"If we assume you were killed because of a past mission, and the same applies to the people on your list, can you recall which mission it was?"
Jack tried to get Frank to recall.
However, the bald man shrugged nonchalantly. "I've done dirty work for the CIA for over 30 years. Any mission could have been it. Besides, I don't remember any of the names on the list except Marvin Boggs." "
But according to the FBI database, the Marvin you're talking about died in a fire two years ago."
Frank remained nonchalant. "Yes, but Marvin has died many times." Confused,
Jack clicked on the man's profile and found the photo familiar. It seemed as if the Marvin they were talking about was the slightly deranged old man from the original show.
--
Florida's shape on the map is rather ungainly. The peninsula extending south resembles a penis, and Pensacola is located in the egg sack.
Here lies a narrow chain of islands stretching over 70 kilometers, less than 200 meters wide at its narrowest point. From the southern beach, one can easily see the other. Aside from the road in between, the beaches on both sides flow seamlessly, creating a truly magical experience.
The plane arrived at Pensacola Airport late at night, and the two checked into a random hotel. The next morning, they headed straight for the marshes of the inner bay.
Surrounded by two nearly overlapping island chains on the southern side, facing the Gulf of Mexico, they formed a giant double breakwater. The waters of Pensacola Bay are remarkably calm, teeming with wildlife, especially birds and alligators.
They rented a speedboat and, after entering Pensacola Bay, sailed north along the Escambia River, finally landing at a rudimentary wooden pier. Atop
the pier stood an equally dilapidated tin shack on stilts, barely intact.
Before Jack's speedboat had even reached the shore, Frank had easily leaped onto the pier, taken the rope, and expertly tied a sailor's knot on the mooring hook.
"Hmm, it looks like this Marvin is enjoying retirement more than you are. I don't understand why you chose to live in freezing Ohio,"
Jack teased, surveying the docks.
"I don't like alligators, except for their leather goods." Frank, who had been relaxed on the way here, now seemed a little nervous, carefully observing his surroundings.
Jack thought he was genuinely afraid of alligators, but then he continued, "Don't act rashly, and don't mention cell phones, satellites, or the internet later."
"Huh?" Jack turned to listen, but before he could comprehend what he was saying, there was a crack behind him, and a figure suddenly shot towards the two of them.
Jack twisted his waist, raised his leg, and kicked behind him, simultaneously grabbing the pistol at his waist.
"Marvin, no, Jack, stop!"
Frank's voice came belatedly. Almost as soon as he shouted, the figure ambushing the two of them was kicked back with even greater speed than when it had come. A crossbow bolt shot into the sky, vanishing without a trace.
"Damn it!" Frank pulled down Jack's pistol and stepped forward to block him.
There was a rustling sound in the grass on the shore, and then a fifty-year-old man in a ghillie suit with a stubbled beard and a bird's nest on his head appeared in front of the two men, holding a crossbow with a scope in his hand.
"Are you here to kill me?" The old man, who was almost kicked to death by Jack, struggled to reload the crossbow and this time aimed it directly at Frank's head.
"Of course not, why would I kill you?" Frank raised his hands and tried to explain to him.
"Because the last time we met, I tried to kill you," Marvin said confidently. "And you brought a federal agent with you this time."
"That was a long time ago, and Jack's one of us." Frank's forehead bulged as he watched the crossbow bolt tremble before him, poised to fire at any moment.
Marvin sneered, "Some people hold grudges."
Frank suddenly reached out and grabbed the priceless crossbow, directing the dangling arrow away from his shiny head. He chuckled, "But we've always been friends, haven't we?"
The two men stagnated for a moment, their smiles a bit fake.
"Alright, we're at peace," Marvin released the crossbow, glaring unkindly at Jack, who had just kicked him. He
deftly twirled the SIG Sauer P320-XTen around his fingers before holstering it. Jack, in turn, leered at the slovenly old man.
Frank remained motionless, gritting his teeth as he asked, "So, can you please stop pointing the knife at my balls?"
"Haha!" Marvin sneered, then sheathed the dagger he'd grasped in his left hand, his gaze fixed on Jack behind him.
"Who's this guy?"
"Jack, FBI, he's not out to kill you either." Frank breathed a sigh of relief, unhooked the crossbow, and slammed the pulley against Marvin's chest.
"Alright, if you have anything to say, come inside and talk. Don't stay outdoors."
Even as he spoke, Marvin turned and walked towards a clearing in the woods away from the dock.
"So that's bait?" Jack asked, pointing to the tin stilt house behind him. He seemed to understand Marvin's actions, a man with a severe paranoia.
Marvin walked up to a rusted car, glanced back at Jack, and opened the hood to reveal a tunnel underneath. "Smart boy, I'm starting to like you."
Jack pretended not to hear him and peered down, surprised by the tunnel's depth. It must have been at least ten meters underground.
The woodland was less than a hundred meters from the river, and the underground was quite humid. Thick iron sheets lined the sides of the tunnel to prevent groundwater from seeping in, but the surface was still rusted.
Many survivalists in the United States enjoyed digging underground shelters, especially during the Cold War. It became almost a trend, with everyone digging a hole in their backyard, and it gradually became a subculture.
Marvin's underground shelter looked quite old, perhaps a relic of that era. It still had quite a few rooms, including a kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.
A variety of weapons hung on the walls, from Thompson submachine guns about the same age as Frank's to AKs, and even a Soviet-made RPG-7 rocket launcher.
Thinking of the underground safe house Chris had built on his farm at a cost of several million dollars, Jack had the urge to introduce him to Marvin. He believed that the two of them would definitely have a lot in common in this regard.
(End of this chapter)