"Are you coming with us, or staying here?"
Jack directed his question at Anna. She was the tallest of all the girls he had met, close to 1.8 meters, with a figure so stunning it seemed almost surreal—her waist-to-hip ratio and leg proportions were downright jaw-dropping.
She had changed into a tight sweater and a form-fitting skirt. Her stockings were torn, so she didn't wear them, but she still had the bulletproof vest Jack had given her over her clothes, looking oddly dressed.
Back on the auction stage, Anna held Jack's Viper and methodically fired into the booths, executing the still-groaning old men inside.
"Why are you still here? Don't you have a cleanup team? What about the other girls?" she asked.
"Do you have a cleanup team after you finish a mission?" Jack countered instead of answering. Honestly, this was the part giving him a headache.
For intelligence operatives, identities changed all the time, and with official backing, disappearing was easy. No matter how big the mess, as long as they successfully extracted, the aftermath would be handled under the usual unspoken rules.
"Cleanup teams" weren't there to erase evidence but rather to cover up identities or assist in a quick escape.
That's why Frank and Bryan operated the way they did—they prioritized mission completion above all else. If it didn't interfere with future operations, extra cleanup was unnecessary.
Leaving behind a pile of bodies? So what? As long as they left the country in time, the mission was considered a success. The burden fell on local law enforcement.
But this wasn't an official operation—there was no cleanup or support team.
If the dead were just arms dealers or Russian oligarchs unwelcome in Europe, that would be one thing. Like Volkov's villa, where over a dozen corpses were left behind, yet there wasn't even a news report.
Same with the Albanian gang hideout—if Castle hadn't anonymously tipped off the media, it would have been swept under the rug as "gang violence."
Even now, with news coverage, the media focused on the rescued girls, while the number of gangsters' bodies pulled from the building wasn't even mentioned. No one cared.
But the dead in these booths? Some were very recognizable faces.
Not in the sense of Jack personally recognizing them from his past life, but as in frequent appearances on financial magazines and television in this world.
For example, the elderly Asian man Jack had shot was the president of a famous talent agency in Japan, overseeing thousands of artists.
One such death was a big deal.
A pile of them? A nightmare.
Jack didn't want to return to New York only to receive a call from Rossi, asking him to fly back to Paris to "assist in the investigation" of a billionaire murder case.
Not that he was afraid of investigating himself—he was more worried about being handcuffed the moment he stepped off the plane.
With modern forensic technology, trace evidence wasn't something you could just wipe away completely.
Even with Jack's level of forensic expertise, he couldn't guarantee zero mistakes. And they were out of time—someone upstairs would eventually notice the chaos below.
Of course, there was a solution.
If you worried about someone finding a needle in a haystack, the best way to deal with it…
Was to throw an entire pile of needles into that haystack.
A fire would not only destroy evidence—it would create enough overwhelming data to muddy any real leads.
Frank and Bryan were already working on setting that up.
"So you were really just here to save people?" Anna holstered the Viper after ensuring the only ones left were corpses. Like the bulletproof vest, she had no intention of returning it.
Jack nodded sincerely. "Like I said, some enemies kidnapped two girls for revenge. Now, the bad guys are all dead. You can just pretend to be unconscious like the other girls and wait for the French police to arrive."
"And get detained as a suspect after they test my hands for gunpowder residue?" Anna smirked, wiggling her trigger-fingered hand in front of him.
"Uh, I didn't tell you to fire," Jack admitted, caught off guard by her counter. He shrugged indifferently. "If you want to come along, suit yourself. But I take no responsibility for anything that happens."
He wasn't sure what game she was playing, but he didn't mind playing along.
Jack wasn't well-versed in the intelligence world, but he had two very experienced foxes by his side. Whatever scheme this young vixen was plotting, she wasn't outmaneuvering them.
He had a hunch about her motives—she sensed her own kind in Frank and Bryan.
The real question was—what was she really after?
At that moment, a booth door opened.
Frank emerged, carrying a large canister of diesel, looking mildly annoyed. "Are you two just going to stand there while we do all the work?"
"Good luck." Anna smiled playfully, patting Jack's shoulder as if they were longtime friends. "I'll go look after the girls."
——
"Any guesses on her real background?" Jack asked as he took the heavy diesel canister from Frank.
This underground level ran on an independent diesel generator—this fuel must have come from the power room.
Frank watched as Jack carefully spread the fuel around, rubbing his bald head. "I thought she was your old flame."
Jack chuckled dryly. "Please. I just happened to know a few unsolved case files. A U.S. arms dealer named Oleg was murdered, and she was a prime suspect.
In just two years, 27 targets. Her face has popped up at multiple crime scenes. With that kind of kill rate, the CIA noticing her was inevitable."
"I'm surprised the CIA hasn't recruited you," Frank remarked, an indirect compliment.
"That's because I had a good teacher. At the FBI, I only deal with criminals—no one's trying to kill me just for existing. I wouldn't survive long in the CIA."
Jack's flattery was more direct.
Frank sighed. "She's a disposable asset. I bet she has no living family, no real ties.
The KGB used to love operatives like her—willing to sacrifice everything for their beliefs.
But the Soviet Union is gone. The KGB became the FSB. And agents like her? They're seen as untrustworthy. You get what I mean?"
Jack nodded. "No ideology means the only leverage left is personal ties. If someone has nothing, the only thing they care about… is their own life.
FSB can threaten her life to keep her in line.
But so can any other intelligence agency."
"Bingo." Frank snapped his fingers. "Now you understand why I retired?"
"You're saying both sides are the same?" Jack caught on.
Frank's expression turned complicated. "I kept my personal life completely separate. No one knew about Rick (Castle) or his mother.
But things changed.
I realized I was about to become a disposable asset—so I reported everything myself."
Jack's eyes widened. He hadn't expected that.
"After that, I made some moves. That's why I got to retire peacefully."
Frank turned slightly, looking thoughtful.
"As for that girl? She's been a disposable asset from the start.
A normal field agent—especially a woman with her looks—would get one high-profile assassination mission every few years.
Then, she'd either change identities and go silent for a decade…
Or become some official's mistress."
Frank gestured toward the direction Anna had left.
Jack smirked in return.
That girl was good.
Even in her emotional state, she had barely made a sound sneaking away—only the slight flutter of her skirt when she slipped out of sight.
______
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