"Are you serious?" Reacher turned and looked at the three bodyguards who were pointing guns at their people, with more regret than surprise on his face.
The female ranger still had a smile on her face, but the muzzle of the gun was pointed steadily at Jack, "I'm sorry, but Congressman Lavoie made it very clear that no one can know what happened. We can't take the risk of trusting you."
"Is this the 'chance' you want to give? FBI boy, it seems that Mr. Congressman didn't catch it." O'Donnell remembered what Jack said before.
"What FBI? Are you an FBI agent?" The female ranger and her two teammates exchanged glances, and they saw panic in each other's eyes.
"FBI Supervisory Agent, Jack Tavola." Jack took out his ID from the small pocket of his tactical vest and opened it to show them.
"I'm also sorry for lying to you. You might be silencing a lot of people this time. Those at the scene weren't mercenaries, but my colleagues from the Most Wanted Squad.
Also on site was NYPD Detective Danny Regan, Commissioner Frank Regan's eldest son.
Furthermore, the key witness in this case, Marlo Burns, the operations director of New Age Technologies, and her daughter are currently under Commissioner Regan's personal protection.
And, didn't you forget that Reacher has a brother in the Secret Service? So, the DHS is already involved."
Jack glanced at the time on his wrist. "Their SRT team should be here by now."
As if to confirm his statement, sirens blared in the distance. Soon, seven or eight Suburbans, lights on, drove into the farm and surrounded the barn.
"Kneel!"
"Let me see your hands!"
The three bodyguards dejectedly dropped their weapons and knelt on the ground, their heads in their hands in frustration.
"You're just in time," the large man grumbled, frowning as he saw the other large man leisurely exit the car.
"Aren't the police and government agencies supposed to appear last in movies?" Joey Reacher patted his brother's shoulder, then smiled at Jack.
"Ms. Moger and David Rossi are currently leading a tactical team outside Lavoie's office."
Jack approached the female Ranger and, under her bewildered gaze, extended his right hand. "I'm giving you a chance to become a witness. Of course, you can also choose to spend your life in a federal high-security prison."
The female Ranger hesitated, glancing at the other two bodyguards. Finally, resignedly, she pulled out her phone, dialed Lavoie's number, and handed it directly to Jack.
Jack didn't answer, but tilted his head slightly towards Reacher, indicating that he should leave this opportunity to show off.
Reacher took the phone and turned on the speakerphone directly. Lavoie's voice came from the phone, "Is it done?"
"Almost." Reacher replied in a light tone, "There is only one last problem left to be solved. I guess this is what is called a 'win-win'? I win twice."
Before Lavoie could answer, his office door was kicked open, and the big guys from the FBI and DHS rushed in with a tactical team.
"Kneel down!"
"You are arrested!"
Hearing the voice from the phone, the faces of the three bodyguards became extremely ugly. Reacher returned the phone to the female Ranger and comforted her, "Agent Tavolar is a good guy. Believe me, you made an extremely correct choice."
"Just good?" Jack was quite unhappy. After the Hellcat was finished, his Firebird also needed an overhaul, and this bastard gave him a good evaluation?
Seeing the group carrying their belongings and chatting away as they headed out, Joey quickly called out, "Wait, did you forget something?"
"Ah, I almost did." Jack handed him the box. "648 chips, all in here. We just used two, and I'm sure you'll see the results."
Joey took the box with a look of resignation on his face. "I was talking about money."
"What money?" the burly man, carrying a suitcase containing $65 million worth of bearer bonds, replied confidently.
"Assholes!" Joey's eyes widened as he watched the group brazenly board the Suburban he had driven.
"Aren't you coming back with us?" The special agents boarded the "borrowed" Suburban, and Reacher looked at Jack and Anna, who remained behind, in surprise.
"Like Langston and Lavoie, I'm a stickler for leaving things unfinished, so there's one more thing I need to do."
Jack sighed, reflecting on his toilsome life. "You two go back and wait for me. Oh, and don't sneak out until I fix the lock on your door."
"You broke it yourself," Reacher retorted, still annoyed.
"That's because I'm worried about you."
Before the two could finish their bickering, a black-painted Black Hawk helicopter flew overhead, slowly landing on the farmland. Clara opened the hatch and waved.
--Long Island MacArthur Airport is a small civilian airport located in the town of Islip, Long Island. A small Cessna private plane was being towed into a hangar.
Inside, the lights were dim, and a group of Asian men bowed respectfully to a thin man with medium-length hair and a mustache that nearly covered his eyes.
A mustache, glaring fiercely, dressed in a long black trench coat, nodded slightly to his men who came to greet him before walking straight towards a black Audi R8 supercar.
"FBI! Freeze!"
"FBI! Get down on your knees!"
"Let me see your hands!"
The hangar suddenly lost power, plunging into darkness. Everyone inside froze in place amidst a barrage of shouts.
The mustache lowered his head, swearing. A crouching figure drew a pistol from behind his back and fired repeatedly in the direction of the sound. His men also drew their pistols and fired furiously, trying to protect their leader.
However, it was no use. SWAT teams, armed with assault rifles and night vision goggles, had already infiltrated the hangar. Using various cover, they overwhelmed the Asians who tried to resist the moment the gunfire rang out.
The man with the mustache was extremely agile. He bent over and rushed towards the Audi R8, opened the door and got in. Several bullets landed on the door, splashing sparks of fire. It was obvious that the car had been modified with bulletproof steel plates.
The V10 engine roared, but it had to stop just after starting and turning a corner because the only hangar door it could pass through was blocked by five Suburbans with flashing red and blue police lights.
The moment the Suburban headlights turned on, the man with the mustache leaned his head back dejectedly and cursed "Asiba".
Jack, holding a Barrett in one hand, walked to the side of the car and gently touched the window glass with the barrel of the gun. A smile appeared on his face, "Smectite, your car is nice."
Many authors should have asked for leave today. Although I didn't spend the more than 200 yuan because of 3D sickness, isn't it worth it for book friends to give me two monthly tickets to praise me?
(End of this chapter)