Honestly, I was quite tempted by Commissioner Jim Womack's earlier suggestion to enlist another prison escape expert, Ray Breslin.
After all, that was Sylvester Stallone. Though a bit older, he should still be quite capable, at least better than this overly pretentious old man before them.
Unfortunately, they weren't lacking a capable fighter this time. The SEAL Team B, led by Jack's old friend Jason Hayes, wasn't just some of those movie-starring extras who only managed to execute passing shots.
"I'm curious how you manage to stay in this cramped cell,"
Jack said, looking at the nearly 70-year-old man with a certain amount of admiration. Though a bit scruffy,
he was muscular, his belly barely visible. Commissioner Jim Womack was probably his age, but apart from the visual enhancement of his attire, his physical condition was probably even worse than this prisoner, confined to a few square meters.
As if a little surprised by Jack's attitude, or perhaps genuinely feeling that the boy before him was too young, John Mason quickly put away his sharp thorns and softened his tone.
"Reading, self-training, a regular sleep schedule—aside from my lack of freedom, I think I live a healthier life than most people in this world.
Care to explain what's going on? I thought you wouldn't offer me vacations after escaping Wolfburg Prison once."
"Here's an opportunity, a chance to win your own freedom. Do you want me to have the guards help you pack?"
Jack's eyes swept over the thick stack of books beside his bed: Shakespeare, The Art of War, and a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, its cover completely ripped from years of handling.
"Nothing here belongs to me. Tell them to return these books to the prison library." The old man walked over to the two shackled guards and held out his hands.
"That won't be necessary," Jack waved at the guards. "From now on, his safety will be our responsibility."
He wasn't being overly arrogant when he said that, for he was accompanied by not only a Sikorsky S-92 helicopter but also the entire B-Team SEALs, minus Jason Hayes.
After watching the helicopter depart, Jack drove to the Hoover Building at 935 Pennsylvania Avenue.
John Mason's file within the secret prison consisted of only a few numbers like his height and weight; even his name was marked with asterisks, and the database was completely empty.
His information was stored entirely on paper in a secret archive beneath the Hoover Building, so Jack could only access the complete file with authorization from his own director.
He didn't have time to examine the file before rushing to the airport, where the BAU's Gulfstream jet was already waiting for him.
Still in his prison uniform, John Mason sat obediently in his seat, a half-empty bottle of Scotch in front of him, his face etched with intoxication.
If Jack was not mistaken, that half-empty bottle of Scotch must have been one of Rossi's treasures left on the plane.
"Who's this old hippie?"
Second Officer B2 Ray Perry, fully armed, looked a bit out of place on the Gulfstream, and so did the rest of Team B.
Originally, they were flying directly from Virginia Beach to San Francisco, but Rossi and Chief Womack were concerned about any mishaps along the way, so Jack suggested the SEALs take over the escort.
"He's a Brit, imprisoned at Alcatraz in the 1990s, and managed to escape in less than a year," Jack marveled as he flipped through the old man's file.
The SAS (Special Air Service) originated from the British "Red Devils" guerrilla units fighting in North Africa during World War II, then known as the Commandos.
Back then, the Commandos were the British Army's last remaining vestige of dignity after being crushed by Rommel in North Africa. Initially comprised of just six officers and 60 enlisted personnel, they successfully destroyed over 200 German aircraft and dozens of ammunition depots in North Africa within a year and a half.
The SAS, or "Commanders," is often considered the forefather of Western special forces. Both the US Army's Delta Force and the Navy SEALs were inspired by them, or even directly helped them in their early days.
But the fact that a Navy SEAL was escorting a veteran British SAS agent was somewhat of a joke.
"I thought no one had ever escaped Alcatraz alive," Ray Perry said with a toothy grin.
Jack shrugged. "That's the official story, but at least six people have escaped from there and vanished into the ocean, but this is the only one we've found alive."
And he's the only one who escaped single-handedly, Jack added silently.
Sonny shrugged, uninterested in the topic or the slovenly old man with long hair. Instead, he patted the leather seat beneath his hips and asked with a smile.
"Is this the plane you usually use to travel around the country solving murders? You FBI guys are really rich."
"No, my team and I usually use a Bombardier Challenger 850. This plane belongs to the BAU team, and we only use these expensive toys when we have important cases or are in a hurry."
Jack glanced at the members of Team B, feeling quite relieved. Although Clay had retired due to injury over a year ago, the composition of Team B had not changed much.
B1 to B5 were still familiar faces. Clay's replacement was not a newcomer, but Scott Carter, the old captain of Team A, nicknamed "Full Metal".
Although he used Clay's original call sign B6, he was wearing the A1 badge he had worn before in Team A.
Jack didn't know the taciturn veteran very well, but they had fought in the ring during their training in Virginia Beach, so they had some friendship.
This indirectly demonstrates just how demanding Jason's selection criteria are. For so long, not a single recruit from the youth team has caught his eye and joined Team B. If Clay knew, he'd surely stop dwelling on Jason's harsh treatment.
Even though it was a private business jet, the flight from Washington, D.C., on the East Coast, to San Francisco on the West Coast took nearly four hours.
After a short nap, Jack video-called Jubal and the others back in Mexico.
While he was busy, the guys in the Most Wanted squad hadn't been idle either. The serial killer case had been solved.
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The murderers were a pair of local Mexican sisters who espoused the radical doctrine of the Holy Spirit of Death. Lopez obtained some crucial clues while patrolling the streets for vehicles displaying mobile altars.
The sisters, named Alma and Theresa, had an older brother, Miguel, who had illegally crossed into the United States in search of a better life.
Miguel owned a scrap metal yard in Tijuana, inherited from his family, and when he left Mexico for the US, he left everything there to his two sisters.
However, Alma and Theresa were clearly not adept at running the business. The scrap metal yard was on the verge of bankruptcy, meaning the sisters faced the loss of their only livelihood.
They desperately hoped their brother Miguel would return to help, but after repeated attempts to contact him failed, the desperate sisters turned to their faith for help.
A scrap metal yard is a facility where junked cars are crushed into large piles of scrap metal using a briquetting machine or directly shredded using a metal shredder.
While it certainly wasn't something two women could manage, it also explained the origins of the vehicle, which had been modified with an engine using obsolete technology and ran on biodiesel.
Jubal's expression in the video wasn't particularly good. "After losing contact with their brother, Miguel, they've been driving a vehicle equipped with a mobile altar of the Holy Spirit of Death through the streets of Tijuana.
Initially, they prayed to the Holy Spirit of Death to quickly take them to the United States for a better life.
But due to obstruction by local police, who repeatedly destroyed the altar and confiscated their vehicle, they stopped this behavior. Later, they attributed their loss of contact with their brother to their failure to keep their promise, resulting in punishment from the Holy Spirit of Death.
So, they resorted to a blood sacrifice ritual to summon their loved ones. The rituals progressed in layers, with the red ritual being the most basic, requiring the blood of a young person."
"Just blood?" Jack was puzzled. "But what they did was to kill Lee Kern and dye his body red." Jiejie's
pretty face appeared on the other side of the video. "In fact, even though the case is over, we haven't been able to fully understand those rituals passed down orally. They are full of imagination and self-interpretation.
After the primary ritual failed, they used advanced black spells. This ritual requires the blood of sinners."
"Sinners? The guy who has a wife in both the United States and Mexico is indeed sinful."
Jack felt something was wrong as soon as he said this. Obviously, the murderous sisters shouldn't know about this. "So they randomly found Robert Miller at the dog racing track, because the Americans who hang out there must be gamblers who come to gamble?"
This time the picture changed to Hannah, and the girl snapped her fingers. "Bingo! But you will never guess why the black wizard Julio Salazar was murdered.
I can give you a hint. The color of the most powerful spell is gold. It is also the last step of the ritual. What is needed is the living heart of a powerful person."
Jack's eyes The beads spun around, already guessing the answer. "Eyes have various symbolic meanings in black magic rituals, one of which is the representation of power, including but not limited to magic, ether, or mental strength.
So the sisters attributed the failure of the first two steps of the ritual to their own lack of power, and so they sacrificed Julio Salazar, considered the top local black wizard, hoping to gain his power."
Hannah looked slightly frustrated, obviously having been guessed right again by Jack. "Yes, you guessed right. After that, we found the location of the scrap metal processing yard and rescued Alma and Theresa when they were about to kill a kidnapped local police officer."
"Are ordinary police officers also considered powerful?" Jack smacked his lips and continued. "Then why did their brother go missing? Did he not make it across the border?"
Hannah shrugged. "Yes, Alice found a photo of Miguel's body. He had used the most dangerous means of smuggling at sea, and his body was listed as a Jane Doe after washing up on Point Loma.
Thanks to Clay, Teresa, upon learning the truth, chose to shoot herself in the head. Clay, reckless, rushed forward and tackled Alma, who was about to continue swinging her scythe at the officer."
As he spoke, Clay's furry head appeared across from him, his face covered in stubble and bloodshot eyes, drawing a malicious smirk from Sonny, who had come close to him.
"Hey, kid, it looks like you're not happy with the FBI. Would you consider returning to Team B?"
He was just joking, of course. SEALs don't just leave or come back whenever they want.
Leaving the tablet with the SEALs to catch up with Clay, Jack took the seat across from John Mason, who had been very interested in his earlier discussion with the Most Wanted team.
"You're a criminal field agent? Why do you seem so familiar with those Special Forces members? What exactly do you want from me?
I don't know any Dark Arts. Not every British person knows how to get across Platform 9 3/4 at King's Cross Station."
Jack was amused by the old man. "I thought you only liked classic literature or military works,"
John Mason sighed. "Even though I always make a list of books, it's not always 100% fulfilled. When I'm really bored, I just read whatever I can get my hands on."
Jack didn't make a habit of telling everyone he was a writer, but he did say he was also a literature enthusiast.
"I know you've been observing and overheard our conversation, so you probably have a good idea. But don't worry. Someone will discuss the details with you once we arrive in San Francisco.
For now, I can only tell you that we're facing a unique situation, and someone thinks you might be able to help."
"A unique situation?" The old man said with a hint of sarcasm. "I've been in prison for six months longer than Mandela. How can I help? Are you planning to make me president? Is someone establishing a country on Alcatraz?"
Jack sighed, knowing that his whispered conversation with Lieutenant Ray Perry hadn't escaped the old man's ears. Fortunately, he didn't say anything, not because confidentiality was necessary at this time, but simply because he didn't want to interfere.
"Patience is a virtue, Mr. Mason. You'll understand once we get off the plane. But before that, I can offer you a little advice: seize this opportunity to regain your freedom."
"Freedom? What a beautiful word, especially when it comes from an FBI agent," John Mason sighed, giving Jack a meaningful look.
The plot is laid out, and the content is not easy to divide. After taking leave, there are a lot of long chapters in the past few days, but the word count is really not reduced.
(End of this chapter)