"Are you coming with us or staying here?"
Jack asked Anna. She was the tallest girl he knew, nearly 1.80 meters tall, with a breathtaking waist-to-hip ratio and leg-to-leg proportions.
She had changed back into a tight sweater and a tight skirt. Her stockings were torn and unused, but she still wore the bulletproof vest Jack had given her over them, looking a bit odd.
The two of them returned to the auction stage. Anna, holding the Viper Jack had given her, fired one by one at the several old men in the private room who were still groaning.
"Why are you staying here? Don't you have a cleanup team? What about the other girls?" Anna asked.
"Will someone clean up after you're done?" Jack asked, ignoring the question. Honestly, this was his biggest headache.
These operatives had a constantly changing identity, and with the backing of an official, concealing their identities was a breeze. No matter how big a mess they made, as long as they could get away with it, the rest of the under-the-table confrontation would continue according to the agreed-upon rules.
The so-called post-mortem team isn't so much about helping to destroy evidence as it is about assisting operatives in concealing their identities or evacuating quickly.
This explains Frank and Brian's seemingly reckless approach. Their guiding principle is to complete the mission first. As long as it doesn't affect subsequent missions, there's no need for unnecessary finishing work.
Leaving a trail of bodies behind, so what? As long as the mission is completed and the country is promptly evacuated, that's 100% complete. The rest is left to the country's struggling police.
The problem is, they're now operating privately, so there's no need for post-mortem or support teams. It would be
fine if the dead were all nefarious arms dealers or Russian oligarchs now frowned upon by the Europeans. But take the villa where Volkov was found, where over a dozen bodies were found, and yet there's not even a single report in the news.
The same thing happened with the Albanian mafia's lair. If Cassel hadn't tipped off the major news agencies with an anonymous phone call, the case would likely have been suppressed and closed under the guise of a gang fight.
Even now, the news reports focused on the girls who had suffered misfortune. As for how many bodies of gang members the police had recovered from the building, there was no reporting or concern.
However, among the wealthy individuals now dead in the private room, there were several familiar faces. Not the kind Jack had seen in his previous life, but the kind that occasionally appeared in financial magazines or on television in this world.
For example, the elderly Asian man shot in the head by Jack was the president of a well-known agency in Japan, with thousands of artists under his purview.
The death of one such individual would be a major crime, but now that so many have died, the cleanup would be a daunting task.
Jack didn't want to get a call from Rossi the moment he returned to New York, asking him to travel to Paris to assist the French police in the murders of several billionaires.
Of course, his concern wasn't about him being investigated, but about being handcuffed the moment he stepped off the plane. With modern technology, trace evidence is impossible to completely eliminate.
Even with Jack's current investigative prowess, there's no guarantee there won't be any mistakes. Not to mention, they don't have much time. The people upstairs could discover something unusual downstairs at any moment.
Of course, there are ways around this. When you're worried someone might actually pull a needle out of the ocean, the best thing to do is to throw a handful of needles into the mix.
A fire is enough to eliminate or create a large amount of evidence, and Frank and Brian are already making preparations.
"So you're really just here to rescue people?" After confirming that only bodies were left at the scene, Anna put away the Viper, and like the bulletproof vest, she showed no intention of returning it to Jack.
Jack said sincerely, "As I said before, an enemy kidnapped those two girls out of revenge. Now that the bad guys are dead, you could just feign unconsciousness like the other girls and wait for the French police to arrive." "
And then the smoke reaction was detected on your hand, and you were detained as a suspect by the police, right?" Anna gave him a sly smile, raising her right hand, which had just fired the gun, and twisting it in front of him.
"Uh, I didn't ask you to shoot." Jack wasn't expecting to be outmaneuvered professionally, but he shrugged nonchalantly. "If you want to come along, then go ahead, but I'm not responsible for anything that goes wrong."
He had no idea what this girl was up to, but he didn't mind playing along.
While he didn't know much about the intelligence world, he was accompanied by two experienced veterans, so he didn't have to worry about this rookie getting into trouble.
He had a vague idea of Anna's thoughts; she definitely smelled a kindred spirit from Frank and Brian, but he had no idea what she was really up to.
Just then, a private room door opened, and Frank appeared across from them, carrying a bucket of diesel fuel. His expression was somewhat disapproving. "Are you two just going to watch us old guys toil like this?"
"Come on," Anna smiled, patting Jack's shoulder as if they were old friends. "I'll take care of the girls."
—
"Can you guess where she came from?" Jack reached out and took the heavy diesel fuel bucket from Frank's hand. This separate basement was powered by a diesel generator, and the bucket must have come from the power plant.
Frank watched him carefully spread the diesel around, then reached out and touched his bald head. "I thought she was your old lover."
Jack smiled bitterly. "Don't be ridiculous. I just happened to learn about some suspicious case files. The death of an American arms dealer named Oleg is suspected to be related to her.
In just two years, a similar face has appeared at the scene of several similar cases. It's only a matter of time before an action agent like her, with such frequent missions, becomes the target of the CIA."
"I'm surprised you weren't recruited by the CIA," Frank said, a subtle compliment, accepting his explanation.
"That's because I had a good teacher. In the FBI, I only had to deal with cunning criminals. Even if I couldn't catch them, my life wouldn't be in danger. In the CIA, I don't have the confidence to live to a peaceful retirement like you."
Jack's compliment was more direct.
Frank sighed. "She's a discarded pawn. I guess she has no family left alive, no ties. The KGB used to love using agents like this, because they're willing to sacrifice everything for their beliefs.
But the Soviet Union is gone, and the KGB has become the FSB. People like this are now labeled untrustworthy. You know what I mean, right?"
Jack nodded in understanding. "Without faith, you can only use things like family as leverage. If someone has no ties, then the only thing they care about is their own life.
The FSB can use threats to force someone to comply, and vice versa."
"Bingo!" Frank snapped his fingers. "So you know why I retired?"
"You mean, it's the same on both sides?" Jack suddenly realized.
Frank's expression was quite difficult to describe. "I used to protect everything very well. No one knew about Rick (Cassell) and his mother. Until everything slowly changed, I realized I was about to become an outcast, so I took the initiative to report it."
Jack's eyes widened, having completely anticipated such a development.
"Then I did something else, which allowed me to retire safely." Frank tilted his head slightly, a look of deep regret on his face.
"And that girl, she was a pawn from the beginning to the end. A normal operative, and a woman of such striking appearance.
She usually only carries out a major assassination every few years, after which she either completely changes her appearance and remains silent for years or even longer, or simply becomes the mistress of a high-ranking official."
Frank nodded in the direction Anna had just left, and Jack smiled back. The girl was indeed quite skilled. In her distraction, she hadn't made a sound, only a slight glimpse of her skirt as she escaped.
--
"Two years, 27 targets. You're right, I'm just a pawn." Anna, her eyes red, spoke these words from the passenger seat of a Citroën sedan Jack was driving.
Behind the Citroën, a faux European palace, now ablaze.
Five bewildered, beautiful girls stood in the small square in front of the building, being questioned by the hastily arrived French police.
Jack, as if he hadn't heard anything, glanced back at Frank, who sat in the back seat with an equally impassive expression. "Are those girls okay?"
"What could possibly happen?" Frank retorted. "I've contacted my old friends, and the Interpol office in France will be here soon. They'll contact the girls' respective embassies, and they'll be able to go home."
"I know you're good people, and I hope you can help me," Anna pleaded.
Jack turned his head and continued driving, while Frank stared out the window, as if she were nothing but air.
"Please, let me do anything, I just want to live freely." Anna grabbed Jack's right hand, which was resting on the steering wheel, and pressed it against her chest. Jack's
hand was filled with the warmth and softness of her flesh, but he neither pulled it back roughly nor moved. He simply sighed softly. There was nothing he could do to help.
"I've already told you, I'm not even one of your people. I really can't help you. And what makes you think I'm a good person?"
Good people get pointed at guns, and Jack doesn't like that.
Sure enough, the next second, Anna pulled out the Viper Jack had given her, but instead of pointing it at some "good guy," she pointed it directly at her own head and pulled the trigger.
With a soft "puff," the Citroën's front end swung, making an S-shape on the road, drawing angry horns from oncoming cars.
In the nick of time, Jack's right hand shot out like lightning, flicking the silencer upwards, sending the bullet piercing the roof of the Citroën and disappearing.
"Are you serious?"
Jack snatched the Viper, opened the car window, and with a powerful swipe, flung the gun into the Seine. Strands of singed hair slowly fell, and Anna covered her face with her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
Jack instinctively turned to look at Frank, but the bald man just smiled and shrugged at him, turning his head to look out the window, indicating that this matter had nothing to do with him.
"Are all of you guys in this business crazy? You're using moral kidnapping, right? If you want to die, just jump into the Seine. That stinking ditch won't drown you, but it will stink you to death.
I'm just a small FBI agent. I'm here to help. My friend's daughter was kidnapped, and I came to rescue her. I did everything I could and helped wherever I could. I don't owe you anything."
Jack was furious, and he cursed both of them, including Frank. After all, Cassel and Brian were in another car with two girls, so there were only three of them in this car, so he wasn't afraid of being overheard.
The car fell silent for a moment. Even Anna stopped crying, sobbing softly.
"How about we go have a drink somewhere else? I've got a few bottles of good wine hidden there." Frank finally broke the silence. "I want to hear your story. Your name is Anna, right?"
Anna's story wasn't complicated. Her father was a naval lieutenant. When she was 17, she was killed in a car accident, leaving her parents dead. Anna, then a student at the Omsk Military Academy, dropped out.
After dropping out, she nearly ended up on the streets, facing a difficult time. She encountered the wrong kind of men and became addicted to American herbs. She couldn't be said to have fallen into the abyss, but she was barely clinging to the brink.
Unlike many other girls who quickly became prostitutes and completely lost their way, Anna, who had received a good education, persevered, refusing to give up even a shred of hope.
She sent her resume to every department she knew, hoping to find a job and escape her slump.
Finally, her efforts paid off. Just when Anna was at her wit's end, an FSB agent finally approached her.
In the public's mind, the Russians' "Swallows" and "Crows" are almost universally known, seemingly making it seem as if "sun-colored" spies are the exclusive domain of the former Soviet Union's KGB intelligence service.
In reality, however, money and sex are the most commonly used tactics in intelligence operations, not just within the Russians but worldwide.
In principle, however, intelligence agencies of major powers do not deliberately train so-called "sun-colored" spies, as the secrecy surrounding intelligence work is beyond imagination. Meanwhile, "bitch" is untrustworthy. Whether male or female, when a well-educated person is asked to sell their body for the benefit of the nation, the consequences for their worldview are unimaginable.
Take Emily from the BAU, for example. She sacrificed everything for her undercover work, only to leave exhausted.
Therefore, bribery is a common tactic in intelligence operations: buying off famous celebrities and socialites into their services.
If it succeeds, everyone is happy. If it fails, it's just a loss of money. As long as the upper line is protected, if one is lost, another can be recruited. At most, a short-term training is required. It is not worth spending time and energy on cultivating from childhood.
The same is true for Anna. She was trained as an action agent and received three years of rigorous military training, but in the end she only became a non-staff agent of the FSB, specializing in various confidential assassinations.
Under the planning of the FSB, Anna was discovered by a well-known model agency in Paris with her outstanding appearance and figure, and became a well-known graphic model in the French fashion industry.
Kavinka was so ecstatic that I have tried my best to rationalize it. I might as well put it into a big chapter.
I dare not think about the comedy I will write later. I hope that book friends will be merciful and not criticize me too much.
(End of this chapter)