American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 101 The handle
Beta once again carefully disguised himself, transforming into a scruffy Russian.

A high nose bridge, deep forehead wrinkles, a sparse, balding head, and brown contact lenses. He wore slightly worn jeans, shoes with insoles to alter his height, and deliberately changed his walking posture and gait. His rough hands made him look like a manual laborer.

Beta walks through the narrow passageways between buildings in Brooklyn.

Sewage flowed freely underfoot, and garbage was scattered all around. Traces of people sleeping outdoors remained in corners and under eaves. There were dilapidated supermarket shopping carts, filthy tattered tents, empty water bottles, and discarded needles stained with blood.

Beta carefully stepped over the obstacles and turned into a side road. At the end of the side road stood a long-abandoned strip club.

The club has been abandoned for many years. The pink signboard has long since faded to white, and the neon girl that once swayed on it is now broken and only half remains.

Before the overgrown vacant lot, the parking lines drawn years ago can still be barely discerned. A broken glass door creaks and sways in the wind. Several overpasses, like behemoths, stretch over the club, the sounds of cars driving and horns blaring incessant.

Beta looked around to make sure no one was watching before walking toward the swaying door.

Stepping suddenly from the blinding sunlight into the dimly lit room, Beta closed her eyes for two seconds to adjust before opening them.

The corridor that originally led deeper into the building had been blocked by a brick wall that had been built later. His gaze swept across the wall and landed on two abandoned ATM machines.

A camera was emitting a faint red glow.

Beta looked directly into the camera and said in deliberately rough, heavily accented Russian English, "Alexei sent me."

A few seconds of silence followed.

Beta waited patiently.

After a moment of silence, the sound of metal scraping came from above.

Beta took two steps back. Above the rickety ceiling, an iron cover slowly slid open, and the falling dust formed a hazy curtain in the dim light.

A face wearing a spherical transparent acrylic headgear peeked out from the opening, the black mask completely covering the face.

"Where's Alexei?" a muffled voice came from inside the hood.

“I’m just here to pick up the goods,” Beta said in a calm tone. “Other matters are none of my concern.”

The other person made a meaningful "hmm" sound and shook a bulging bag.

“Repeat after me: ‘Aliens, get out of Earth!’” he urged urgently.

Beta repeated without changing his expression: "Aliens, get out of Earth."

"Your reaction is too calm!" The hooded man suddenly became alert: "You're not a cop, are you?"

“Alexei has already told me the code,” Beta said calmly. “The second half is…”

The two said in unison: "All the rich people on Earth are aliens in disguise."

"Beautiful!" The hooded man hummed in satisfaction and tossed the bag down. Beta caught it steadily, the heavy metallic clang transmitted through the fabric.

"I'll be happy as long as you use these guys to fight aliens." The hooded man tilted his head and asked, "What's your name?"

"Paul Korchagin".

"This name sounds familiar," the hooded figure scratched at the spherical acrylic shield.

“Of course.” Beta’s lips curled into a slight smile. “How the Steel Was Tempered.” “You actually tried to fool me with a fake name!” the hooded man raised his voice in dissatisfaction.

Beta retorted, "Would you tell me your real name, Mr. Anti-Alien Warrior?"

The hooded man tilted his head and thought for a few seconds, then excitedly patted the hood: "Damn! What you said is totally true!"

He lowered his voice and asked mysteriously, "Would you like to hear my theory of alien cybernetics?"

Beta switched the bag to his left hand, a regretful expression on his face: "Time is of the essence. However, Alexei has promised to explain your theory in detail, about how to take back wealth from aliens and redistribute it to the poor."

"Fantastic! Fantastic!" The hooded man danced with excitement, a layer of fog forming on his acrylic mask. "Alexei really knows how to be generous! I've decided, I'll give you a $2000 discount!"

Beta bowed slightly: "I am very grateful."

He paused for a moment, then sincerely added, "By the way, I completely agree with your idea of ​​wealth redistribution."

The hooded man fell silent, and through the fogged-up mask, his moist eyes could be seen.

“Paul Korchagin, right?” His voice choked with emotion. “You are such a good man.”

After saying that, he suddenly pulled his head back, and the iron plate slammed shut with a "bang," leaving only a few wisps of dust slowly drifting down in the beam of light.
-
The supervisor stood in the darkness of the street corner, watching Medea's figure gradually disappear into the night. Once he was sure she was far away, he took out his phone, his finger rapidly swiping across the screen to dial Director Moore's private number.

The call connected quickly, and Moore's hoarse voice came through the receiver: "Do you know it's the middle of the night?"

"Sir, this is an emergency and requires immediate reporting." The supervisor tried to sound as urgent as possible.

Moore interrupted impatiently, "What's so important that you have to wake me up now?"

The supervisor looked in the direction where Medea had disappeared: "Medea Lake has returned home. She came to see me just now."

"I already know about this," Moore said coldly, and hung up the phone.

The manager stood on the street corner, bit his lip, and gave a cold snort.

A few minutes later, my phone vibrated; an encrypted number was calling.

"The cashier said you needed to speak to me urgently." The voice on the other end of the phone sounded noticeably tired.

"Is the line secure? Moore already knows Medea is back." The supervisor looked around.

The other person chuckled softly: "He doesn't dare monitor my communications. What did Medvedeva tell you?"

The supervisor lowered his voice: "I've come up with a plan on the fly. It'll get rid of Bianca, that troublemaker, and also deal with Doyle, making room for our future female chief superintendent."

"So the future Chief Superintendent you're talking about... is it Meva Lake?" The other person paused. "Are you sure we can control her?"

The supervisor smiled: "First, her initiative to eliminate Bianca is itself a weakness; second, to protect herself, she must also get rid of Doyle and then transfer from MI6 to Scotland Yard; third..."

He paused for a moment: "I think she would be a good mother to my son."

There was silence on the other end of the phone, followed by an uncertain response: "...What?"

“Choosing to stand by her side in a life-or-death situation, I think that's enough to build a special emotional bond. By facing crises and solving problems together, I'm confident I can win her trust.” He paused. “Compared to simply threatening her with incriminating evidence, the bond between husband and wife is clearly a stronger one, isn't it?”

(End of this chapter)