Brian and his team, driving two vehicles, tailed the car that had taken Murphy. Twenty minutes later, two men wearing gloves showed up at Murphy's house.
One of them, dressed in black with a hood, went straight to the computer and quickly deleted every webpage and record related to Archbishop Desmond. The other moved methodically through the house, eventually finding an envelope that Murphy had left behind in his rush to leave.
The news that Swagger was not only alive but had secretly made contact with Murphy soon reached Colonel Johnson.
Dressed in a white shirt and a crisp black suit, Johnson stood with his hands on his hips, staring silently out the window after hearing the report. "Looks like we've given Sergeant Swagger the war he wanted—exactly the type he's best at."
"But I wonder how many moves he can last against tens of thousands of law enforcement officers," Johnson said, turning to his subordinate with a stern expression. "Notify all law enforcement agencies in Philadelphia through military channels. We have solid intel that Swagger is still in the city. Tell those who've taken the money and shares that it's time to earn their keep."
"Yes, sir."
Shortly after, Philadelphia's FBI and police, along with four or five other law enforcement agencies that had relaxed due to lack of results over the past two days, received the tip from an unnamed department. Learning that Swagger hadn't fled but was hiding right under their noses brought both excitement and a strong sense of insult to each department.
After coordinating, the agencies launched a citywide search at 2 a.m., leaving no stone unturned.
By morning, the entire Philadelphia underworld had taken a massive hit. Though they failed to find any trace of Swagger, they dismantled over a dozen criminal groups, and more than 30 people who resisted were shot dead.
The night's fruitless search left many powerful figures, who had called in favors to assist Johnson, feeling quite dissatisfied with him.
Brian and his team followed Murphy's captors to an abandoned dock upstream on the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia.
Crouched in the grass, with his Remington 700 in hand, Brian watched as Murphy, bound and hanging in a warehouse at the dock, was interrogated by three burly men. With a smirk, he realized Murphy was indeed being silenced by Johnson's men, just as they'd expected.
Using his radio, he asked Sam, who was stationed in the nearby grove controlling the Black Hawk drone from their vehicle, "Is the Black Hawk drone inside the warehouse yet?"
"It's in position. The visuals and audio are clear. I'm feeding the audio to your earpiece now."
"Good." Brian waited quietly. A few minutes later, one of the thugs in the warehouse punched Murphy hard in the stomach.
"Ah! Cough…cough…" The pain jolted Murphy awake, despite the anesthetic in his system, and he began to cough violently.
"Tell me, where's Swagger?" a low voice sounded behind Murphy, who was still disoriented. "When did you start contacting Swagger, and why were you looking into Archbishop Desmond?"
"Answer me." A sharp pain spread across Murphy's scalp as his hair was yanked back. He shut his eyes tightly in fear. "I didn't see you. I didn't see you! Please, don't kill me. I beg you, don't kill me."
Another punch landed on Murphy's stomach with a thud. "Tell me, where did you get those photos and notes about the vehicle chassis at your house?"
With his eyes squeezed shut, Murphy didn't dare open them, making his interrogator chuckle. The man moved behind him, taunting, "Tell me where Swagger is, and we'll let you go."
"I don't know. The photos were slipped under my door," Murphy admitted truthfully, though his interrogator didn't believe him.
The questioning was inevitably followed by torture.
Over an hour later, after being beaten, waterboarded, and injected with drugs, they still couldn't get anything out of him.
Growing impatient, one of the mercenaries made a call and then nodded to the other two. "I'm going to take a leak. Finish him off."
"Heh, don't worry, it's not our first time doing this," one of the thugs replied, pulling a device out of a box. He attached it to Murphy and smiled as he explained, "This is our specially designed suicide setup. In a moment, your hand is going to point a gun at your own head. All I have to do is press your finger, give it a slight tug, and boom—your head's gonna burst open. Ready, buddy? It's showtime."
"No, no! Please, let me go. I didn't see your faces. Please, let me go!" Murphy sobbed, pleading for his life.
Another punch struck Murphy. "Don't you get it yet, buddy? The moment you started investigating Archbishop Desmond, you were marked for death. If it weren't so troublesome, we'd just dump you in the river."
Hearing this, the last sliver of hope in Murphy's heart vanished. He knew he wouldn't make it out alive today.
Just as he resigned himself to death, he suddenly felt warm liquid splatter onto his face, and a metallic, bloody smell filled his nose.
"Enem—" One of the thugs tried to shout, but before he could dive for cover, he was shot in the back and collapsed.
The thug who'd gone out to relieve himself hadn't even finished when Brian shot him through the head.
"Oh, God, Brian, you really have no sympathy. Couldn't you let the poor guy finish up before you took him out?"
"Shut up. I'm just making it look like Swagger did this," Brian laughed, replying to Sam's teasing. "You don't want us to end up being suspects, do you?"
"Alright, alright. So what's next?" Sam chuckled. "I just got word that Philadelphia's conducting a massive manhunt for Swagger. Going back to the city now would be risky."
Brian smirked. "I get it. Have Bernie send the footage of Murphy's capture, interrogation, and attempted setup, along with the identities of those dead Black Bear mercenaries, to Swagger.
Then we'll lie low outside Philadelphia and see if the FBI decides to make a move. Oh, and leave Murphy an unused phone."
"Understood."
About ten minutes later, Murphy heard footsteps behind him. Something was slipped into both pockets of his suit, and then a folding knife was placed in his hand.
Murphy, certain that the person rescuing him was Swagger after the long-distance shots took out the men trying to kill him, sensed no ill intent from the figure behind him. As the rescuer left, Murphy shouted, "Wait, Swagger! I know you're innocent. I can help you. Don't go!"
But Bernie wasn't about to stop. He quickly left the warehouse and got into the getaway car, which sped off into the night.
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