CH: 279-286
279. No Threat to Mr. Luo
"What's wrong?"
"Cain was kidnapped."
"???"
Locke raised an eyebrow. Why was he not surprised at all?
This was why Locke liked using alt accounts, and even, was reluctant to make too many friends.
Trouble!
Without a doubt.
Locke didn't even bother asking Gwen; he already knew who kidnapped Cain.
Hitman 47, of course.
He was currently at the NYPD. Unless Hitman 47 had a death wish, he wouldn't dare to come in here.
And if Locke were to go out?
Heh.
Locke turned and walked away.
Gwen was stunned. She grabbed Locke, then, with a thud, closed the door and whispered, looking at Locke, "What are you doing?"
Locke looked at Gwen. "Tell George."
Someone was kidnapped, so of course, they had to tell the police.
Locke never had any intention of being a hero.
"Are you crazy? He said if we tell the NYPD, he'll kill Cain."
"Even if we don't say anything, Cain's chances of survival are infinitely close to zero!"
This was without a doubt.
How many kidnapped people had you seen return unharmed?
Perhaps there used to be.
Moreover, in the past, kidnappers truly only sought money. There was even a reputable local middleman who would guarantee the exchange of ransom and hostages between the kidnappers and the families.
But now?
The world was going downhill. Just as more and more young people were flocking to the assassin industry, the moral bottom line of the kidnapping industry had also plummeted below its initial value.
Besides.
If you want to kill him, kill him! It's no big deal. In the future, I'll go to Mephisto's and buy Cain back. What's the big deal?
But threats?
Impossible.
Locke never accepted any threats.
This precedent couldn't be set. If it was, what if future people followed suit?
However... Locke glanced at Gwen. "What about Cindy? Wasn't Cindy with Cain?"
Gwen shook her head. "No. When we went over just now, it seemed Cain heard some commotion on the street, then ran out, seemingly to check. And then, Cain seemed to have been kidnapped."
Locke: "..."
Alright.
Cain always seemed to be a fan of watching drama unfold.
Well, this was great.
Go to hell and learn your lesson. When I feel I can beat Mephisto, I'll go to hell and bring you back. It's good to suffer a bit in hell.
Besides, hell might not necessarily be suffering.
Locke heard that if some handsome souls went to hell, they would be fought over by succubi. Some handsome souls could have several succubi.
The succubus who took a liking to Chester thought she couldn't compete with her own kind in hell, so she came up. Who knew she'd meet Chester? She originally planned to drain Chester dry and then move on to the next one, but who knew, Chester directly drained the succubus dry.
Locke thought to himself, shook his head, and prepared to push Gwen, who was blocking the doorway, aside, ready to tell George.
But... Gwen pursed her lips and looked at Locke. "No, we can't tell George."
Locke blinked. "Did you lose your intelligence?"
Was this directly entering movie mode?
Or was it that concern made one reckless?
Gwen took a deep breath, looked at Locke, and whispered, "You're right. Even if we don't say anything, Cain's chances of survival are very small, but very small doesn't mean none."
Locke's mind was clear. "Alright, you're just deceiving yourself."
Gwen looked at Locke. "Moreover, Cain is our friend. And most importantly, Cain was caught because of us."
Locke nodded.
That's why he said that in the future, when he went to hell, he would retrieve Cain.
If worst came to worst... he could say hello to Mephisto, humble himself a bit, forgive Mephisto, and ask Mephisto to look after Cain.
But he certainly couldn't say that to Gwen.
Locke looked at Gwen. "So you mean?"
"He'll call again in five minutes."
"And then?"
"Figure out what he's really here for."
Gwen said, "I've heard you talk about Lorraine Broughton. They should be after Lorraine Broughton, or rather, what Lorraine Broughton has."
Locke frowned. "Lorraine Broughton is dead. Did you forget what I just told you?"
Gwen nodded. "I know, but don't you think it's strange?"
"What?"
"Why did this International Contract Agency come at this time?"
"Because of the KGB, because of me."
"No."
Gwen's expression was serious, full of wisdom. She shook her head and said, "Perhaps this matter drew their attention to you, but they couldn't have come for you based on that reason. At the very least, the motive isn't established."
Locke didn't speak.
Just then.
Gwen's phone rang again.
Locke looked at the phone Gwen handed him, and at Gwen's eyes that urged him to first understand the motive. He raised an eyebrow, took the phone, then, looking at Gwen, answered the call.
"Hello!"
"Locke Broughton."
"Speak!"
"If you want your friend..."
"If you want to kill him, kill him!"
"..."
Locke didn't wait for the other end of the phone to finish speaking, directly saying this with a blank expression, then immediately hung up.
Gwen was completely taken aback.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
Locke shook his head, looked at Gwen, and explained, "You started by using probability to calculate Cain's chances of survival. So I'll use psychology. What do you think, if I show that I care about Cain, and if I show that I don't care about Cain at all, what action will that killer take?"
Gwen frowned. "He'll kill Cain, one hundred percent!"
Since Cain had no leverage over Locke, why keep him alive?
Locke's lips curved upwards. "Wrong, it should be fifty percent."
Gwen frowned and looked at Locke.
Locke said, "Either that killer will chop up Cain, or that killer, seeing that I don't care at all, will directly release Cain. Fifty-fifty. Don't forget, he's not a simple killer, but an organized one. He has a purpose. Killing indiscriminately does him no good."
Now that it was confirmed that ICA had intricate ties to London.
Then... Hitman 47 shouldn't be called Hitman 47, but rather Agent 47. It's just that 47 thought he was a hitman, but any intelligence agency would follow a basic rule.
Just like the three principles of ICA's operations that Red Devil told him.
Minimize civilian casualties other than the target.
When Locke cared about Cain, then Cain was no longer outside the target, but a person related to the target.
But when Locke said "kill him if you want to kill him."
Then Cain was outside the target.
Just as Locke said.
"Fifty-fifty, that's better than the three percent chance of survival you just mentioned."
"...You're gambling."
"Weren't you gambling just now too?"
Gwen met Locke's gaze and frowned, "It's still gambling, but just now, you could have had a chance to ask what he really wanted."
Locke shook his head.
"I don't need to."
"Why?"
"To put it complicatedly, as you just said, they are either here for Lorraine Broughton, or for something Lorraine Broughton has. But I don't have either of those, so if I had continued talking to him just now, once he brought up those two questions for which I couldn't provide answers, then Cain's hope of survival would have directly become zero."
"..."
What Locke told Gwen was complicated.
And he could only tell Gwen the complicated reason, because the simple one couldn't be said.
Simply put, after today, ICA would know. They would know who they had provoked.
No matter how many agents there were, could they block a single shot from the Peerless Assassin?
There were also the transcendent, and, with Loco's appearance, they would be invincible.
What other species, Imperial Cain, Blood Emperor, could block them?
ICA thought they were only provoking Locke, but in reality, they were provoking the composite Locke, a three-in-one, fully developed in virtue, intelligence, physique, and aesthetics.
Locke represented his inherent virtue.
The witch Loco represented his inherent intelligence.
The Peerless Assassin represented his inherent physique.
The Bloodline Cain represented his inherent beauty.
Whatever card ICA played against him would be useless. This time, if ICA wasn't destroyed, Locke felt there was no point in continuing this game.
After playing for so long, he couldn't even defeat a small BOSS. What was the point of playing?
Delete game!
Gwen listened to Locke's explanation, frowning, seemingly analyzing his words.
After a while.
Gwen shook her head and looked at Locke. "I didn't want you to be in danger, Locke, but Cain is in danger because of us. Both your decision and my decision are to save Cain."
Locke smiled and hugged Gwen. "Of course I know. If that killer said that as long as I showed up, he would one hundred percent release Cain, I promise I would go. But you and I both know that even if he promised, the probability of that is very small."
This was why Locke was attracted to Gwen.
A pretty appearance might attract Locke's gaze, but a soul full of wisdom was the reason Locke could never figure out why he would become a scoundrel.
Besides.
Negotiating a contract with a killer and an agent?
Are you kidding me?
Gwen pursed her lips, looked at Locke, and nodded. "We should tell Dad."
Locke hummed.
Still in Long Island, or rather, the Hamptons.
Inside an uninhabited villa, Hitman 46, whose call was decisively cut off by Locke, seemed to be experiencing an information overload, causing him to freeze.
Cain, whose hands and feet were tied and whose mouth was stuffed with a knitted * * * that Hitman 46 had just found in a drawer, lay quietly on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
He seemed... to have given up struggling?
No other reason.
This * * * seemed like it hadn't been washed...
280. Do You Dare to Kill?
"You did the right thing, Locke!"
"As for you, Gwen..."
In the office, George listened to Locke and Gwen's report, then praised Locke with an appreciative look.
His friction with Locke was purely personal; it didn't affect the bigger picture.
Gwen, however...
George glanced at his daughter—who had no intention of letting Locke file a report—and sighed, shaking his head. "Gwen, killers are cold-blooded animals. They have no morals, no honor."
Locke, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow.
That remark… felt like George was openly cursing him.
No, wait.
I'm not a killer—I'm an assassin.
An assassin to whom everything is permitted.
Not some low-rent killer.
Locke mentally excused George; otherwise he'd have to find a reason not to kill the man.
Gwen sounded unconvinced. "The Peerless Assassin keeps his word."
"He's no different."
"…"
Just as Locke's killing intent stirred, George paused, reining in his words, and looked at Gwen. "Of course, he's hiding well for now. But, Gwen, understand this—they have no feelings or sense of contract. Dealing with them is like dealing with demons."
If you can beat a demon, go ahead.
Like the Ancient One, freeloading power from every dimension.
But if you can't thrash a demon, don't bargain with one; the best outcome is being toyed with until you're dead.
Gwen opened her mouth, then said nothing.
Yet George, reading her expression, knew she still disagreed. "I guarantee: if we follow your plan, best-case scenario—we don't save Khan. Worse, Locke, who's finally safe, lands back in danger. They might even be after him. If he refuses their demands, do you think they'll let him walk away?"
Gwen looked up at Locke beside her, a flicker of fear in her eyes.
Right…
However capable, Locke's still just a seventeen-year-old kid; those are killers out there.
Gwen realized she'd been absurdly overconfident.
And it was all Locke's fault.
He'd always acted fearless around her, giving her the illusion that even if the sky fell, he'd hold it up.
So Gwen tapped Locke's heel with her shoe. When he turned, she muttered, "It's all your fault."
Locke was bewildered.
What do you mean?
My fault?
What did I do wrong?
The next second,
Gwen stuck out her tongue, stepped forward, and slipped her arm through Locke's. Looking up, she smiled. "Thanks for keeping me so safe."
Locke blinked, then grinned. "You're my future wife."
George, walking ahead and holding Gwen's phone, nearly tripped over his own feet. Fighting the urge to turn around, he strode into the NYPD information hub and found Beckett on a call with the Department of Homeland Security, scrutinizing every frame of Long Island's traffic-cam footage.
Even if the victims hadn't been Locke and Gwen, the IA would still have kicked a hornet's nest.
Put it this way:
Since 9/11, the NYPD had never seen such brazen thugs—openly challenging police head-on.
Not even the Peerless Assassin had done that.
True, every time he slipped away, but in each incident he never killed a single NYPD officer. To the public it looked like the police chasing and the assassin escaping.
For the NYPD, the outcome didn't matter.
The process—especially the part the public saw—mattered.
In citizens' eyes, the Peerless Assassin simply outran the police again, showcasing superb escape skills, nothing more.
At the very least, not like this.
They didn't flee; they rammed a roadblock and killed two Hampton Bays officers.
That was kicking the hornet's nest.
Only because the victims were a Police Superintendent's daughter and future son-in-law did the nest become super-sized—but it was still a hornet's nest.
Right then,
Ring-ring!
Just as Beckett ordered techs to patch Gwen's phone into the trace system, it rang again.
Gwen glanced over. "That unknown number again."
George looked at Locke. "Two minutes."
Locke nodded. George whistled, signaled for silence, and when the room quieted, Locke answered.
A soft click.
Locke frowned at the faint whir—like a device powering up—coming from the other end.
A recorder?
Interesting.
Instantly,
the techs began tracing the signal's origin.
Locke's tone stayed flat: "Talk."
Khan's scream crackled through the speaker.
Gwen clutched Locke's arm, her eyes wide with worry.
Killer 46 pulled the dagger—buried in a non-vital part of Khan—and stared at the sweat-soaked man on the bed, voice glacial: "Your friend is screaming."
Locke's face was blank. "My voice—are you really hearing it that clearly?"
"I can hear every breath you take."
"Good."
Locke chuckled. "Then tell me—has my breathing once, even for a second, faltered because of Khan's screams?"
Killer 46 froze for a heartbeat.
>
What's going on…
Could the intel be wrong?
Should I have grabbed the girl instead? Killer 46's thoughts raced; he glanced at Khan on the bed, then at the timer on his wrist—still under three minutes. "My target is you. I only want—"
Locke, counting down the two-minute mark, cut in: "Kill him if you must. But do you know what I'll do once he's dead?"
Killer 46 narrowed his eyes.
Locke's voice dropped, almost gentle. "I'll liquidate every asset I own and put bounties on you and every soul in your outfit. However deep you hide, someone out there likes money. Try me."
He finished.
Locke ended the call, crisp and clean.
"Got it!"
"Damn it—he's still on Long Island!"
"Hampton!"
"He's still on the island."
"Keep the Coast Guard sealing the shoreline!"
"Cut the three roads off Long Island into New York."
"Pour every chopper over Long Island; even if the sun's down I want the place lit like noon."
"Yes, sir."
"Copy that!"
The instant the signal origin locked, the ops center exploded into motion.
Rumble-rumble-rumble!
Minutes earlier the Coast Guard had figured the perp slipped away and were pulling out; the new order spun them around. Duckweed units thundered back, scattering along every inch of Long Island's coast—no cruise ship, no yacht would slip past their gaze.
Thud-thud-thud.
helicopters combing the skies above New York City swung in unison, a steel swarm thundering toward Long Island.
Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo!
Squad cars from every NYPD precinct—every spare unit—flooded toward Long Island.
Locke set the phone down and glanced at George, curious. "I thought NYPD needed three minutes to trace a call."
"Ha!"
George, in high spirits, explained: "New upgrade rolled out last month—Hollywood hasn't heard yet. Next time that damned Peerless Assassin calls… he won't get away."
Locke gave an appreciative "Oh… impressive."
From three minutes down to two?
Goodfellas.
Close call.
Good thing Gwen didn't know either—now she does.
Locke's eyes slid to George. If he hadn't known, George might've actually tricked him.
Not that it mattered much—at worst the Peerless Assassin's respawn point would've been blown. A taste of victory for George, sure, but nothing this sweet.
Close enough to see, too far to touch.
Yeah.
Only good for looking, never for holding.
Locke figured that was the perfect distance—for George and for the Peerless Assassin alike.
George took the vest Beckett offered.
Put it on.
Gwen started to speak.
George didn't let her. "You're not coming."
Gwen blinked. "But Dad—"
"No."
"Dad…"
George walked off without looking back. If Locke hadn't just proven himself, George would've posted an officer to babysit her—but clearly Locke had earned his trust.
Locke told her, "Cindy's on her way. Staying here with her is the best thing we can do."
Gwen frowned. "But—"
Locke added, "And if we went, George would have to choose—save Khan or protect me. Don't worry; I'm the target, not Khan."
Gwen took a slow breath, then nodded. "Let's hope Khan comes out okay."
Unharmed was already impossible.
That scream hadn't sounded fake.
Now they could only hope the killer, sensing things going sideways, would let Khan live—even if it meant running for his own life.
Seeing Gwen give up the idea of following, Locke exhaled in relief.
Then—
"Ding!"
"Tracking card activated!"
"Agent 47!"
"Data incomplete; auto-completion will cost you one trial. Subsequent uses require payment!"
"Completion successful!"
"Clone designation: 640509040147!"
"Unfolding location data!"
The system's this advanced?
Locke raised a brow; auto-completion was a first for him.
But that "one free trial, pay later" model…
He had a hunch the system had its eye on the six-digit pile of points he'd scraped together…
281. Kurva Captured
Dream on.
I painstakingly saved up points to buy the sun god. You want to snatch them away? You're completely dreaming on.
Locke rolled his eyes internally.
Before school started, he had already upgraded everything he needed to.
The Iron Body, which also became a Supreme Talent, could help him rampage for a short period. And with the Extraordinary, which provided an endless supply of energy, he could even conjure three clones using the golden apple without any problem.
So... it was time to save up for the sun god.
This was a dream!
What's more, for Supreme Talents, the points required for each upgrade were already astronomical. Although Locke really wanted to upgrade the Extraordinary once more to open up a dimension.
But two million points, no matter how Locke looked at it, felt like a loss.
With those two million, I could save up and buy the sun god, achieving it in one go. Wouldn't that be better?
Only a fool would choose to be a Dimensional God instead of a Supreme God.
Locke thought to himself. He had a long-term, step-by-step plan for his future, knowing what to spend on and what not to spend on.
When it was time to spend, Locke wouldn't hesitate.
But when it wasn't, you damn system, don't even think about tempting me to spend.
Before, when I asked you for an advance loan, you wouldn't give it. Now that you see I can save money, you're trying to con me out of it. Heh, too late, I've already developed good habits.
Locke felt that this system had the same playbook as a bank.
When you have no money and go for a loan, the bank directly kicks you out, telling you not to cause trouble.
But when you have money, the bank comes knocking, trying all sorts of ways to get you to spend, with wealth management products, new products, and even eagerly offering you loans.
Shameless!
Locke fiercely condemned the system's snobbish behavior internally. Then, after finishing his rant in a mere two seconds, Agent 47's coordinates were already marked.
It's just... "What?"
"What?"
"Nothing."
Locke snapped back to reality, smiled slightly at Gwen, and then refocused his attention on the location map that the system had conjured after automatically completing the identity information: "Siberia?"
Goodfellas!
If you told me that guy flew to Siberia in an afternoon, I might believe it.
But how long has it been?
Has it even been three hours? And Agent 47 is already speeding to Siberia, and with a hostage at his side?
How can I not believe it?
Wait!
Locke stroked his chin. Could it be that what he saw wasn't Agent 47, but some other killer number?
...That's right.
Locke blinked. It seemed, apparently, that those guys with barcodes on the back of their heads were basically identical, except for the barcodes.
"Hiss!"
Locke was slightly startled: "Then, what number is this guy who came over?"
Long Island!
Hampton.
Killer 46 once again looked at the hung-up phone in his hand, once again couldn't help but be stunned, then looked at Kahn on the bed, who was sweating profusely from pain, and put away his phone expressionlessly: "It seems your friend doesn't care about your life or death."
"Pah!"
Kahn spat directly, but because he was lying down, the spit flew into the air and then splattered back onto his own head.
But this didn't affect Kahn at all: "If you have the guts, just kill me. Don't think Locke will come here to die too. You're wrong if you expect me to resent Locke."
After Kahn finished speaking, he once again spat... at the air, and then started groaning.
He was tough.
He was in pain.
Two different things.
He wasn't stupid. It was clear this guy was looking for trouble with Locke. As one of Locke's few friends, Kahn wouldn't let Locke come here to die.
If only one person had to die, why make it a buy-one-get-one-free deal and have two die?
It's just... Cindy!
Wuwuwu.
Kahn groaned while in pain.
The next second.
Kahn suddenly froze slightly, as if he heard something in his ear.
Killer 46 was genuinely bewildered by Kahn's inexplicable courage. After all, Kahn had been begging for mercy just moments ago when he removed the gag.
But now?
However, before Killer 46 could think further, he heard the sound of a helicopter, seemingly coming from a distance.
Just then.
Killer 46 looked at his lit-up phone, opened it, and saw only one text message.
"You've been exposed. Retreat!"
...
How is that possible? The call only lasted just over two minutes... Killer 46 thought to himself, but this didn't hinder his actions. He quickly smashed the phone to pieces, threw it into the trash can, and then walked expressionlessly towards Kahn on the bed.
Kahn on the bed's eyes widened: "You fucking..."
Before he could finish speaking.
Kahn's head tilted directly to the right, and he passed out gracefully.
Killer 46 once again carried Kahn and walked towards the garage of this resort Villa, opened a black car in front of him, and his gaze flickered as he looked at the things in the back seat.
At this moment.
Long Island's access points by sea, land, and air were completely sealed off.
On the sea, the Coast Guard spread out.
In the sky, NYPD helicopters rumbled overhead.
On the ground.
By the time George and the SWAT Team arrived at Long Island again, the entire road leading to Long Island had been blocked, and the roads leaving Long Island, while passable, were under strict scrutiny.
"Name!"
"Silva Hanks!"
"British?"
George walked over, took the passport handed to him by a Police Officer, flipped through it a few times, and noticed Silva, the MI6 Agent smiling inside the pickup truck.
The passport was real.
The Police Officer glanced at the pickup truck's trunk and back seat, then nodded to George.
George glanced at Silva sitting in the car.
Silva smiled.
"Go."
"Thank you."
Silva took the passport George handed him and thanked him.
But... George grabbed Silva's right hand and raised an eyebrow.
Silva was slightly startled.
With a whoosh, George drew his gun and aimed it at Silva: "Get out of the car!"
He had just learned the whole truth from Director Colin of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and Locke and Gwen had just confessed everything to him.
So, a Londoner appearing here wasn't suspicious, but a Londoner with calloused hands appearing here was very suspicious.
After George drew his gun, several Police Officers were also startled, then simultaneously and uniformly drew their guns and aimed them at Silva inside the car.
The latter was startled: "Wait, wait, I'm just a tourist."
"A tourist?"
George chuckled, walked to the front of the pickup truck, took a look, then looked at Silva: "Dare to bet with me that this car isn't yours?"
Silva: "..."
Just then.
A Police Officer searching from a helicopter in the air seemed to have spotted a target. Beckett, who was in the information center, immediately connected with George: "Officer, the helicopter has spotted the target on Hampton Road One."
George narrowed his eyes and said to the Police Officers beside him: "Take him back to The Bureau, lock him up. No one is allowed to release him, no matter who comes, until I return."
"Understood!"
"Yes."
Silva was completely stumped. I only left an hour late, how did it suddenly turn out like this?
Originally, when he received instructions from Madam M, he planned to evacuate, but he wanted to see where the vanished Killer 46 had gone.
So, he delayed a bit.
Unexpectedly... "Wait!"
"Get out of the car."
"I'll count to three!"
"Two!"
"I'm getting out!"
Kurva shivered, raised his hands, and shouted.
Damn it.
I should have accepted the original mission to Moscow.
fuck!
However... if Kurva could have known better, choosing to come to New York actually saved him. After all, if he had been arrested in Moscow, MI6 would have denied everything.
Of course.
MI6 would also deny everything this time, but in any case, at least the NYPD wasn't as barbaric and wouldn't disfigure Kurva.
The NYPD's greatest hobby was the big gray rat in the Underground Room.
So, unless Kurva transformed into another species, the NYPD was unlikely to shift its affections.
Inside the NYPD.
At this moment.
Cindy had also been brought over by the Police Officers.
As soon as Cindy got out of the police car and saw Gwen, she immediately hugged her and then burst into tears: "Gwen, Kahn was captured."
Gwen nodded repeatedly, comforting Cindy: "Don't worry, my dad has already gone there. He will definitely be able to rescue Kahn."
When she said this, Gwen's tone was clearly lacking confidence.
After all... whether it was Locke's approach or George's approach, in Gwen's opinion, it seemed that no matter what, they were forcing that killer to chop Kahn into pieces.
Of course.
Locke had also given an explanation just now.
This was indeed giving the killer a choice: either kill Kahn or release Kahn.
But the cost of killing Kahn was that the killer would also find it impossible to escape, unless he could become invisible. Otherwise, he would never be able to leave the completely sealed and cordoned-off Long Island alive.
Unless he let Kahn live.
Locke, standing by, watched a real-time feed from a New York helicopter playing on the large screen in the information center.
On the road in Long Island, New York, a black sedan was continuously in front, surrounded on all sides by police cars trying to intercept it.
But none of them opened fire.
No choice.
There was a hostage.
In the picture, Kahn, with his head tilted in the passenger seat, his state of life or death unclear, was clearly visible.
Similarly.
There was also the bald man in a suit sitting in the driver's seat.
"Locke!"
Beckett, standing beside him, looked at Locke and said casually: "Do you think we can catch this guy?"
Locke said: "If the price of not catching this guy is Kahn being alive, then I hope he is not caught."
Beckett: "..."
282. How to Make the Peerless Assassin Take Over
Locke didn't like lying.
Besides… this was the truth. Leaving aside the fact that he wanted this serial-number-unknown killer to lead him to the nest, the simple point that Khan was his friend was enough.
If he could be saved, then of course he had to be saved.
In Locke's eyes, he either didn't make friends at all; once he did, he gave them his heart.
So that time with Victoria Knox, she had hurt him deeply. If it had only been about giving him up, he actually hadn't wanted to kill Victoria Knox.
But she had also dragged HYDRA into it.
That made things impossible for Locke: spare her and the trouble would never end, so he killed her.
Khan was different, though.
The most important point.
Locke watched the live feed on the big screen—everyday GA5 stuff. "He won't get away."
Even for Locke, confronted by this setup—helicopters overhead and countless police cars clamping down below—getting out safely would be tough.
Luckily, a scene like this only triggered when the NYPD hit its five-star alert level.
Locke had never enjoyed such treatment.
Right now—
On-screen, the black sedan went bang, never slowed, and drove straight over the spike strip the NYPDhad laid ahead.
Psssh!
In an instant all four tires deflated, then—boom—it soared, flipped, and nose-dived off the bridge into the river below.
Locke raised an eyebrow.
Water escape?
Not a bad choice.
In a situation like this, if it were him, he'd also go for the water first—assuming he didn't feel like going Peerless.
If he did go Peerless, then retreat was out of the question.
Still… Locke eyed the Coast Guard inflatables roaring toward the scene and wondered: did this numberless killer plan to swim the coastline straight to international waters?
"Khan!"
While Locke was thinking, Cindy saw the car plummet into the sea and froze; when she came to her senses she screamed, nearly fainting.
Gwen quickly steadied Cindy, eyes on the screen. "It's okay, look—the Coast Guard's already down there, relax."
Sure enough, the seasoned Coast Guard hauled Khan from the sinking car; the dunking had startled him awake.
On-screen Khan was soaked but still breathing.
As long as there's breath…
Locke told himself there was nothing a life potion couldn't fix; if one didn't do it, two would.
Provided the body stayed intact—no autopsy, no organs lifted out and weighed one by one. Otherwise he'd have to wait until he paid Mephisto a visit to get them back.
Looks like Khan was safe.
But the assassin?
Vanished.
Dozens of inflatables fanned out in every direction.
Locke didn't keep watching; Gwen called him along to New Amsterdam Hospital to meet the ambulance bringing Khan.
A Police Officer led them.
In the surgery corridor
Locke sat on a bench while Gwen comforted Cindy, who stared anxiously at the elevator doors.
Khan's parents arrived.
So did Cindy's.
About ninety minutes later—
Ding.
The elevator opened.
Cindy's eyes lit up at Khan on the gurney; she cried out and rushed over, then froze—Khan had changed into a fresh set of scrubs.
The Police Officer riding with the ambulance shook his head. "He said coming in soaking wet would worry you, so we stopped at Long Island Hospital and swapped him into these."
Walking behind with Gwen, Locke couldn't help smiling at the move.
Cindy snorted a laugh, then smacked into a hug.
Khan yelped.
Startled, Cindy let go.
The Doctor said, "His injuries aren't serious, but seawater got into them. If we don't clean them fast, infection will be a pain."
Cindy nodded frantically and reluctantly let go of his hand. "Khan…"
"Cindy…"
"…"
Locke stared at the ceiling. It should've been touching, yet listening to the two of them felt like he'd wandered into a Qiong Yao soap opera.
Just then
a Nurse walked up. "Someone needs to pay the bill."
Khan's parents stepped forward. "We'll—"
Locke cut in, looking at the Nurse. "I'll take care of it."
Khan's parents gave him a surprised look.
Locke was calm. "Khan got hurt because of me; the bill's mine to pay."
They exchanged glances. "Sorry, we don't understand."
Locke smiled. "Ask Khan when he's better."
He spoke.
Locke told the Nurse who had come to collect the fee, 'Put it on my card.'
The Nurse had no problem with whose card was charged, but if no one paid, it would be a big issue. Although NYPD said they would cover it,
NYPD already owes too much. Frankly, if New Amsterdam weren't a public hospital, a private one would have sued NYPD into bankruptcy.
So whenever possible, payments should be made; otherwise, if New Amsterdam Hospital goes under, NYPD will follow.
Gwen went with Locke, accompanied by a Police Officer.
A short while later.
Locke swiped his card, paying the hospital's estimated twenty-thousand-dollar fee, then handed the receipt to Gwen.
Gwen took it, opened her purse, slipped the receipt into her wallet.
These receipts will come in handy for tax filing next March, and medical expenses can offset some taxes.
Around eight in the evening—about forty-five minutes after Kahn was wheeled into surgery—he was rolled back out.
Kahn had plenty of wounds, all non-fatal; aside from significant blood loss, there were no other symptoms.
Any infection from seawater had been cleaned up in the operating room.
No major problems.
Kahn could even receive a transfusion while munching an apple.
Watching the pair on the hospital bed—one feeding, the other eating, shamelessly scattering dog food—Gwen shook her head and said to Locke, 'All right, you were right.'
Locke glanced at her. 'I know.'
Gwen lowered her voice.'Still, I think your and Dad's decision, though correct, is hard for people to accept.'
Locke shrugged. 'Truth has always been in the hands of the few, hasn't it?'
Kahn counted as one.
Locke could tell Kahn held no grudge over his saying he wouldn't come.
Win hearts first, then hands.
After the Victoria Knox incident, moving someone from Locke's friend list to his close-friend list had become very difficult.
Gwen shook her head. 'Are you really going to tell Kahn's parents what happened?'
Locke smiled at her. 'Think if I don't, they won't find out?'
'What?'
'Their target is me, but the operation failed. What do you think they'll do next?'
'They won't...'
Just then
A Police Officer pushed open the door, walked up to Locke and Gwen, and said grimly, 'Captain Stacysays no matter how the reporters downstairs stir things up, don't go down.'
'Reporters?'
Gwen blinked. 'What reporters? Why would they come—here to interview Kahn?'
The Officer glanced at Locke and shook his head. 'No, they want to interview Mr. Broughton. Somehow they learned the Long Island incident was an assassination attempt on Locke, and the conversation between Mr. Broughton and the killer seems to have been recorded and sent to the media.'
'What!'
Gwen was stunned.
Locke merely smiled.
He looked at Gwen.
'See? Called it.'
Locke chuckled and nodded. 'If they can't kill me physically, the next option on the table is to use public opinion.'
ICA's playbook, Locke didn't know.
MI6's playbook, he didn't know either, but he understood CIA's method of destroying someone; spy agencies probably just reshuffle the order.
Besides, during their second call, he'd caught a different frequency and guessed the other side had started recording.
But... so what?
If rumors could kill, Locke would've died many times over.
Too bad.
Locke has never cared about that stuff.
Bring it on.
He happened to need a reasonable, solid excuse for Peerless Assassin, which was why he'd kept talking even after noticing the numbered assassin's recorder.
If ICA or MI6 didn't hand him the knife, Locke wouldn't have known how to let Peerless Assassin act smoothly.
But now?
The knife's been offered; if Locke didn't take it, he'd be downright ungrateful.
Still... Locke took out his phone and redialed the last number.
A moment later.
'Mr. Broughton!'
'Lawyer Laun, are you here yet?'
'On my way—thirty minutes out.'
'Can you bring a power-of-attorney form?'
'Of course.'
'Thanks!'
283. I'm giving you the story.
"Did the tip go out?"
"It did."
"Reporters are already at the hospital. Now we just wait to see if he shows."
The same dim Room, the same ICA trio who'd grown fat off the organization.
Mr. I, half-lost in darkness: 'If you're not brash when you're young, can you even call yourself young? Hmph. It's been ages since I met a kid with that kind of fire.'
Mr. C echoed: 'That's because we'll snap their bones first.'
Mrs. A chuckled: 'Then we'll perform surgery and put the pieces back together.'
Except… the bone we replace isn't theirs anymore—it's the loyal, obedient bone of a dog.
Locke, however, would never reach that stage.
They'd meant to snatch Locke Broughton quietly, but everything had blown up—no capture, just city-wide chaos.
Fortunately…
They had contingencies.
Mr. I turned to Mrs. A and laughed. 'Brilliant suggestion, Mrs. A. Without the distraction, every camera in New York would be hunting us. Who knows what those vultures might have dug up?'
Mrs. A asked, 'What about Number 46?'
Mr. C, deadpan: 'Still exfiltrating, but vitals are stable. He'll make it out clean.'
'How's our CIA side?'
'Green across the board.'
Mr. I smiled. 'The Agency isn't a one-man show, but while it might not be able to recruit someone, blocking a cold-blooded high-schooler who watched his classmate die is child's play. Once Langley signs off, the problem shrinks to nothing.'
They had time.
One failure meant nothing.
As the Agency's regime-change cowboys like to say: I can lose a hundred times; I only need to win once and your government's dust.
No one stays safe once ICA puts them on the list.
Much like the targets of the Peerless Assassin—hardly anyone walks away. The lone exception was that junkie Barry Wise. He did survive… just not as the same species.
Hospital Room.
Kane's parents and Cindy's had gone home to grab fresh clothes.
Propped against his pillows, Kane told Locke and Gwen, 'You guys should head home; it's late.'
Locke checked his watch. 'Half an hour more.'
How could the Peerless Assassin make an entrance if he left?
Besides, Locke looked at Kane: 'I still owe you an apology.'
He said it while slipping his hands into his pockets, face grave. 'Don't worry— that bald bastard won't walk away. I guarantee it.'
You hurt my friend and expect to stroll off untouched?
Dream on.
Kane smiled. 'Locke, if it were me, I'd have done the same. No point doubling the price—and look, I'm fine.'
Gwen added, 'Any word on whether Dad's found that damn bald guy?'
The question triggered something in Kane. 'The back of the bald guy's head has a barcode—numbers. I saw it.'
Locke's eyes lit up. 'You're sure?'
Kane nodded. 'Can't recall the whole thing, but the tail end looked like … 46.'
46?
Killer 46—big brother to Agent 47?
Hah.
Locke grinned inwardly and told Kane, 'You're my friend. I'll settle this debt—count on it.'
Kane laughed, thinking Locke meant cash. 'No need. Know what? I'm actually glad I ran out to gawk and got grabbed.'
Locke raised an eyebrow.
Gwen blinked, wondering if Kane had concussion.
Cindy, sitting bedside, blurted, 'Have you lost it? Want me to call a Doctor?'
Kane took Cindy's hands, then looked at Locke.
Uh-oh.
Locke sensed trouble.
'If I hadn't gone out, that bald killer would still have come. And if Cindy had been with me, he'd have nabbed her too. With two hostages, he could…'
Kane gazed at Cindy, eyes soft. 'He'd have a choice—kill one of us to pressure you. So I'm glad it was only me.'
Cindy's eyes shimmered. 'Kane…'
Next second she couldn't hold back, lunging forward. Right in front of Locke and Gwen, Some Like It Hot kicked in and they started devouring each other.
Locke's mouth twitched.
He'd sensed something off the moment Kane looked at him.
Right now?
Locke and Gwen exchanged a glance, then in perfect unison headed for the door.
The instant the door shut, a satisfied moan drifted from inside—something had clearly just entered Cindy and made her sigh in pleasure.
I just got slapped in the face with expired dog food.
Forget it.
Locke shook his head; since Kahn had been hurt because of him, he couldn't be bothered to complain about the shameless display of affection.
Beside him, Gwen turned to look at the poorly sound-proofed hospital Room and rubbed her temples. "How long before they realize this is a hospital, not their bedroom?"
Locke shrugged.
How could he possibly know the average duration of Kahn and Cindy's sessions? If he did, that would be weird.
But he found out soon enough.
The answer: ten minutes.
Not bad.
Forget the idea that half an hour is normal—ten solid minutes is already impressive for an average guy.
A prodigy like Locke, skipping foreplay, could go a full hour. Maybe not unprecedented, but certainly rare.
Gwen, hearing the bed inside finally stop creaking, checked her watch and blinked at Locke. "Premature?"
Only lasted thirty minutes?
Wait, isn't an hour the starting line?
Locke spotted Lawyer Laun stepping out of the elevator. Smiling at Gwen, he said, "Gwen, I just remembered a China idiom."
"Which one?"
"Let them eat cake!"
"??"
Seeing her racing to connect the dots, Locke grinned and stepped forward to shake Laun's hand. "Thanks for coming, Lawyer Laun. I need advice on two things."
Laun smiled. "About the reporters downstairs?"
"Yes and no."
Behind them, Gwen finally recalled the anecdote from her East-Asian culture elective, though she still didn't see how it applied.
Fine.
She was clever, but right now she'd rather not know.
Jerk.
Gwen flashed her teeth at Locke as he talked to the lawyer.
Irritating.
Makes my teeth itch.
Outside New Amsterdam Hospital.
Reporters swarmed.
They'd thought they had an exclusive recording, but when they saw rivals arriving, they realized someone wanted them to use it to roast Locke.
But… so what?
News is news.
Reporters earn their living from stories; standing or lying down, money's money—lying down is just easier.
"Look!"
"Captain Stacy!"
"Captain Stacy, may we have a word?"
"How do you explain your future son-in-law Locke Broughton's remarks during the standoff with the gunman?"
…
George paused at the shout about his future son-in-law, then, shielded by officers, entered the hospital.
The reporters stayed outside, waiting.
Out of the elevator George spotted Gwen in the corridor. "Where's Locke?"
Gwen pointed toward a nearby Room. "Talking with Lawyer Laun."
George frowned.
Lawyer?
What did the kid need his legal team for this time—who was he planning to sue?
There wasn't even a defendant to target.
Gwen asked, "Dad, did you catch him?"
George snapped back and shook his head. "Still looking."
Just then
the door opened.
Locke nodded to Laun. "Thanks for your help, Mr. Laun."
Laun smiled. "No trouble. I'll go prepare, Mr. Broughton."
Locke gave a soft grunt, then greeted George.
George watched Laun and his assistants head for the elevator. "What are you up to now, Locke?"
Locke smiled. "Keeping my promise, George."
George's frown deepened.
Ten minutes later!
Under Laun's direction, the reporters lined up in neat, tense rows. When Locke stepped out, there was none of the earlier chaos.
Quickly
Locke in his suit positioned himself beside Laun and smiled at the cameras.
"Good evening, everyone."
Straight to the point: "You want a story? Here it is—I'm putting up a thirty-million-dollar bounty, open to all."
Reporters: …
284. The Peerless Assassin Comes to Take the Order
"Thirty million?"
"A bounty?"
"Mr. Broughton…"
"Broughton…"
The moment Locke uttered those words, they were undoubtedly like a depth charge thrown into the midst of the many reporters, instantly blowing them all away.
George, who had just exited the elevator from behind, couldn't help but furrow his brows.
He suddenly had a rather unpleasant premonition.
A very strong one!
Locke glanced at his lawyer, Laun, who nodded. Only then did Locke continue to face the reporters, making a gesture for quiet.
The next second.
The air wasn't just quiet; he could even hear the rapid thumping of the many reporters' hearts below, as if they had stumbled upon a huge scoop and were filled with anticipation.
"Thirty million!"
Locke held up three fingers, his expression serious as he looked at the reporters: "Here, I'm announcing to everyone, if anyone can provide a lead, or…"
He shrugged.
Locke looked at everyone, deliberately pausing, before continuing: "Those who understand, understand what these thirty million are for."
Openly offering a bounty for murder is illegal.
As the chief lawyer of Locke's professional legal team, how could Lawyer Laun allow Locke to make such a basic mistake?
A bounty is fine.
In fact, even a bounty for murder is acceptable; there are people who do jobs for a hundred thousand dollars a head, let alone thirty million.
As long as those two words aren't spoken when offering the bounty, it's fine.
As for now?
Those who understand, understand?
What does that mean? Those who understand, understand. But the word "understand" is invalid in court.
"ICA!"
Locke continued to look at the reporters, facing the New York Daily's camera in the front row, and said indifferently: "That's the name of the organization that wants to arrest me, as in the recording you have in your hands, but I guess, this sentence, your recording about me, doesn't have it, right?"
The many reporters didn't speak, but their expressions were unmistakable.
Locke was not at all surprised by this outcome.
Taking things out of context, right?
This was also a traditional skill of these organizations, nothing new.
"Just as this organization threatened me with my friend's life."
Locke stared at the camera: "I said, if they had the guts, they'd kill my friend, and I would make this organization bury with my friend, using all my wealth. And now, it's the same!"
The reporters were once again in an uproar.
This statement wasn't in their recording; they only had Locke's last words, "If you want to kill, kill, do as you please."
But if this sentence really existed…
Then… the meaning would be completely different.
"Thirty million US dollars, find this organization, bring me good news, thirty million US dollars, cash, transfer, bearer bonds, I can pay you in full in any form you desire."
Locke's voice was firm and resolute: "You can touch my friend, as long as you are prepared to face my retaliation. This is my lawyer, I believe everyone recognizes him. Whether I have thirty million in cash, my lawyer will provide proof. Thank you!"
After speaking.
Locke turned and left directly, ignoring the many reporters shouting for him to stay.
What a joke.
They were reporters, not Shen Gongbao, why should he stay?
However… after Locke turned and re-entered the hospital lobby, he immediately saw George, standing not far away with Gwen, his face dark.
Gwen's face wasn't dark; in fact, her eyes twinkled with admiration.
Spending thirty million just to avenge a friend—what could better illustrate Locke's loyalty?
Even the group of reporters were immediately diverted, their attention fully drawn to the thirty million dollar bounty, especially when Lawyer Laun, representing his law firm, vouched that Locke could produce thirty million in cash at any time. The many reporters became even more boisterous.
They had already come up with headlines.
"Friend injured, thirty million bounty, global manhunt issued!"
"Thirty million! Global manhunt!"
"Shocking! Seventeen-year-old high school student does a thirty million dollar deed for a friend!"
…"
What?
Locke Broughton didn't say "manhunt" just now?
He did.
"Those who understand, understand"—didn't that clearly imply a manhunt?
However… everyone understood why Locke couldn't say it, but it didn't matter. Locke couldn't say it, but they could. Anyway, they weren't afraid of going to court, so naturally, they went for whatever was most sensational.
In the recovery room.
Kahn looked at Locke, who had pushed open the door and walked in, and opened his mouth: "Locke…"
Locke interrupted directly: "This is what I can do."
Kahn shook his head: "No, I mean, it would have been better if you had given me the money, and besides, I'm not that expensive."
Locke: "…"
Giving money was out of the question.
Even if Locke gave it, Kahn would certainly not accept it. Kahn said this merely because he felt Locke was being too extravagant.
However, Locke smiled: "Is thirty million a lot? When I have Pepper arrange a card game with Tony Stark, bringing my goddess of luck, I can earn it back again."
Everyone was speechless.
Locke, on the other hand, looked at Gwen beside him, and they exchanged a smile.
George, who had followed them in, said with a darkened expression: "You're too impulsive, Locke. I thought you were very rational."
Locke looked at George: "George, I am very rational."
"Spending thirty million to put out a hit, is that your rationality? You're challenging our laws."
"No, I didn't say a hit. I said a bounty."
"That doesn't hide your true intentions."
"Yes."
Locke looked at the slightly stunned George and frankly admitted his intention: "I just want to use thirty million to take the heads of this organization."
George frowned incessantly.
Locke said in a deep voice: "George, this organization not only tried to kidnap Kahn to threaten me, but this organization also killed my mother."
George froze.
When he had just returned, Mr. Nobody had also called him, instructing him to protect Locke at all costs. As a result, George had undoubtedly learned more about Lorraine Broughton from Mr. Nobody.
So… now, hearing Locke say this, George's words, which he wanted to use to accuse Locke of ignoring the law, and even playing with the law, became stuck in his throat and he couldn't say them.
After a long pause.
George shook his head: "Thirty million, for an organization like this, won't even scratch the surface."
If they really had connections with the London authorities.
Thirty million, in everyone's eyes, was a massive astronomical sum, but for a large global organization, thirty million was merely a drop in the bucket.
Locke looked at George and smiled: "I also hope this organization thinks the same way."
It's best if they think that way too.
In that case, wouldn't it be even more exciting when the Peerless Assassin takes the job?
Locke smiled.
A night passed.
Over in Long Island, ultimately, after salvaging three illegal smuggled drugs and busting a crowded human smuggling boat, the Coast Guard had to announce something.
The bald assassin should have perished at sea.
Although they had no direct evidence, such as the bald assassin's body, they had indirect evidence: common sense. No one could hold their breath for a whole night in such conditions without being discovered.
Even with an oxygen tank, it would be impossible.
However… the Coast Guard's announcement caused no ripple. In fact, whether the bald assassin was dead or captured was irrelevant, because today's New York Daily, on its front page, featured the thirty million global manhunt information.
On buses, subways, and even during commutes, the thirty million global manhunt had begun to generate buzz. Even the phone number reserved by Lawyer Laun had been overwhelmed with calls since six in the morning.
New Amsterdam Hospital.
The many reporters' eyes lit up as they watched the Audi drive in, and they all rushed forward.
"Mr. Broughton!"
"After the report came out, many people believe this is a show…"
"How do you ensure your bounty reaches its target?"
"Can you get this thirty million just by providing information?"
"…"
Locke, who had just returned from a shower and change of clothes, listened to the chaotic noise around him with an expressionless face, and once again walked into the lobby under the protection of two police officers.
The reporters behind him followed closely.
"Mr. Broughton, or rather, do you know that no one will take this job, so you're putting out thirty million, using your friend's safety to create buzz for yourself?"
"…"
Locke stopped walking.
"Locke?"
"It's nothing."
Locke smiled at Gwen, who was looking worried beside him, then turned and stood in the lobby, looking at the reporters outside. His gaze, like a precisely guided cruise missile, landed on the reporter who had just spoken: "Which newspaper are you from?"
"Daily Bugle!"
"Oh."
Locke nodded in realization.
The man was somewhat proud.
The next second.
Locke chuckled: "No wonder you can ask such a foolish question; turns out you're a tabloid reporter whose name I've never even heard of. That makes perfect sense."
Laughter erupted.
The Daily Bugle reporter's expression stiffened, and he looked directly at Locke: "Please answer my question directly, Mr. Broughton?"
Locke glanced at the reporter, his gaze falling on the reporter's name tag.
Hmm.
I've got you noted.
Locke thoughtfully looked at the reporter's appearance, then turned to the New York Daily, with whom he had always cooperated well. He smiled and took the microphone handed to him by the female reporter from the New York Daily, just as he was about to speak.
Whoosh!
A black flash suddenly darted out, and then, with a bang, a black card, like a bullet, slammed into the microphone the moment Locke took it!
285. MI 6 who takes the blame
A cold glint arrived first!
Then... there was no 'then.' Almost as soon as the black light shot in from outside, the police officers standing behind Locke immediately protected him again. The microphone clattered to the ground.
The next second.
Everyone's eyes were drawn to the familiar yet strange card embedded in the microphone.
"This is..."
"A notice!"
"Shit!"
"The Peerless Assassin's notice!"
"What?"
Reporters who hadn't gotten a good spot turned their heads, looking behind them, trying to find the Peerless Assassin, who had almost become an urban legend in New York City.
But more people focused their gaze on the microphone that had fallen to the ground.
"Quick, quick!"
"Take pictures!"
Locke picked up the microphone again at this moment, then, with some effort, managed to remove the card.
The numerous reporters all looked at Locke.
Locke looked at the content on the notice, his expression first showing a slight surprise, then joy, and then he looked up at the Daily Bugle reporter who had just accused him of grandstanding: "See? Someone took the order."
Saying that.
Locke turned the notice in his hand directly towards the New York Daily News people.
Instantly.
Countless cameras were pointed directly at that notice!
[Crime Notice!]
[Notifying Party: ICA]
[Crime: "Murder, arson, all manner of evil"]
[Sentence: Death!]
[Executor: Peerless!]
[Note: Remember to prepare 30 million bearer bonds for me. I've taken this order, Mr. Broughton!]
The note at the bottom explained why this notice, which should have been sent to the ICA, appeared with Locke.
A police officer looked at the notice in Locke's hand, his expression changing slightly, and quickly pulled out his phone to call Senior Superintendent George Stacy's office.
Soon.
By the time George arrived at New Amsterdam Hospital from the precinct, the reporters who had been crowding around, planning to create another buzz when Kahn was discharged, had already left.
After all, the secret to the traffic they most wanted had already arrived.
The Peerless Assassin had taken the order!
Good heavens.
Why wait for Kahn? They needed to go back and write their articles. At this moment, whoever published the news first would win this feast of traffic.
In the hospital's resting corridor.
Locke looked at George, who had just stepped out of the elevator, and smiled: "George, someone took the order."
George didn't want to talk and looked at the officer who had made the call: "Where's the notice?"
The officer took out an evidence bag and handed it to George.
Opening it.
George, wearing gloves, took out the notice, sniffed it, then seemed to turn it over and scratch it, as if some dust came off, and nodded: "It's him!"
No one understood better than him how to authenticate a notice.
However... George frowned. In the Peerless Assassin's records, while the targets also included gangs, there had never been an instance like today, where the entire ICA was directly targeted.
What was he trying to do?
Did he mean the entire ICA was guilty and intended to leave no one alive?
Also.
How would the Peerless Assassin investigate the ICA? After all, if he didn't even know the ICA's stronghold, how could he kill people if he couldn't find them?
He couldn't just fly to London and kill someone to ask, could he?
That wasn't logical.
In fact.
Locke's existence could never be explained by the word'science.'
Actually, that notice was thrown to Locke by himself. While he was back showering and changing clothes, the Locke currently at the hospital was actually a clone.
And the real Locke, at this very moment, was wearing glasses, driving towards the private jet in Jersey City, which he had arranged for last night and had been waiting for a long time.
At the hospital.
George put away the notice and looked at Locke and Gwen, then said to the officer: "Keep an eye on them."
The officer nodded.
When George returned to the NYPD, Beckett walked over: "George, Mr. Sheldon is already in your office."
George frowned.
Beckett reminded him: "Clyde Sheldon, CIA?"
George reacted.
Pushing open the door.
Clyde Sheldon, whose name was pronounced Clyde but written as 'fallen brother,' looked at George entering and said directly: "I want to see that Englishman."
George smiled: "You can!"
Clyde nodded: "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. That's not how a deal is made."
"..."
George looked at the silent Clyde, chuckled, walked to the liquor cabinet, and took out a bottle of cheap whiskey. He wasn't as extravagant as Locke, drinking a hundred-thousand-dollar Thunder Bourbon every day.
"Here."
"Thank you!"
"No need."
George handed the poured whiskey to Clyde, then adjusted his tie, sat down, and looked at Clyde: "As of now, your position and ours are the same: to find the ICA. And now is not a good time to lie to each other."
The Peerless Assassin's notice had been issued. According to the Peerless Assassin's habit of issuing notices, within twenty-four hours, at most seventy-two hours, something big would likely happen somewhere in the world.
"Furthermore."
George took a sip of whiskey, spread his hands, and looked at Clyde: "I am the NYPD, not the global police. In fact, I can even hand that Englishman over to you."
Clyde looked at George.
George's face was serious.
He was telling the truth. What would he do with a spy? He couldn't eat him. If he directly prosecuted him, the man hadn't actually done anything bad. Rather than waiting twenty-four hours to release him, it was better to make a deal with the CIA, who liked spies.
"What do you want?"
"All information on Lorraine Broughton."
"That's impossible, you're not..."
"I have National Security Class A clearance, and I've already learned too much from Locke."
"Then..."
"I don't want my daughter's safety to be jeopardized because of Locke's mother. No, her safety has already been jeopardized. If there's danger, I need to know the whole truth."
Clyde frowned deeply at George, remained silent for a moment, then nodded: "Alright, but you must not show that file to anyone. In fact, I will show it to you only when I am present."
George nodded: "Deal."
Seeing this, Clyde nodded and said directly: "The car is downstairs, but first, we need to confirm one thing. I need to spend some time alone with this Kurbawa in a room."
George smiled and stood up.
Five minutes later.
In a room without any surveillance in the NYPD building.
George opened the door.
Agent Kurbawa, who had been locked up all night, calling out to no avail, looked at George entering and repeated: "I am a London citizen. I demand to call the embassy."
"You will."
These words weren't spoken by George, but by Clyde, who followed George in.
Kurbawa looked at Clyde entering and paused.
The next second.
Kurbawa chuckled: "CIA!"
Clyde thanked George, moved a chair, sat down, and looked at Kurbawa: "MI6!"
George stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the door.
Kurbawa glanced at George, then seemed to resignedly look at Clyde: "Alright, you've caught me. You can call my superior now."
His tone was relaxed, showing no awareness of being a captured spy.
But this was normal.
The relationship between the Federation and London was complex. In general, even if they caught each other's agents, they would choose to exchange some intelligence, rarely putting lives at risk.
But... this time was different.
You crossed the line, and it seems you crossed the line a long time ago.
Clyde smiled. After confirming Kurbawa's identity, he directly pulled out his phone.
"Speak!"
"Confirmed."
"Good!"
Clyde hung up the phone, stood up, and looked at Kurbawa: "Mr. Hanks, let's go. We'll go somewhere else. I'll treat you to coffee."
Saying that.
Two CIA agents in black suits entered and took the keys from George. After unlocking Kurbawa's handcuffs, *whoosh*, a black hood was placed directly over Kurbawa's head.
Soon.
The two agents in black suits escorted Kurbawa out of the room.
Clyde looked at George, who had his arms crossed, and made no secret: "Fortunately, you caught Kurbawa. Otherwise, we might not have found the loophole."
George remained silent.
Clyde sighed: "Someone in the bureau colluded with MI6... or rather, with the ICA. When Mr. Nobody used his clearance to unlock Lorraine Broughton's files, an insider was already watching Mr. Nobody. That's why the ICA people developed a murderous intent towards Locke."
"Why?"
"We're still investigating!"
Clyde shook his head, then sneered: "But this is good. If the ICA hadn't jumped out, Mr. Nobody and I would have thought it was just an unfortunate accident. Now, it's not just the KGB and MI6 who will seek revenge, we will too!"
The ICA people came.
The MI6 people also came.
No other evidence was needed; it was already very clear.
Lorraine Broughton did not die in the line of duty, but died in a disgraceful betrayal from within and without, or rather, at the hands of MI6.
In Langley's office.
Mr. Nobody held his phone, expressionless: "Last chance, Madam M. Tell me the name, otherwise, you won't get your agent back. You tried to break the rules of the game."
Madam M hung up the phone cleanly and decisively, not even bothering to argue.
Heh.
Mr. Nobody chuckled and looked at his assistant L: "Put the internal layout of that building on the Thames on the dark web. Sell it to the Red Devil!"
Agent L, the assistant, nodded...
286. You have two choices
"Officer…"
"What's wrong?"
"Doing this, won't it…"
Agent L was stunned by Mr. Anonymous's words and immediately tossed the building's defense layout by the Thames onto the dark web for sale.
This… was undoubtedly a blatant slap in the face.
Mr. Anonymous let out a cold laugh and looked at Agent L: "Do you think I'm making you give it to the Red Devil?"
Agent L frowned.
Mr. Anonymous shook his head. This was why he didn't let Agent L go out on field missions and kept him as an assistant: "The Peerless Assassin has taken Locke's contract."
According to reliable sources, a private jet landed at a private airport in Jersey City just now. Less than half an hour after landing, it refueled and took off again.
"The Peerless Assassin?"
"Yes."
Mr. Anonymous held up a photo of the Peerless Assassin on the table and smiled: "How's the information on the Peerless Assassin coming along?"
"Very little."
Agent L replied. He couldn't say there was nothing, only that they had found nothing: "We only know that the Peerless Assassin first appeared in Texas, likes to wear sunglasses, and drives an Audi. Other than that, we've found nothing. This person seems to be a ghost."
"Perhaps he really is?"
"Huh?"
"Nothing."
Mr. Anonymous tapped the table and looked at Agent L: "Sell the information to the Red Devil for five million. The Peerless Assassin gets the meat, we get some soup. That's not too much to ask."
If Madam M hadn't hung up on him just now, he wouldn't have sold this information to the Red Devil. In fact, he would have kindly warned Madam M about the Peerless Assassin's terrifying nature, provided Madam M told him about the CIA mole.
Actually… Mr. Anonymous already had a suspect for the mole, but he only suspected, and had no evidence yet.
What a shame.
Mr. Anonymous thought to himself, looking at Madam M, who seemed to have prepared her answer and called him back. He chuckled, then directly hung up the phone.
I gave you a chance, but you didn't take it.
Then let those who won't give you a chance deal with you.
Buzz!
Ten thousand feet above, a silver-white plane soared through the blue sky and white clouds.
The seats were comfortable.
The flight attendants were beautiful.
The service was attentive.
Locke, wearing sunglasses, took a sip of bourbon from his glass, surveyed the layout of the private jet, and said to the Red Devil, who was sitting opposite him also wearing photochromic glasses: "How much is this plane?"
The Red Devil, who had rushed early in the morning from Cuba specifically to pick up Locke, looked at the newspaper in his hand and said without raising his head: "A warlord in Africa ran out of money after building it and gave it to me as collateral."
Saying that.
The Red Devil looked up at Locke: "You want one too?"
Locke said: "I'm thinking about it."
He'd already bought a yacht; not buying a private jet seemed a bit out of place.
"Don't buy one for a few years."
"Hmm?"
"Wait a few years, maybe around late 2008, that would be a good choice."
"Why?"
"The economic crisis should hit around that time."
"…"
Locke opened his mouth, looking at the Red Devil, who was predicting with open mouth and quoting figures, giving him investment advice. He asked somewhat puzzled: "You're a gatekeeper of the criminal world, when did you become so knowledgeable about economics?"
The Red Devil laughed heartily: "Live and learn, my friend."
Locke rolled his eyes.
Just then.
"Raymond!"
Dumpy, who was sitting alone not far away, walked over and handed his tablet to the Red Devil.
The Red Devil glanced at Dumpy, then focused on the information on the tablet, and couldn't help but sit up straight.
"Hiss!"
The Red Devil gasped, looked up at Locke sitting opposite him, then took the phone from Dumpy's hand, dialed, and immediately said: "Payment!"
The next second.
The Red Devil looked at Locke: "You're going to MI6?"
Locke looked up at the Red Devil and smiled: "I thought you weren't interested."
The Red Devil laughed heartily: "At first I wasn't interested, but now I am."
Locke said "Oh," then, remembering something: "Is it related to what you just bought?"
The Red Devil said: "The accurate defense layout of the MI6 building!"
Locke was slightly taken aback.
"Can you… get something like this?"
"Do you know who the seller is?"
"Who?"
"Who isn't important. What's important is that this seller represents the CIA. That's enough."
"…How much?"
"Five million."
Locke was stunned for a moment, then shook his head, asserting: "You've been ripped off."
This news must have been released by Mr. Anonymous.
Without a doubt.
Locke was also sure of one thing: Mr. Anonymous was completely using him as a gun, and the kind who watches tigers fight from the mountain while still making money.
Is a blueprint of the MI6 building worth five million?
Don't be ridiculous.
Its value could not be said to be worthless, but it could also be said to be a pile of waste paper. If Locke wanted intelligence on London, he would definitely go to the Russians.
Compared to the British, the Russians understood the British and their affairs better.
The most important point was that he was here to make money.
This was also why Locke called the Red Devil, but Locke didn't tell the Red Devil that his target this time was MI6, only that whatever was needed in London, he would take care of it all at once.
He did want to go find the ICA.
What a shame.
He didn't know where the ICA's door was. Fortunately, he knew where MI6's main entrance was.
That was enough.
You threaten my friend, trying to make me come out.
Then I'll threaten MI6. I want to see if you, ICA, will show up.
Locke looked at the information transmitted to his tablet, reading it, then looked up: "Red Devil, you should know that the money for buying this intelligence isn't included in my remuneration, right?"
The Red Devil laughed: "My friend, if you can bring me three pieces of information from that room, I'm willing to give you an extra million."
"Which room?"
"This one."
Locke looked at the room on the third floor that the Red Devil pointed to, and nodded: "Okay, so that's three pieces of information from inside, and the ICA hard drive, right?"
The Red Devil nodded: "That's right. I'll pay ten million as remuneration."
Locke smiled: "Alright, I'll do my best!"
Bringing the Red Devil along was to complete more missions, after all, going abroad wasn't easy.
Moreover… Locke didn't plan to stay in London for long or engage in any complicated maneuvers. Solving things early and going home early was the way to go. In another month, it would be Christmas again.
Two days were enough for a movie-level grand scene!
By the Thames, inside the building whose location was known to all.
"Peerless Assassin!"
"Gender: Male."
"Name unknown, age unknown, identity unknown!"
"Loves Audi!"
"First appeared in 2002, then in 2004 in New York. As of now, he has spent most of his time in New York State."
"The Peerless Assassin always likes to notify before killing, claiming he never kills innocent people."
"…"
"Enough."
Madam M listened to her assistant's rambling and couldn't help but look up: "I didn't ask you to read his resume. I mean, have we caught this Peerless Assassin?"
The assistant opened his mouth, then very wisely shook his head.
If the Peerless Assassin could be caught, he would have been caught a long time ago. There would be no need to wait until now.
Madam M's expression was rather grim.
She had just received some unpleasant news: her building's defense layout had been exposed on the dark web. Although it was acquired in the shortest possible time, anyone with a discerning eye could tell which building the partial layout belonged to.
Madam M dialed Mr. Anonymous's number again.
This time, it went straight to voicemail.
"Salama…"
Madam M uncharacteristically snapped, suppressing the urge to smash her phone, and dialed the ICA office.
The call connected.
"You three idiots, what a mess you've made!"
Madam M couldn't hold back any longer after the call connected: "Is this what you said, the plan for the CIA to give up? Is this what you said, that no one would take this bounty?"
Mr. I on the other end of the line spoke normally: "Madam M, relax. This isn't New York, this is London. London is our territory!"
Madam M directly said: "Have you found that Peerless Assassin yet?"
Mr. I said: "We're looking. He's very cunning, but we have his visual data. If he shows up, we'll definitely find him. London is the city with the most cameras in the world."
No one could disappear into thin air in London.
London was known as the City of Cameras, and that nickname wasn't given lightly.
"Shit!"
After hanging up, Madam M dialed Anonymous's number again, and again received the voicemail response. She finally couldn't help but throw her phone at the wall: "Shit!"
Just then.
"Beep beep beep!"
Madam M grabbed the phone on her desk, somewhat agitated: "What is it?"
The female assistant sitting outside was silent for a moment, then quickly said: "Madam, a person named Wushuang called. There was no appointment, but he said that if he called, you would definitely be interested in taking it. He's on line two."
Wushuang?
Madam M was slightly startled, then calmly hummed an acknowledgment and transferred to line two.
"Hello."
"Madam M!"
Wushuang's voice immediately rang out on the phone: "I think you should know who I am by now."
Madam M's face was expressionless: "What do you want?"
"ICA!"
"What?"
"No choice, Madam M. All the information I found says that ICA has intricate connections with your MI6, so I can only come to you directly. I hope you can provide some revelations."
"I don't understand…"
"Madam M, I'm not here to ask for your help. On the contrary, I'm here to give you a multiple-choice question. You now have two choices!"