Ch: 224-230
224. I don't need evidence
If Nina Bell hadn't killed that evil spirit and had sacrificed her soul to it to gain power, she wouldn't have been confined to that voodoo doll.
But having killed the evil spirit, Nina Bell, stripped of her power source, was merely a vengeful spirit trapped inside the voodoo doll.
What's more, by chopping up that evil spirit, Nina Bell was actually not far from true death herself.
Debts are cleared upon death—that's a human rule.
Not a rule of Hell.
Especially not for those who make deals with Hell.
Let's put it this way: Nina Bell was already dead; it was only through the power granted by the evil spirit that she was, in a sense, still alive.
But this was the evil spirit's power, not Nina Bell's own.
Now that the evil spirit was out of the picture, along with its power, even if Nina Bell didn't perish with her debtor immediately, she would still fade away once her power ran out.
However… Chester looked at Locke: "Didn't you say you wanted to find out why they called you for a last farewell, to figure out what game they were playing?"
Locke's lips curved upward: "I don't need to anymore."
Carrie, hearing this, also looked at Locke with some curiosity.
Locke chuckled softly: "I don't need to investigate why, because that's not my specialty. I just need to know that they're asking for death. If that's the case, then it's simple."
What a joke.
Solving cases is George's specialty; George needs evidence.
I'm a killer.
I rely on intuition. If I feel you harbor ill intentions towards me, that's enough. I don't overthink anything else.
Locke snorted with a laugh.
Why complicate things? Simpler is better.
Chester's response to Locke's answer wasn't unexpected; it was, in fact, entirely predictable. After all, his disciple was a formidable individual who could transform stealth into the most effective stealth by simply killing everyone.
Truly worthy of being the youngest cowboy in Texas.
The world of Texas doesn't have many schemes and intrigues; there's only simplicity, just like the attack methods of the serial killers on the Lone Star State's land.
Simple and brutal.
Serial killers in other places often resort to various elaborate deceptions, ambushes, traps, and a series of technical maneuvers, but killers in the Lone Star State are always straightforward.
And they are particularly fond of cold weapons.
Even if an army is dispatched to apprehend him, he would dare to confront them head-on, wielding a chainsaw.
In fact, from a certain perspective, Locke didn't actually inherit the 'fine qualities' of these people. He also confronted things head-on, but he mostly used his alt accounts for direct confrontations.
It was still a bit embarrassing.
Locke thought to himself, then sighed softly, but there was nothing he could do. He was still young, a seventeen-year-old kid, and still needed some time to develop.
For now?
Locke got up from the sofa, stretched, and said, "Alright, I'm leaving."
He had already solved the root cause of these problems at the source, by dealing with the evil spirit that provided Nina Bell with power. What could a vengeful spirit that couldn't leave a voodoo doll do?
Even as an air conditioner, it probably wouldn't have the cooling power of one horsepower.
And he also knew where the doll was.
The rest was simple.
Finding evidence to send people to meet God is the New York Police Department's job. Locke doesn't need evidence; he just needs intuition to send people to meet Mephisto.
Locke felt he was already a big client of Mephisto's.
He wondered if he would get any discounts when dealing with Hell in the future.
On his way back.
Locke received a call from Arthur.
In the call, Arthur stated that he had died.
Locke expressed his congratulations, then hung up with Arthur.
Arthur was 'dead,' which meant that cheap apprentice wouldn't survive after all.
Locke chuckled after hanging up the phone.
In the evening.
Night fell.
Locke replaced his clone, who had gone to buy pizza for a late-night snack. After returning to his room, he opened the safe, and with a flick of his right hand, tossed an antique doll inside.
He had expected some trouble.
Unexpectedly, the African-American lawyer hadn't bothered to hide the antique doll at all; it was just openly displayed in the living room, and he even had the TV on for it.
The next day.
"Morning!"
"Morning!"
Carrie, who had received Locke's call early in the morning and was waiting by the roadside, opened the car door and got in after seeing Locke's car approach. She greeted Locke, "Where are we going?"
Locke said, "The church."
Carrie: "..."
In the church.
Locke greeted the priest warmly, then shared his concerns, saying he felt his home was somewhat unclean and he wanted to buy some holy water to protect himself.
The priest accepted Locke's donation of ten thousand dollars to the church and, with a benevolent expression, stated that God loves all people and would not stand by and watch his followers suffer.
Half an hour later.
Locke carried a holy water container the size of a water cooler bottle into the back seat, then drove Carrie back to Star Tower.
Gulp, gulp!
Gulp, gulp!
Locke directly poured the holy water he had bought into the plastic bucket in front of him.
Behind him.
An antique doll was wailing, even with a hint of giving up.
"Roar!"
"Slap!"
"Ah!"
The moment Nina Bell, transformed into a vengeful spirit after losing the power provided by the evil spirit, rushed out of the doll to strangle Locke, there was a'slap' sound. A black light flashed, whipping her like a leather whip, causing the evil spirit to shriek and retreat back into the doll.
Nina Bell's flat face, full of malevolence and a touch of regret, appeared on the antique doll's face.
Carrie, who was preventing Nina Bell from committing suicide, seemed to understand what Locke intended to do.
It was somewhat cruel.
Carrie thought.
But... no sympathy!
She had tried treating the world with kindness, but the world didn't reciprocate with equal kindness. As Locke said, in this world, the outcome of kindness is being bullied.
"Alright."
Locke poured a large bucket of holy water inside: "Carrie, the doll!"
Carrie responded.
Locke took the antique doll, and without even looking, added a piece of iron and directly tossed it into the holy water bucket.
The next second.
Screams and wails echoed through the living room on the first floor!
And even... something was sizzling and making a crackling sound as if it were burning!
It sounded just like a barbecue.
But outside the room, even standing at the door, nothing could be heard.
This was why Locke brought Carrie along.
Soundproofing.
And... it also provided cooling!
A few days later.
After waking up, Locke poured himself a glass of bourbon, then returned to his study, sat in his computer chair, took a sip, and looked at the computer screen.
The screen showed a surveillance feed.
To be precise, it was a feed of the prison's electric chair room, and there was also a small monitor showing the outside observation room. At this moment, several FBI agents and the District Attorney had already arrived.
Of course.
The African-American lawyer, Nick Reese, had also come.
Just then.
Locke looked at a woman who walked in with the lawyer and was slightly startled.
For no other reason than that he recognized the woman.
But... it was only a brief encounter. This woman was the other professional appraiser who was present the last time Taylor King came to appraise the Voodoo Grimoire.
Locke put his glass aside, connected to the DMV database, screenshot the woman's image, and uploaded it into the system.
Soon.
A driver's license was retrieved, and at the same time, more detailed information was also retrieved.
Miller Sheldon.
Female.
Thirty-two years old.
Book appraisal expert at the Brooklyn Historical Exhibition Hall in New York. She has a husband, a daughter. Her husband, Clyde Sheldon, is a freelancer with numerous patents. Her daughter, Angie, is five years old.
After a while.
Locke rubbed his chin, looking at Clyde Sheldon's information, silent for a moment, then looked up at the ceiling: "Langley!"
Clyde Sheldon's information, no matter how he looked at it, seemed very much like the work of the CIA. No arrest record, a truly law-abiding citizen. If this guy wasn't CIA, Locke would wash his hair while standing on his head.
But what about the main character, Miller Sheldon?
She was an ordinary person, at most, an ordinary person who had dealings with a criminal world auction house.
This was common.
Some museum appraisers are secretly invited by wealthy individuals to appraise artifacts, just as some hospital nurses and doctors also moonlight as gang doctors.
Life is hard, and it's all about making money, which is very understandable.
At the same time, Locke also retrieved Miller Sheldon's entire call history. Nick Reese's phone number was prominently among them.
The timing was precisely the day after he unsuccessfully invited Locke.
In the surveillance footage.
The African-American Nick Reese led Miller Sheldon, who also seemed a bit bewildered and unsure why she had been invited, to her seat.
Soon.
When the time reached 9:30 AM, the door to the electric chair room opened. Then, two people, restrained, were brought in, and with a few clicks, they were secured in the electric chairs.
At this moment, Nick Reese stood up and walked into the electric chair room. After seemingly showing his ID to the bailiffs in the room, he waited for the bailiffs to leave the room before looking at the Bell couple, who were sitting in the electric chairs, awaiting their execution.
Locke tapped his chin with his finger, leaning on the armrest, looking curiously at Nick Reese in the monitor, who was talking to the Bell couple. At the same time, he quietly opened his skill panel and chose to upgrade his lip-reading skill.
When the lip-reading skill reached advanced level, Locke could already understand what Nick Reese was saying.
Nick Reese didn't look around; instead, with his hands in his pockets and a serious expression, he seemed to be making a final farewell between lawyer and client: "You two, Nina Bell asked me to tell you that there is a demon who can accept your sacrifice. You don't need to find other evil spirits to exchange for power."
Locke raised an eyebrow!
225. This is a law-abiding citizen!
"This African American… is truly evil."
Locke, knowing what the man said through lip-reading, thought to himself, his gaze shifting to the voodoo doll on the table.
If he hadn't personally disposed of Nina Bell, leaving her no chance to even go to hell, he would have thought he'd brought back a fake doll.
Nina Bell was completely gone.
Whether from a scientific or mystical perspective, she was utterly, completely gone.
However.
This voodoo doll was still useful. After exorcising a malevolent vengeful spirit from inside the voodoo doll with holy water, the doll became a container.
Or rather, it became a mobile, supernatural prison.
Once a supernatural being is stuffed inside this voodoo doll, they will be permanently sealed within it until the doll is broken.
Locke called it a form of eternal pardon!
Because the original vengeful spirit in this voodoo doll had made a deal with a hellish demon, in a sense, it had received an exemption from hell. Therefore, within this voodoo doll, there was no call from hell. As long as the doll remained intact, the prisoner inside would achieve another kind of immortality.
So, Locke kept this voodoo doll.
What if he needed it someday?
For example… George?
Locke thought to himself, chuckling as he watched the monitor, where the man pulled two Winnie the Pooh dolls from his pocket and handed them to the Neil couple.
The prison guards naturally saw this scene too.
They pushed open the door, intending to escort Nick Reese out.
Nick Reese said, "These are their daughter's last gifts, and their last request. You can inspect them; they are just two ordinary dolls."
Due to his status as assistant district attorney, after hearing this request, the supervisor on-site and a priest from the prison discussed it and agreed.
Locke, watching all this from the study, had a rough idea of what kind of elaborate scheme Nick Reese was trying to pull off.
If Locke's guess was correct.
This Nick Reese had likely already made some unspeakable deal with the Bell family. Then, after Nina Bell died, and after obtaining the vengeful spirit doll that Nina Bell had transformed into, he used it to directly intimidate the District Attorney through manipulation.
George had found out two days ago.
Nick Reese's appointment was signed by the District Attorney. Then, the day after the successful signing, the District Attorney suddenly collapsed during a meeting and was rushed to the hospital.
A few days ago, specifically the night Locke went to retrieve the voodoo doll, the District Attorney passed away due to respiratory failure.
Most likely, Nick Reese went to the hospital to commit murder that night.
Why did he do it?
Perhaps the deal hadn't been reached, and it was very likely due to the inability to enlist Locke. So, after discovering the voodoo doll was missing, even though Locke deliberately faked a theft scene, this guy didn't report it and instead continued silently.
Now?
Nick Reese likely learned from Nina Bell's vengeful spirit that the demon was dead. He also researched many documents on sacrifices and costs, fearing that if the Bells sacrificed themselves, they would learn everything, learn that he had lost their daughter, and would not forgive him.
This could be proven by Nick Reese's browser history and his library borrowing records.
No!
Locke raised an eyebrow.
"Hiss!"
Locke recalled the first thing Nick Reese said to the Bell couple. If Nick Reese was worried, he would have the Bell couple sacrifice themselves to the same demon as their daughter, which would be a sacrifice to nothing.
But Nick Reese mentioned a demon?
Locke's teeth tingled, a little sore: "So, this Nick Reese not only knew that much, but he also got in touch with a demon, intending to use this method to have the Bell couple sacrifice themselves to the demon he found?"
The Bell couple thought they were sacrificing their souls to gain power for themselves.
But in reality… the Bell couple were merely sold out by Nick Reese. Once the sacrifice began, they would find that they had suddenly become the object of Nick Reese's sacrifice?
"Wow!"
Locke's thoughts raced, and he shook his head twice, "Who says African Americans aren't smart? When it comes to tricking their own people, African Americans are quite talented, aren't they?"
Just like the Great Slave Era back then.
The ones who caught and sold the most Africans to the white people were a group of African Americans. Later, as they kept catching, the supply ran out. So, they, along with the currency given by those white people, were also caught by the white people.
This situation.
Feels familiar.
Indeed.
History is a cycle.
Placing this story here, it seems easy to understand who the slaves are, who the Africans are, and then, who the white people are?
It's clear at a glance.
Locke thought to himself, feeling a little like laughing, then his gaze fell on Miller Sheldon in the observation room, who had been invited by Nick Reese at the Bell couple's request.
So… after guessing the motive of this African American Nick Reese, it was no longer difficult to guess why.
The Grand Voodoo Compendium!
Nick Reese must have learned about the Grand Voodoo Compendium written on human skin from Nina Bell, and after failing to obtain it, he set his sights on Miller Sheldon, who had also come into contact with the Grand Voodoo Compendium.
After all, a demon giving power is one thing; whether you know how to use it is another.
It's like a loan.
The bank gives you a loan, you have money, but you don't know how to spend it. You can't blame the bank, can you? At this point, you need a secret guide on how to spend money that matches your needs.
As for how Nick Reese targeted Miller Sheldon?
Perhaps it was a sacrifice.
After all, the time Nick Reese called Miller Sheldon was exactly the day after the voodoo doll was lost, and also the day after the District Attorney suddenly died of respiratory failure.
It's likely that on that night, Nick Reese had already hooked up with a demon willing to give him power by sacrificing the District Attorney.
Just then.
People in the surveillance footage covered their mouths.
Locke looked back.
In the electric chair room, the prisoners, after the time came and the power was connected, did not immediately die like previous prisoners who sat in the electric chair. Instead, they twitched on the electric chair, their eyes wide with rage, and the two eyeballs of the Winnie the Pooh dolls in their hands became increasingly eerie and bright.
The Bell couple also seemed to realize something was wrong.
Their eyes widened in anger, staring intently at Nick Reese, who was covering his face in the observation room, seemingly unable to bear to watch.
Bang!
In the observation room, there was a gasp.
Ms. Miller Sheldon even cried out "Oh God!" and, along with the others, ran outside.
Nothing else.
The sight of eyeballs literally bursting out was too bloody.
But Nick Reese, though he lowered his head, covering his face, was betrayed by the gradually curving smile at the corner of his mouth.
Even.
After Locke adjusted the angle, through lip-reading, he even heard Nick Reese, with his head down, his thick, sausage-like lips moving slightly: "As long as you like it, I will bring you more souls, my master!"
This was concrete proof.
Locke was unmoved by the bloody scene unfolding in the electric chair room; this level was not even fit to carry the shoes of what happened on the Argo. His attention was fixed on the two dolls, whose eyes were becoming increasingly eerie, lying amidst a pile of minced flesh.
Very good.
Wash them, and they'll be two rather excellent containers again.
Undoubtedly.
In this ongoing historical overlap, he would be the white man who ultimately benefited.
In the words of the Eastern Kingdom:
When the snipe and clam fight, the fisherman profits!
Just then.
The surveillance footage was cut off. Clearly, this was a series of measures taken by the prison authorities after such an incident occurred.
Locke chuckled, drained the wine in his glass, then stood up, put on his jacket, put the voodoo doll from the table into his inventory, and left.
Queens.
A roadside coffee shop, just one street away, with a view of Rikers Island Prison.
The African American Nick Reese walked over with two cups of coffee, handing one to Miller Sheldon, who was sitting there, looking a little pale: "I'm sorry, Ms. Sheldon, for startling you."
Miller Sheldon said thank you, forced a smile, and looked at Nick Reese: "So, can I leave now?"
A few days ago, this Nick Reese found her at the museum, introducing himself as an assistant district attorney, and said that he used to be the Bell couple's lawyer, and the Bell couple wanted to invite her to see them off on their final journey.
This made Miller Sheldon somewhat perplexed, as she had no connection with them whatsoever.
They were from two different worlds, with no points of intersection in their lives.
But Nick Reese seemed very assertive, hinting that if she didn't go, the District Attorney might investigate her or something.
Miller Sheldon secretly took on jobs that involved no questions asked, no explanations given, and no answers provided, simply using her professional knowledge to earn some money to provide a better education for her daughter.
It would be very bad if the District Attorney targeted her.
So Miller Sheldon was silent for a while and chose to go today.
But she never expected.
The scene was so shocking.
Now she just wanted to go home and hug her husband.
But… Nick Reese shook his head.
Seeing this, Miller Sheldon frowned slightly: "What, Mr. Reese, you promised…"
Just then.
An Audi pulled up to the side of the road, then the window rolled down: "Ms. Sheldon? Oh God, is that you?"
As he spoke.
Locke opened the car door and stepped out…
226. Mr. Fall
Locke got out of the car.
He had a look of pleasant surprise!
Miller Sheldon, whose name was suddenly called, looked over and saw Locke walking towards her from across the street. Her expression froze slightly.
Who is this?
However, just as Miller Sheldon was about to ask, Locke had already walked over: "Mrs. Sheldon, your history lecture on the Arawak tribe yesterday was very interesting."
Miller Sheldon occasionally filled in as an Indian history lecturer at the museum. Although it wasn't often, she had done so yesterday because the regular lecturer's wife had given birth.
Locke had hacked into the museum's surveillance and watched yesterday's footage. Miller Sheldon was quite interactive and liked to answer questions.
Perfect.
Locke had a knack for reading lips.
"I was the one who asked you about the Arawak people's eating habits yesterday."
"..."
Miller Sheldon remembered, immediately extended her hand, and shook Locke's hand: "Right, I remember that question, but there were too many people then, I didn't see you. Your name is..."
"Broughton, Locke Broughton!"
"Hello, Mr. Broughton."
"Hello."
Locke shook Miller Sheldon's hand, then pointed to his Audi: "Mrs. Sheldon, do you need a ride home?"
Miller shook her head, then turned her head.
Nick Reese was already gone.
Huh?
Where did he go?
Ms. Miller Sheldon was slightly taken aback.
Locke smiled and said, "Mrs. Sheldon?"
Miller came back to her senses and smiled, "Is it convenient?"
"Of course!"
Locke said with a smile. He had come here specifically for Miller Sheldon.
What a joke.
Someone was already eyeing his upcoming auction of the Voodoo Compendium. If this guy, who had just connected with a demon, knew where the Voodoo Compendium was, who would compensate him for his twenty million?
What's more... Locke wasn't a saint. The lives of strangers had nothing to do with him.
But Miller Sheldon?
If Miller Sheldon were to encounter some misfortune because of his Voodoo Compendium, Locke wouldn't feel guilty, but he would still feel a little uncomfortable inside.
How to put it?
I didn't kill Bo Ren, but Bo Ren died because of me?
Besides, Miller Sheldon wasn't the main point; her husband, Clyde Sheldon, was.
Clyde Sheldon was an IA agent.
Just look at Kym's dad.
Although IA agents seemed rather unreliable, when it came to their families, these guys' combat effectiveness always inexplicably soared.
As for the African American man?
When he saw Locke get out of the car, he had already gotten up. Then, after seeing Miller Sheldon get up, he had already turned and left, seemingly unwilling to interact with Locke.
After all... Locke had a top legal team from Wall Street backing him.
Coward!
Locke thought to himself, and very gentlemanly helped Miller Sheldon open the car door, then got in.
Miller Sheldon's home was also on Manhattan Island.
In fact, it wasn't far from Fifth Avenue, but unlike Locke's apartment, it was a residence in a community.
Soon.
Miller Sheldon looked at her home, so close, and her husband watering plants with their daughter at the door. She couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, unbuckled her seatbelt, and thanked Locke in the driver's seat.
Clyde Sheldon, who closely resembled a certain "fallen uncle" (a popular meme in China, referring to a middle-aged man who has lost his youthful charm), had been alerted almost as soon as Locke's Audi drove onto the street. By the time Miller Sheldon opened the car door and stepped out, Clyde had already walked to the car.
His posture was very professional.
"Clyde."
"Mill."
Mill was Clyde's affectionate nickname for his wife, Miller.
Locke watched the two embrace and kiss directly in front of the car, his eyebrows raised. He unbuckled his seatbelt and also got out of the car.
Clyde's peripheral vision caught Locke getting out of the car, and the wariness in his eyes diminished slightly.
Not much.
Not much of a threat either.
Miller, standing beside them, introduced Locke: "Broughton is the student body president of Midtown High. He visited our museum yesterday. Coincidentally, I was in Queens today, so Broughton gave me a ride home."
Locke smiled and extended his hand: "Good afternoon, Mr. Sheldon."
"Broughton."
Clyde's expression was a little subtle. He shook Locke's hand and said, "Locke Broughton, a very good name."
By the way... wasn't there a female agent in the bureau also named Broughton?
What was her name?
Lo... Lorraine Broughton?
The most legendary agent in the bureau, a legendary female agent who had infiltrated both the KGB and MI6.
Locke also noticed the expression on Clyde's face, but it was normal for most men to have that expression when they saw their wives return with such a handsome young man.
He could understand.
Locke smiled slightly, released his hand, and then politely declined Clyde and Miller's invitation to sit inside, stating that he had to leave.
However.
As Locke was getting back into the car, he seemed to remember something and looked at the family of three who were about to go home together, and said, "Mr. Broughton?"
Clyde Sheldon turned and looked at Locke.
Locke's peripheral vision glanced at Miller and their daughter.
Miller understood and said to her daughter, "Angie, let's go home. Daddy and brother need to talk."
Angie, who was five years old and beautifully dressed, waved at Locke.
Locke also smiled and waved back.
After a while.
Locke looked at Clyde, who had walked over, and rubbed his nose, seemingly organizing his thoughts: "Mr. Sheldon, this morning, I saw Mrs. Sheldon with someone from the District Attorney's office..."
Clyde said, "Just call me Clyde. I know, the Assistant District Attorney. He said something about a dying declaration..."
Locke was slightly stunned: "Assistant District Attorney? No way."
Clyde looked up.
Locke's expression was a little surprised: "He also approached me, and even tried to morally blackmail me. But I know him, after all, Nina Belle used to be from Midtown High, and he was, I think, the intern lawyer assigned to Nina Belle by the DA's office at the time."
Clyde's eyes flickered.
Done.
Locke thought to himself, then hesitated: "However, I feel that guy is a bit strange, but I can't quite put my finger on it. So, I felt it was necessary to tell you, Clyde."
Clyde came back to his senses, looked at Locke, who had a sincere expression and clear eyes, and showed a slight smile: "Thank you, Locke, very much."
Locke and Clyde shook hands again: "You're welcome, Clyde. Mrs. Sheldon is my favorite guide at the history museum. She's very lively and interacts with us enthusiasts. However, Mrs. Sheldon rarely gives lectures."
Clyde laughed, "I can give you her number. If you go again, I think my wife would be happy to fill in as a guide."
Locke looked pleasantly surprised: "Really? That would be great! Thank you, Mr. Sheldon. My girlfriend will be very happy if she knows."
Gwen had indeed been to the history museum.
Locke had also been there.
Sometimes, lies shouldn't be entirely false. They should be a mix of truth and falsehood to be a good lie. However, Locke and Gwen had never encountered Miller giving a lecture, but Gwen had mentioned that there was such a good guest lecturer.
Soon.
After Locke and Clyde exchanged phone numbers, Locke drove away from the community under Clyde's watchful eye.
After Locke's car disappeared, the smile on Clyde's face gradually turned cold.
Don't misunderstand.
It wasn't directed at Locke.
It was directed at the person Locke had just mentioned, who was a public defender assigned by the DA's office during the trial, but an Assistant District Attorney when he met his wife.
Ordinary people might not notice, or they might just think this person was lucky.
But Clyde?
He was an actuary at Langley, specializing in how to kill targets with the least cost. If it could be done for five cents, he would never spend two hundred thousand dollars.
Although he had retired from Langley, he had once been with Langley, and all his skills were taught by Langley.
Nick Reese?
Clyde waited until Locke's taillights disappeared down the street, then turned, tilted his head, and then smiled slightly at his wife and daughter standing at the door, before walking towards the utility room in the backyard.
After leaving Clyde's community, Locke drove straight home.
He believed that with this warning, even if they didn't flee immediately, at the very least, they could take his wife and daughter out of New York for a few days to relax.
If it was a stranger, it didn't matter if they died.
But someone he knew, who simply made a living with their professional skills, suddenly encountered an inexplicable disaster because of his affairs. It was better to avoid it if possible.
Locke thought to himself.
Just then.
The phone rang.
It was Gwen.
Locke answered directly, connecting it to the car's audio system.
After all, George was obsessed now. That night, in order to catch him, George didn't even remind him not to drink and drive. Who knew if George would alert the numerous traffic police on the road to him? If he picked up the phone and was immediately spotted by a traffic cop, pulled over, wouldn't that be falling into George's trap?
Locke had only said he would find a way to draw with George.
He never said he would lose to George.
His undefeated streak couldn't be broken.
No one could say otherwise. The same old saying: if it's broken, the consequences are endless.
"Hello."
Gwen, wearing a white lab coat in the Connors' lab at the Osborn Biologics building, looked at a small spider in a cultivation chamber and said into the phone, "Did you go to Queens?"
Locke chuckled, "Are you monitoring me with satellites?"
Gwen laughed, "No, it was Kym. Kym complained to me, saying he took a picture of you driving off with a beautiful woman."
Locke: "..."
227. A Son-in-Law Who Wants His Father-in-Law to Become a Dragon
That afternoon, Locke arrived at Osborn Industries Tower and picked Gwen up after work.
Once she was in the car, Gwen found the photos Kem had sent her that morning.
They were still a burst sequence.
Click, click, click.
It captured Locke and Miller crossing the street and getting into the car—frame after frame. If you blinked to fill in the gaps, you'd realize it was basically a video.
Locke drew a sharp breath.
Great.
This had already gone beyond chartering a plane and showing up at her auction.
Fine!
Next summer, if you still haven't gone to bully anyone, I'll step in myself, finish the job, and personally sell you to the Albanian mafia.
That's what Locke thought.
He started the car.
'Mrs. Miller Shelton, the appraiser you said gave such great tours the few times we visited the History Museum.'
'I know.'
Gwen tucked her phone away and smiled. 'The day before yesterday at lunch, Pepper invited me out, and while we were shopping at the mall we happened to run into Mrs. Miller Hilton. Stark Industries is one of the museum's main donors.'
Locke chuckled. 'Is that so?'
Gwen nodded, then asked curiously, 'But Locke, how do you know Mrs. Miller Shelton?'
'I was bored yesterday afternoon and wandered around. Turned out Mrs. Miller Shelton was giving a lecture. Remember the guy from the DA's office who came looking for me that day?'
Gwen gave a soft 'mm'.
Locke went on to describe seeing Nick Reis and Mrs. Miller Shelton together that morning, then shrugged. 'I got the feeling the DA had some ulterior motive, and it looked like Mrs. Shelton was being threatened, so I stepped in.'
Gwen looked slightly surprised. 'Why would he go after Mrs. Miller Shelton?'
Locke shook his head. 'Who knows.'
He knew, but he couldn't say.
In a few days, though, it should all blow over.
For now?
Those two Winnie-the-Pooh dolls were probably still making their way through prison intake—might not even be washed yet. Offing the schemer now wouldn't be 'reaping the spoils of the snipe and clam'; it'd just be 'the mantis stalks the cicada while the oriole lurks behind'.
Wait a couple of days.
That's what Locke told himself, then changed the subject. 'All right, enough about them. How was your day? Any progress on the experiment?'
'Still stuck on that same step.'
Gwen sighed. Though she wasn't full-time, she knew how much Dr. Connors and the others had poured into it since the start of the year. 'But Dr. Connors says that's how science goes sometimes—can't lose heart. Once we get past this hurdle, everything else will fall into place.'
Locke smiled. 'Keep at it.'
Gwen smiled back. 'So, where are we eating?'
'Home.'
'Huh?'
Locke jerked a thumb toward the trunk. 'Helen tried calling you but couldn't get through. She asked if we had plans tonight; I said no. She mentioned the house was missing a few things and wondered if I could pick them up on the way, so—home it is.'
Gwen took her phone again and blinked. 'That's odd; Mom didn't leave any missed calls.'
Just then—
The carrier's belated text alert finally arrived.
Gwen rolled her eyes. 'Stupid New York reception. I'm switching carriers one of these days.'
Locke burst out laughing.
When they reached Gwen's apartment building, George happened to be pulling in as well.
Locke watched George, in a crisp white shirt, climb out of his patrol car carrying the groceries Helen had asked for. He greeted him, they stepped into the elevator together, and Locke smiled. 'Mr. Stacy, any leads on the Peerless Assassin today?'
George, standing in front, lifted his head slightly, glanced back at Locke—half a step behind him—and, seeing the question that to anyone else might sound polite but to him was simply rubbing salt in the wound, turned away and stepped out of the elevator. 'No.'
Damned Peerless Assassin.
The moment George thought of his lifelong nemesis he ground his teeth, sometimes even yelling inwardly: With so many scumbags in New York, when the hell are you getting back to work?
Locke watched George's silent exit and chuckled.
Beside him, Gwen nudged his shoe with hers and gave a helpless look; her boyfriend and her dad got along like her dad and granddad—impossible.
Locke maintained that George had started it.
That afternoon, while driving to Osborn Biologics, he'd noticed a couple of traffic cops at the intersection whip out binoculars the instant they spotted his plate.
No doubt about it.
It had to be Deputy Chief George of the NYPD pulling strings just to one-up his son-in-law.
Bastard.
From a Detective to where he is now—Locke believed his own contributions deserved center stage. Without him, George would never have gotten the Textile Factory roster, and without him, Georgewouldn't even be alive to make deals with S.H.I.E.L.D.
No doubt about it.
Locke felt his good intentions had been repaid with ingratitude.
It broke his heart.
Back home.
Locke and Gwen each carried a bag of groceries into the living Room. Helen, who'd been rummaging through the kitchen, found a bottle of cooking wine and held it up. "Perfect. I was afraid you'd forget the brand and I'd have to remind you."
"This is basically my second home," Locke said. "There's no way I'd forget what brand we use here."
He didn't forget because his memory palace wouldn't allow such a drop in IQ.
Helen knew all about Locke's mnemonic methods, but his answer was exactly what she wanted to hear. She pointed to the sofa. "All right, you and Gwen go relax for a bit. George, come help me chop vegetables."
George had just taken off his jacket and was reaching for his welcome-home drink. He looked up as Helen bustled into the kitchen, then blinked.
Locke stepped over, smiling, and lifted the glass from George's hand. "Mr. Stacy, let me take care of this. It won't taste right if it sits too long."
George stared at Locke's radiant grin, a vein twitching at his temple.
Gwen, standing behind Locke, could only make a pleading face at her father, begging her beloved dad not to hold her boyfriend's cheekiness against him.
After dinner.
Back in the Room.
Gwen shut the door and groaned. "I kept my end of the deal. Have you figured out how to lose to my dad?"
"I said a draw," Locke corrected. "A draw I can live with."
Gwen rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Just find a way to make Dad happy so you two stop sparring all the time. Thought of anything?"
Locke nodded.
Gwen's eyes lit up.
"Really?"
"Of course."
"You already collected your reward," Locke said. "I'd be a fool not to try."
Gwen pulled back the covers and sat on the bed, expectant. "So how are you going to lose—sorry, draw—with my dad?"
"How about golf?" Locke asked.
"Golf?"
He nodded.
"But Dad's never played golf in his life."
"Exactly," Locke smiled.
It was the easiest route to a tie.
Ping-pong?
With Locke's reflexes he could spot George three points and play blindfolded and still win. Besides, ping-pong has a clear winner.
Shooting was out of the question.
Golf it was.
Locke had never played either, and at George's rank of Deputy Chief it was time he learned the social sport of the upper crust; in the federal system plenty of business gets done on the fairway.
Two birds, one stone.
Locke felt he was exhausting himself for George's career, yet George showed no gratitude.
He sighed and shrugged at Gwen. "See? I respect George as much as you do."
Gwen was touched by his reasoning. She hugged him; in her bedroom it wasn't their first time, and Helen probably knew while George pretended not to.
Just as things threatened to go further, Helen's voice drifted up from downstairs.
"Gwen, your dad's heading out."
"…"
Gwen pulled her lips from Locke's and blinked.
Locke was equally startled.
Downstairs.
George, now in plainclothes, was checking his holster.
"Dad!" Gwen hurried down the stairs. "Is the Peerless Assassin back?"
Locke's expression behind her was odd.
It hadn't even been eight months—another impostor already?
George shook his head. "No. There's been a shooting in Bauhinia Community. Max lives there; I'm going to check."
Max—one of George's closest friends.
Bauhinia Community?
That was Clyde Shelton and Miller Shelton's neighborhood.
Locke had dropped Miller Shelton off there this very morning.
Could it be…?
He asked casually, "Which house, George?"
George laced his shoes. "Fifty-five. Why, do you know someone there?"
Locke raised an eyebrow. "Met her this morning. And her house number was fifty-five."
George looked up mid-tie.
Locke turned to Gwen. "Mrs. Miller Shelton's place."
Gwen gasped and covered her mouth. "Oh my God!"
Chapter 228: Is the Fallen Brother the Peerless Assassin?
A black Ford SUV sped along, a portable police light flashing on its roof, before coming to a steady stop on the street of the Bauhinia Community, which had already been cordoned off.
George stepped out from the driver's seat, and Locke followed him out.
In the back seat, Gwen also got out.
The Police Officer in charge of the cordon raised the tape after seeing George, and then chose to ignore Locke and Gwen as they walked in behind him.
Could someone coming with the big boss be a civilian?
These low-level Officers still had at least that much situational awareness.
At No. 55 Bauhinia Community, Police Officers were coming in and out.
Gwen's eyes lit up as she looked toward an ambulance, and she pulled on Locke: "Locke, look."
Locke had already seen it and gave a hum of affirmation.
Gwen then said to George, "Dad, Locke and I are going to check on Mrs. Miller Shelton first."
George didn't say anything, just watched Locke and Gwen walk toward the ambulance before heading toward the residence at No. 55.
With Locke by Gwen's side, George felt quite at ease.
"Max!"
Standing at the door, pointing at a spot for a colleague from evidence collection to gather, Max saw George walking over and nodded: "Officer."
George punched Max on the shoulder directly: "What 'Officer'? You don't know who I am? You were the first to arrive on the scene?"
Max chuckled and then said, "Right. To be precise, I intervened at the scene just as the gunfight started. Look over there..."
George followed the direction of his finger; not far away, three men who looked like members of an African-American gang lay in pools of blood.
"I shot them dead."
"...What happened?"
Max shook his head: "It was probably a violent robbery."
His home was on this very street; in fact, he was even the Captain of this community's Neighborhood Watch. When the first gunshot rang out, he rushed out in a start, then saw gunshots firing everywhere inside Room 55, and three African-Americans carrying handguns running out of the house.
Max immediately identified himself and told the three men to stop.
As a result... they actually turned their handguns toward him. Max couldn't tolerate that, and in One Second, he emptied his magazine, smoothly sending those three fellows to see Mephisto.
As for why Max was so certain these three were thugs and not the fleeing homeowners?
As mentioned, Max was the Captain of the Neighborhood Watch; he knew exactly who lived in the community and who the homeowners were. He even investigated newcomers when they moved in to ensure there were no unstable elements within the community.
Entering the house.
George raised an eyebrow, looking at the four corpses scattered in different positions in the living Room, especially one lying at the foot of the stairs, and frowned: "Why do I get the feeling this doesn't look like a violent robbery?"
The corpse at the foot of the stairs and the other three seemed to have been aimed toward the stairs, as if their target was very clear and they all intended to go up to the second floor.
No matter how George looked at it, it felt rather strange.
And furthermore.
George put on gloves and examined the four corpses, all of which had been shot right between the eyes, their heads exploding in a second. He suddenly had an inexplicable sense of familiarity: "The homeowner's name is Clyde Shelton?"
Max, standing behind him, smiled: "Did I tell you when I called?"
George shook his head: "No, Locke said it."
Max realized: "Your son-in-law? What, your son-in-law knows Shelton?"
George ignored the first half of Max's sentence, stood up, and stared at the four corpses in the living Room that were all facing the second floor, smiling: "He knows a lot of people. Do you know this homeowner?"
Max nodded: "Of course, an old neighbor."
"With marksmanship this good?"
"Believe it or not, it's the first time I've seen it. He's a chief engineer at a tech company."
"Has he always been in New York?"
"Yeah."
George nodded and said nothing.
Max looked at George's expression, glanced around, and walked over: "What's wrong?"
George looked at his old friend and thought for a moment: "You know I've been tracking the Peerless Assassin."
Max nodded: "Who in the entire NYPD doesn't know?"
The hobbies of any superior would spread throughout the entire company in a short time.
George was no exception.
George looked at the corpses, all of which were headshots and had even been given finishing shots: "This marksmanship gives me a feeling similar to that of the Peerless Assassin."
The Peerless Assassin loved killing with headshots.
And never missed a shot.
Even if there were other wounds on the target's body, they were finishing shots delivered after the headshot, just like what was seen here.
But... Max laughed immediately upon hearing this and shook his head: "That's impossible. When the Peerless Assassin was broadcasting live with your ex-girlfriend on the New York TV station, my wife was watching TV with the Sheltons."
George looked at the information regarding Clyde Shelton that had just been sent to his tablet and handed it to Max: "I know that, but don't you find it strange? An ordinary person who has never been in the firearms industry can shoot this well?"
Max looked up at George.
George said: "This data is fake."
Max: "..."
Outside.
Mrs. Miller Shelton, who had been startled, was much better now. She looked at Gwen in front of her with some disbelief, then looked at Locke chatting with her husband not far away, and managed a smile: "I heard Clyde mention that Locke would bring his girlfriend to the museum and asked me to be a guest guide then. I didn't expect his girlfriend would be you, Gwen."
Gwen smiled: "I didn't expect it either, Mrs. Shelton. Locke only mentioned it to me this afternoon when he picked me up from work. It's such a coincidence."
Miller nodded in deep agreement.
Gwen looked at the daughter sleeping in Miller's arms, pointed, and whispered: "Is this Angie?"
Miller looked down at Angie in her arms and smiled: "Yes."
Gwen turned her head and looked at Angie, who was sleeping soundly in Miller's arms. Thinking of the three corpses she had just seen, she said with some sympathy: "She must have been terrified, right, Mrs. Shelton?"
She remembered how it felt when she saw so many corpses on the poseidon.
Fortunately.
Locke was by her side at the time.
Gwen thought as much, looking at Locke, who had one hand in his pocket and was inviting Mr. Clyde Shelton to have a smoke to relax.
Locke followed her gaze and looked at Gwen.
Gwen showed a smile.
Locke returned a smile.
Clyde Shelton's face was grim as he smoked, lost in thought. Then, as if he had remembered something, he felt his pocket and said to Locke: "Can I borrow your phone?"
Locke took his phone out from his jacket and handed it to Clyde Shelton.
Clyde said thank you, opened the dial pad, entered a string of numbers, walked to the side, and made the call.
"United Insurance Company, how can I help you..."
Locke's ears twitched as he heard the voice from the other end after the call connected. He looked thoughtfully at Clyde, who was holding the phone and speaking.
"RET, ID 023, Code Name 03, unencrypted line."
"Received, please wait!"
After a moment.
The female voice from the other end said: "Opinion recorded. Thank you for your feedback, sir. Have a nice day."
Clyde said "You too" and hung up the phone.
Locke withdrew his keen six senses and smiled at the approaching Clyde: "Let me guess, calling your lawyer?"
Clyde returned the phone to Locke: "Yes, I think this is just the beginning."
Violent robbery?
Heh.
Clyde thought about the group of thugs who had silently broken into his Room earlier tonight. If it hadn't been for Locke's reminder this morning, causing him to take out the things he thought he would never use again from the storage Room, spend some time oiling them, and wiping them down...
Tonight?
I'm afraid things would have gone very wrong.
Clyde could guess with his toes what a group of low-quality robbers would do if they came to a family like his.
Clyde thought this and looked at Locke: "Thank you."
Locke was slightly stunned: "Thank me? For what?"
Clyde said: "Thank you for the reminder this morning."
Locke's expression was surprised, then he looked around and lowered his voice: "Mr. Shelton, you don't think..."
At this moment, seeing George and Max walking out of his house, Clyde interrupted Locke: "Thanks for the phone just now."
Locke looked at Clyde's outstretched hand, chose to shut up, and shook hands with him.
"Mr. Shelton."
George walked over, glanced at Locke shaking hands with Clyde, and then said to Clyde: "Mr. Shelton, is it convenient to tell us what happened?"
Clyde nodded: "Of course."
With that.
Clyde turned his head to look at his wife and daughter and said to Max: "Sorry, Max, but could Miller and Angie go to your house to rest tonight? It's a bit cold outside."
Max slapped his head: "God, I almost forgot. Of course."
"Thank you."
Max quickly called over two Officers and had them take Miller and Angie to his house to rest.
George also said to Locke and Gwen: "Alright, you've seen enough. I'll have an Officer take you back."
Locke and Gwen nodded.
George shook hands with Clyde and gave an apologetic smile: "These two kids heard something happened here and insisted on coming with me to take a look."
Clyde glanced at Gwen and Locke as they followed the Officer out, then looked at George: "I just heard as well. My wife knows both of the kids."
With that.
George tapped on the command vehicle that had driven up and invited Clyde to step inside...
229. Have you ever heard of the Emperor of Serbia?
Not long after Clyde and George boarded the command vehicle.
About fifteen minutes later, a black, unremarkable audi pulled up to the curb, and out stepped Mr. Nameless—nobody in particular.
He happened to be in New York these few days.
Besides… Clyde Shelton had been recruited by him back then. Langley texted that Clyde had activated Code 3: a retired Langley Agent whose cover was blown. So he came right away.
Over there, George heard an Officer report that someone wanted to see him. He blinked, glancing at Clyde Shelton sitting opposite.
Clyde took one look at George and knew what was up. "You should meet him, Deputy Chief Stacy."
George chuckled, certain. "CIA?"
Clyde spread his hands in a perfect I-know-what-you-mean-but-I-must-pretend-I-don't.
I knew it.
George grew even more convinced.
When he'd read Clyde's file and saw those four head-shot, double-tapped bodies, a jarring sense of wrongness had nagged at him.
But if the man was a Langley Agent, everything clicked.
The file was real—and also fake.
After all, Langley Agents can legally bury their identities to keep unnecessary people in the dark and avoid enemy reprisal; the law protects that.
So… tonight wasn't some common violent robbery; it was terrorism dressed up to look like one?
George thought so, then saw Nameless follow an Officer over.
"Deputy Chief Stacy."
"You are…?"
"Me?"
Nameless shook George's hand, beaming. "Just a nobody. If you need a name, call me Nameless."
George's eyes narrowed; the name rang a bell. "Mr. Nameless—would you be the same Mr. Namelesswho showed up on the argo?"
Gwen had mentioned it.
Lock had, after all, pegged Nameless's workplace at a glance—no small feat.
Yet suddenly George felt something… off.
He couldn't put his finger on it.
After shaking hands, Nameless glanced at Clyde Shelton and gave a small nod.
Clyde stood.
George snapped back.
Nameless smiled. "Deputy Chief Stacy, Langley will handle the investigation."
When one of your own is in trouble, you don't leave it to outsiders.
Retired family is still family.
Many Langley brass treat Agents as tools—often disposable—but Nameless sees them as kin.
George's eyes narrowed. "Langley has no domestic enforcement authority."
Mr. Nameless smiled. "I'm aware."
Who says you need a badge to work a case?
No body, no case.
And no case means no jurisdiction needed.
George watched them turn to leave. "Gentlemen, NYPD hasn't spoken. This is New York."
Nameless turned, still smiling. "Deputy Chief Stacy, any other questions?"
George's face was stone. "Answer me one thing; you can take the man and the case."
"Oh?"
"Is the Peerless Assassin CIA?"
"…"
Nameless glanced at Clyde, who nodded and stepped outside, then slid into Clyde's seat, intrigued. "Deputy Chief Stacy, what makes you say that?"
"Habit."
"Hmm?"
No one knows the Peerless Assassin better than I do.
George had the right—and the guts—to say it; he'd hunted the Peerless Assassin ever since the killer first appeared in New York, a full year ago.
"Habit is a powerful thing."
"Especially when you're new to something—you instinctively mimic your surroundings or your training."
"Particularly in shooting."
"That's shooting habit."
Just as Lock could spot a Langley Agent by looks alone.
You can also tell a shooter's roots by how he fires.
Empty a mag in One Second? Definitely NYPD.
Like the four bodies inside.
Head-shot plus a follow-up.
The style isn't exactly the Peerless Assassin's—but it's cast from the same mold.
And only two possibilities explain that similarity.
George stared at Nameless. "Either Clyde Shelton is the Peerless Assassin… or the Peerless Assassin is one of your Langley Agents."
Besides that, George couldn't think of any other possibility.
"So!"
After he spoke, George looked at Nameless with a serious gaze: "Answer this question. The case is yours. Otherwise, if the NYPD doesn't want to give it up, no federal agency can snatch it from us."
Nameless met George's earnest stare and chuckled. "Captain Stacy, any interest in coming to Langley?"
George said nothing.
Seeing that, Mr. Nameless gave another soft laugh and nodded. "I don't know."
"What?"
George had expected Langley either to admit it outright or flatly refuse—he hadn't foreseen this answer.
Nameless toyed with his sunglasses. "Actually, the Department of Homeland Security asked us about it too."
George opened his mouth, then caught on. "Last year, when Homeland Security posed as the Federal Bureau of Investigation?"
It was the time Lock sued Homeland Security.
Nameless nodded, looking ready to tell all: "Homeland Security suspects the Peerless Assassin has countless ties to Mr. Lock Broughton."
Lock.
George kept his face neutral. "Go on."
Mr. Nameless studied George with curiosity. "By the way, Deputy Chief Stacy, as I understand it, Lock Broughton and your daughter Gwen are dating?"
George nodded. "You've looked into it."
Mr. Nameless smiled faintly. "Looked into? No—protection, just protection."
"Why?"
"Sorry."
Nameless left it at that, slipped on his sunglasses, and told George, "If Deputy Chief Stacy thinks the Peerless Assassin is one of our Langley Agents, I'll have a list compiled and sent to the NYPD when I get back.
With that,
Nameless rose and walked out of the command truck.
George watched him go and followed.
Moments later,
George called after him; Nameless, already at the cordon line, turned. In the night, his sunglasses gleamed.
"I'll wait for your file."
"You have my word!"
Mr. Nameless nodded, lifted the tape with Clyde Shelton, and stepped out. The Police Officers nearby, seeing Chief George's signal, didn't intervene.
In the black audi sedan,
back seat,
Mr. Nameless took off his sunglasses and asked Clyde, who had just climbed in, "What happened?"
Clyde shook his head and recounted the night's events, especially his conversation with Lock that morning.
Nameless's lips moved. "You suspect this Nick Reis?"
Clyde said, "Not suspect—certain."
Agents of Langley, like assassins, are guided by instinct; when it speaks, they listen, and years in the field have made them trust that gut.
Besides... apart from this suspect, there seems to be no one else.
"I'll have someone look into Nick Reis."
Nameless nodded, then told Clyde, "I'll arrange a new, safer place for your retirement."
As always,
other groups might treat Agents as disposable, but Mr. Nameless believes mutual trust and affection inspire better performance; retired Agents are well protected.
Yet Clyde shook his head. "No."
"What?"
Clyde snapped, "If Lock Broughton hadn't warned me this morning, do you know what might have happened tonight?"
Nameless showed no reaction.
He knew exactly what could have happened; Clyde was no field Agent and had been approved for retirement because of certain flaws.
Clyde's professional skills were solid, but his vigilance was lacking; left idle too long or unreminded, it slowly eroded.
That was the real reason for his retirement.
Still,
Nameless couldn't help chuckling. "Lock Broughton."
Throughout the affair, secretly observing Lock, Nameless found himself growing fond of him.
Lock possessed an instinctive vigilance.
Most people wouldn't sense something off in a single visit, yet Lock had.
"Interesting."
Nameless could hardly restrain the urge to recruit Lock that very night.
Beside him, Clyde read the hunter's gleam in Nameless's eyes. "You plan to recruit Lock Broughton?"
Nameless glanced at Clyde and smiled. "Do you know who his mother is?"
Chapter 230: Legendary Spy Luo Huang!
Clyde Sheldon was taken aback by Mr. Nameless's words.
The next second.
Mr. Nameless took the tablet handed to him by the agent sitting in the front passenger seat, who had been silent like a wooden dummy. After glancing at it, he passed it to Clyde Sheldon, who was beside him.
The latter took the tablet and looked closely.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Lorraine?"
On the tablet screen was a long-distance photograph. The woman in the photo, with just a first impression, was someone you would never forget after seeing her once.
Coldly beautiful, sharp, and noble.
Lorraine Broughton!
Clyde Sheldon recovered and looked at Mr. Nameless: "He's really Lorraine's son? Is that possible?"
At the time, when Clyde saw Locke and heard Locke introduce himself with his surname, the first person that came to his mind was his old colleague, who also had the surname Broughton.
But... was that even a possibility?
Clyde Sheldon frowned slightly, somewhat incredulous: "Locke Broughton was born in Texas on August 8, 1988, and at that time, Lorraine should have been in…"
"I know where she was then."
"…"
Mr. Nameless interrupted Clyde Sheldon and chuckled, saying: "But, don't forget, she was our best agent ever."
Lorraine Broughton could be said to have achieved a grand slam in the tumultuous world of espionage at the time.
In the late 1980s and early 1990s.
The CIA in the Federation, MI6 in London, and the KGB in Moscow were, without a doubt, the three most powerful spy agencies at that time.
And Lorraine accomplished missions that were almost impossible.
The KGB thought Lorraine was an agent they had turned, but little did they know, MI6 was laughing, because Lorraine was intentionally turned under their instructions.
But what was the truth?
Lorraine was a CIA operative sent to infiltrate MI6, and then sent by MI6 to infiltrate the KGB.
A triple agent!
To achieve such a feat, a legendary spy who only let the KGB and MI6 realize they had been played after the mission was over, wanting to take time off to have a child without anyone noticing—wasn't that simpler and easier than an assassin killing someone?
There was no difficulty at all.
In fact, if Locke had remained in Texas, keeping a low profile, then Langley probably wouldn't have noticed this matter even after Locke had lived a hundred years.
Because no one would look at a child's birth records without reason, and Langley would certainly not foreseeably pay attention. Even after Locke grew up, if others saw Locke's birth records and saw the name, they would simply think it was just a name, completely unaware of what that name represented.
After all, not everyone is worthy of attracting Langley's attention.
Mr. Nameless felt that Locke himself probably didn't understand his own mother.
Clyde Sheldon listened to Mr. Nameless's words, recovered, and realized something, handing the tablet to Mr. Nameless: "You plan to recruit him?"
Mr. Nameless nodded and looked at Clyde: "Yes, we can't delay any longer, and I hope you will train him."
Clyde frowned: "I'm already retired."
Mr. Nameless handed the tablet to the agent in the passenger seat and looked at Clyde: "He is Lorraine's son, there's no doubt about it, we've confirmed it."
Clyde said nothing.
Mr. Nameless also didn't interrupt Clyde's thoughts.
Actually, Mr. Nameless had originally planned to recruit Locke after he graduated from high school, but the more he observed, the more delighted Mr. Nameless became.
In a word.
He truly was the son of the legendary spy, Emperor Luo, with a natural talent for espionage. If they intervened early and polished him carefully, he would undoubtedly become another legendary agent.
The most important point.
S.H.I.E.L.D. was lurking nearby, watching intently.
Although Maria Hill, the current Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., had told him that they had no interest in Locke.
But... a woman's word is a devil's lie.
Mr. Nameless had learned this lesson the hard way. Since then, whenever a woman spoke, he would only believe a third of it.
For example, when Maria Hill said they had no interest in Locke, what Mr. Nameless heard was, "We've noticed Locke Broughton and are currently observing him."
Regarding this.
Mr. Nameless was very wary of S.H.I.E.L.D., after all, he hadn't found a suitable opportunity to make contact with Locke.
Now?
Mr. Nameless felt this might be an opportunity.
"L…" Mr. Nameless watched Clyde open the car door and leave, then said to the agent in the passenger seat: "Find the files on Nick Reese, and also George Stacy's files. Oh, and Gwen Stacy's as well."
S.H.I.E.L.D. had its own S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy.
That's great.
But the CIA had excellent and long-standing cooperation with various federal universities.
And... the CIA had money, lots of money.
If necessary, Mr. Nameless could even sell his warehouse full of sports cars, armored vehicles, tanks, and fighter jets to supplement his household expenses.
The next day.
When Locke came downstairs, George was already up, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.
Undoubtedly, yesterday's shooting in the Purple Thistle community made it into the newspaper, though not on the front page, but it was a headline on the third page.
He had slept at Gwen's house last night.
Better safe than sorry, what if someone decided to cause trouble at Gwen's place?
After last night's events, Locke understood.
What was more malicious than a vengeful spirit was the human heart.
So... he wasn't going to delay any longer. If he couldn't get those two ghost dolls, then so be it. Having such a malicious guy buzzing around like a fly, though he didn't care, it was still annoying.
Destroy him.
He would go later.
Locke thought to himself, then took his and Gwen's cups, poured milk, and greeted George, who was sitting opposite him: "Good morning, George."
George looked up at Locke, grunted, and then, his gaze fixed on the newspaper, asked casually: "You know that Mr. Nameless?"
Locke and Gwen sat down, and hearing George's words, Locke looked up: "Mr. Nameless? You mean that CIA agent I saw on the Argo?"
"Yes."
"I met him once. My first impression was pretty good. Why?"
Locke said very frankly.
And it was the truth.
At least, that was his first time dealing with the CIA. Look at them, always saying "Mr." This and "Mr." That. Now compare that to his first encounter with S.H.I.E.L.D.
Anyone unaware would think Locke owed S.H.I.E.L.D. millions.
Arrogant and condescending.
They were asking for trouble!
It was also because Locke had been kind since childhood; if it were someone with a fiery temper, he probably would have gone straight to the Triskelion and slaughtered them all, leaving rivers of blood and piles of corpses.
George listened to Locke's somewhat casual reply, nodded, and also said casually: "That Clyde Sheldon seems to be one of Mr. Nameless's people."
Locke raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise!
Gwen, beside him, swallowed her milk, licked her lips, and was slightly surprised: "A CIA agent, Mr. Sheldon? Really?"
Originally, this matter wasn't suitable to be discussed at home.
But.
Locke and Gwen had even seen vampires, and they didn't seem to be bothered by it, so there was no harm in talking about this.
As for little George?
He was just background. If George couldn't see his three sons, one would even think Gwen was an only child.
George nodded, tidying the newspaper in his hand, and looked at Locke: "That Mr. Nameless seems to admire you very much."
Locke blinked, then chuckled: "Is that so? I'm not surprised."
George said nothing.
Gwen chuckled beside him, helping Locke explain: "Dad, on the Argo, Mr. Nameless tried to recruit Locke into Langley."
"What was the result?"
"Of course not."
Locke smiled: "Maybe it was just a casual remark at the time, and after that, I never saw that Mr. Nameless again."
However, he had seen many Langley agents observing him, coming and going, and had almost memorized a dozen faces.
In fact... Locke even knew where the CIA's secret base in New York was.
But Locke wasn't bothered by this.
As long as it didn't disturb his life, and when no mission was active, Locke was too lazy to pay attention. Moreover, these people could even serve as a very good alibi for him.
George smiled.
Just then.
The phone rang.
George looked at the ringing phone beside him, displaying "Unknown."
He answered!
"Good morning, Deputy Chief Stacy."
"…Mr. Nameless."
George paused slightly, stood up, walked from the dining room to the balcony, and chuckled: "Speaking of which, I'm not surprised at all that you know my number."
Mr. Nameless laughed heartily and replied seriously: "Because I'm from Langley?"
George didn't smile: "Mr. Nameless, you didn't call just to wish me good morning, did you?"
"Of course not."
Mr. Nameless said: "I'm here to deliver some information, and I want to discuss yesterday's case with you."
George looked at his watch: "I'll be at the police station in fifteen minutes…"
Mr. Nameless interrupted directly: "I'm already here. Sorry to intrude."
George paused slightly, before he could even react.
Knock, knock, knock!
From the other end of the phone, a rhythmic knocking sound was heard, and at the same time, the apartment door also knocked.
George was slightly startled.
Little George, hearing the knock, had already run to open the door.
George walked over.
At the door.
Mr. Nameless smiled…