's furious. No surprise I'm stuck burning the midnight oil."
"Problem's handled," Lynn replied, exhaling smoke. "Press conference can go live tomorrow."
He placed a heavy briefcase on the desk and flipped it open, revealing bricks of seized cocaine.
Richie raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Looks like you had a productive night."
He eyed the volume of drugs in the case. "Two million, easy."
"Rough estimate, yeah."
"Then let's stick to the usual arrangement."
They both knew what that meant.
The "usual" was simple: Lynn and Richie each skimmed 15% off the street value. The rest would be officially turned in to the Bureau.
Richie closed the case and slid it under his desk. "Alright—business out of the way. Now let's talk real work."
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