Chapter 117: Black Badger
Clap, clap, clap!
Hobbs stepped forward, applauding. "Lucky for me I've been swamped lately and haven't had time to hunt you down. You've gotten even better."
"Nah, I've always been like this. It's just that you've gotten rusty. Family and kids are making you soft. Trust me, marriage really does dull your edge."
Ron waved to the two gorgeous women and other onlookers watching him, like a rock star soaking up applause. Just as he was feeling on top of the world, his phone buzzed. After reading the text, Ron's expression darkened.
"I really hope your Baptist mother back in texas can hear what you just said," Hobbs couldn't help but grumble.
"I'll become that devoted Christian again when I get back to Alabama." Ron patted Kevin's shoulder. "Your name's Kevin, right? Can I borrow your buddy for a chat? I promise to send him right back."
"Sure thing."
Ron pulled Hobbs into the restaurant's walk-in freezer. "You better tell me what the hell's going on."
"What's wrong?" Hobbs tried to play it cool and attempted to pat Ron's shoulder, but Ron slapped his hand away, whipped out his phone and shoved it in his face. "This is the text I just got, Agent Hobbs. You're a wanted man now."
The message Ron had just received clearly stated: After investigation, it has been determined that Agent Luke Hobbs, formerly of the FBI, killed his partner and committed treason. All agents who locate him are ordered to arrest him immediately.
"There's no way I can explain this properly. Let me keep it simple. It's Black Badger—that's a code name. I don't know who he really is. He stole CIA encryption keys. My partner Phil and I tracked him to a penthouse in Kiev.
He knew we were coming, so he set a trap. Phil died in the elevator. Now everyone thinks I'm Black Badger!"
"Those CIA morons again," Ron threw his hands up in exasperation. "Sometimes I seriously wonder what use those guys are besides drug running, corruption, and ass-kissing? You want to bet I could lead my new special ops team and storm their offices in Langley?"
"Absolutely, why not? You're spot on. Even intelligence agencies should have transparent budgets. Otherwise, who knows what other disasters they'll pull off, like that time they blew over $40 million shipping Italian goats to Afghanistan."
Ron nodded in agreement. "Alright, take care of your little buddy. Remember, I never saw you today. Obviously, I'm heading back now to avoid suspicion. What I can promise is my people won't come after you. Just worry about your own FBI guys and those CIA idiots.
I need to do some digging to make sure you're telling me the truth. If you are, I'll join your operation tomorrow at noon."
"YES!" Hobbs couldn't help but cheer.
He'd originally hoped that as long as Ron stayed out of the manhunt for him, he'd be fine. After all, he'd worked with Ron before and knew his capabilities.
If Ron joined the hunt, it would definitely make Hobbs's life infinitely harder.
The guy's tracking skills were decent, but he was absolutely lethal with combat and firearms. He was even nicknamed "The Arsenal" in intelligence circles.
That's right! The Arsenal!
Remembering Ron's nickname, Hobbs suddenly broke out in a cold sweat. "By the way, if you do join, I've got one small request. Is there anything I can ask of you?"
"What?" Ron had reached the door and turned back.
"You know, the main bad guys in this operation are CIA."
"Yeah, I know." Ron nodded, looking puzzled.
"So, could you maybe switch to non-lethal gear? You know the stuff you usually use is always..." Hobbs swallowed hard, "always a bit... excessive."
"After all, even if I successfully prove I'm innocent, it wouldn't look good if too many CIA personnel ended up dead."
"That makes sense," Ron agreed, stroking his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully. "But the CIA's got so many people that a few casualties wouldn't be a big deal. Don't worry, as long as we don't get caught, I'll take the blame."
"Untraceable? These days all gun barrels are serialized, and ballistics analysis can reveal who fired what. How else can you avoid detection?"
"True..." Ron looked a bit troubled, and could only go along with Hobbs's thinking.
Can't have too many casualties? This requirement was pretty challenging for Ron. Since he'd started in this business, he'd always left a trail of bodies.
If he wanted to avoid casualties, he couldn't just use rubber bullets all the time, could he? Those things worked fine on civilians, but against professionally trained agents, they were basically fancy BB guns.
Hell, even Ron could take a few rubber rounds himself without much trouble, let alone someone like Hobbs.
Plus, relying solely on small arms without heavy firepower made Ron feel vulnerable. Just as he was pondering this, his eyes caught sight of the fire extinguisher in the corner, and a brilliant idea struck him.
"Don't sweat it. I've got my own methods," Ron said with a mysterious smile, confident in his plan. Hobbs, however, had a sinking feeling. Was he planning to eliminate CIA personnel?
He suddenly realized that bringing Ron into this mission might be the stupidest decision he'd ever made.
...
After saying goodbye to Max and Caroline, Ron called Petrov as soon as he stepped out of the restaurant. "Petrov, your friendly neighborhood arms dealer, at your service. What are you looking to acquire this time?"
Ron got straight to the point: "Viktor, can you help me get some specialized gear from Eastern Europe?"
"Of course, you've made an excellent choice. Among the weapons I handle, there's no better quality or cheaper products than those from the former Soviet Union and Eastern Bloc. What do you need this time, my friend?
Recoilless rifle? RPG-7 launcher? If it's the latter, I'm running a special promotion. Some damn warlord actually wanted to buy on credit! I'd rather let them rust in my warehouse than agree to that kind of deal."
"You've got a batch of RPG-7s!" Ron shouted excitedly, but when he realized they weren't needed for this operation, his enthusiasm immediately cooled. "Forget it, save those for next time. This time I want something different."
"Different things? What exactly do you mean?"
"For example, I heard that Russia has some RPGs designed for firefighting. Can you help me get a few of those? Oh, and some fire-suppression rockets, the kind that fit in my M72 LAW launcher."
Petrov was baffled by Ron's order: "Are you quitting the spy game to become a firefighter? But why do these things still sound like military hardware? Are you sure they actually exist?"
"Absolutely!" Ron said confidently. "Even though they sound like weapons, I guarantee they're all for firefighting.
By the way, if you can get them to me before noon tomorrow, please also help me pick up some steel tubing and compressed gas canisters from suppliers. I want the canisters from Michigan Industrial Supply and the tubing from Pennsylvania Steel Works. The specifications are..."
(End of chapter)
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