Cassell drank two glasses of whiskey in a row, exhaled heavily, and leaned weakly against the cabinet beside the wall, "So you are my father? My father is a spy?"
"An intelligence agent to be precise." Frank nodded, and there was some special emotion in his eyes when he looked at Cassell.
Jack picked up the wine glass on the ground and tilted his head towards Brian. The two of them walked quietly into the small kitchen on the side, leaving some private space for the father and son. Although the attic was too small to be soundproof, they had to make a gesture.
Brian also took the half bottle of whiskey left on the table. Obviously, he also needed a few sips to calm down.
"Does my mother know? Uh, I mean, does she know that you are a spy?" Cassell swallowed and asked hesitantly.
Frank hummed, "Maybe. What did she tell you about me?"
"Uh," Cassel fell into some memories, even a little embarrassed, "She said it was a very special night and she fell in love.
But when she woke up the next day, she found that you had disappeared, and she never saw you again since."
Everyone was an adult, there were no angry questions or excited words. Both parties in this father-son situation were unusually rational and restrained.
"Yes, I had just completed a mission that night and returned to China. At least I thought I had completed it at the time, but the next morning I received news that the situation had gotten a little out of control, and I had to leave first.
A year later, I returned to China and was surprised to find you there." Frank fell into memories.
Cassel's voice rose slightly, a hint of questioning in his tone. "So you've known about me for all these years? About us? And yet, until you retired, you never showed up?"
"I'm different from your partner. After retirement, he just had to hide his former identity and be with his family. My job prevents me from having close relationships with anyone, let alone communication,"
Frank explained calmly. "But I've always kept an eye on you. We've met before."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a brown wig. As Cassel stared at him in surprise, his tone thick with regret.
"Back then, I still had hair."
Jack instinctively peeked out from the kitchenette. He didn't know if it was a psychological effect, but now that Frank had hair, he actually felt that, aside from their noses, they actually did bear a resemblance to father and son, especially the nasolabial folds and the chubby chin.
"You were ten back then. Your mother took you to the library. You were looking for a book, so I handed it to you," Frank said before Cassel finished.
"Casino Royale!" Cassel's eyes suddenly turned red.
Frank smiled and nodded, "Yes, that's right."
Cassel's voice was even a little choked, "You know? It was that book that made me decide to become a writer."
"So when I saw that your first novel was a spy novel, I couldn't believe it." Frank was obviously moved, and his eyes were a little wet.
"So you've read my books?" Cassel exclaimed, even with a touch of pride as a son.
Frank placed a hand on Cassel's shoulder and nodded slightly. "Of course, I've read every one of them. Later, when you wanted to go to Langley to research some materials, I even helped a little.
Although it was insignificant, it really made me feel like a father, accompanying my son's growth, even if it was only in secret."
Unfortunately, there wasn't much time for the father and son to reminisce. Once both had calmed down, Jack walked out of the kitchen with the freshly washed cups.
"So who was the mastermind behind the kidnapping?"
Frank's expression had returned to his usual relaxed state, and he even removed his wig. "Gregor Volkov, a former KGB defector. I fought him in Paris twelve years ago. He blamed me for his wife's death."
This explained why the three girls were kidnapped to Paris: their true motive was revenge.
Jack didn't pursue the unanswered question of whether the man's wife had truly died at Frank's hands. "I'm surprised you didn't take the initiative and kill him."
"I did think about it, but he was later captured by the KGB and imprisoned in a secret prison in Chechnya, where he should have been sentenced to life imprisonment. He escaped and then joined some extremist groups, obsessed with finding and killing me."
Frank sighed. "You did a pretty good job before, finding their former hideout so quickly, even though Volkov had deliberately exposed it.
But he didn't expect you to be prepared, and even less so that I had already located his current location."
"So what are we waiting for?" Cassel asked impatiently. The brief encounter had given him immense confidence, or rather, what he had witnessed had convinced him that the three men before him were omnipotent.
"Not us, but all three of us. And before that, I need to make a phone call to gain some strategic advantage." Frank glanced at Jack and Brian, pulled out his phone, and dialed the number he had memorized.
The call was quickly connected, but no one spoke on either end. After a long silence, a deep voice with a distinct Russian accent came from the other end. "It was you? You who killed my men in the woods? After all these years, you've finally shown up!"
"Let them go, Volkov. This is a grudge between you and me," Frank said.
"Did you let Anna go? No, it's time to end this. One life for two, you still have something to gain, right? Tomorrow morning at six o'clock, outside the Bourbon Palace.
You know where it is, right where you attacked me. If you show up, I'll release them. If you don't, believe me, you'll be receiving tons of amazing videos.
Next up is your son, your woman, everyone you care about, and everyone around them." After these harsh words, the call was hung up. It was clear that the other party had no hope of tracking a professional agent through the phone call.
"What should we do? If you know me, you know I'd do anything for Alexis." Cassel thought Frank was really planning to take the risk himself, just like he had done today, to lure the other party out.
"Of course not. I told you, this call is just to give us a strategic advantage, to make him think we'll wait until tomorrow morning." As Frank spoke, he pulled out a few architectural blueprints and spread them out on the table.
(End of this chapter)