"He just contacted me. It's the old Evanston Power Plant. Yes, that's right. Frank wants a hostage exchange. He only has 20 minutes. I'm going over there to buy time. It'd be best if I contacted the CPD SWAT team for backup."
Cooper, phone in hand, rushed out of the hotel and jumped into a GMC Yukon. "Roger, the SWAT team is on their way, " Cynthia replied over the phone.
In the power plant, driven bankrupt by the chain reaction of industrial decline, the tall, dilapidated, abandoned building now only contained a skeleton of rusted I-beams. The summer sun, whenever it appeared, felt like a burning sensation, even in the early morning.
Jack crouched on a small platform at the highest point of the building, draped in a dusty urban warfare camouflage cape, observing the situation outside from behind a shattered windowpane.
He held a Barrett M107A1. The last time he'd used this standard US military anti-material rifle was on a small Southeast Asian island, when Jack had unleashed a semi-automatic anti-material sniper rifle with a force almost as powerful as Lao Gan Ma.
Meanwhile, Anna, acting as a spotter beside him, seemed somewhat distracted, occasionally glancing sideways at him as if admiring some rare treasure.
Jack, feeling somewhat uneasy under the gaze, asked curiously, "What's wrong?"
"Do you know how charming you look right now?" The girl couldn't help but lean in and kiss him on the cheek.
"Work, get serious." Jack slapped her perky, round buttocks, the jelly-like texture of her hand quite alluring.
Anna gave him a wink, then picked up her binoculars and peered into the distance. She quickly made a discovery. "Someone's coming. It must be that CIA guy."
Jack adjusted the scope in the direction she indicated and, sure enough, spotted a speeding GMC Yukon. Inside, Cooper, still dressed in his dusty clothes, looked as if in a dusty state.
"Cooper's here, expected to enter the factory in three minutes," Jack announced on the intercom.
Less than a minute later, Victoria, who was in charge of the other direction, reported, "A white Lincoln stretch and two pickup trucks are entering the factory from the north."
"Pickup trucks?" Jack felt relieved. It looked like today's plan was done.
The worst-case scenario today was that Cynthia and a team of SWAT officers would surround the area. With so many people and eyes, an accidental discharge during the standoff could have serious consequences. Despite the seemingly loud commotion those veteran agents made last night, with bombs exploding and heavy machine gun fire, their actions were actually very measured.
Aside from a few guests in the banquet hall who were accidentally trampled in the chaos, the rest, including the Bracken security team's bodyguards, suffered only minor injuries.
Reality isn't a Hollywood blockbuster where the protagonist drives a car into a downtown area, causing a pileup, and the audience doesn't care whether the unfortunate innocent bystanders or drivers live or die.
The veteran agents were simply feeling lonely in retirement, not experiencing a bout of senile chuunibyou (a form of 'second-year syndrome') that had them trying to make themselves public enemies.
Frank came to New York to seek help from his official friend, Jack, with the intention of understanding the situation and resolving the issue, not to single-handedly challenge an organization simply because his house was demolished. After all, he didn't have a dog.
The CIA was, after all, an official organization, a part of the state apparatus of the most powerful nation on the planet.
Cooper's willingness to cooperate wasn't simply driven by a sense of justice—perhaps some conscience played a role—but more importantly, it was because he was tired of constantly working under Cynthia's thumb.
Jack's "visit" made the CIA agent realize he was a pawn, vulnerable at any moment, and the disparity in power between the two sides.
This disparity wasn't simply a matter of physical prowess; of course, Jack's ability to infiltrate Langley and even assault him in his office was certainly terrifying.
Ultimately, when Cooper realized the kind of group he was facing, he decisively chose to "turn from the dark to the light."
He knew that these people were willing to sit at the poker table and face all the attacks not because they didn't dare to overturn the table, but because it wasn't worth it. They were also confident they could still win even if they didn't.
The GMC Yukon entered the empty factory and stopped in front of a large rock in the center.
Cooper stepped out of the car, his eyes twitching. He saw the dignified senator chained to a rock, shivering like a dog.
Although Jack had briefly treated Bracken's wound, the belt still served as a tourniquet around his left leg.
The senator was in a state of extreme distress. One leg of his pants was ripped, and the other hung loose, revealing his hairy legs.
Frank, gun in one hand, pulled Bracken up from the ground with the other, coldly demanding, "Where's my son?"
"He's on his way, we'll be there soon," Cooper said as the roar of a car engine reached from outside the factory.
A white, bulletproof, stretched Lincoln sedan slowly drove in, followed by two pickup trucks with M249 machine guns mounted on their back beds.
The two pickup trucks circled the factory, apparently scanning for an ambush, then stopped, one in front of and one behind the Lincoln, their M249s trained on the three men in the center.
The Lincoln's doors opened, and Cynthia was the first to exit. She drew her pistol, pointed it inside, and escorted Cassel, still in handcuffs, out.
"What's going on?" Cooper feigned surprise. It was clear that the group Cynthia had brought with her had nothing to do with SWAT, not even the CIA.
Then, a third person emerged from the Lincoln: Alexander Denning, a former CIA officer, current arms dealer, and collaborator of Bracken's.
The old man had completely lost his previous cowardice. The smug expression on his face fully demonstrated what it meant to be a villain who succeeded. "Well, you're surprised to see me again, tough guy."
"Alexander!" Bracken, who saw his savior, took a shaky half step forward, and the iron chain connected to the handcuffs made a rattling sound. "Whatever he wants, give it to him. I've had enough.
Back in Guatemala, because the locals refused to cooperate in growing coca, it was you who ordered the massacre of them, not me. I don't want to have anything to do with this matter anymore."
Danning impatiently took the pistol from the bodyguard, loaded it with a click, and shot Bracken directly in the chest. "Idiot, I gave the order, but you were the one who did it."
(End of this chapter)