Despite the soundproofing, the rumbling diesel generator was still noisy. The air quality down there wasn't great either. Besides the diesel smell, there was also an indescribable odor.
Glancing in the direction of the bathroom, Jack tried not to delve into the cause of the odor, and instead asked, "So, have you always lived underground?"
"That's a good question." Marvin removed his bird's nest-shaped hat and put away his pulley crossbow. "Of course not, but last year a helicopter flew over my house, and I sensed someone was watching me, like a venomous snake lurking in the shadows."
Frank sighed, reluctantly pulling the slip of paper from his pocket and handing it to him.
"I have a list here. It was written by a New York Times reporter, but she's dead, and so are most of the people on it."
Marvin took the list and glanced at it, a flush of excitement spreading across his unshaven, wrinkled face.
"Frank, do you remember how many times I've told you? Never trust the system. I told you countless times when we were still in it.
We're just ants. They can snap their fingers, and you're done.
They have people, satellites, cell phones, chips, the internet, dentists."
Seeing him chattering away as if a switch had been flipped, Frank felt overwhelmed and had to interrupt him loudly. "Marvin! Check this list for us. Thanks, man."
After a moment of stunned silence, Marvin, who seemed to have suddenly frozen, seemed to have restarted and nodded abruptly. "Okay, but it might take some time."
He turned and walked towards a large, red-painted iron door, the kind with a rotary lock you'd find in a bank vault.
With a metallic click, the door, about thirty or forty centimeters thick, swung open, revealing a wall of bookshelves filled with various file boxes and cartons.
"So, he really was your former partner?" Jack asked in a low voice.
"I guess so," Frank said, a bit lost for words. "He always believed he was the product of a secret government mind-control experiment, until we discovered he'd been taking LSD for eleven years. Incredible, isn't it?"
"Well, then he's doing pretty well now."
Jack had seen some anthropomorphism in his past life, like the one who believed cell phone radiation would cause tumors, that peanut oil solidified because of additives, and that cherries were soaked in "preservatives" to stay fresh after long sea journeys.
And then there were the foolish women who believed foreign countries were just as safe as home and went on solo trips to Southeast Asia and ended up disappearing.
In comparison, Marvin, as a CIA agent, had a bit of paranoia, which seemed like a good thing.
After all, some things really did happen in this country. And then there was the fact that he could live alone in the Florida swamps and still be active, and even build such a large underground shelter. Jack thought this old guy was far superior to those anthropomorphisms.
While Marvin was researching, Jack crossed his arms and took a look around, finding the facilities there were even more sophisticated than he'd imagined.
Though it looked a bit cluttered, it had everything you need: a simple kitchen with a stove, a pantry brimming with canned goods, a tool shed, and even a small armory.
He even found a hydroponic cabinet where potatoes, tomatoes, and other fruits and vegetables were growing surprisingly well.
"Found it." Less than half an hour later, Marvin emerged with a pile of information. "Guatemala, autumn of 1992. Besides the two of us, there were at least five other people on the list who were there. The specific location was outside of San Bentoni."
"I remember it was an Indian settlement," Frank said, clearly still remembering the operation.
"Yes, a small village of less than a hundred people. Everyone inside was shot. Our orders were to 'clean up all traces and make it look like nothing ever happened.'"
Marvin instinctively tried to hand the documents to Jack, who held out his hand, but then he realized what was happening. The two men froze, each holding a piece of the documents, until Frank coughed and reminded him again.
"Marvin, I told you, Jack is one of us."
Jack took the documents and flipped through them. Although the scruffy old man's mental state was worrying, his notes were meticulous, with complete details of time, place, and people, and the logic was clear.
Unfortunately, this document was not an official operation report. Frank and Marvin were only carrying out the aftermath, so the names recorded were incomplete, some with only first names, some with only last names, and some with only nicknames.
"Can I understand it this way?" After flipping through the information, Jack summarized the situation, "This massacre is a scandal, and some people don't want it to be brought to light.
So when the female reporter Stephanie Chen from the New York Times was investigating the matter, it aroused the vigilance of some people, which led to the launch of a cleanup operation.
The other party was able to find Frank easily because the cleanup operation was initiated from within the CIA."
"Damn it!" Marvin suddenly stood up from the sofa, a flush of excitement appearing on his dusty old face, "Do you know what's wrong with this country?"
Jack was puzzled by his question, and subconsciously cast his gaze at Frank, then asked hesitantly, "Because they don't even let go of retired old agents?"
"Absolutely right, that's the problem." Marvin said as he beat his chest and stamped his feet and danced with joy.
The bald man sighed helplessly. "Marvin, are you interested in joining us? There's one person still alive on the list, Gabriel Singer. We're going to go find him."
"Yeah!" Marvin was so excited he practically leaped up and slapped the bald man's shoulder. "Frank, I thought I'd never say that again!"
Huh? Frank and Jack both had two question marks in their heads, confused by what he was talking about.
"Pigsy's ready to go again!" Marvin roared, dashing into a nearby small room filled with weapons. When he reappeared, he only had a pink piggy stuffed animal in his hands.
"Are you sure we need him with us on all our future operations?"
Driving the Suburban, borrowed from a local office, toward the airport, Jack looked worriedly at Marvin, clutching the pink piggy stuffed animal in the back seat. He felt like a pervert who had kidnapped a demented elderly person from a nursing home.
"Most of the time, Marvin is very reliable." Frank in the passenger seat assured him with a solemn oath, but the look he gave Marvin when he turned back made people feel that his words were not very convincing. Never mind, since he thought it was okay, Jack did not say anything more. Things are different now. If he had been involved in such a thing a few years ago, the first thing he would have done was to call Rossi for help. But now, he is too lazy to even pretend. After all, no matter how unscrupulous the CIA is abroad, it has to keep a low profile in China. For example, in the previous assassinations of the female reporter and Frank, they used assassins from outsourcing companies.
(End of chapter)