Ch: 255-261
255. Am I Going into Politics?
"To the launch of the competition platform, cheers!"
"Cheers!"
In the revolving restaurant, soft piano music flowed like a trickling stream. Two glasses of pink strawberry juice clinked together as Locke and Gwen shared a smile.
Today was a day worth celebrating.
Locke was very happy. Now that twenty high school student councils had signed the contracts, his plan to harvest points from the future eleventh and twelfth graders was set in stone.
A guaranteed base of five hundred thousand achievement points and potential points was no longer a pipe dream.
If the system didn't prohibit loans, Locke would have had the impulse to directly advance points from the system and spend the next two years' worth of points entirely.
Fortunately, the system did not encourage spending beyond one's means.
Otherwise, let alone the sun god, Locke estimated he wouldn't even be able to hope for something like the Superman lineage in this lifetime.
Spending in advance was a trap.
Once you fall into that pit, the chances of climbing out are basically zero. One might even die still burdened with debt.
Gwen was also happy for Locke.
Perhaps this was what her mother meant by 'hoping one's husband becomes a dragon.'
Gwen rested her chin on one hand, looking at Locke while thinking this in her heart.
Locke didn't lack money, so he definitely wouldn't develop towards business in the future. After all, Locke himself was already essentially part of Wall Street.
Furthermore, given Locke's personality, he was too lazy to even open his mouth for people he wasn't familiar with or had no need to associate with.
As for scientific research?
Gwen felt she had seen through him; Locke simply enjoyed solving problems and taking exams. He had no impulse to turn theory into practice at all. He wasn't a scientific talent; he was entirely in the rhythm of being New York City's number one test-taker.
So, that only left one direction for development.
And it coincided perfectly with what Locke was doing at this very moment.
Taking the D.C. route.
Gwen pursed her lips, set down her strawberry juice, looked at Locke, and said with a smile, "Once this project starts, it won't just be about twenty presidents anymore. It will be about the young elite generation of New York State. With some maneuvering, it will indeed be a huge help for the future."
If one looked closely at the federal 'happy' high schools and 'elite' high schools, there was something very interesting.
That is, the student councils of 'happy' high schools tended towards the Democrats, while those of 'elite' high schools tended towards the Republicans.
After all, the Republicans were the old patriarchs of the Federation.
Midtown High School used to be nothing.
The board of Midtown High School wanted to go Republican, but unfortunately, the supporting students weren't up to the task. If Locke hadn't taken office this time and floored the gas to pull Midtown High School onto the right track...
Or rather, if Gwen hadn't intentionally expressed her and Locke's partisan leanings while discussing with those student council presidents, this cooperation likely wouldn't have been finalized.
Put it this way.
Do you expect former Masters and slaves to play happily together?
That's certainly unrealistic.
"However..."
Gwen thought seriously for a moment, looked at Locke, and smiled slightly. "In this way, it's right that we aren't graduating early. We can have two years to consolidate the results we've created."
Using this competition platform and taking two years to expand and deepen the network established on its foundation—it could even be passed down. In the future, the network incubated by this competition platform would only grow larger.
Gwen spoke as she looked at Locke. "You must have already thought of this, right? That's why you chose not to graduate early."
Actually, during the summer break, Gwen had chatted with Locke about this topic again.
But Locke's answer at the time was that he liked to play it safe and didn't like being too erratic.
Gwen hadn't thought much of it then; if he didn't want to graduate early, then so be it. Once they went to college, they'd have to graduate and then work. It certainly wouldn't be as pleasant as their student days.
Locke blinked.
Wait, what?
Why is it that I understand every word you're saying, but when they're put together, I feel a bit dazed?
Locke looked at Gwen's gaze with some confusion. I started this plan because I wanted to enter politics? How come I didn't know that? These are just tasks given by the system.
But... forget it. Locke chuckled and nodded. Could his girlfriend be wrong? No. Even if she was wrong, it wasn't her fault.
"I knew my guess was right."
"I'm starting to understand you."
Gwen saw the forced expression on Locke's face, which seemed like he'd been seen through, and smiled in her heart. But the next second, her expression turned serious as she thought of another problem.
"Locke, there's one issue you need to pay attention to."
"...What?"
"Haven't you seen the tabloids lately? Your biological parents from all over the Federation are popping up."
"Ha."
Locke thought it was something major. Hearing Gwen say this, he raised an eyebrow and then couldn't help but shake his head and laugh.
Yes.
Biological parents from all over the Federation. As of yesterday, nearly eight pairs of parents had gone to the media claiming to be Locke's biological parents.
In Locke's view, this kind of thing wasn't just vulgar; it was commonplace.
Back in China in his past life, this happened all the time. When an orphan achieved success and fame back when DNA testing didn't exist or technology was immature, weren't there plenty of trashy parents who jumped out to claim kinship?
It was the same here in the Federation.
In fact, it was even worse here than in China.
That's what happens when the essence of 'happy education' is being entertained to death.
With Locke's photo book becoming a bestseller, plus the series of events since last year, Locke's fame had gradually matured. After a trashy white guy in Texas discovered this hot topic and chose to blow it up first, trashy white people chasing trends all over the Federation followed suit.
But... Locke looked at Gwen. "I have a family fund. I'm an orphan, that's true, but I know my parents' names."
Though he was an orphan, he wasn't one in the traditional sense. At the very least, he had seen and remembered his parents' names from the handwritten birth certificate the moment he opened his eyes.
Otherwise, how could he have a family fund?
This family fund was set up using his mother's name, which is the Broughton surname. To set up this family fund, Locke had spent a lot of effort.
However, besides knowing their names, everything else stopped there.
He didn't investigate, nor did he have any intention to investigate what kind of people his cheap parents were, whether they were alive or dead, or if they died of natural causes or in a vendetta. For Locke, this carried no psychological burden.
Gwen nodded. "I know, but don't you plan to explain?"
Locke shook his head. "No need. In a situation like this, no matter what, if I get involved, I lose."
As long as he stepped into the fray, regardless of the outcome, he would lose.
One sentence.
The onlookers don't care about the truth of the matter.
The media cares even less.
What they want is a carnival—to chase a hot topic and then blow it up. As for the consequences, even if it leaves a mess, it's the victim's mess. Once the heat dissipates, they've already turned and left.
It's the same for the onlookers; they'll follow the media like lackeys to the next hot topic for more happy entertainment.
Right now, it's just a few pairs of trashy white people and the media performing a monologue.
A monologue with no one to play along will pass after some noise. But if Locke gets involved, even as the Peerless Assassin, the media would write it up as a two-man show.
And a two-man show can go on for a long time.
Don't look.
Don't ask.
Don't speak.
This was the best strategy so far. Note down the names of those trashy white people and the unscrupulous journalists fueling the fire. Once the trend passes and autumn comes, don't waste words—just execute them.
Locke could take revenge all day long; similarly, he believed ten years was not too late for revenge.
Execution after autumn.
This was a tradition branded into the depths of Locke's soul. It was just that, under normal circumstances, it wasn't needed because Locke usually settled his scores on the spot.
Gwen frowned. "So you're just going to let them slander you like that?"
That was too easy on those unscrupulous media outlets.
Locke smiled and looked at Gwen. "You forgot, I have a legal team."
Gwen's eyes lit up. "Oh right, the legal team. Wait, didn't you say you weren't getting involved?"
Locke laughed. "I'm not getting involved, but that doesn't mean my legal team won't. Don't worry, Lawyer Laun will remind those media outlets that I am the man who defeated the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Department of Homeland Security!"
And he was the one living the most comfortably to date.
Tsk tsk.
Locke felt that this achievement alone was enough to be recorded in history forever.
Hearing Locke say this, Gwen was relieved. "With Lawyer Laun and the others helping, that's good. It won't cause too much of a mess."
Since he planned to take the D.C. route, he had to be careful from the start to avoid giving future political opponents any loopholes to attack fiercely.
Gwen thought this in her heart.
However... on the way driving Gwen home, she rolled her beautiful eyes and then looked at Locke with some curiosity. "Locke, you seem to have never mentioned your parents' names."
Locke smiled. "Is that so? My surname is my mother's. Her name was Lorraine."
"Lorraine?"
"Yes."
"That's a very pretty name. She must have been very beautiful."
"Perhaps."
Locke smiled. He only knew the name and hadn't even bothered to look up her records. Not wanting to talk about it would mean he still cared, so Locke was indifferent about saying her name...
Chapter 256: How About I Change My Surname?
Moreover... this isn't classified information. His birth records are available in Texas. Any moderately capable organization could find them easily if they wanted to check.
As for why S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't find them back then?
They weren't capable enough.
Actually, Locke had also been curious about this mother who only existed on paper for him. After improving his hacking skills, he tried to look up information and learn about her.
But... Locke immediately dismissed the idea.
There was no need. Even if he found the information, what then? Was he going to seek recognition from her?
Don't be ridiculous.
Locke made it through the hardest five years of his development on his own. Although the process was tough, he was doing fine by himself.
He wasn't planning on finding himself a burden or stirring up trouble.
So, Locke only knew her name. He didn't want to know anything else, nor was he interested in knowing.
It was still the same sentiment.
If the court hadn't refused his name change back then, he would have changed it ages ago.
"Oh, right!"
Locke seemed to have thought of something and looked at Gwen: "How about this: after we get married, you don't change your surname—I will!"
Gwen opened her mouth: "What?"
Locke said, "I also think the Broughton surname isn't great. The Stacy surname sounds like it Carries great fortune. How about I change my surname? Also, if I do that, George should feel like he's won, right?"
Don't look at the U.S. feminists; for them, activism is a business. While they advocate, it doesn't stop them from getting married and then changing their surname to their husband's after marriage.
Those activists in China are absolute idiots!
Moreover.
This is a great idea.
If George found out, he'd probably be so happy he'd have a sudden stroke. After all, a woman marries without changing her surname, and the husband changes his—what is that called? If that's not winning, what is?
Perfect, now I don't have to figure out how to lose to George.
"Goodbye."
Gwen smiled helplessly, shook her head, and immediately dropped the subject, kissing Locke: "Good night, Locke, see you tomorrow."
"Good night."
Locke watched Gwen walk into the apartment, then smiled.
A scumbag?
Me?
How could that be?
Although Locke didn't understand why Mavis's mother made that prediction, the prediction was undoubtedly about the Locke who hadn't transmigrated.
It was still the same sentiment.
Locke couldn't think of a reason for himself to break up with Gwen, or a reason to become a scumbag.
Flirting is something every normal man does.
Locke is a normal man, and at the same time, a very serious person. He acts openly and honestly, speaks truthfully, and never hides anything.
What?
Peerless Assassin?
The Peerless Assassin's business belongs to the Peerless Assassin, and has nothing to do with Locke Broughton.
Unlike that Nameless guy from the CIA, who shows his face but keeps his personal information completely hidden.
Locke couldn't help but complain about the Nameless guy from the CIA. Actually, he went back that night and started searching for Nameless's information.
As a result, he found twelve sets of data, but without exception, all the information was counterfeit.
This was quite astonishing.
Locke seriously suspected that Nameless's true information had completely disappeared from the internet. Perhaps the original identity information was only archived in Langley's physical records.
"Beep beep!"
After Locke parked his vehicle in his underground garage and opened the door, he was about to walk towards the elevator that connects the garage directly to the apartment, when his peripheral vision caught something: "Hmm."
He stepped back a few paces.
Locke's gaze fell upon an unfamiliar BMW car he had never seen before.
It was black.
Four-seater.
Locke took out his phone, snapped a photo, and looked at it: "Maybe I should consider this car?"
After all, the audi's safety rating was already famous throughout New York City. Maybe it was time to consider a new car for the Peerless Assassin.
Locke thought to himself, walking toward the elevator lobby while searching online for the car's price.
Just then.
*Ding.*
A beautiful woman walked out of the elevator lobby. She saw Locke appear and nodded to him with a smile.
Locke was also polite.
After stepping into the elevator, he heard the sound of the car starting up over there.
After a while.
Locke stepped out of the elevator, his sixth sense activated, and his nose twitched. He stood still, deep in thought for a moment.
That woman just now had come to his floor.
Although the scent was faint, it didn't escape Locke's nose.
*Ding!*
The door unlocked successfully.
Locke walked in, the corner of his mouth slightly raised. After activating the smart housekeeper, he watched the living Room gradually light up, and then his gaze scanned the Room like a precise radar.
Hmm.
Two listening devices were stuck under the sofa.
One was placed under the flower vase on the bar counter.
Besides the listening devices.
There was also... Locke took off his jacket and walked over to the bar counter, noticing a stack of coverless documents that hadn't been there before.
He picked them up.
He sniffed them.
Yep, it was the scent of that unfamiliar woman.
He opened them.
The very first thing was a photograph.
She had delicate features, sharp contours, and looked cold, glamorous, and noble.
Only.
Locke shook his head, looking at the silver hair of the beauty in the photo, and smacked his lips: "Silver hair isn't great. I prefer blonde."
Blonde hair, anything golden, looks valuable and high-class.
Silver hair?
It's okay, but Locke prefers the silver hair draped over Carrie's shoulders when she's in casual clothes. This one, with waves in the silver hair—small waves are acceptable.
But these big, sweeping waves don't really hit the spot for Locke.
Next page.
Locke flipped the page, raised an eyebrow, and *whoosh*—he immediately closed it again, then *smack*, he threw it backward without looking.
There was no sound of the documents hitting the ground.
A fair arm steadily caught the flying documents. Then, a cold female voice spoke: "Why didn't you keep reading?"
Locke lowered his head and chuckled.
He was going to move!
Damn it!
Why did he spend a fortune buying an apartment in Starlight Tower? Wasn't it for the safety factor? Yet, here we are—it feels like anyone can get in?
Locke pulled a voice recorder from his pocket and placed it on the bar counter.
He pressed it.
Only then did Locke turn around, looking at the woman who was just as stunning as the stranger before: flawless white skin, silver hair draped over her shoulders, and a tall figure: "Excuse me, are you..."
"Sharapova, Yurina Sharapova!"
"Russian."
Locke nodded, sat down on the sofa under the woman's gaze, and then looked thoughtfully at the woman named Sharapova: "Sorry, I'm not twenty-one yet. I don't keep alcohol at home."
His alcohol was only for friends.
This one in front of him?
Felt like she meant trouble.
The woman smiled slightly, looked at Locke, and countered, "You don't seem surprised at all that we managed to enter your Room."
Locke shrugged: "The Federal Bureau of Investigation has been in this apartment, the Department of Homeland Security has been in, and even assassins can get in. Why shouldn't you be able to?"
Damn it!
Starting tomorrow, I'm activating the bomb at the door whenever I leave. Whoever dares to enter will face the consequences.
Changing apartments is impossible.
If he switched to a detached house, the loopholes would be even greater. At least Starlight Towerensures that non-professional personnel can't enter his dwelling.
As for these Agents and assassins?
Locke felt he couldn't have too high expectations for Starlight Tower's security personnel. If they could stop Agents, why would they be working as security here?
"Speak."
Locke yawned, checked the time on his wristwatch, and looked up at the woman: "Late at night, a KGBAgent shows up at my house. You're not just here to deliver documents, are you?"
"You are one of us."
"Ha!"
Locke blinked, couldn't help but laugh, and looked at Sharapova as if he hadn't quite heard her: "Excuse me, what did you say?"
Who am I?
KGB?
How come I don't know that?
Locke was confused!
"Your mother was our Agent."
"And then?"
"You are too."
Sharapova looked at Locke sitting on the sofa: "It's time to come home."
Locke's mouth curved upward: "I'm from Texas!"
A citizen of the Lone Star Republic!
Moreover.
And the leading bull of the younger generation in the Lone Star Republic!
"Aren't you curious about your mother?"
"Not curious."
"…"
Locke chuckled and shook his head: "Who she is or what she does has nothing to do with me. I don't know why you're looking for me, but, sorry, I have absolutely no interest in this."
Having said that.
Locke walked directly towards the door.
Just then.
A powerful gust of wind came from behind. Sharapova's firm thigh shot out directly towards Locke, who had his back to her, seemingly intending to forcibly take him down and carry him away.
But!
"Bang!"
"Thud!"
A golden flash streaked past. *Click.* The golden dancer instantly appeared in Locke's hand. Then, Locke turned and silently fired a shot, piercing Sharapova's delicate forehead. *Boom.* She immediately dropped to the floor.
"Damn it!"
Locke shook his head, put away the golden dancer, and looked at Sharapova on the floor, her eyes wide open, seemingly wondering why she was already making her exit after barely speaking a few words. He then waved his right hand, storing the still-warm corpse in his storage compartment. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed.
He had just finished chatting with Gwen about his biological mother, that figure who only existed on paper, and immediately afterward, Goodfellas, she jumped straight from paper into reality.
I didn't activate the Protagonist of Destiny title.
Recently.
Locke thought this, feeling utterly speechless. He walked over to the bar counter, put away the Room's signal jammer, picked up the documents that had fallen to the ground, sighed again, and then dialed 911...
Chapter 257: Not Playing by the Rules
What?
Can't call the Police?
Why can't I call the Police? Finding the Police when you're in trouble is a universal rule.
Moreover, in the Federation, it's even more so, especially for someone like Locke—a wealthy taxpayer who pays his taxes on time, and not in small amounts either. He's a very qualified taxpayer who should enjoy the highest level of protection.
If someone installs a bug in your home and you don't call the Police, then what is the point of the NYPD's existence? Not to mention, for someone like chief inspector George Stacy, what is the point of his existence?
After all, taxpayers pay George's salary, and it's not so he can do nothing all day but chase after the Peerless Assassin for fun.
Thinking about it this way, Locke felt even more uncomfortable.
Twice in a row, George's promotions were basically because Locke practically handed the credit to him on a silver platter.
And how did George repay him?
From a certain perspective, George was taking the salary paid by his taxes and then trying to arrest him?
Speechless!
Locke thought so in his heart; therefore, it was time to find some proper work for George to do. He shouldn't spend all day thinking about catching him; dreaming occasionally was fine, but dreaming every day wasn't healthy.
Soon.
It was almost exactly three minutes after Locke hung up the phone and reported the case.
Two Police Officers who happened to be patrolling Fifth Avenue at night arrived at the scene.
Locke held the anti-eavesdropping device in his hand and said, "The device tells me that someone has bugged my home again, so I called the Police directly."
The two officers looked at each other: "Again?"
Locke nodded: "Yes. Last year, people from the Department of Homeland Security installed a bug in my home without any court warrant, and then I sued them."
The two officers looked at Locke, who was wearing a suit and had messy blonde hair. They seemed to recall something, grabbed the walkie-talkies on their shoulders, and began calling in.
"What?"
George, who was finishing dinner at home and drinking his whiskey, spat it out with a spray. Under the gaze of Gwen and Helen, who were tidying up the dining room, he coughed repeatedly and said in disbelief, "What? Bugged again? Did you find it?"
After a while.
George said, "I'll be right there," and then put down the phone and his glass.
Helen and Gwen looked at each other in the kitchen.
Gwen was curious: "Dad, you're already a chief inspector. I think you should learn to let go. We support you in catching the Peerless Assassin, but for a bugging case like this, why do you..."
George put on his jacket and looked at Gwen, who seemed to be trying to persuade him, speaking flatly: "Your boyfriend called the Police, saying his home was bugged again."
Gwen was instantly speechless, then blinked: "What, Locke?"
George squeezed out a smile: "But since my daughter cares so much about me, I won't go. Anyway, it's not the Peerless Assassin, I can't just go for every case..."
Before George could finish, Gwen had already swapped her shoes with a whoosh, grabbed George's car keys, opened the door, and said anxiously, "Dad, hurry up."
George opened his mouth. Didn't she just say that a small bugging case like this didn't require a chief inspector to show up?
What happened?
Helen looked at George's expression and shook her head speechlessly. It had been so long, and clearly, George still didn't have a clear understanding of his current standing in his precious daughter's heart.
Seeing George standing still, Gwen looked anxious, walked over, and pulled George—who hadn't even changed his shoes yet—out the door: "Let's go, Dad, there's no time."
George was dazed; he finally realized that his once sweet, caring daughter had completely turned into a leaky, black-hearted one.
By the time George snapped out of it, he was watching Gwen drive with a twitching mouth and couldn't help saying, "Slow down. The officers are already there; he's not going to die."
Gwen turned her head and glared at George.
George was terrified and pointed at the road ahead: "Slow down, slow down, watch the road!"
Gwen snapped back to reality, saw she was almost tailgating the car in front, swerved the steering wheel into the left lane, and then let out a sigh of relief.
George didn't want to talk anymore; at the same time, he felt dazed, as if things were a bit surreal.
Who was targeting that wild boar again?
By the way... was that wild boar really that much of a troublemaker? Why was he the only one getting bugged all day? Who was he? Aside from being handsome, rich, and knowledgeable, what right did he have to be bugged?
Could it be the Department of Homeland Security again?
George paused, took out his phone, and dialed the number of the so-called Agent-in-Charge of the Department of Homeland Security, Commander Victoria Hand.
Then.
Commander Victoria Hand was also a bit dazed after hearing George's reason for calling.
What the hell?
"Locke Broughton was bugged again?"
Victoria Hand frowned: "To my knowledge, there are no surveillance operations. For any surveillance, we have warrants from the federal court."
George asked suspiciously: "Really? If not you, then who? Langley?"
Wait.
Langley?
George suddenly thought of Mr. Nameless, who seemed to have an interest in Locke. Speaking of which, could this bugging operation be Langley starting an investigation into Locke?
But... before the operation could even start, Locke had already flipped the table.
How does this count?
Ms. Victoria Hand shook her head: "That, I'm not sure about. However, if possible, can the Department of Homeland Security go over to take a look?"
"No!"
George snapped back: "I won't misunderstand you, but I'm afraid Locke will probably think it's you again. If the Department of Homeland Security gets sued in court again, I think even if you don't admit it, the jury will think it's you. You have a record."
Ms. Victoria Hand: "..."
Starlight Tower.
Locke sat at the bar, drinking vodka from his glass that was disguised as cold water.
This wasn't to set the mood.
It was because vodka looked like water. If bourbon were also transparent, Locke would definitely have drunk bourbon instead.
A dozen Police Officers were in his home, sweeping with scanners like they were clearing mines, searching for bugs in the house.
Presumably... the KGB is panicking right now.
Locke thought to himself.
He wasn't a novice; his home had been bugged once before, so having specialized anti-eavesdropping equipment was perfectly reasonable, and the purchase date matched up.
If the KGB thought that even if he discovered the bugs, he wouldn't call the Police, then clearly, the KGBhad overthought him.
Locke's way of doing things was always simple and blunt.
Regardless of whether this mother of his was really a KGB Agent, even if she was, did that have anything to do with him?
Locke wasn't a KGB Agent. He had a clear conscience, and besides, he was a seventeen-year-old kid; if he saw a bug and didn't think of calling the Police, what would he be thinking of?
A counter-kill?
Don't be ridiculous.
So, Locke called the Police without any psychological pressure.
Just then.
Gwen walked in from outside, gave a shout, and then hurried toward Locke at the bar, hugging him: "Are you okay?"
Locke held his vodka, glanced at George who also walked in from outside, smiled and nodded, then said to the nervous Gwen, "I'm fine. After I got home, I turned on the detector and found something was wrong, so I called the Police immediately."
Gwen looked worried: "The security at Starlight Tower is really something. It feels like they're completely useless."
Locke's mouth twitched.
He felt the same way, but the person who broke into his home was at least Diamond tier, while the security at Starlight Tower was Gold at best.
Thinking from their perspective, Locke felt relieved.
It wasn't the fault of Starlight Tower's security. Whether it was S.H.I.E.L.D., the Assassin Alliance, or this time, the KGB, these three were all way beyond the level of the building's security; there was no comparison.
"George."
"Beckett?"
George, who was about to walk over and ask about the situation, suddenly heard someone call him. He looked over and saw Beckett coming down the spiral staircase from the second floor. He frowned: "Are you on duty?"
Beckett said, "I just happened to be downstairs looking for a writer who stole my evidence to take him back for 'coffee,' so I came up to see what was going on."
In a case she had been investigating lately, a crime novelist might be involved. When she invited him to help with the investigation, he actually took her evidence. That's a crime, so Beckett went straight to Starlight Tower, planning to invite that crime novelist, Richard Castle, back for coffee.
"Here."
Beckett walked over and handed an evidence bag to George: "Spy-grade. Ordinary detectors wouldn't be able to find it at all."
To be precise.
Ordinary, cheap detectors couldn't find it.
Fortunately.
Locke had bought the most expensive one at the time, and it was made by Stark Security Industries. Stark products are always top-notch. The salesperson back then even used the CIA's latest bugging equipment for the demonstration, and it was completely exposed before this detector!
George took the evidence bag, looked at the spy-grade bug inside, nodded, and then looked at Locke with a sense of wonder: "What trouble have you gotten into again?"
"Dad!"
Gwen was immediately unhappy: "How could it be Locke causing trouble? Someone must be trying to frame him. It's definitely the Federal Bureau of Investigation. They must still be holding a grudge, waiting for the heat to die down to give Locke a hard time. If Locke were an ordinary person, they probably would have thrown him into Guantanamo Bay by now; that's how they do things."
FBI Senior Executive Colin, appearing at the door: "..."
Chapter 258: Red Sparrow Agent
Federal Senior Executive Colin, who had reached the peak of his career with a promotion and a raise after cracking the terrorism case involving Nina Bell's family and their close ties to Al-Qaeda, had just stepped out of the elevator and nearly stumbled upon hearing Gwen's words.
What do you mean, "it must be us"?
What did we do?
Colin blinked, walked in, and said with a bitter smile, "Ms. Stacy, I assure you, the Federal Bureau of Investigation has absolutely no illegal wiretapping programs."
Gwen blinked as she looked at the FBI Agent who had arrived right on cue.
George, meanwhile, held back a laugh and shook hands with Colin as he approached.
The Federal Bureau of Investigation has no illegal wiretapping programs?
Those words... anyone who believes them is naive.
However, if it hasn't been exposed, it naturally isn't called illegal wiretapping. From a certain perspective, what he said wasn't actually wrong.
"And besides."
Colin added, "Guantanamo Bay detention camp belongs to the CIA."
Ninety percent of the prisoners in Guantanamo were caught by the CIA; the Federal Bureau of Investigation mostly just talks about it.
Furthermore,
What do you mean by us being petty?
Of course,
For ordinary people, if someone dared to sue the Federal Bureau of Investigation and actually won...
Put it this way.
Such a person couldn't possibly be ordinary, because truly ordinary people would never even get the chance to sue the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Is Locke an ordinary person?
Not to mention this is New York City, and his girlfriend's father is a true local power—a chief inspectorof the NYPD. The Federal Bureau of Investigation is at most an outsider in New York. Unless they were out of their minds, why would they risk offending a local power they had just managed to repair relations with?
Moreover, Locke has a legal team behind him.
Unless there was rock-solid evidence, the Federal Bureau of Investigation wouldn't dream of touching an "ordinary person" like him.
Besides, they didn't even pay the money for that settlement.
S.H.I.E.L.D. caused the mess, the Federal Bureau of Investigation helped clean it up and even lost a judicial assistant in the process; S.H.I.E.L.D. would eventually have to provide an explanation.
Colin then looked at George: "If there's anything the Federal Bureau of Investigation can do, just say the word. Illegally wiretapping a citizen is a federal crime."
Locke watched Colin thoughtfully as he approached. Was he here to explain himself out of fear that Locke would file another lawsuit and drag the Federal Bureau of Investigation back to court?
Hearing Colin's words and seeing that his expression didn't seem fake, Gwen said, "If it's not the Federal Bureau of Investigation, then it must be the Department of Homeland Security. They also have..."
Just then.
Ms. Victoria Hand, accompanied by Mockingbird Barbara Morse, also stepped out of the elevator. Hearing Gwen's words, she interrupted directly: "This isn't the work of our Department of Homeland Security either."
Gwen fell silent and blinked.
What's going on?
The NYPD, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and the Department of Homeland Security are all here.
Locke also looked at the approaching Victoria Hand with some curiosity, raised an eyebrow, and then understood.
Most people might think the 911 dispatch center actually belongs to the NYPD.
But... in fact, the 911 dispatch center's superior is the Department of Homeland Security.
After the 9/11 attacks in New York, the newly established Department of Homeland Security was formed to prevent such events from happening again. The Department of Homeland Security wasn't a brand-new department but was cobbled together from various existing agencies.
So, since they operated under the Department of Homeland Security banner, it was normal for them to know about the situation here after learning about his emergency call.
Ms. Hand looked at the evidence bag in George's hand and reached out. "chief inspector Stacy, may I see it?"
George handed over the evidence bag.
Ms. Hand said thank you, took the evidence bag, glanced at it, and then handed it to Barbara Morse, Mockingbird, beside her.
Mockingbird examined the listening devices in the evidence bag. After a moment, she picked out one of them and applied pressure with two fingers.
With a snap...
The pressed device instantly shattered.
Barbara took out her phone, snapped a photo of the exposed chip serial number, and after a moment, looked up. "Confirmed. It's from the batch we lost."
Locke raised an eyebrow.
Gwen heard this: "Lost?"
Ms. Hand explained, "Five days ago, a factory in New Jersey belonging to Hammer Industries lost a batch of listening devices that were ready for shipment."
George frowned. "I haven't heard anything about this from Jersey City."
He had good relationships with nearby police chiefs. He couldn't say he knew every chief in New YorkState, but he was more or less in contact with most chiefs across the country.
Just like when they went hunting last time.
When chiefs from other places came to New York, they would drop by the NYPD to get acquainted. This way, at the very least, they wouldn't receive any traffic tickets in the local area.
Colin from the Federal Bureau of Investigation also frowned. "I haven't heard about this either."
Hammer Industries is a signatory to the Patriot Protection Agreement. Within the framework of the Patriot Protection Agreement, any case can be considered a federal case.
And for federal cases, the Federal Bureau of Investigation has primary jurisdiction.
Ms. Hand smiled and looked at Colin. "You don't know because that shipment was for us."
Colin understood.
So that's why S.H.I.E.L.D. came here.
S.H.I.E.L.D. said they were exposed, but in fact, they weren't really. After all, what was exposed in court was only the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division and its Director, Nick Fury.
However, S.H.I.E.L.D. had already changed its name to S.H.I.E.L.D., and that long, clunky name was given to the Department of Homeland Security. They even turned misfortune into a blessing; under the maneuvering of Federal Councilor Alexander Pierce, they successfully obtained identities that allowed S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents to use the Department of Homeland Security name.
So, that deal wasn't actually a loss.
Nick Fury is already dead. For months, S.H.I.E.L.D. hasn't thought about revenge or anything, so naturally, they wouldn't inexplicably come and wiretap Locke at a time like this.
But while S.H.I.E.L.D. knew they wouldn't, Locke didn't.
Locke definitely knew of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s existence.
If they didn't come to clear things up, and the NYPD investigated and traced it back to Hammer Industries' warehouse and then to the order for the listening devices—good grief, who knows if Lockewould, in a fit of rage, drag S.H.I.E.L.D. to court and trigger another exposure crisis?
After all, Locke had a prior record.
That's why Ms. Victoria Hand came over with Mockingbird Barbara Morse.
Locke looked at Ms. Hand, who was looking at him openly after saying that, and understood the subtext of her words.
"It wasn't us, I swear."
Locke rolled his eyes internally. He obviously knew who did it, but why were they so nervous?
Am I that terrifying?
Please, although I often say S.H.I.E.L.D. is pathetic, I just want you to do better. What are you doing? Giving up on yourselves?
I'm only seventeen, a cute age. Why are you afraid of me? At most, I'm just a bit rich and have Wall Street's top legal team backing me.
Is it necessary to be this scared of me? I haven't even done anything yet, and you've come running over to explain yourselves?
Does S.H.I.E.L.D. have any dignity left?
Wait, no.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s dignity had already been slapped away by him.
Locke raised an eyebrow and smiled wordlessly to himself.
He originally just wanted to call the police to have someone prove he was home alone and that there were no KGB Swallows waiting for him in his Room.
As a result... the NYPD.
The Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Known as the Department of Homeland Security, but actually S.H.I.E.L.D.
Good grief.
Locke felt that even if the President's residence were wiretapped, such a luxurious lineup probably wouldn't show up.
Definitely not.
Locke understood, and George naturally understood as well.
It's just... George wanted to complain about Colin and Victoria Hand, but after thinking about it, he chose to change the subject and looked at Victoria Hand. "I want..."
Ms. Victoria Hand looked directly at George and said as soon as he opened his mouth, "I've already had people rush to organize the files for that case. Agent Barbara Morse will bring them to the NYPDtomorrow morning. If there's anywhere the Department of Homeland Security can help, just say the word."
Colin added from the side, "The same goes for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The Director said that if necessary, we can have the Behavioral Analysis Unit from Quantico come to support."
George fell silent, looking at Locke with an unreadable expression.
Since when did this Wild Boar become so intimidating?
It's just a listening device, for goodness' sake. The Federal Bureau of Investigation and Department of Homeland Security are rushing to help this Wild Boar solve the case?
George pondered that even if he found a bug in his own home, he might be able to get the Federal Bureau of Investigation and Department of Homeland Security to help, but it certainly wouldn't be free.
But this Wild Boar?
Am I dreaming?
George thought to himself.
In fact, it wasn't just George who felt like he was dreaming. In a hotel at the end of Fifth Avenue, a man and a woman were listening to the transmission from the one remaining listening device that hadn't been removed yet. Hearing the statements from the three major heads of the NYPD, Federal Bureau of Investigation, and Department of Homeland Security, they couldn't help but look at each other in bewilderment.
Yegorova frowned and looked at the man wearing glasses beside her, who was also her uncle in name. "Did we... kick a hornet's nest?"
"No."
The man in the suit and glasses took off his glasses, wiped them, blew on them, and said with narrowed eyes, "This proves we've found the right person. Lorraine Broughton really isn't dead!"
Dominika Yegorova: "..."
259. KGB's Brain
"What?"
"If it was just the NYPD, that wouldn't mean anything, but with the FBI and Homeland Security involved, it's enough to confirm our suspicions!"
"That Lorraine Broughton?"
"Yes."
Vanya Yegorov, Deputy Director of the KGB's US Intelligence Bureau, put his glasses back on and looked at his niece, Dominika Egorova, who he had brought into the organization after her dance career was ruined.
"No one can betray us, Dominika, no one. No matter how well she hides, we will find her and judge her!"
Lorraine Broughton was the KGB's unresolved regret.
If it hadn't been for Lorraine Broughton, the KGB could have successfully obtained that list of spies, thereby hindering the reunification of East and West Germany. Perhaps, the outcome would have been different.
But... they thought Lorraine Broughton was their person, but they never expected that the KGB, who thought they had turned Lorraine Broughton of MI6, suddenly discovered that Lorraine Broughton wasn't from MI6 at all, but from the damn CIA!
Lorraine Broughton was playing three sides, like a chain of boats, and she thoroughly played both the KGB and MI6.
This made the KGB feel their faces burning red.
Although sixteen years had passed, perhaps MI6 had already forgotten about this matter. After all, London could recognize a son as a father, so forgetting was normal.
But the KGB had not forgotten this matter.
Especially last year, they turned a CIA agent and learned something from that CIA agent: it seemed that Lorraine Broughton was not dead.
Instantly, this unresolved matter surfaced, and then, finding this spy who swore allegiance to the great KGB and then shamelessly betrayed them, capturing her, and then judging her, became a matter of course.
They initially thought this search would be very difficult.
But... as soon as they landed in the Federation, they heard several girls at the airport discussing Locke Broughton's photo album. Then, they went to Texas, spent some effort, and found Locke Broughton's birth records.
Subsequently.
They even followed the clues to find Locke Broughton's family fund, and then, they safely arrived in New York City.
And everything that happened tonight further confirmed their suspicions.
"Lorraine Broughton is still alive."
Vanya Yegorov said in a deep voice, "She has even been secretly watching her son. Catching this Locke Broughton will allow us to expose the traitor who dealt us a painful blow."
And he, too, could use this incident to return and serve as the Deputy Director of the General Directorate!
Dominika Egorova, who resembled the great actress, frowned and asked, "But what about Yurina?"
According to the plan, she and Yurina were supposed to wait for Locke to come home in the apartment and then take him away directly. But she came this time under the guise of the Moscow Ballet performing at Broadway in New York. At that time, people from the Broadway theater happened to arrive, and to avoid exposure, she came down early.
But... Yurina Sharapova had not returned.
Vanya said in a deep voice, "She should have been killed by Homeland Security."
"What?"
"This further confirms it."
"..."
Vanya Yegorov got up from his chair, autonomously cut off the signal transmission of the wiretap, his sharp eyes flickering, his mind storming: "Locke Broughton must have those federal lackeys watching him. Even Locke Broughton must be aware of his mother, which explains why he has such keen anti-reconnaissance abilities, and why the FBI and Homeland Security arrived at lightning speed after he called the police."
Dominika Egorova sat on the bed listening to these words, always feeling that something was off, but she couldn't quite pinpoint what it was for a while.
But... she felt that things shouldn't be as they were described.
Since Lorraine Broughton was a CIA agent, shouldn't the task of protecting Locke Broughton also be a CIA mission?
After all, even in Moscow, she had heard that the CIA and the FBI were always at odds. So, why were the FBI agents so concerned about the son of a CIA agent?
Was it because he was too handsome?
Dominika Egorova thought of Locke, who she had met in the elevator and who was incredibly handsome, and this thought couldn't help but cross her mind.
But.
Vanya Yegorov did not give Dominika Egorova time to think, but instead grabbed his coat and said, "I need to inform Lubyanka that Lorraine Broughton is still alive. Proceed with Plan B."
Plan A was, of course, to go straight to the heart of the matter, capture Locke, and then take him back to Lubyanka to threaten the traitor Lorraine Broughton into returning herself.
But Plan A had clearly failed.
Locke was protected by federal stooges, so only Plan B could be activated.
Moreover, because Plan B required preparation, it had already been activated as a precaution.
As for what Plan B was?
This weekend, there was a performance by the Moscow Opera at Broadway, and Plan B was to ensure Locke appeared at that theater, then kidnap him and transport him away.
This style of action was very KGB.
Careful, yet with an undisguised crudeness!
Dominika Egorova came back to her senses, nodded, and just as she was about to speak, with a bang, Vanya Yegorov had already left the room.
One matter could be reported all at once, but similarly, it could also be reported in several stages. This way, even if you only did one thing, from the report, it would look like you did many things.
Dominika Egorova looked at the closed door, her eyes also flickering, wondering what she was thinking.
The next day.
Locke showered and went downstairs.
Helen, who had already prepared a sumptuous breakfast as usual, looked at Locke coming downstairs and smiled, "Good morning, Locke. Did you sleep well? No nightmares, I hope."
Locke shook his head, "No, very well."
Yesterday, after the NYPD had left, he had originally intended to find the bug he had deliberately put away and then follow the clues to uncover this inexplicable KGB agent.
However, Gwen wouldn't allow Locke to stay home alone. If Locke wanted to stay in the Star Tower, she would stay too. As Gwen put it, the security at the Star Tower was not as good as the automatic access control downstairs in their apartment building.
Locke was quite willing for Gwen to stay overnight at the Star Tower, but George's gaze made Locke choose to return to Gwen's apartment with her.
Frankly, Locke didn't understand why George, who clearly knew that he, this wild boar, had rooted up his prize cabbage, would still glare at him every time.
Was this an old father's last stubbornness?
Locke tried to put himself in George's shoes, but he just drew a blank, because if it were him, he would just shoot the guy who rooted up his cabbage without saying a word.
Helen's cooking was always delicious.
After Locke and Gwen finished breakfast, George, maintaining his stern fatherly demeanor, finally looked at Locke: "Don't go anywhere else after school these next few days."
Although George couldn't think of anyone else besides the FBI and Homeland Security who would be bored enough to bug Locke, since something had happened, he could only think more about it.
It wasn't a big deal if this wild boar got into trouble, but if his prize cabbage was also nearby when trouble struck, that would be too bad.
"Oh, right."
As George spoke, he seemed to remember something. He got up, stopped Locke and Gwen, who were about to leave, and hurried up the stairs. After a while, he came back with a Glock 19 and a fully loaded magazine. He separated them, clicked them together to ensure safety, and handed them to Locke: "Keep this on you."
Gwen was stunned: "Dad, we're going to school."
Had he gone mad?
Taking a gun to school? What if it got lost and some bad students picked it up? Whose fault would that be? Although the chance was very low, what if?
George said, "Leave it in the car. I'm confident about Midtown High's security. I'm worried about your way back."
Midtown High's school security couldn't be said to be the best, but it was certainly comparable to Trinity High. Chasing and roughhousing were definitely common, but a shooting was impossible.
Gwen looked at George's face, nodded, and said nothing more.
Locke, after taking it, weighed it, then performed a dazzling series of operations, catching the ejected bullets. After confirming it could fire, he looked at George: "I won't let Gwen get hurt."
His woman, he couldn't protect her enough.
Anyone who dared to harm a single hair on Gwen's head, Locke would make sure their entire clan went to heaven.
George nodded and said nothing more.
Soon.
On the way to school, Gwen looked at the Glock 19 that had just been placed in the compartment in front of them, frowning slightly: "Thinking about it, is it possible that it's from Trinity, trying to find some scandal about you to force you to withdraw from the New York State Student Council competition platform's formation?"
Politicians' hearts are dirty.
And Wall Street's hands are black.
So, Trinity, which houses the descendants of politicians and Wall Street, must have black hands and dirty hearts. Don't let their usual glamorous appearance and various celebrities fool you; their hidden filth and black hands are dirtier than anyone else's.
Locke chuckled at Gwen's words, looked at her, and comforted her, "Don't worry, it's not a big deal."
Gwen retorted, "Last time, your house was bugged, and you were almost framed as an accomplice of the Peerless Assassin. What about this time? How about we take a few days off?"
Locke: "..."
260. Simple and crude KGB
Gwen was still a little worried.
Moreover, everything that needed to be done this semester was finished. According to her plan, Gwen had intended to graduate early in June next year. Thanks to that knowledge comprehensive competition, several prestigious universities, which had been reserved, finally lowered their stance and approached Helen to express their sincerity.
However, due to the launch of the student council's competition platform, Gwen temporarily put aside this idea and decided to stay by Locke's side to consolidate the platform.
No big deal, after going to university, she could always transfer to a few more.
For a prodigy, a university was not a goddess.
So... Gwen said with a serious and earnest face, "Why don't we just move into the New York Police Department until this matter is over? Once Dad catches the person who bugged you, we can come out."
You might as well tell us to move into prison.
Locke thought to himself, and then began to wonder if he had been a bit too hasty in calling the police.
When he called the police, why didn't he consider Gwen's potential reaction?
This was not good.
Locke reflected on himself for a moment, then said to Gwen, "It's not that exaggerated. Eavesdropping is a low-level tactic, and I've already called the police. Whoever it is, they must be worried about being exposed now. How could they possibly come out at this time?"
"...Really?"
"I think so."
Locke comforted Gwen, who was worried about him, and said with a smile, "Don't worry, even the sharks in the sea couldn't eat me, and a few vampires couldn't finish me off. There's nothing to worry about from a bug that only dares to hide in the dark and listen."
When the Poseidon was shipwrecked, that big shark, which broke the rules of martial arts and ambushed Locke, had its fins cut off by Locke and was made into sashimi.
The few vampires encountered in Lake Kali undoubtedly died instantly upon exposure to light.
Gwen thought of these two incidents, following Locke's words, and the worry on her face eased a little. She nodded, but still looked at Locke with some unease: "Alright then, let's be careful these next few days and try not to go out."
Locke hummed in agreement. Although he knew what he was facing, Gwen didn't, and his heart felt warm.
That's it.
Unless Locke's brain was kicked by a donkey, he couldn't imagine how he could become someone else's husband.
Wasn't Gwen, so understanding, gentle, virtuous, beautiful, and generous, not appealing?
Locke thought to himself.
Arriving at school.
In the rest corridor.
"Huh?"
Gwen opened her locker and saw a package fall out of it. She blinked, "What's this?"
Locke, who was about to open his own locker nearby, looked over at Gwen's puzzled voice.
Gwen picked up the package from the floor and examined it: "It's mine, but how did it get sent to the school?"
Matt, who had just arrived nearby with his cousin Andrew, was also looking at the package in his hand. He happened to hear Gwen's words, walked over, and shook his package: "I have one too."
Locke looked up, then opened his locker. With a thud, a package of the same design fell out, but Locke caught it in his hand.
Midtown High School, Locke Broughton. Received.
Good heavens.
When did the federal courier service develop to the point where it could deliver so precisely into a locker?
Are you kidding me?
Locke raised an eyebrow, and with a ripping sound, he tore open the package and took out a ticket.
"What's this?"
Locke raised an eyebrow, looking at the ticket he had taken out, and his expression changed: "Broadway Moscow Swan Musical?"
Seeing Locke open his, Gwen also opened hers, looked up at Locke, and said, "Mine too."
Matt also held up the ticket he had just taken out: "Same."
Just then.
Mrs. Cord walked over from not far away, looked at the three of them gathered together, and the tickets in their hands, and smiled, "Looks like you've all received them."
Gwen looked at Mrs. Cord, who was walking over, and asked curiously, "Mrs. Cord, this is..."
"I just received them yesterday. I meant to give them to you earlier, but I had something to do today, so I just put them directly into your lockers. This is another reward from the school board."
"...Is that all?"
"Yes."
For the school board, completing the grand slam of the knowledge competition platform required a reward. But similarly, Locke, who successfully took office, also needed a reward because, after taking office, he promptly pulled back the reins that were heading irreversibly towards democracy and then promptly turned back to the embrace of the republic.
Mrs. Cord had told them last time that the school board members were still deliberating on what to reward. After all, they couldn't always just throw money at them. It was an elite high school, and throwing money once was fine, but constantly doing so without thought didn't reflect the image of an elite high school at all.
"Cindy and Kahn have them too."
Mrs. Cord said, then smiled at Gwen, "Learning is important, but our lives shouldn't be all about studying. There should also be art. This musical is very good, and it's this weekend. The five of you can go and see it. I went last week, and it's very much worth appreciating."
Gwen smiled and said, "Thank you, Mrs. Cord."
Mrs. Cord waved her hand: "These were sent by a Moscow businessman who has a cooperative relationship with one of the school board members. It's not my credit. Alright, I'm leaving."
After speaking, Mrs. Cord left, holding the materials in her hand.
Moscow businessman.
Moscow Opera House.
Locke lowered his head, looking at the ticket in his hand, seemed to think of something, and couldn't help but laugh.
Does it have to be so straightforward?
Are they not even trying to hide their motives?
This is too simple and crude.
Isn't this clearly saying, 'Hey, this is a trap, hurry up and come over, we're waiting for you'?
Unless I'm crazy.
Just as Locke couldn't understand why he would become a scumbag, similarly, looking at this musical ticket, Locke couldn't understand why he would walk into a trap when he clearly knew it was one.
To ask the KGB a question: why?
No need.
The KGB's intention was clear: they were here because of Lorraine Broughton. But Locke hadn't looked at that file yet, and had no interest in doing so.
Most importantly.
He didn't like to talk nonsense; he preferred to let his actions speak for him.
Moreover... Locke felt that the trap on this ticket should already be gone.
No other reason.
Locke had called the police!
And it wasn't just the New York Police Department that responded to the call; the FBI and S.H.I.E.L.D. also responded. In this situation, Locke couldn't think of any reason for the KGB to remain in New York City.
This was also why Locke hadn't gone looking for the KGB last night.
Of course.
The main reason was that there was no mission. Missions were usually issued according to his interests, and last night, the system didn't manage to pique Locke's curiosity, so no mission was issued.
This ticket should be a so-called backup plan.
So... going to see it, in fact, the chance of encountering a trap was very low. But Locke looked at Gwen, who nudged him twice with her elbow, and saw the big, expressive look in Gwen's eyes. He understood, smiled, and then shook his head.
Gwen then withdrew her gaze, satisfied.
It's dangerous now, and still going to see a musical? What if they get kidnapped at the musical?
Can't go.
Gwen almost immediately dismissed the idea upon seeing the musical ticket. If she wanted to see a musical, she and Locke could buy tickets and go anytime. In special times, safety was the priority.
Arriving at the classroom.
Indeed.
Cindy saw Gwen walk in and immediately waved the musical ticket she also had in her hand, excitedly saying to Gwen, "Gwen, did you get yours?"
Betty, sitting in front of Carrie, rested her chin on her hand, her eyes sparkling with longing: "A Moscow musical! I really want to go too, but I looked online, and the tickets are basically sold out a month in advance... Huh?"
Betty looked down at a ticket that had been shoved right in front of her, blinked, and then looked up blankly at Locke, who had flown the ticket over.
Locke sat down and looked at Betty: "You're my Minister of Media. Your artistic cells are much higher than mine. Go ahead, I don't really want to go anyway."
Betty paused slightly, blinked: "This... isn't good."
Locke smiled: "Just don't delay the promotional video."
The competition platform was his top priority. As for musicals, Locke seriously doubted whether he would fall asleep within five minutes of the opening if he didn't put a point into the 'Art Appreciation' skill.
And spending potential points on this skill just for one musical, Locke always felt it was a waste.
Betty didn't put on airs, beaming: "That's impossible. Last night, Wanda and I already sorted out the preliminary ideas for the promotional video at Carrie's house."
Carrie's house?
Locke looked at Carrie, as if asking if they hadn't seen Agatha.
Carrie smiled, her eyes returning a 'no'.
Locke smiled.
Gwen looked at Locke, who had directly given away his ticket, smiled, and also handed her ticket to Carrie: "Carrie, Locke and I have plans this weekend, so I'm giving this to you. You and Betty can go together. After all, you two are in charge of the promotional video."
Cindy and Kahn looked at each other.
Then.
Cindy also walked over to Wanda and handed her the ticket: "Here, Wanda, you three media goddesses can go together."
Wanda, who had been observing from the sidelines, unperturbed, looked up at Cindy and blinked.
Kahn, meanwhile, walked over to Pietro.
Pietro looked disgusted: "I have nothing to do, why would I go see a musical?"
Wouldn't it be better to go to the mall and look at beautiful women on the weekend than to watch them on stage?
Kahn then whispered something, unknown to the others.
Pietro's eyes lit up. He looked at Kahn: "Really?"
Kahn nodded seriously.
Pietro immediately took the ticket, smiling broadly: "Thanks, buddy."
Kahn hadn't actually said much.
He just said.
This ticket was VIP, the kind that allowed access backstage...
261. Convincing People with Reason
Before long, the four tickets for the musical this weekend, which was tomorrow night, were successfully transferred.
Locke watched Wanda, who, after some back and forth between Gwen and Cindy, finally decided to accept the tickets. Suddenly, he thought of something and a slight smile appeared on his lips.
He wondered, if the KGB was truly reckless this time and still in New York City, how spectacular their expressions would be when they suddenly realized that their meticulously planned operation, for which they paid a high price, was for naught because Locke never showed up.
As for whether the KGB would be so enraged as to kidnap Betty and Carrie? That shouldn't happen.
Setting aside the fact that the KGB was after him, Carrie alone could transform into her Dark Archon state at any time. At that point, let alone a few KGB agents, even if the entire KGB swarmed her, they probably wouldn't last three Dark Orbs from Carrie.
Moreover, Carrie now had the legendary witch Agatha as her mentor, and in the past half-month, she had learned two other witch spells.
Using supernatural powers against secret agents—wasn't that a guaranteed win?
Around noon, Gwen finally had some free time. After sitting down with Cindy and Kahn, she looked at Cindy, who was sitting opposite her, and said, "Actually, you and Kahn didn't need to do that."
Because Cindy and Kahn didn't give her a chance in the classroom and just handed over the tickets, Gwen couldn't really say much. After all, she and Locke wanted to go, but the situation was not good, so they couldn't; there was a reason. However, Cindy and Kahn could go and didn't need to give the tickets to Wanda and Pietro.
"We couldn't just let Betty and Carrie go, could we?"
Cindy said, "Wanda has, after all, been brought into our little circle by Betty. It wouldn't look good. Besides, if you two aren't going, it's no fun for Kahn and me to go. Perfect, we can have a party this weekend."
Gwen listened to the first part of Cindy's sentence and couldn't help but shake her head. When she heard the latter half, she paused, curious. "A party? What kind of party?"
"I'm organizing it!"
Cindy said, "My parents are flying to Texas tonight, so I'll have two days of freedom this weekend. I'm planning to organize a party, so remember to come!"
She paused.
Cindy leaned over towards Locke, who was sitting next to Gwen, munching on his burger, and whispered, winking, "I've been wanting to organize a party since last month. I've been systematically taking out alcohol from the fridge and I've accumulated enough. I'm just waiting to use it for the party this weekend."
After all, can a party without alcohol truly be called a party?
In other words, without alcohol, what excuse would energetic teenagers have to vent their energy?
Locke, hearing Cindy's words, instinctively asked, "What kind of alcohol?"
"Lone Star."
"..."
Locke shook his head, looking at Cindy. "Seriously? Lone Star? In New York City? No, I'm afraid it's probably not even sold in the entire state of New York."
The full name is Lone Star Beer. As the name suggests, it's a Texan beer!
From the 1980s until now, Lone Star Beer can be said to be a symbol of Texas. It's like going to Texas and not eating grilled chicken—it's like not having been to Texas at all.
Locke didn't really like beer, but Lone Star Beer was an exception.
Chester loved to drink it, and the youngest cowboys have always been the spokespeople for Lone Star Beer. If a cowboy didn't drink Lone Star, what difference would he be from a governor who didn't talk about independence after taking office and was then impeached?
Gwen looked at Locke, whose eyes were shining, and was a little speechless. She quickly nudged Locke, helping him dismiss that idea, then looked at Cindy.
"No, Locke and I aren't going."
"Huh? Why?"
"The reason is a bit complicated."
Gwen gave Locke a look, like a wife managing the household and making decisions for her husband. She looked around, then whispered, "Locke's house has been bugged again. The NYPD is still investigating and hasn't found anything yet. So, until the NYPD closes the case, we're trying to minimize our activities. So, sorry, Cindy, we'll definitely go next time."
It was a special situation now; they had to stick to a two-point line: school and home for sleep.
Cindy was surprised to hear Gwen's words. She opened her mouth, looked at Locke, and whispered, "Couldn't it be that the insurance company got more and more annoyed, feeling like they were constantly losing money on you, so they decided to bug you and then, when you're alone at home, just make you disappear?"
Locke glanced at Cindy, not even bothering to speak.
Each guess was more outrageous than the last.
You could at least guess the CIA.
How much money had he really extorted from Silver City Insurance Company?
Including the insurance he had purchased over the years, at most, he had made less than two million US dollars from Silver City Insurance Company.
If you included this month's insurance expenses, it was actually less than a million.
This month, Locke had also purchased insurance for the paintings he brought back from Earl King's estate, and the premiums for those paintings were quite high.
Gwen knew this too.
But... hearing Cindy say that, Gwen seemed to consider a possibility and looked at Locke curiously. "By the way, could this also be a security measure taken by the insurance company to prevent those paintings from being lost, but maybe you forgot to check, and it's actually just a misunderstanding?"
After all, when Locke signed the insurance agreement and the measures the insurance company needed to take for the insured items, he didn't even look at them; he just signed.
If it was the insurance company's doing, it wasn't impossible.
Locke shook his head. "Impossible. The paintings hanging on the wall all have insurance switches. Once they're taken down, if the password isn't entered, the insurance company will receive the information immediately."
After all, the lowest-priced painting among them was a million-dollar piece. If it were stolen, the insurance company would be heartbroken. So, behind every insured painting, there's a wireless motion detection signal. Small movements are fine, but if you take the painting off the wall, it will directly trigger a laser.
The insurance company's investigators are as professional as any elite detective. In fact, Silver City Insurance Company's chief investigator is a former CIA agent who re-entered the workforce.
Gwen thought about it and agreed.
She had never heard of an insurance company installing listening devices in a client's home to protect their property. If that argument went to court, even a twelve-person jury probably wouldn't believe it.
Seeing this, Cindy sighed helplessly. "Alright then, Kahn and I will go to Stark Industries this week. Kahn already has his own separate lab."
Gwen immediately looked at Kahn and congratulated him.
The conversation quickly shifted to serious school topics.
Locke had no classes in the afternoon and was camped out in his student council office, reading a book.
"My KGB Career!"
The author of this book was reportedly a former KGB "swallow," who exposed the training methods for male and female agents in the KGB.
Locke felt it was just a soft-core porn book. At the same time, he couldn't help but put himself in their shoes. He wondered if being a male agent in the KGB would be very sexually fulfilling... Just then.
"Ding-dong!"
"Coming."
Locke raised an eyebrow, looked at the message with only one symbol, smiled, and with a flick of his right hand, took out the notebook from his inventory slot. He opened it and logged into his Continental Hotel backend email.
The intelligence on it was just one sentence.
There was also news that Vanya Yegorov, Deputy Director of the KGB's US Operations Directorate, had recently arrived in the Federation. Her primary destination was Texas. Currently, she was located in the Moscow Consulate General in New York City.
Locke had said he wasn't interested in Lorraine Broughton.
But... the trouble with this woman had already affected him. Not being interested meant Locke would be indifferent.
So, Locke decided to reason with her.
To convince with reason!
"Ding!"
"Task generating!"
"Task Name: 'Convince with Force of Reason!'"
"Task Reward: 'Achievement Points * 1W', 'Potential Points * 1W', 'Treasure Discount Coupon * 1 (60% off)'"
"Task Description: 'The tree desires stillness, but the wind will not cease; the child desires to care for its parents, but they are no longer there.'"
"Task Note: 'Perhaps you can try to make a big fuss.'"
"..."
Locke looked at the popping task name, task description, and task note, his brow twitching. "If you can't come up with a name, then don't. Just leave it blank."
Was he the kind of person who liked to use his fists to reason with others?
...Well.
He actually was.
But Locke felt that he resorted to fisticuffs only when others were unreasonable. If others were polite, he was generally very willing to be polite.
The next day, in the afternoon, Betty and Carrie, along with Wanda and Pietro, went to Broadway to watch the musical.
It was just as Locke had expected.
But after Betty and Carrie scanned the tickets given by Locke and Gwen to enter, the eager KGB agents, ready to make an arrest, looked at the photo of their target, then at the two unfamiliar women, and exchanged bewildered glances.
Moscow Consulate General in New York.
"Hiss!"
Vanya Yegorov, Deputy Director of the Intelligence Directorate responsible for US operations, who received the message from the agents at the musical, gasped. "A master!"
But the agent on the other end said, "Officer, what do we do now? Should we make an arrest?"
Vanya Yegorov's brow twitched. "Arrest? Arrest what? Our target is that bitch's bastard. Wait for my orders. No forceful assault. No one can betray us, not even her offspring. They all have to pay the price."
After speaking, Vanya Yegorov angrily hung up the phone.
The next second, Vanya Yegorov suddenly froze, turned around, and looked at a dark shadow in her room that had appeared at some unknown time... Monthly pass!
Recommendation tickets!!
Begging for them!!
Recommending a book, "The Grandson of the Ming Emperor: Zhu Di Sent Me to the Throne" by Zhibi Jianchunqiu. Interested readers can check it out!