Chapter 213: Pre-War Meeting
Before the discussion on who was the soft target came to a conclusion, the hospital welcomed two new guests: Arthur and Hank, which made Ron see red.
"Can anyone tell me what happened? Are mummy bandages the most popular fashion this year? But it's still several months until Halloween!" Ron looked at his subordinates who were wrapped like mummies just like Hobbs.
Arthur was also wearing a neck brace, which was pretty embarrassing.
"So, these were also Deckard Shaw's handiwork, right?"
The two nodded together. Arthur could only move his head slightly because of the neck brace, but it was obvious that he was nodding.
"Look at you, you have a face exactly like Deckard Shaw, so why are you getting your ass kicked like this? I'm ashamed to share DNA with your face." Ron was furious.
Hank said sheepishly, "Don't blame Arthur. He ended up like this because he was trying to save me. Someone sent a package to the base with a bomb inside. If Arthur hadn't noticed something was wrong and grabbed it and thrown it away, I'd be hamburger meat splattered across the office floor right now."
Ron nodded. It wasn't Arthur's fault for being outmatched. Given the situation, this was the best possible outcome. But before Ron could say anything else, a burst of snickering echoed from behind him. It was Hobbs.
Hobbs gloated, "Hahaha, Ron, your base got blown up too. How does that feel? I bet it was a real blast."
Ron finally processed what Hank had said and yelled to the heavens, "Fuck! My base!"
Ron was livid. The consequences were going to be severe.
Two hours later, in the hospital conference room, all of Ron's team were present: Andy, Giselle, the Smiths, Carl Jr., Hank and Arthur in their wheelchairs, and Toretto and his crew.
Besides them, there was Hobbs, who was also in a wheelchair. If it weren't for the murderous looks on these people's faces, one would have thought it was a veterans' support group meeting.
On the big screen in the conference room was a photo of Deckard Shaw, which made Arthur look a little uncomfortable, because Carl had just asked, "Is this your long-lost twin brother?"
"Deckard Shaw, a former British special forces operative turned assassin, is the kind of person the government would never admit to hiring," Hobbs began to explain when he was interrupted by Toretto.
"A black ops contractor?"
"It's worse than that, they created a monster!" Hobbs said angrily, "They originally used Deckard Shaw to do their dirty work, what we call plausible deniability. Later, they felt that he knew too much and became a liability, so they wanted to eliminate him."
"And then?" asked Giselle.
"Then, they sent twenty elite operatives to try to force him into permanent retirement. Those twenty never made it home. Since then, there's been no trace of Shaw, and no one knows where he's been hiding,"
Hobbs continued. He left out the fact that among those hunting Deckard was even a senior operative from MI6's most classified division. Of course, Hobbs's clearance level probably didn't give him access to that kind of intelligence.
Even Ron was feeling the pressure. He pulled out his phone, typed two text messages, and sent them out. He needed some external support.
"So how do we find him?" Toretto asked.
Hobbs threw his hands up helplessly. "The official answer is you can't find him. You can only wait for him to find you. MI6 spent six years trying, and they still couldn't locate him.
He's a bastard who'll do anything to complete his mission! So, from now on, you must operate in teams of at least two."
"No!" Toretto refused to accept Hobbs's suggestion, his eyes filled with hatred. "He killed Han! And he almost killed my family!"
Today, an old friend who hadn't seen him for a long time had come to visit him, and he had also received a message. "He also wants to put me six feet under, so I will definitely take good care of him once I get out of this hospital and make him wish he'd never been born, but before that, my official answer is, don't go looking for trouble." Hobbs advised.
Toretto shook his head: "You know I can't do that."
"I can't either, so I'm taking point on this from now on," Ron finished texting, put away his phone and stood up: "From now on, this case is mine." Ron put his hand on Hobbs's shoulder: "From here on out, you just focus on getting better in the hospital, and I promise to nail that son of a bitch for you."
Hobbs looked up: "Promise me one thing."
"What?"
"When you catch him, kick his ass for me!"
"You got it," Ron turned and walked to the door: "Alright, meeting's adjourned, everyone go back and pack your bags, we might need to take a little road trip, boys."
Ron had just sent two text messages to Anonymous and Paige respectively.
The former helped him obtain full authorization to capture Deckard Shaw, but only if he helped the military find the person who invented a system that could monitor all phones and cameras and, through an algorithm, locate anyone in the world.
Ron was aware of this incredible technology, but he knew even more that the true developer was probably Paige, not Ramsey as the anonymous source suggested. He needed to know if his actions would affect Paige.
Paige responded,
"Don't worry about my tech. Actually, I've installed a backdoor on that Ramsey girl's computer, and she still hasn't noticed. She's still naively thinking she invented the algorithm."
...
Outside Los Angeles, an abandoned warehouse, for unknown reasons, became brightly lit again. Since no one lived nearby, no one noticed the unusual activity.
A flashy yellow Camaro pulled up to the entrance. As Ron stepped out, a small red laser dot appeared on his chest.
"Easy there, fellas," Ron raised his hands, showing that he had no weapons and meant no harm: "I'm the guest invited by Anonymous. Hey, is this how you treat visitors, Anonymous?"
"Yes, he is my guest." A distinguished older man with a warm smile walked out of the warehouse and waved to the rooftop. The little red dot on Ron's chest immediately disappeared: "Sorry about that, my friend, I was just enjoying a cold one. They all know that I don't like to be interrupted when I'm drinking, so they got a little trigger-happy. Can you forgive them?"
"Thanks, I knew you'd understand." Before Ron could say anything, Anonymous put his arm around his shoulder and walked into the warehouse: "Would you like to grab a beer with me?"
In the warehouse, all the large industrial machinery that was originally there had disappeared, replaced by various weapons, equipment and high-tech electronics. Anonymous walked to a wooden keg and drew a beer: "Craft brew from a monastery in Colorado, would you like a glass? To be honest, I think these monks are having way more fun than the rest of us."
(End of chapter)
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