The temperature in New York City had already dropped below 10 degrees Celsius in late autumn. The weak morning sun barely managed to dispel the mist from the forest, but it could no longer bring a hint of warmth.
The three gunmen, hiding behind tombstones and shrubs, felt a chill run through their bodies, a chill that spread from their heels to their skulls.
They were professional assassins with good marksmanship, with no military experience. They couldn't understand how, just a moment ago, the situation seemed promising, and they were on the verge of taking down those reckless and reckless individuals, only to be attacked from all sides in the blink of an eye.
Even without Jack, these gunmen couldn't have caused much trouble. They were there to assassinate, not to fight. Each of them carried only one spare magazine, and in just a few minutes, Reacher and his men had nearly drained them all.
Jack's shot was a bit of luck. Although the FK7.5 pistol had a claimed effective range of 100 meters, the folding stock he had fitted effectively mitigated some of the recoil.
But he had just sprinted nearly 300 meters through the bumpy woods, holding his breath and aiming with intense concentration almost as he stopped, barely catching his breath.
After his successful strike, Jack leaned against a dead tree stump and breathed for a long moment before recovering. He ignored the dust and leaves kicked up around him, not even bothering to look out, for his mission was accomplished.
As the remaining three gunmen panicked and turned their guns on Jack, Hannah and Jiejie had already leveled their weapons.
They had ample ammunition, and their continuous bursts of fire kept the enemy from daring to even raise their heads. Meanwhile, Reacher and his four men advanced swiftly, closing the gap to within 50 meters.
Seeing the situation looming, some of the gunmen began to panic and began to think about how to retreat.
They exchanged glances, one whispered, "Run!" and the other two immediately grabbed their rifles and rushed along the treeline towards the BMW.
Hannah seized the opportunity, knocking one man out with a short burst of fire. Jiejie, meanwhile, fired directly at the BMW, a barrage of bullets piercing the thin hood and blasting the radiator.
A puff of steam rose from the BMW's engine, the front of the car sank, and both tires deflated. Seeing this, the remaining two gunmen tried to flee in another direction, but in panic, they rushed towards Jack's position.
"Bang!"
The gunshot rang out, and one gunman screamed and tumbled down the hillside, clutching his calf and screaming in agony. The last gunman stopped in horror, instinctively dropping his rifle and raising his hands.
"Don't shoot! I surrender! Okay? Don't be impulsive, I surrender!"
Jack held his gun in one hand and shoved the other in his pocket, his feet poised unsteadily. A half-smile, barely missing a pair of black-framed glasses, made him look as if he were facing not a gunman but a target in the Olympic 10-meter air rifle competition.
The remaining gunman had already witnessed Jack's marksmanship, and now, seeing this strange-looking man with a mustache pointing that strange pistol at his head, his legs gave way and he fell to his knees.
Panting heavily, Reacher scrambled around a tangled old tree and slammed into the gunman's back, squeezing him flat on his face.
"Who sent you? Tell me!"
Reacher pressed his Glock 20 against the gunman's head. With his other hand, he pulled a pistol from his waistband and shoved it into his suit pocket.
"I need a lawyer!" The gunman struggled to look in the direction of his accomplice, who was rolling on the ground holding his calf in pain. There, an enraged O'Donnell, already wearing brass knuckles, was punching him again and again, hitting him hard.
"Sorry, there's no police here," Jack said in a serious tone.
Reacher's large hand gripped the man's thin neck, forcibly lifting him from the ground. "My friend was just venting his anger because you opened fire at a funeral with women and children, and it was our friend's funeral."
As his fingers gained strength, the gunman's face gradually turned the color of liver.
"Tell me everything you know. I won't waste time interrogating you. If one of you and your friend dies, one will still be alive. Which one do you want to be?"
The man Jack had shot in the shoulder blade was still alive, but from the excessive blood loss, he was breathing more than breathing.
"I think if you keep holding him like that, he might not be able to say anything he wants to say."
Jack removed the folding stock of his FK7.5 as he approached the two men in the standoff. His recent small gun battle had put him in a good mood, and he even whistled happily.
"Is that 'Grenadiers' March'?" Negley, who was examining the body of the gunman killed by Hannah and Jiejie, looked up curiously. She felt the melody was both familiar and unfamiliar, and asked uncertainly.
"Something like that," Jack mumbled. He was actually playing "Guerrilla Song," the part where they said, "We are all sharpshooters, each bullet kills an enemy." The two parts had a similar melody.
"If you have anything to say before you die, blink." Reacher's arms, as thick as a normal thigh, bulged with muscles, leaving no doubt he could easily snap a man's neck.
Jack had also reached the point where the gunmen had opened fire. From his vantage point, he had a clear view of the situation across the road, and his good mood vanished.
His Hellcat was riddled with bullet holes, over a dozen in total. The bulletproof glass didn't shatter like regular glass, but the webbed appearance was even more tragic.
When Jack saw the bloody streak on Hannah's cheek as she approached him, his rage intensified. He didn't realize it was caused by broken glass, but rather a bullet grazie, a sign that he had nearly lost the girl he loved.
"Bang! Bang!" Two gunshots rang out suddenly, startling everyone. Even Reacher instinctively let go of the gunman, who was about to be strangled.
Jack fired two shots into the air, then stepped forward and thrust the barrel of his gun into the gunman's mouth, gasping for air, causing him to whine repeatedly.
"You wrecked my car, hurt my woman, and it's making me feel terrible. Don't worry, I won't kill you, but I can guarantee that after you go to jail, your anus will stay blooming for 24 hours!"
"Look, look, our plan is to use the 21 gunshots at the funeral as an opportunity to wipe out your entire team, the Special Investigations Unit or something like that. That's what the person who hired us on the dark web asked for," the gunman grumbled, uttering a lisp of fear.
"Tell me something I don't know." Jack lowered the muzzle of his gun, aiming it at his vitals. "Who hired you? He must have only paid an advance. How will he pay the balance after the mission is completed?"
The gunman squeezed his legs together as if he had to pee urgently. "It's in an abandoned building in a rubbish neighborhood in Queens. I can take you there. I don't know him. He called himself Swan on the phone."
-
"Swan is probably dead." Reacher's face was a little gray. Although he had been mentally prepared, his mood was still inevitably low.
"Yes, he wouldn't be stupid enough to reveal his identity when hiring a killer. Someone wants to frame him." Negley looked a little embarrassed, because she had suspected Swan not long ago.
(End of chapter)