Ch: 262-269
262. Why Bully an Ordinary Person
Gulp!
Vanya Yegorov gulped, feeling the Room's temperature suddenly drop by more than twenty degrees, as if he were standing on the permafrost of Siberia.
How is this possible?
This is the Consulate General; how could there be someone in his Room?
This is unscientific.
Or is the Federation planning to declare war on Moscow?
The land where the consulate is located is considered the territory of that country; invading it is almost equivalent to declaring war.
Vanya Yegorov strained his eyes, trying to identify the figure hidden in the darkness that had appeared in the corner of his Room at some unknown time.
"You..."
"Sit!"
"Gulp!"
Vanya Yegorov heard the voice, which sounded like it was squeezed out of a block of ice, and couldn't help but shiver. Then, his pupils constricted as he watched a man walk out of the darkness like an emperor, and he gulped again.
He was from Lubyanka, but he was a deputy director of a branch office. He could be called a leader, but he certainly wasn't a real Agent; he just had a dark mind and some anti-social personality traits.
But the person in front of him?
A man with a pale face, blood-red eyes, exuding elegance, bloodthirstiness, darkness, and a gentlemanly aura?
Thud.
Vanya, who had just stood up to arrange the mission to capture Locke Broughton by force, felt his knees go weak and couldn't help but sit back down. Seemingly afraid that the guards outside would come in and cost him his life, he looked at the emperor who seemed to have walked out of the darkness and whispered, "Who are you!"
"My name is..."
Locke's tone was as cold and sharp as a frigid wind blowing between icebergs: "Cain, or, shall we use another title?"
As he spoke.
Locke's figure slowly transformed from the elegant emperor in the dark back to the handsome Locke Broughton: "Or... maybe the 'bastard' you mentioned!"
Vanya Yegorov's soul trembled!
Locke was very depressed.
He could swear to God that he really, really wanted to come here, find this Lubyanka deputy director, have a good chat, and clear things up. If they wanted to find Lorraine Broughton, they should just go find her. Why come after him?
I've had nothing since I was a kid. It wasn't easy to rely on my own hard work and diligence to avoid dying miserably on the street or going down the wrong path. I'm just an orphan. Why is the KGBtargeting me?
Locke wanted to convince people with reason, ideally turning swords into plowshares.
But... what did he hear when he just arrived?
Bitch?
Was that an insult to Lorraine Broughton?
That didn't matter. It wasn't him anyway, and he wasn't close to Lorraine Broughton. No matter how nasty the insults were, Locke wouldn't feel a thing.
But 'bastard'?
'Bastard', who are you calling that?
I've hardly ever left the U.S. in my life, let alone gone to Moscow, and I haven't provoked the KGB. Why on earth are you insulting me?
Dammit, you can't bully people like this, especially an orphan.
What?
Just because I'm an orphan without parents, you can insult me? You're just bullying a vulnerable group like orphans, aren't you?
Locke was very angry.
Fortunately, in his previous life, his motherland taught him to be a refined and polite person. So, even in the face of such insults, Locke was angry, but he didn't choose to lash out in return.
Insulting others is wrong.
But.
After showing his original form, Locke switched back to the form of the imperial Cain of the Blood Clan, exuding elegance everywhere. Looking at Vanya Yegorov, who was slumped in his chair and had already been tied up by him, Locke felt a bit of a headache. He explained his original intention to Yegorov in an elegant tone, then pressed his brow: "So, after I learned I was being targeted by the KGB, I was very terrified. I'm just an orphan, and I'm not capable of fighting an organization like the KGB. So, I hoped to explain things to you and reach an agreement. But you insulted me. Why did you have to insult me? And so nastily at that?"
Did I eat your KGB's rice? Why are you insulting me?
Locke was somewhat speechless, feeling his fangs itch: "So..."
Just then.
Knock, knock, knock!
There was a knock on Yegorov's door, and a voice with a thick Russian accent came from outside: "Officer, the car is ready."
Goodfellas.
Locke snapped back and looked at Yegorov.
Wait.
If it wasn't for this voice's reminder, Locke would have almost forgotten that this Yegorov not only insulted him but also seemingly planned to lead a team to storm Gwen's apartment. Then, right in front of him, he would shoot George, butcher Helen, and not even spare Little George and the others. Then, right in front of him, even if he knelt, Yegorov would kill Gwen without hesitation before kidnapping him?
This... is too much!
The blood-red light in Locke's eyes surged.
It seems this matter cannot be settled peacefully.
He wanted to compromise, but he found that the other party didn't even give him a chance to... cough, explain.
What is wrong with this World?
Why does it repeatedly want to destroy the life of an ordinary person like me?
Locke was very confused.
Over there, Yegorov didn't wait for Locke's warning and said to the guard outside: "I understand. We move in half an hour."
"Yes!"
Hearing the words from inside, the guard outside stood at attention, shouted, and then turned and walked away with a sense of ceremony in his boots.
Yegorov breathed a sigh of relief internally.
He was more like a politician than an Agent. If he were an Agent, he probably would have shouted out, but politicians value their lives. He was also very smart; he didn't say the operation was canceled, but postponed it for half an hour.
If he had said the operation was canceled, he felt there was an 80% chance he would be silenced.
But if he said the operation was postponed for half an hour, he felt he had at least a 70% chance of survival.
Locke didn't care at all about the exchange between Yegorov and the guard. Even if Yegorov had screamed his head off just now, Locke wouldn't have cared.
In a word.
I offered my heart to the bright moon, but the moon shines on the ditch!
Locke snapped back, his gaze falling on Yegorov. His tone was eerie, and his eyes drifted to the bright moon visible outside the window: "Normally, for my enemies, I always kill them first and talk later."
Yegorov felt his whole body stiffen.
"But..."
Locke's gaze returned from the moon and landed on Yegorov: "But, you are not my enemy."
Yegorov breathed a sigh of relief.
The next second.
Locke's tone shifted again, becoming ice-cold, his fangs bared: "After all, my enemies only make me feel they are foolish, but you make me feel angry, very angry!"
He had no past grievances or recent grudges with the KGB, yet they called him a 'bastard' and even thought about killing his girlfriend's family.
Anyone with any spirit would be angry.
Dammit!
Is Lubyanka that great?
Is it as powerful as the Triskelion?
Locke's tone was cold. With a swish, he reached out his right hand and, with a crack, grabbed Yegorov's throat, lifting him up in front of him.
The slender, cold right hand made Yegorov feel like he was no longer on the permafrost of Siberia, but had half his body buried in it: "Fi..."
Locke's eyes were blood-red, and a strange smile played on his lips: "But, if I kill you, I think there will definitely be a lot of trouble, right?"
The desire to survive was surging in Yegorov's eyes. He tried hard to speak, but all he could manage was a difficult nod.
"Yes, I think so too."
"But..."
"You insulted me."
"And, you planned to kill my girlfriend's family."
"That's too much!"
"And even if you die, someone will probably take over your job and continue to harass me incessantly.
"But you insulted me. If I let you go, I won't be at peace!"
"So!"
Locke slowly lifted Yegorov up like a doll. Looking up at Yegorov, whose hands were tightly gripping his arm and whose face was turning pale, Locke suddenly gave a brilliant smile: "I've thought of a way to have the best of both Worlds. Not only will I not kill you, I will even bestow a blessing upon you. Yes, in my name as Cain, I bless you. I think you will be very happy with this gift."
As he spoke.
Locke's imperial-grade fangs were exposed.
Moonlight poured in through the window, falling on the fangs and shimmering with a cold, noble glint!
The next second.
The shadow on the wall of him holding a figure suddenly underwent a massive change.
Bang.
It seemed a pair of wings sprouted from behind the shadow. Then, the shadow grew taller, looming over the figure being held aloft. That figure arched back like a cooked shrimp, head thrown far back.
"Ugh..."
Yegorov's head was thrown back like a rag doll. His eyes were vacant and he looked powerlessly at the ceiling. He felt his blood draining away.
And the rate of loss was getting faster and faster.
The next second.
He felt his hearing rapidly deteriorating.
His vision also became increasingly blurred.
Even.
Even his heartbeat, he could slowly no longer feel.
Even.
He seemed to see a black vortex in the darkness, and on the other side of the vortex was another Worldfilled with yellow sand and fire?
Am I going to die?
Yegorov thought to himself.
Just then.
Drip!
263. Everything for the mission
Huh?
At this moment, just as he felt his entire soul about to leave his body, about to be pulled into the aisle to hell, Vanya Egorov suddenly sensed something.
Drip!
A drop of cold liquid seemed to land on his lips. His whole body was numb at this moment, almost unable to feel anything, but this sensation was incredibly clear.
The next second.
Egorov struggled to open his eyes, and then, his cracked lips seemed to touch some liquid. He licked it, and immediately, Egorov's will to survive surged. He began to open his mouth, swallowing the liquid that seemed to have fallen from the sky.
Not long after.
Gulp, gulp!
Swallowing turned into a desperate gulping. Instantly, his six senses, which had just been stripped away, rapidly returned, and even expanded explosively.
The bodyguards downstairs in the monitoring room, telling Russian jokes.
His driver, parked at the door, smoking and complaining about him.
He even felt that he could hear further.
What happened to me?
Egorov quickly came back to his senses, muttered a question, and then, with a thud, opened his eyes. His body rose straight up from the floor, unbending, like a zombie.
Just then.
Locke's voice came from not far away: "Awake?"
Egorov looked at Locke, who appeared so elegant and noble under the moonlight, and opened his mouth: "My Lord!"
Wait.
What did I just say?
Egorov froze instantly.
Locke, however, smiled.
Name: "Locke Broughton, Sole Player!"
Identity: "Imperial Bloodkin" (Can switch to Witch form, Assassin form)
Achievement Points: "250,000"
Potential Points: "270,000"
Supreme Talent: Extraordinary (Gold Quality / Level 2): Your energy will be endless, and even, your energy is stirring, seemingly intending to open up a dimension of your own.
Supreme Talent: Steel Body (Gold Quality / Level 1): Your body is as strong as steel. Ordinary firearms have basically lost their effect on you.
…
First Embrace (Imperial Bloodkin Form Exclusive)
Vanya Egorov: Lastborn!
Emperor, Prince, Duke, Marquis, Count, Viscount, Lastborn (Lastborn is the lowest, unable to convert humans into Bloodkin)
...Yes.
Not only did he not kill Egorov, but instead, he gave him a blessing. Locke turned him into a Bloodkin, one of his Bloodkin members. In some sense… no, in every sense, Locke's actions could completely be considered returning good for evil.
Tsk tsk.
Egorov cursed him, and even planned to kill Gwen's family and kidnap him.
And how did Locke repay him?
He turned Egorov into a Bloodkin, allowing him to live forever. Look, if this isn't returning good for evil, then what is?
At most!
Locke's mind stirred, and he pinched a drop of blood from his heart's essence during his Imperial Bloodkin transformation.
He squeezed tight!
Egorov, standing in front of him, instantly looked as if he had put on a mask of pain. With a thud, he knelt before Locke, his face contorted in agony, his hands clutching his chest, feeling his heart which, though still beating, no longer seemed to belong to him.
Bloodkin are not vampires.
Even if Locke transformed Egorov into the lowest-ranking Lastborn Bloodkin, he was still Bloodkin, without many of the vampires' flaws.
Let's put it this way.
If it were those few vampires seen at Lake Kali, Egorov, as a Lastborn Bloodkin, could take on two of them.
As for the vampire named James that Locke killed later?
Uh... James could tear Egorov apart with his bare hands without even breaking a sweat.
But that's not the point.
The point is, even the lowest-level Lastborn Bloodkin might not fear sunlight, but prolonged exposure would make them agitated. At the very least, they wouldn't sparkle in the sun.
Egorov looked up painfully, words almost squeezed from between his teeth: "What did you do to me?"
Locke released his mental grip on the drop of blood, which now controlled life and death in his hand, and a smile played on his lips: "I gave you a blessing."
To be honest.
When Locke first came in and heard Egorov's plan, he was ready to chop him up directly.
But... Locke suddenly thought of something.
As he just said, the KGB was after him. Chopping up Egorov wouldn't prevent the next wave of KGB agents from coming to disrupt his life.
Unless Locke directly slaughtered the KGB.
This method was feasible, but unnecessary. He currently didn't have the strength or status to directly flip the table with the entire Earth.
But Egorov had indeed angered him.
Chopping him up with one blow would be too cheap. Not chopping him up, Locke would be displeased. Then, Locke suddenly thought of Egorov's identity.
Deputy Director of the US Intelligence Agency.
He might not be one of the top few leaders in Lubyanka, but he should at least be one of the top twenty prominent figures in Lubyanka.
Locke thought of the nameless person who seemed to want to recruit him.
Then... Locke made a decision that went against his usual principles but could quietly resolve this matter, and even provide a source of points in the future.
It's still the same old saying.
Locke wasn't averse to being recruited by the nameless entity, becoming an agent. After all, it would mean more refresh points for missions, wouldn't it?
On that basis.
Locke wasn't averse to becoming an agent, and of course, he wasn't particular about which department he would become an agent for. The more, the merrier.
After completing missions for Langley, he would go complete missions for Lubyanka.
If possible, adding MI6 by the River Thames would be even better.
Mossad wasn't out of the question either.
The world is vast, but missions are paramount!
So... he transformed Egorov, making him his First Embrace, a Lastborn Bloodkin, a blood servant whose life and death were in his hands!
Locke looked at Egorov kneeling before him, his tone cold: "Mr. Egorov, you should feel fortunate. So far, you are the second person to have offended me and still live."
As he spoke.
A blood moon seemed to appear in Locke's crimson eyes: "Do you know where the first person who offended me and lived is now?"
Egorov said nothing.
Locke's voice was faint: "I turned him into a big gray rat. Now, he's in the basement of the New York Police Department, nailed to the wall. His soul, his consciousness, are inside that big gray rat's body. That was my first act of mercy."
A human soul.
A big gray rat?
Egorov shivered involuntarily.
Locke, seeing this, chuckled softly: "So, Mr. Egorov, shouldn't you feel fortunate? You haven't turned into a big gray rat, and I've even granted you eternal life."
Egorov looked up.
The next second.
Egorov grunted, opened his mouth, and instantly, his eyes began to transform into the blood-red eyes unique to Bloodkin. His skin gradually became that withered white color.
His beating heart, which seemed to be beating outside of his body, unleashed a tremendous Bloodkin power, washing over his sea of consciousness, dyeing it red. Then, a unique mark appeared on his sea of consciousness, with two words written on it—two words he couldn't read but clearly understood.
Cain!
His Lord!
After a while.
Egorov seemed to have learned, retracting his Bloodkin appearance. He blankly touched his cold hands, and then, willingly said to Locke: "My Lord!"
I died.
But I became a Bloodkin, and a Bloodkin with limitless lifespan from now on?
Egorov didn't know whether to be ecstatic, laughing wildly, or crying.
But at the very least, his heart was filled with pleasant surprise and joy.
What?
Acknowledged a master?
What's the big deal? This is eternal life! So what if I acknowledge a master? I'd even sell Lubyanka for this, no problem.
Locke was well aware of Egorov's psychological fluctuations.
He was the Emperor!
This world had no Bloodkin, only vampires. As long as there were Bloodkin, as their Emperor, he could sense the psychological fluctuations of every Bloodkin, if he wished to.
Locke's expression was indifferent: "Get up."
Egorov rose from the ground, and instantly, the sound of bones stretching and cracking spread throughout his body.
Comfortable!
Only then did Egorov realize the extent of the changes in his body. His energy, six senses, and even physical strength had all recovered and significantly strengthened.
Even a Lastborn Bloodkin is like this. What about a Viscount Bloodkin? A Count Bloodkin? Or even a Prince Bloodkin?
Egorov thought with fervent excitement.
Locke sensed Egorov, who had just been transformed and had immediately abandoned his former identity, and scoffed inwardly, speaking directly: "I won't treat you badly."
Tools, after all, need to be maintained when they are needed.
Egorov was ecstatic: "Thank you, my Lord."
Locke then said: "You should be very clear about what I want you to do, right?"
Egorov nodded.
Locke hummed in affirmation.
Just then.
Egorov's phone suddenly rang.
Locke was expressionless.
Egorov immediately answered the phone and, very tactfully, put it on speaker.
"Dominika?" The caller was his subordinate, and his nominal niece, the Dominika Egorova who resembled Big Sister. Egorov said in a deep voice: "Come back. This matter, we need to…"
Before he finished speaking.
Dominika Egorova on the other end of the phone said: "Sir, I've found Lorraine Broughton's whereabouts. I'm currently tracking Lorraine Broughton, repeat, I've found Lorraine Broughton."
Egorov was slightly stunned.
Locke on the other side also raised an eyebrow.
Egorov's face darkened, and just as he was about to reprimand her, he saw Locke's gesture and instantly understood Locke's meaning: "Where are you now?"
Dominika Egorova: "…"
Two Hundred Sixty-four, The Death of Lorraine
"...I am currently tracking in the direction of Manhattan Port!"
"Wait for my news."
"..."
Yegorov hung up the phone decisively and looked at Locke: "My Lord."
Locke's eyes flickered for a moment.
The next second.
Locke chuckled and said directly to Yegorov: "Do what you need to do. I don't care how you deal with Lorraine Broughton, but don't bother me. If there's anything, I'll contact you."
After saying that.
Locke turned around, walked towards the door, opened it, and then walked out, closing the door behind him.
Yegorov snapped back to his senses instantly.
Wait.
This is the Consulate General of Moscow in New York, not... Yegorov hurried to the door and opened it, preparing to escort Locke out, but upon opening the door, he froze as he looked at the corridor and the guards standing as still as logs at the stairs.
Where is he?
A-Lock could naturally leave; after all, Locke's Jackie Chan persona wasn't outside anymore. Georgehad just gone home, and without Jackie Chan outside, how could Homelander be out there?
Wait.
On his way back, Locke suddenly stopped in his tracks.
Something's not right!
Locke turned his head and fixed his gaze in the direction of Manhattan Port, his eyes flickering slightly. The voice of Dominika Yegorova on the phone just now sounded off.
Intuition told him that Dominika Yegorova was lying.
Locke trusted his intuition, just as a qualified assassin would always trust the gun in his hand.
He wasn't interested in whether Lorraine Broughton lived or died, even if she looked like Charlize Theron.
She was just a stranger.
But.
He became interested in why Dominika Yegorova was lying.
If the Continental Hotel could wipe out anyone who violated its rules, then any intelligence agency had zero tolerance for any kind of deception.
If that deception also involved betrayal, then it was undoubtedly double the zero tolerance.
So... why would Dominika Yegorova risk the zero tolerance of Lubyanka to lie?
Locke was intrigued.
Ding!]
Task upgrading...]
Merging into the task 'Convince with Reason', please wait!]
Task Name: 'Lorraine Broughton!']
Task Rewards: 'achievement points * 100k', 'potential points * 100k', '70% Off Treasure Discount Coupon * 1']
Task Description: 'You suddenly realize that it seems this story, which is inextricably linked to you, has only just begun...']
Task Note: 'Your interest is the driving force for the system to issue tasks. However, you are the boss, you decide. If you choose to refuse, you can extract the rewards for the Convince with Reason task.']
Accept/Refuse!]
"..."
In a small alley near Manhattan Port.
"Thud!"
"Thud!"
Langley Agent Nathaniel Nash stood expressionless behind a black van, holding a suppressed Browning M1911, and executed the two fully bound KGB Agents inside.
Muzzle flashes lit up, and the two KGB Agents were shot through the forehead, collapsing with a thud.
Nash holstered his pistol and nodded to the two Agents in black beside him.
Before long.
The two Agents in black drove the black van away.
Nash also walked over to a black sedan parked at the side of the alley, opened the passenger door, and turned to say to Mr. Nameless in the back seat: "It's done."
Sitting in the back seat with Mr. Nameless was Big Cousin.
Dominika Yegorova.
However, Yegorova didn't seem to care much about Nash executing her two colleagues just now.
"Done!"
Nameless suddenly spoke up, handing the tablet in his hand to Yegorova: "Your immunity order. It was just jointly signed by the CIA Director, the Attorney General, and the Secretary of State. You won't be held accountable for any of your actions against us during your time at Lubyanka, nor for their consequences."
Yegorova took the tablet and looked at the photo of the immunity order. The signatures of the CIA Director, the Attorney General, and the Secretary of State were clearly visible.
"And..." Nameless said, looking at Yegorova as she stared at the tablet, "at the same time, you will join the CIA. To be precise, you will join my team. Your superior will be Nash. If there's a problem with you, I won't go looking for you; I'll look for Nash."
Yegorova looked up at the smiling Nameless, then up at Nash, who had turned around from the passenger seat.
Nash gazed at Yegorova as if he were looking at his most beloved woman.
In fact.
Nash and Yegorova were indeed a pair of lovers.
This was a story of 'throwing a meat bun at a dog'—a one-way trip.
Last year, Lubyanka tried to use their traditional ultimate move: seduction. They planned to send Yegorova to seduce Langley Agent Nathaniel Nash to gather intelligence.
Just as Lubyanka imagined, the plan went smoothly; Yegorova really did seduce Nash.
But... Lubyanka overlooked a most critical issue.
That was, Yegorova hadn't joined them willingly. She had been hoodwinked into it by her uncle, Yegorov. Under the guise of saving Yegorova, who was injured and could no longer continue her ballet career, Yegorov had tricked her into the so-called Sparrow School, where she underwent training that required abandoning all moral standards and boundaries.
Yegorova's former dream was to dance like a noble swan on the dance floor, not to use her body as a weapon.
The most important point.
Nash seemed to have known her identity but didn't kill her for it. Instead, he joined her in strongly condemning Lubyanka's disgusting training and then sincerely hoped that Yegorova would leave that living hell to be with him.
But.
Switching sides between spies was never that easy.
It required a pledge of loyalty.
However, just as Yegorova was convinced by Nash and wanted to find a pledge of loyalty, she was urgently called back. Fearing she had been exposed, Yegorova was terrified, but then she followed her uncle Yegorov to the Federation.
Then... when Yegorova heard about their target this time and heard Yegorov mention evidence that Lorraine Broughton might still be alive, she suddenly realized her pledge of loyalty had arrived. So, while at the opera house, she called Nash.
Nash was also a bit surprised when he received Yegorova's call.
Actually... by the time Yegorova called, Nash and Nameless had already rushed over after receiving information from New York City that bugs had been installed in Locke's home.
Nameless had just lost his temper with S.H.I.E.L.D.
Simply because...
Nameless also thought this was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s doing again. Although S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't admit it, who the hell would admit to such a thing? Admitting it would lead to a lawsuit from Locke. As long as there was no evidence, they could just keep their mouths shut.
Nameless had originally planned to head straight to New York S.H.I.E.L.D. and slam the table as soon as he got off the plane. 'Good grief, the Agent I've set my sights on and planned to recruit has been bugged by your S.H.I.E.L.D. multiple times. What's the meaning of this? Do you think you can do whatever you want because you have the Five Overlords backing you?'
Want to go a round with me?
If pushed too far, Nameless would dare to use his power to make it impossible for S.H.I.E.L.D. to conduct its various overseas operations.
But after Nameless finished listening to Nash's report, he fell silent.
Then.
Nameless laughed it off and changed the subject with Commander Victoria Hand, mentioning which sashimi place in New York was good. But after hanging up the phone, his expression turned serious.
Hearing that Lubyanka had come this time for Lorraine Broughton in order to find Locke Broughton, Nameless couldn't say he was very surprised, but it was within expectations.
After all, over a decade ago, the fact that Lorraine Broughton went undercover in MI6 and then in the KGB was enough to make both MI6 and the KGB intensely murderous.
But after that, the great changes in Moscow occurred, and the father-son relationship between the Federation and London had also reversed. Originally, Nameless thought this matter was over.
But he didn't expect Lubyanka to hold a grudge until now, still thinking of capturing Lorraine Broughtonand taking her back.
Nameless rubbed his temples: "Lorraine Broughton is already dead."
Yegorova frowned: "But..."
If Lorraine Broughton is dead, then why did the FBI and DHS show up immediately when bugs were found in Locke's home?
Even...
There indeed seemed to be faint traces of CIA Agents escorting Locke Broughton.
Nameless couldn't help but shake his head and grumbled. No wonder Lubyanka had been failing so often in recent years. It was one thing for the intelligence work to be poor, but their damn overthinking was just wrong.
Thinking to himself.
Nameless briefly explained to Yegorova the grievances between Locke, the FBI, and the DHS. As for the CIA Agents escorting him?
"Locke Broughton is an Agent I am evaluating."
Nameless shook his head and said: "It's just that I've been overseas these past few days, so I had my people keep an eye on him to prevent other agencies from poaching him. Is there something wrong with that?"
Yegorova's mouth dropped open: "So, Lorraine Broughton is really dead?"
Nameless nodded: "Yes, I buried her myself."
Although it was only a cenotaph.
At that time, after completing the mission to retrieve the spy list from the Berlin Wall, Lorraine was assigned another task: to go to Europe and investigate a mysterious organization with the code name ICA, an organization called the International Contract Agency.
But... the mission failed.
Actually, it couldn't exactly be said that the mission failed; to be more precise, it should be said that the mission was interrupted.
The reason?
Lorraine Broughton died...
Two hundred and sixty-five, a good show
No one could definitively say whether the International Contract Intermediary (Ia) truly existed.
Not even the Nameless One.
It was rumored that Ia's operations spanned Asia, Europe, Africa, America, Oceania, and even the North and South Poles if needed, but these were only rumors. There was never any evidence to prove the organization's existence.
If it hadn't been for the day Lorraine Broughton received a message to meet an informant, and ten seconds after she entered the room, the entire room instantly exploded, then the existence of Ia would have been confirmed, not without evidence.
The explosion was so effective that they couldn't extract anything related to Lorraine Broughton from the rubble; only small pieces of flesh spoke of what had happened.
The Nameless One was very sad about this.
After all, his job at the time was to assist Lorraine Broughton in determining whether it was genuine intelligence or a trap.
However... the Nameless One had never figured out who Lorraine had Locke with. Even the name of the father on Locke's original birth certificate was a fake name.
Just then.
Ring, ring!
Yegorova looked at the phone in her hand, which belonged to Yegorov, ringing, and glanced at the Nameless One.
The Nameless One nodded, "It's time."
Yegorova pursed her lips and answered the call.
Manhattan Port!
Locke found a streetlamp that looked quite sturdy and hung upside down from it like a bat. Although he wasn't a capitalist, it didn't stop him from enjoying the pleasure of being 'hanged' from a lamppost ahead of time.
Combined with the bug ability of his concealment technique, even if someone were standing directly beneath him at that very moment and looked up, they would subconsciously ignore him.
Even hanging upside down, Locke, in his sharp suit, maintained his composure, his crimson eyes intently watching the entrance and exit of the port in the distance.
Thump!
Thump!
Thump!
Three black sedans made no sound except for a soft thud as they drove over the weigh station upon entering the port.
After a while.
The three black sedans slowed down, then gradually came to a halt, driving through the dense container area. Soon, they spotted their target.
Bang!
Ah!
Bang!
Ah!
Two women were fighting there, fists meeting flesh, their fighting style fierce, every move a killing blow.
Yegorova directly pulled out her pistol and had just cocked it.
Bang!
The woman in front of her delivered a direct whip kick, and with Yegorova's cry of pain, the pistol in her hand clanged as it was flung against a container on her right.
Helpless, Yegorova was forced to engage in close-quarters combat once again with an opponent who was clearly superior in fighting ability.
"Don't fire!"
Yegorov got out of the car, looked at the agents who had already cocked their weapons, and roared in a low voice. Then, he looked at the woman wrestling with his niece, a look of disbelief on his face, "Lorraine Broughton!"
Shit!
He didn't stop the firing because he was afraid of the agents accidentally hurting his niece.
Yegorov was terrified of accidentally hurting Lorraine Broughton.
This was his Lord's mother, for crying out loud.
Although Locke spoke lightly and acted as he pleased, as a subordinate, if he didn't understand how to interpret his superior's intentions, then he was, without a doubt, an unqualified subordinate.
The reason Yegorov was able to rise from a mere politician to his current position as Deputy Director of the Lubyanka branch was undoubtedly because he understood how to decipher the complex and profound meanings in the simple words of his superiors and leaders.
For example... if a leader said, "The weather is nice today."
A low-ranking subordinate would agree that the weather was indeed nice.
A mid-ranking subordinate would say that the leader had a keen insight.
A high-ranking subordinate would ask where the leader wanted to go for a stroll today.
And Yegorov?
After the leader said those words, he would have already perfectly arranged a full sauna and bath service, and even booked a hotel.
Therefore.
Locke said he didn't care and to just do what needed to be done, but Yegorov didn't see it that way.
At this moment.
'Lorraine Broughton,' who seemed to have seen Yegorov and his team arrive, also appeared reluctant to continue the fight. Yegorova seized the opportunity, and as 'Lorraine Broughton' was knocked down again, she slid sideways, returning to where her pistol had fallen.
She grabbed the pistol.
'Lorraine Broughton's' eyes narrowed.
Yegorov was also shocked.
"Don't…"
"Puff!"
"Puff!"
"Ugh!"
As Yegorov's words just left his mouth, the gun barrel instantly erupted in flames. Two bright yellow bullets, trailing fiery wakes, directly struck 'Lorraine Broughton's' chest, one after the other, as she was about to run over and snatch the pistol.
In an instant, the air seemed to freeze.
'Lorraine Broughton' looked down at the blooming bloodstain on her chest, her entire body swaying precariously, stumbling backward.
The next second.
'Lorraine Broughton's' weak right foot seemed to trip over something, and her entire body, lifelessly like a rag doll, plummeted towards the sea below.
"Shit!"
Yegorov instantly snapped back to reality, rushing past the bruised and swollen, heavily breathing, and seriously injured Yegorova. He quickly ran to the edge, looked down, and just saw 'Lorraine Broughton' plunge straight into the sea with a splash, "Fuck!"
In Yegorov's line of sight, 'Lorraine Broughton,' who had fallen into the sea, her head tilted upwards, then began to sink like a plumb bob, was utterly dead.
He was going crazy.
Feeling that his professional career, which had not even truly begun in the vampire world, had already fallen into darkness, Yegorov's thoughts raced through a thousand possibilities. He turned and looked at Yegorova, who was propping herself up against a container. He almost had the urge to kill his niece with a single shot, his face grim, "Was my order not clear enough? Capture her alive! I wanted her alive!"
Yegorova looked up at Yegorov, wiping her still-bleeding nose, and said in Russian, "Sorry."
"Suka blyat!"
"…"
Yegorov covered his forehead, no longer looking at Yegorova. Instead, he rubbed his forehead and looked at the two agents not far away, pointing to the sea behind him, "You, you, find the person…"
As he spoke.
The roar of car engines came from a distance, then rapidly approached.
"Shit!"
A Lubyanka agent, who was on guard outside, roared and issued a warning through his earpiece, "Sir, Langley…"
Before he could finish.
The sound of bullets entering bodies, "Puff, puff, puff," had already conveyed his unspoken but intended message very clearly through the earpiece.
Ia's people had arrived.
"Go!"
"Get in the car!"
In a flash, Yegorov immediately abandoned his plan to stay, quickly heading towards his bulletproof car, "Go, go, go!"
He was a high-ranking official of Lubyanka. If he were caught and detained by Langley, Lubyanka would lose face. Even if he were eventually released by Langley and returned to Lubyanka, he would probably still be doomed.
Yegorov had no doubts about his niece, Yegorova.
'Lorraine Broughton' had always been with the CIA. So, when Locke Broughton reported that he was being bugged, 'Lorraine Broughton' must have guessed that these people were coming for him. She probably thought it was a trap to lure them out. However, she encountered the unscrupulous Yegorova, who, with two bullets, took down this legendary female agent, revered as the 'Empress of Spies' in the intelligence community.
"Tat-tat-tat!"
"Ah!"
"Tat-tat-tat!"
"Hurry, hurry!"
After Langley's vehicles quickly stopped, a dozen Langley agents immediately pulled out automatic rifles and opened fire. In just an instant, two of Lubyanka's agents died on the spot.
Just then.
"Ah!"
"Puff!"
Yegorova also seemed to have been shot in the chest, and with a thud, she collapsed to the ground.
Under the cover of several agents, Yegorov, who was crouching to get into the black sedan, at the moment he entered the car door, his gaze fell precisely on Yegorova, who was sprawled on the ground, blood spilling from the corner of her mouth, her eyes fixed on him.
The next second.
Yegorov immediately withdrew his gaze, and with a thud, he fully entered the car. Then, several covering agents also swiftly entered the car with a whoosh.
The car started, roaring away, quickly retreating into the distance, leaving behind five or six agents who, even if they died, had no identifiable connection to Lubyanka, providing cover.
It was very clear.
These people had been abandoned.
Including Yegorova, who was sprawled on the ground, blood spilling from the corner of her mouth, and who called Yegorov "Uncle."
Five minutes later.
The gunshots gradually ceased.
Nash led the action team in clearing the scene, bang, bang, bang, precisely delivering a shot to the forehead of every corpse he saw, out of professional habit.
Then.
Nash walked over to Yegorova, who had her eyes open and seemed to have shed a tear from the corner of her eye, and knelt down.
Although Yegorova had already decided to betray Lubyanka.
However... even though she knew Lubyanka was just using her, after seeing her own uncle abandon her so resolutely, Yegorova, who still maintained her humanity after the ruthless training at the Sparrow School, was still a little sad.
Nash, meanwhile, put away his pistol and embraced Yegorova, softly comforting her in her ear, "You did very well. We'll soon be able to usher in a new life, my dear."
Under Nash's affectionate call, Yegorova slowly came back to her senses, then looked at Nash, who was cupping her face with both hands, gazing deeply into her eyes.
Nash's heart stirred, and he passionately kissed her, completely disregarding Yegorova's bruised face at that moment.
Yegorova naturally responded with equal fervor.
Locke, hanging upside down from the streetlamp above, felt his eyelids twitch and wanted to curse...
Two Hundred Sixty-Six: Is He Really Her Biological Son?
Hanging upside down from a street lamp, Locke's brow twitched.
In the middle of the night, instead of quietly sneaking into Gwen's bed—who had specifically left a door open for him—to cuddle, he had come to this godforsaken Manhattan Port. He had originally thought he would get to enjoy a well-produced spy drama.
And the result?
He was slapped in the face by this unexpected display of affection.
Goodfellas.
Sure enough, other people's mothers were right: nothing good happens if you're still awake after two in the morning.
He had actually arrived a long time ago.
Even... the conversation Nameless had inside that black sedan with Nash and Yegorova was something he had heard perfectly clearly.
Locke was directly shocked.
He hadn't checked Lorraine Broughton's files because he didn't care. So, when he heard Nameless say that Lorraine Broughton was one of theirs, Locke was a bit dazed.
Then... Locke's expression became subtle.
How should he put it?
He had just been thinking about converting Yegorov to prepare for the future, taking missions from both the CIA and the KGB.
As it turns out, 'his mother' had already done exactly that?
Is this what they call an inheritance?
Or... is he really her biological son?
Locke's brain short-circuited.
On the ground.
A black sedan arrived late.
Mr. Nameless, with that honest-man smile on his face, stepped out of the sedan. His eyes fell upon the corpses left behind by Lubyanka. He then clapped his hands and walked toward the embracing Nashand Yegorova: "Beautifully done, Agent Darkholme."
Nash and Yegorova broke their embrace.
Yegorova looked at the approaching Nameless: "Darkholme?"
Nameless smiled slightly, extending his right hand to Yegorova: "Yes, Darkholme. Agent Raven Darkholme. Congratulations, Agent Darkholme, and welcome to Langley!"
Yegorova was dead.
Just now.
When Lubyanka was ordered to pursue CIA Agent Lorraine Broughton, the CIA arrived just in time. While covering the retreat of Lubyanka's Deputy Director Yegorov, and under Yegorov's very eyes, Yegorova was shot dead on the spot. She was already dead.
Replacing her was CIA Agent Raven Darkholme!
Of course.
Also confirmed dead was Agent Lorraine Broughton, who had been shot dead on the spot by Yegorova... no, it should be said, by Raven.
Yes.
Agent Lorraine Broughton had died once again.
If Locke knew the KGB's way of doing things, then Nameless understood the KGB's style even better. Even if Nameless told Lubyanka that Agent Lorraine Broughton had died back in 1993, Lubyankawouldn't believe it.
Not unless they saw a body, or she was killed right under their nose.
But... when Lorraine Broughton 'died' before, she had gone up in an explosion. Where would they find a body? And if they put it that way, Lubyanka certainly wouldn't believe it.
So Nameless had custom-made a plan at light speed.
Let Lorraine Broughton die one more time, thereby letting Lubyanka drop their grudge and stop wasting their limited energy on Locke Broughton. The person you wanted is dead, killed right before your eyes.
Of course.
This plan might not necessarily succeed. After all, Agents insisted on seeing a person alive or a corpse if dead. Thus, Nameless had a follow-up plan, and this plan concerned the defector Raven Darkholme's 'Warlord's Tribute.'
Raven Darkholme's tribute wasn't telling Nameless that Lubyanka was targeting Locke, but rather the list of deep-cover spies Lubyanka had planted in Washington and those buried within the Military. That was the real tribute.
However, cleaning up these spies wouldn't happen immediately. Mr. Nameless still needed these spies, who didn't know they were exposed, to cooperate with them in a good show.
Mr. Nameless then looked at Nash: "You two return to Langley immediately. For the next period of time, Agent Darkholme cannot show her face. After all, she is dead."
Nash nodded.
Mr. Nameless then gave the current Agent Raven Darkholme an apologetic smile: "I hope you can understand. Once this matter is over and we've uprooted these spies, you will have finished your surgery by then, and you can reappear."
Raven nodded, her mood not particularly high.
Nash looked at Nameless: "Officer, then you..."
Nameless said: "It's time for the third contact. If the third date doesn't get to the point, then there's a problem. Besides, he deserves to know the truth."
I already know the truth.
Hanging from the street lamp, Locke complained inwardly like an outsider.
Fine.
It seemed Lorraine Broughton wasn't just a Lubyanka spy, but also a colleague and Agent of Langley, or rather, of this Nameless guy.
Locke wasn't surprised by this.
After all, any fool could guess that if there hadn't been a betrayal, would Lubyanka be so insane as to chase her all the way to Langley's home base, even using him as a threat?
Nash frowned: "Officer, clearly..."
Nameless interrupted: "You mean, we could have just made Locke disappear so Lubyanka's people couldn't find him?"
Nash nodded.
This was the most common and efficient method used after an Agent was exposed and threatened: change their identity, change their location, and start a new life.
The World is so big; there's always a place suitable for a retired Agent's life.
Nameless shook his head: "During that mission, Lorraine said that if possible, she hoped she wasn't an Agent, that she wouldn't have to live under an assumed name, hiding and running. Moreover, this method doesn't suit Locke Broughton."
Nash frowned: "But, Officer, this time, you still intend to bring Locke Broughton in."
Nameless looked at Nash and put on his sunglasses: "Wrong, I'm just giving him a choice. Just as the CIA never forces an Agent to do something they are unwilling to do."
These words seemed to have a double meaning, taking a harsh jab at Lubyanka's face.
After saying this, Nameless turned and walked toward his black sedan.
Locke, hanging upside down and feeling like he was about to become a permanent fixture, waited until everyone had left before quietly dropping to the ground, his eyes flashing slightly.
The mission... isn't finished yet?
Locke looked at the 'Lorraine Broughton' mission and rubbed his chin.
He had already come here, and he had witnessed the whole process. He knew this was all an undeserved disaster brought upon him because of Lorraine Broughton.
He had handled Yegorov himself, and even Nameless had handled things on his end. Lorraine Broughton was 'dead,' making it easy for Yegorov to report back. No one would ever come to harass him again.
So?
Why was the mission still not completed?
Locke looked up at the bright moon overhead, lost in thought.
Could there be something else he didn't understand, or did he need to wait for Nameless to lay his cards on the table for the mission to count as finished?
Just then.
Locke raised an eyebrow, watching a vampire flit through the dark night toward him like a phantom.
"Whoosh!" Yegorov, who had just shaken off the CIA's performative pursuit and then transformed into a vampire to quickly run back, saw Locke standing in the already cleaned-up battlefield and hurriedly approached: "My Lord Cain."
The next second.
Yegorov's heart hammered; he gulped, swallowing hard: "My Lord, Ms. Lorraine Broughton..."
"Is dead."
"..."
Locke's expression was indifferent: "Her body, along with the bodies of those Agents, has already been loaded onto a vehicle."
Cold sweat poured down Yegorov's forehead: "My Lord, this matter..."
Locke knew what Yegorov was worried about and interrupted directly: "I told you, however you want to deal with Lorraine Broughton, deal with her. Kill her, kidnap her, it's none of my business!"
If not for the temptation of a hundred thousand points, he wouldn't be out here in the middle of the night blowing in the sea breeze instead of sleeping.
Yegorov's heart skipped a beat, and he lowered his head: "Yes, My Lord."
Locke glanced at Yegorov and thought for a moment: "Now that Lorraine Broughton is dead, I think you should know how to reply to Lubyanka. You guys do whatever you like; just don't involve me."
When he wanted to play, he would play naturally.
In a word.
Locke might like being passive in relationships, but in other matters, Locke liked being proactive and didn't like being passive at all. If anyone dared to make him passive, he would dare to make their name a noun instead of a verb.
Yegorov lowered his head even further: "I understand, My Lord."
A gust of wind blew through the port. The wind smelled a bit fishy—it was hard to tell if it was the scent of seawater or the lingering smell of blood, despite the cleanup, telling the story of what had happened here.
Hearing Locke's emotionless words, Yegorov replied accordingly, his thoughts racing once again.
It seemed... when Locke said he didn't care, he really didn't care.
Yegorov was momentarily stunned, then he suddenly understood what to do. He had even thought of a way to satisfy both Lubyanka and Locke.
Lorraine Broughton was dead.
He had seen it with his own eyes. Moreover, to kill Lorraine Broughton, he had lost several men this time, and even his niece had died tragically on the spot.
Although he hadn't seen the body, if it were true, the spies planted in Washington would surely get the news. If Lorraine Broughton was dead, Lubyanka wouldn't make a big fuss anymore, especially since this operation had been exposed.
After thinking through the subsequent steps, Yegorov nodded: "My Lord, I know what to do."
Locke did not respond.
Yegorov cautiously looked up, only to find that Locke, who had been standing before him just a moment ago, had disappeared without a trace... Monthly Tickets!
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267. For the sake of the mission
"Morning."
"…"
The next day, Locke opened the bathroom door, wiping his hair, and smiled as he greeted Gwen, who had just walked out of her room.
But Gwen merely glanced at Locke, then, without a word, pushed him aside and entered the bathroom herself.
Locke stood still, looking down, and couldn't help but chuckle.
He knew exactly why Gwen was in a mood; it was because he hadn't gone to her room last night, even though she had left the door open for him.
He couldn't help it.
Locke had returned around four in the morning, and going to Gwen's room at that hour seemed a bit inappropriate, so he hadn't gone.
Clearly, Gwen was upset about this.
This… Locke was somewhat speechless, as the Gwen he knew and interacted with had never seemed to be angry, at least not with him.
So my Gwen can get angry too, huh.
Locke smiled, looking at the empty hallway, and listening to the voices of George, who was already up early and busy helping Helen downstairs.
He turned his head.
Click!
"...What are you doing?"
"I'll help you wash."
"No, it's too late."
"It's not too late, I wash thoroughly."
"I'll scream!"
"Then I'll leave."
"…"
Half an hour later.
Helen watched Gwen come down the stairs, her face flushed, and smiled, saying, "You look quite energetic!"
Gwen's mouth twitched as she descended the stairs: "Mom, I'll help you."
Locke followed her down the stairs and greeted George, who was already seated at the dining table: "Good morning, George."
George glanced at Locke, gave a reserved 'hmm,' and said, "Let's eat. The bureau just called; there's been a breakthrough in the case."
Locke's eyes lit up.
Gwen came over with her and Locke's bowls and plates from the kitchen, pulled out a chair, and sat down: "Who is it, Dad?"
George looked at Locke, who had just sat down: "Have you heard of Busson Witch?"
Locke shook his head.
"Who's that?"
"He's a private investigator who doesn't take photos. He said he read in the newspaper about your photo album selling well and thought he could dig up some dirt on you, then blackmail you for money."
"…"
Well, well, well.
This must be the work of that anonymous person.
Locke thought to himself, his expression perfectly conveying surprise, and exchanged a glance with Gwen.
Gwen blinked: "Really, or fake?"
George nodded: "FBI Director Colin found the lead. Busson Witch has already confessed, and they collected the remaining listening devices from his home. However, he bought the listening devices on the black market, so because of national security, the case has been transferred to the Department of Homeland Security."
Impressive.
So the FBI can know, and SHIELD can know, but the NYPD can't?
After all, both the FBI and SHIELD, in some respects, are federal agencies, just like the CIA, while the NYPD is a local agency.
So this was another classic case of federal agencies ganging up on a local one.
But… Locke looked at George with some curiosity: "Then how did he get into the Star Tower? The security at Star Tower isn't exactly weak, is it?"
He was very curious how this would be explained.
George said, "One of the security guards at the main entrance let him in. In exchange, Busson Witch gave the guard a thousand dollars. The guard, after a night of internal struggle, went to the precinct yesterday evening and confessed to his deal with Busson Witch."
Locke nodded.
Well, this reason wasn't entirely far-fetched, and it was quite believable.
Star Tower's security was indeed tight, but even the tightest security still needed human oversight. If someone directly bribed a security guard, it would be like walking right into their own home.
Gwen, hearing this, couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief, then said somewhat exasperatedly, "Is this guy stupid? Locke has money, but Locke also has a team of lawyers."
George chuckled: "As long as you catch Locke with some dirt, no team of lawyers will help."
As he spoke.
George looked up at Locke: "Fortunately, Busson Witch confessed that he also wandered around your apartment, trying to find any secrets you might have, but found nothing. Then, as soon as he installed the listening devices, and before anything was recorded, you discovered them."
When George said this, he seemed a little disappointed.
Was it a figment of his imagination?
No, George was hoping I had some dirt.
Locke's heart darkened, but on the surface, he glanced at Gwen, then looked at George with an open and honest expression: "Gwen knows how I get my money. Last weekend, at Star Tower, Gwen helped me organize my third-quarter income to prepare for next year's taxes."
Last year's tax work, Locke had entrusted to the Raun Law Firm, but clearly, Gwen disapproved of him wasting thirty thousand dollars. So, while consulting Helen, the family's tax expert, she meticulously organized Locke's quarterly tax statements and so on.
So… from a certain perspective, Locke truly achieved it; he held nothing back, hid nothing from Gwen, and directly proved with his actions that he would not have a prenuptial agreement if they married in the future.
Gwen said to George: "Yes, Dad, every penny Locke earns is legitimate. What kind of dirt could there be? At most, underage drinking, but what kind of dirt is that? You can't use that to threaten Locke with jail, can you? Besides, the police wouldn't take it seriously, right, Dad?"
Underage drinking usually isn't taken seriously.
But this wild boar...
George glanced at Locke, a brilliant smile on his face.
Want to try?
Locke also smiled politely.
Helen, watching from the side, felt as if she was seeing her own father and George together. She chuckled helplessly and chose to side with Locke: "Locke is very good. Last month, your police department held another fundraising gala, and Tony Stark's secretary, what was her name?"
Gwen said, "Pepper, Pepper Potts. She's a friend of Locke's and mine."
Helen nodded: "Yes, Ms. Potts. Didn't Ms. Potts also say she envied Locke and Gwen's love?"
George rolled his eyes.
It's over.
He couldn't stay in this house anymore.
George drained his coffee cup, stood up, and walked towards the door: "Anyway, the case is closed."
The implication was, tonight, when I come home, I don't want to see you in my house anymore.
This is my house.
George felt he had no standing in his own home anymore.
What?
Little George's three sons?
Heh.
Just background noise.
Locke watched George prepare to leave, finished his pancake, and stood up: "I have to go too."
The mission from Lorraine Broughton was not yet complete.
If he stayed at Gwen's house, the anonymous person wouldn't find an opportunity to recruit him.
What kind of situation was this?
Speaking of which, being a CIA agent wasn't exactly a great job. Locke felt as if he was eagerly rushing to become a CIA agent.
But… for the mission, for the money, it wasn't shameful.
Originally, Locke was still wondering how to find an opportunity to go back today, since if the case hadn't been resolved, Gwen would definitely not let him out of her sight.
He didn't expect the anonymous person to have thought of it in advance.
Never mind.
This could also be considered a show of sincerity.
Locke thought to himself.
He hoped the anonymous person would come soon, especially since after hearing the case was closed and the false alarm, Gwen also expressed her intention to return to Dr. Connors' lab to continue being a diligent intern assistant.
"Achoo!"
Manhattan, the outdoor rooftop cafe of the Empire State Building.
The anonymous person, wearing sunglasses, rubbed his nose and smiled at his old friend sitting opposite him: "After staying overseas for so long, the federal air seems a bit hard to adapt to."
Harbor, who was sitting opposite him, about the same age as the anonymous person and also from Langley, chuckled: "Then let's switch places."
Harbor, a veteran of Langley, like the anonymous person, had his own team. However, unlike the anonymous person who was responsible for charming places in Europe, Harbor's main responsibility was Lubyanka.
The anonymous person laughed heartily: "How are things in Lubyanka?"
Harbor shook his head: "What else could they be? You played your part so well, and you even deliberately leaked the news to those traitors who sell their souls for money."
The anonymous person said: "Look on the bright side, once we've used them and caught them, the money is still ours. Then, the car is mine, the house is yours, old rules."
Harbor didn't pick up on that, but instead asked curiously: "When are you going?"
The anonymous person retorted: "What about you?"
Harbor was in New York to recruit an agent as well.
Jack Ryan.
He was originally a doctoral student, but after the 9/11 attacks four years ago, the patriotic Jack Ryan abandoned his studies, joined the military, and became a Marine, going to Iraq.
Last year, his helicopter was shot down, but despite being severely wounded and barely able to stand, he pulled his comrades to safety.
Now, Jason Raun is undergoing rehabilitation at a military post-war rehabilitation center in New York, and Harbor has been observing him for a long time.
"In a few days."
Harbor looked up at the sky: "The weather forecast says there will be heavy rain in a few days. I'll go then. What about you?"
It was almost time to go, otherwise, if Jason Ryan recovered and went back to the military, he would suffer a huge loss.
"That's perfect, we can train together then."
"You still haven't said when you're going to recruit him."
"When?"
The anonymous person put down his empty coffee cup and stood up, buttoning his suit jacket.
"Of course, now. You already know about him. If I go later, you, old man, might try to poach him from me. I won't give you that chance."
268. Quantum Fluctuations
"Interesting."
In the Starry Sky Building, Locke, who was sitting at the bar waiting for his distinguished guest, put down his phone, then chuckled and shook his head, "Boring!"
The call just now was from Yegorov.
Locke, holding his wine glass, walked over to the sofa, turned on the TV on the wall, and tuned it to a Washington D.C. channel. The first thing he saw was the exterior of the Oval Office building.
The spokesperson for 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue appeared on the TV screen, righteously firing a barrage of accusations at Moscow, denouncing the Lubyanka for its brazen espionage activities in New York City last night.
Undoubtedly.
This was just a war of words.
However, the media also loved to hear such rhetoric, especially since this matter involved the Lubyanka, one of the three giants of the spy world, which greatly piqued the interest of numerous media outlets.
Upon hearing the 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue spokesperson announce that one of their agents had tragically died on the scene, they instantly became enraged.
And then… upon hearing that the Lubyanka had left at least twelve bodies, they instantly erupted in excitement.
If it had been a one-to-zero score, the media would undoubtedly have savaged 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
But twelve to one?
That was excellent.
The media reporters' eyes suddenly lit up, and they were almost impatiently beginning to ask questions. Some were even calling their TV station's correspondents in Moscow while asking questions.
What time was it? Why were they still sleeping?
Go to Lubyanka quickly; there's big news!
"Ding-a-ling!"
"Hello."
"Mr. Broughton, there's a gentleman who says his name is Mr. Nobody, and he says he has an appointment with you?"
"Send him up."
"Alright."
After a while.
Locke stood at the door, watching Mr. Nobody step out of the elevator, and asked with some curiosity, "If I hadn't let you up just now, would you have found a way to come up?"
Mr. Nobody took off his sunglasses, his face still bearing that smile.
"No."
"Oh?"
"That would mean our fate for a third meeting hasn't arrived yet."
"Please come in."
"Thank you."
Mr. Nobody thanked him and entered Locke's apartment. Then, his gaze fell on the two glasses of bourbon already poured on the coffee table by the sofa, and he chuckled, "If Superintendent Stacy saw this, I wonder what she'd say?"
Locke closed the door behind him and smiled, "In my home, and at Gwen's apartment, George won't bother me in these two places."
Mr. Nobody nodded, looking at the news playing on the large TV screen, and sat down, "New York City seemed very lively last night, but unfortunately, many people didn't know about it."
Locke also walked to the sofa, sat down, picked up his wine glass, and watched the reporters on the TV screen quickly heading towards Lubyanka to broadcast the breaking news, taking a sip of the wine in his glass, "Quite clearly, Mr. Nobody, you don't belong to that category of 'many people,' do you?"
Mr. Nobody also picked up his wine glass and looked up slightly, "What about you, Locke, do you want to be one of those 'many people'?"
What an artful way of speaking.
Locke thought to himself, then looked at Mr. Nobody with some curiosity.
Mr. Nobody took a sip of the wine in his glass, praised it as good wine, and then said, "Last time, you said you wanted to know my name. I said you would know it when we officially met for the third time. But are you sure you want to know my name?"
The implication of these words was already very clear.
A CIA agent's name, their real name, if not known by family, then it would only be known by comrades in the same trench, or by the enemies who understood them best.
Locke's expression was spot on. He opened his mouth, then laughed, "I feel like that's a rather difficult question to answer."
"Understood."
Mr. Nobody was very easygoing. After throwing out that question, he chuckled to ease the momentary tension, then looked at Locke, "Locke, do you know your background?"
Locke leaned back on the sofa, looking at Mr. Nobody sitting on the left side of the sofa, and said casually, "I'm not interested."
Mr. Nobody raised an eyebrow.
Locke glanced around his apartment and said to Mr. Nobody, "Look at me, do I need to know?"
He now had a car, a house, and savings.
If nothing went wrong, his future wife would have a great figure, a beautiful face, and exceptional intelligence. Moreover, her family was the senior superintendent of the NYPD, the law enforcement giant of New York City.
"And…"
Locke looked at Mr. Nobody, "Compared to recalling the hardships of being alone in the past, I look forward more to the unknown and mysterious glory of the future. However, you seem more concerned about my past than I am, don't you?"
If you want to play Zen, I'll play with you.
Too mature and steady, too monstrous?
In New York City, a sixteen-year-old Locke suing the FBI and Homeland Security, wasn't that monstrous enough?
On the Poseidon, Locke became a savior, wasn't that monstrous enough?
At sea, Locke single-handedly chopped up a great white shark, wasn't that monstrous enough?
On Lake Cali, Locke sniped three or five vampires, wasn't that monstrous enough?
If Locke were to act like a naive and ignorant teenager at this moment, that would be the real problem. What he was doing now was just his normal performance.
Besides.
As an orphan, he had always appeared very mature and steady since childhood, and all of this was historically verifiable.
Mr. Nobody took out a stack of documents from his in arms and placed them in front of Locke, "These are your mother's files. You can choose to read them, or not to read them."
Reading them meant they could continue.
Not reading them meant it was a wasted trip.
Locke's gaze fell on a folder without a cover, also on the coffee table in front of him.
The next second.
Locke looked up, glanced at Mr. Nobody, then, under Mr. Nobody's gaze, picked up the folder.
With a few rustling sounds, the roughly dozen pages of documents were closed again.
Locke threw the documents back onto the coffee table and looked at Mr. Nobody, "See, I told you."
Mr. Nobody couldn't help but shake his head. In fact, he had already anticipated that Locke would harbor some resentment due to being abandoned as a child, which was why he had, intentionally or unintentionally, made Locke feel that he wanted to recruit him during their previous two encounters.
But… he was still very resistant.
Mr. Nobody sighed inwardly, glanced at Locke, and without putting away the documents, he stood up and walked towards the door.
Just then.
"Lorraine Broughton, female. Born May 5, 1965, in Gauteng Province, South Africa. Recruited by the CIA at age sixteen."
"Her first mission was on February 12, 1983. On February 21, 1983, riots broke out during the White Elephant Nation elections, resulting in the deaths of six hundred Arab worshipers. Among them, a suspect with close ties to a certain organization died in these riots."
"Her second mission was in November of the same year. Also in the same month, on November 27, Avianca Flight 11 crashed at Madrid–Barajas Airport. Intelligence showed that a defecting CIA agent, whose name was also not on the list, was on that plane."
"1984…"
"1985…"
"1987, another mission. Good heavens, she went to London, then was discovered by MI6, who recruited her to become an MI6 agent…"
Locke leaned back on the sofa without turning his head, his tone flat, like a mechanical repeater.
Mr. Nobody, who had been about to leave, stopped, returned, took off his sunglasses again, sat back on the sofa, and looked at Locke, "Where did you get this information?"
Locke stopped his recitation and looked at Mr. Nobody, "You told me, didn't you? You just asked me to look at the documents."
Mr. Nobody frowned, "You just…"
Locke smiled, tapped his head, and then pointed to his eyes, "Self-created, quantum wave reading, combined with my Western memory method, unparalleled in the world."
To be precise.
It should be photographic memory.
But… quantum wave reading, that sounds much more impressive and classy, doesn't it?
Good heavens.
Locke had actually read the information given by Lubyanka last night, but the information there, although it also stated that Lorraine Broughton was Russian from childhood, was too fake.
After all, Lorraine Broughton didn't look like a Russian girl.
But today's original CIA documents truly astonished Locke.
Frankly speaking, he thought he was already a very open-minded person, thinking of eating CIA's food while doing KGB's missions.
But his perspective was still too narrow.
It turned out that this Lorraine Broughton wasn't a double agent, but a triple agent.
She grew up with the CIA, then infiltrated MI6, then pretended to be turned by the KGB, and finally, the CIA became the one who had the last laugh.
This maneuver!
Tsk tsk tsk.
No wonder she was called a legendary spy.
Fortunately.
Locke thought to himself, he could still add a Mossad.
You, Mossad, couldn't have infiltrated them too, could you?
At worst, you couldn't have even infiltrated the Dragon Group, could you?
Although he was indifferent to Lorraine Broughton, that was his indifference to Lorraine Broughton in her capacity as his so-called birth mother. He was quite interested in Lorraine Broughton's achievements.
Wasn't she just a triple agent?
A triple agent was legendary?
Just wait.
I can be a quintuple agent, a sextuple agent.
As long as there are missions.
Locke thought to himself.
And Mr. Nobody was already slightly stunned, sitting on the sofa, feeling as if he had suddenly thought it was a pile of treasure, only to find that it was not just a pile of treasure, but a whole heap of treasure.
Locke sipped the wine in his glass, then looked at Mr. Nobody, who was still in shock, and chuckled, asking in return, "Mr. Nobody, are you sure you're here to recruit me this time?"
Mr. Nobody: "…"
269. Locke's Spy Teacher
Mr. Nameless came back to his senses and looked at Locke.
Locke's lips curled into a smile.
These words... held a subtle meaning. They could be interpreted as a teasing remark, but they could also be understood as, "Well, well, is this all Langley is capable of? You want to recruit someone, but you don't even bother to gather proper intelligence beforehand?"
It was understandable that the Lubyanka had a mistaken perception of Locke.
After all, they were the Russian Bear.
Being thick-skinned and clumsy was quite normal.
But Langley?
That shouldn't be the case.
After all, Locke had never hidden his talent for learning. In fact, Locke had no intention of feigning ignorance at all. As he always said, playing the pig to eat the tiger wasn't his style.
Mr. Nameless interpreted these words as the latter meaning, smiled, and then shook his head: "Actually, I didn't plan to meet you for a third time so soon."
Locke said "Oh," and a hint of curiosity appeared on his face.
"The bug in your room?"
"You placed it?"
...What? Of course not."
Mr. Nameless quickly denied it. He didn't want his recruitment attempt to fail, and then have Locke's legal team sue Langley. He directly said, "KGB. That's why I rushed over. Since you've seen the information, then you should know why the KGB installed a bug in your room."
Locke put on a surprised expression, then frowned and said, "Because of Lorraine Broughton?"
"Yes, your mother."
"..."
Locke looked up at Mr. Nameless: "If you insist on putting that title on me, then I will refuse your recruitment right now."
Who is my mother?
New China is my mother; no one else has that qualification.
Lorraine Broughton doesn't have that qualification.
The Federation doesn't have that qualification either.
Even the Eastern country in this world doesn't have that qualification.
Locke said, "I'm an orphan, Mr. Nameless. She never took care of me before. Now, I don't need her, and in the future, I won't need her either. You don't know me well enough, but I can tell you."
Mr. Nameless raised his hand: "Sorry, I didn't mean anything else."
He could understand Locke's resentment, and besides, he wasn't here to tell Locke who his mother was.
Mr. Nameless said, "I heard what you said, and I understand, but the KGB doesn't know. And you're so smart, do you think they'll believe you like I do after you tell them?"
Locke shook his head.
If the KGB could listen to his explanation and accept it so readily, would he have bothered to go over there and turn Yegorov into his blood servant?
Even Mr. Nameless didn't believe it, so how could he expect the KGB to?
Right now, Mr. Nameless just wanted to recruit him, so he wouldn't argue with him on this issue. Simply put, if it weren't for that woman, Mr. Nameless would never have thought of recruiting him into the CIA.
Locke was well aware of this.
Although the Federation didn't have a so-called political vetting, or a true political vetting, in a country where even a reformed drug addict could become a police officer, some agencies still valued lineage.
For example, the CIA.
The CIA particularly liked to recruit relatives of old employees. Next, they selected from those who joined the military out of patriotism. As for open recruitment from society, even if they were recruited, they were just cannon fodder agents.
Wait.
Should I turn Mr. Nameless too? I can't neglect one for the other. That's not good. What if it gets out that I turned Yegorov but not Mr. Nameless, and Mr. Nameless gets jealous?
Locke glanced at Mr. Nameless from the corner of his eye, thinking to himself.
But... never mind.
Locke wasn't worried about anything else; it was simply because the taste of human blood was too damn awful.
The first embrace wasn't that easy to perform.
If the first embrace really was as simple as biting someone to turn them, then why were there so many people bitten to death by vampires?
To turn someone into a childe, one needed to completely drain their blood and then have the childe drink their blood. Only then could a childe be created.
For vampires or blood kin addicted to fresh blood, it wouldn't matter.
But Locke couldn't do it.
Although he was an assassin, a witch, and even an imperial blood kin, at the end of the day, Locke considered himself just a slightly complicated ordinary person.
Locke couldn't help but shake his head, dismissing the idea.
Mr. Nameless watched Locke's movements, thinking Locke had given an answer, and said, "But, we've already sorted this matter out. However, with your intelligence, I'm sure you've already guessed it."
This was the excuse used to fool the NYPD into closing the case.
That is to say, the bug in Locke's home was merely the personal act of a down-on-his-luck private investigator without a license who wanted to make money, with no other factors involved.
Locke nodded impassively: "I had a strange feeling, but since you've said it, it's clear now. That Buson Witz, who came to take the blame, must be your man, right?"
Mr. Nameless smiled and said, "Yes, a low-level agent. Coincidentally, his next training step requires him to go to prison, so we took this opportunity to arrange a reasonable excuse for his incarceration."
Locke nodded: "The security at the Star Tower?"
Mr. Nameless spread his hands: "His daughter happens to need a transplant. We promised to put his daughter's name first on the matching list."
"Impressive."
"Thank you."
Locke nodded with an expression of admiration, looking at the calm expression on Mr. Nameless's face. However, his admiration wasn't for Mr. Nameless's actions, but for the fact that Mr. Nameless was indeed a CIA agent.
Although Mr. Nameless was smiling and seemed like a kind old man, there was no doubt that his blood was also cold.
Let me put it this way.
When Mr. Nameless placed a security guard's daughter on the medical transplant list, and even moved her to the first position, it meant that he had no regard for the life of the person who was originally first on the list, who might already be on their deathbed, just waiting for a life-saving procedure.
Locke was amazed by Mr. Nameless's cold-bloodedness, not by his series of actions.
Because.
This was completely unnecessary.
If Locke were in his shoes, he would have three simple and effective methods. First, anyone who dared to pursue this case, he would directly find a way to make that police officer disappear.
When you can't solve the problem, solving the person who raised the problem is always the most convenient and efficient way.
Locke wasn't the one who raised this issue.
He merely brought up the question. The New York Police Department, or more precisely, a senior police superintendent from the NYPD, took up the question and expanded on it.
Unfortunately.
Mr. Nameless did not choose such a simple and effective method.
Locke felt a little disappointed.
"Then…"
Mr. Nameless, seeing that they had talked enough, finally brought up the purpose of his visit: "Locke, we've been observing you for a long time, and I'd like to invite you to join the CIA!"
Locke looked at Mr. Nameless and chuckled: "Mr. Nameless, I'm not opposed to joining the CIA, but I need to remind you, I'm only seventeen."
He didn't choose his career after graduation based on his interests.
Instead, he chose the profession that offered more missions.
Missions were his interest.
But right now?
Locke didn't want to lose his watermelon over a sesame seed. He liked to take things one step at a time, steadily and surely. He couldn't be reckless, but he also wouldn't develop timidly.
Invincible at the same level, invincible in the same realm.
This was what Locke hoped for.
Mr. Nameless smiled and said, "Of course, I haven't forgotten that, but your..."
Locke looked at Mr. Nameless with a half-smile.
"Lorraine Broughton…"
Since he couldn't use that title to build a relationship, Mr. Nameless wouldn't provoke Locke again: "Lorraine Broughton had already successfully graduated from the agent academy at your age."
Locke chuckled: "I don't believe that an agent's education is superior to my current education. For me, my current studies are more beneficial."
"But you like taking tests, don't you?"
"...Continue."
Locke's lips curved upwards as he spoke, looking at Mr. Nameless: "I think I misspoke just now. It seems Mr. Nameless truly did investigate me."
Mr. Nameless smiled: "I can recruit you, but whether you pass the assessment is not up to me."
Do you really think being an agent is that easy?
Let me put it this way.
A poor student, even if they went to the CIA and didn't need to pass exams in physics, chemistry, or whatever else, would definitely fail.
A qualified agent needs to learn how to crash a car at nearly eighty kilometers per hour and still survive.
They even need to learn how to interrogate and how to subtly extract secrets from others.
Most importantly, a qualified agent needs to learn how to cleverly violate the laws of other countries while remaining unscathed.
And most importantly, they need to learn how to keep their identity secret.
Marksmanship, while not unimportant, is at least not as crucial in an agent's career.
"Last year, out of three hundred agent trainees, only three passed. Three people were eliminated every week, until only the final three remained."
Mr. Nameless spoke of last year's recruitment results, looking at Locke: "I wonder, are you interested in this test?"
Locke smiled and said, "A little, but, as I said, I'm only seventeen."
Mr. Nameless said, "I haven't forgotten that. So, you don't have to go to the academy. You just need to pass the exam. Someone will train you, and they'll ensure you won't be suspected."
"Who?"
"Someone you know, Sheldon, Clyde Sheldon, your mentor!"