After removing the silicone from the inside of his cheek and ripping off his mustache, Jack, restoring his original appearance, shed his uniform and folded it over his arm. Still uncertain, he asked Frank one last time,
"Are you sure you want me to do this in Langley without the CIA chasing you?"
"I promise, when this is over, you'll still be the little detective running around crime scenes."
Frank, having answered a similar question for the third time, sounded a little impatient. "If you don't want to go, then I'll have to do it myself."
And then a bullet in the shoulder, right? Jack, always respectful of the elderly and the young, finally stopped talking, swiped his access card, and entered the hallway before him.
"See you in ten minutes, and don't get yourself killed,"
he warned behind him. Frank turned and shed his general's uniform, tucked it under his arm along with his briefcase, and quickly disappeared into the fire escape.
It was lunchtime, and two office clerks, dressed in stylish office clothes, passed Jack, chatting quietly. The younger one noticed the handsome man looking at her.
"Hello, is William Cooper's office on this floor?" Jack flashed his signature smile, revealing eight large white teeth, which stunned the other woman.
"Yes, the third one on the left," the female clerk instinctively pointed behind her, then shared a quiet chuckle with her companion, exclaiming, "So handsome!"
Hearing the hallway door close behind him, Jack gently pushed open the door to the office in front of him, just in time to meet William Cooper's eyes, who had been bent over a document and looked up in surprise at the sound.
The CIA agent was actually quite good-looking, appearing to be in his early 30s. He looked much more handsome than the sullen middle-aged man who was cheated on by "Homelander" in "The Boys."
Coincidentally, William Cooper, who was pacing the office with a coffee cup in one hand, held a file on Jack in the other.
The file, maliciously altered by a malicious colleague, was shockingly abbreviated, with blank spaces and large sections of blacked-out text.
He could understand why Frank Moses's CIA file was heavily blacked out. After all, he'd only learned the meaning of "R.E.D." (Retired Extremely Dangerous) when he received it from the elderly archivist yesterday.
But Jack looked like just an ordinary FBI agent: a Los Angeles native, an orphan, a patrol officer with less than a year in the LAPD, with straight A's in the police academy and a top-scoring class in Quantico training, but that was about it. Details of
how he joined the FBI, the departments he served in, and how he became the youngest Supervisory Agent in the FBI in just a few years, earning so many awards, were all kept secret.
There's a natural disdain for federal agents, and it's only natural that CIA agents, theoretically more dangerous, would look down on those who prefer to be in the public eye.
While William Cooper was still a relatively new recruit at Langley, he was a CIA elite recruit, specifically from Navy SEALs, and had flown numerous dangerous missions over the past two years.
He couldn't understand what secrets lay hidden beneath the blacked-out content, allowing an FBI agent, barely 30, to receive so many honors.
While deep in thought, William Cooper noticed someone entering his office. He looked up and thought he was seeing things. The guy in the photo had suddenly appeared before him.
"Frank Moses asked me to give you his regards."
Cooper, an elite operative after all, had quick reflexes. Before someone could finish their words, a half-full coffee cup flew towards his head.
Jack swung his uniform, catching the cup, both liquid and liquid, in it. He then swung back, striking Cooper squarely in the forehead.
A bruise instantly appeared on Cooper's forehead. With a growl, Cooper lunged at Jack, attempting a tackle.
Jack leaned slightly sideways, his elbow slamming down, catching him squarely in the shoulder blade. With a grunt, Cooper, losing his balance, stumbled two steps, slamming headfirst into a filing cabinet with a resounding clang, nearly knocking him unconscious.
Jack, taking advantage of the opportunity to distance himself, picked up his files from the floor, flipped through them, and scoffed, "You're actually investigating me?"
Seeing Cooper struggle to his feet and reach for his gun, Jack dropped the scrap paper and stepped forward, grasping his arm and twisting it in a circle.
"Ah!" Cooper's right fingers blossomed like flowers, and his pistol fell. Jack caught it with his foot before it hit the ground, flicking it upwards into his hand.
Taking two steps back to create distance, Jack quickly dismantled the Glock 17 into pieces and threw them on the ground, continuing his taunting.
"Frank said your instructor, Kodeski, was his trainer, but it's clear you haven't learned much.
Did you accept the CIA's recruitment when you were a SEAL because you couldn't make Team 6?"
As if struck in a sore spot, Cooper roared, his face grim and lunging at the foul-mouthed FBI agent.
Their fists collided solidly. Despite the pain, Cooper continued to press forward, kneeing Jack in the chest.
Jack didn't dodge, taking the knee with his chest, then caught the opponent's leg and threw him flying.
The LCD TV mounted on the wall was smashed into a spiderweb of cracks. Before Cooper could even get up, Jack had already stepped forward and kicked him flat on his face, showing no sign of losing.
"I thought you were just a simple-minded, strong-armed idiot, exploited by Cynthia, but I didn't expect you to be so weak. I wonder what she saw in you? Are you simply so gullible?"
Jack's words were somewhat unconscionable. While Cooper's skills were slightly weaker than Clay's, he was still a formidable expert.
His face flushed purple, veins bulging on his forehead, Cooper tried to struggle, but was struck in the neck by a knife. His vision went black, and he fell unconscious.
After a quick search of the office, Jack found nothing and left the area.
The fight had caused quite a stir. Although it was lunchtime and the other offices were empty, this was Langley, the CIA's headquarters, and Jack didn't want to experience what Mason had gone through.
Following the fire escape down to the fifth floor, Jack straightened his shirt, which had been messed up in the fight, and still draped his coffee-stained uniform over his arm. He walked to the door of a common room and nodded to Frank, who was sitting inside leisurely sipping coffee and reading a newspaper.
(End of this chapter)