American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 114 Intelligence (Part Two)

If, on the day of the operation, the construction team suddenly closes off the building, or even installs tempered glass to block the firing windows, he'll definitely unleash every curse word he knows.

Beta retrieved the encrypted USB drive.

He needed to acquire some special information from the underground intelligence market, detailed intelligence about the construction progress of the 87th floor of the Liberty Tower. This kind of worthless information was usually only noticed by those "scavengers" who specialized in collecting scraps.

With a slight click as the USB drive was inserted, the progress bar on the screen slid across the interface. The original operating system interface disappeared, replaced by a completely black dialog window, with the cursor blinking regularly in the upper left corner.

In this dark web world, as long as you offer a tempting enough price, you can find out exactly what the construction team's daily boxed lunches taste like.

Beta's fingertip glided lightly across the mouse wheel, and the list of contacts on the screen scrolled rapidly.

He suddenly remembered Jason Bourne, the unfortunate guy he had killed. The cursor eventually stopped on a familiar account, the contact who had once issued the bounty order, describing the target as a "professionally trained individual."

Payment settled, thank you.

Beta typed those four words briefly, along with several carefully selected photos: a close-up of Jason Bourne's bloodstained driver's license, a close-up of the corpse's face, and a close-up of a knife wound on the neck.

Beta leaned back in his chair, the screen light reflecting off his face, the chat box motionless.

He was determined to earn this money. Since the man had been killed inexplicably, wouldn't it be a waste of Jason Bourne's life if he didn't ask for a reward?
The sound of a key turning came from the entryway.

Beta slid his right hand toward the Glock on the desktop, pressed the monitor's sleep button with his left hand, and nimbly slipped to the corner of the porch.

Katalia was leaning against the shoe cabinet, untying the straps of her high heels, her chestnut curls falling over her shoulders.

"You're back?" she asked without looking up, her voice weary.

Beta released the trigger, letting the pistol hang naturally at his side: "Yes."

In front of the mirror, Katalia's movements resembled peeling away another personality.

She ripped off the chestnut wig, sparking a burst of static electricity, and broke off several strands of real hair stuck with glue. The silicone cover was torn open, making a sticky sound like a band-aid being peeled off.

When she crumpled the entire silicone mask into a ball, the mirror finally reflected Beta's familiar face—the face that belonged to Katalia.

Beta leaned against the frosted glass door, watching her toss the camouflage materials into a glass dish filled with acetone. The expensive, custom-made props curled and dissolved in the solvent, sizzling and turning into slime like vampires in the sunlight.

Beta leaned against the doorframe, watching Kataria wipe away the smudged eyeliner from the corner of her eye with a makeup remover pad: "How's it going on your end?"

Katalia paused, her reflection in the mirror meeting Beta's gaze. She ripped off the last of her false eyelashes: "I've found his hiding place."

She crumpled the cotton pad, now covered in foundation, into a ball: "I will settle this matter myself."

"Do you need help?" Beta's gaze fell on the new bruises on her shoulder blade.

Katalia turned around, reached behind her and unzipped the back of her pencil skirt, the metal chain making a soft, tinkling sound: "Of course you need to."

She raised an eyebrow at Beta: "I'm going to take a shower now. Are you planning to keep watching, or will you be a gentleman and close the door?"

Beta said, "I choose the third option: close the door and stay inside to observe."

His response was a raised middle finger from Katalia.

Beta shrugged, gently closed the door, and returned to the computer screen that was flashing blue light.

"Ding!" The computer beeped, and a new message in red text popped up in the dark chat box.

The sender's account and the message were brief: Please check your inbox.

Almost at the same time.

"Buzz!" Beta's pocket vibrated.

He took out his phone, the screen lit up, and an encrypted notification from an offshore bank appeared: Account balance changed, $4,000,000.00 entered the account.

Beta whistled lightly. The leather swivel chair creaked comfortably as he leaned back, its four million-dollar weight making the backrest feel like it was floating on clouds.

Beta has now completely let go of the guy named Jason Bourne, who has now been elevated in his mind to a philanthropist worth four million dollars.
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Beta created a brand new dark web account, meticulously crafting his identity. He portrayed himself as an executive at a construction company, attempting to gather dirt on his competitors.

In the announcement section, he specifically noted his "strong interest" in the construction plan for the 87th-floor viewing platform of the Liberty Tower, hinting at malicious commercial competition.

With a tap of his index finger on the Enter key, the bounty was sent into the dark web's data stream. Beta then opened another encrypted window and paid the platform operator a $1 "priority push fee."

In less than three seconds, his bounty was pushed to the top of the list, shining brightly in the eyes of all users on the dark web.

Beta sat in front of the computer, her fingers lightly tapping the desktop. The sound of Katalia showering came from the bathroom, the gentle patter penetrating the poorly soundproofed walls.

The blue light from the screen reflected on his face, and Beta suddenly felt a little dazed. For a moment, he inexplicably had a feeling of home.

He was handling his "work" on one end, while Katalia returned from shopping and was taking a shower. In a little while, she might come out wrapped in a bathrobe and hand him a steaming cup of black coffee.

The thought made Beta shake his head violently, as if trying to shake off something dangerous.

It's all because they've known each other for too long, so long that even such absurd fantasies unconsciously pop into their heads. He rubbed his temples hard and refocused his attention on the flickering screen.

"What were you thinking about just now?" Katalia's voice, still damp from her shower, drifted from behind Beta.

The swivel chair creaked slightly as Beta turned around.

Katalia leaned against the doorframe, her long black hair wrapped in a bath towel, a few unruly strands dripping water. Water droplets slid down her slender neck, lingered briefly at her collarbone, and finally disappeared into the cleavage beneath her white bathrobe. Her bare feet left dark watermarks on the wooden floor.

Beta's Adam's apple bobbed.

"The air conditioning is too cold." He finally found his voice: "You'd better put on another layer of clothing."

Katalia narrowed her eyes, a foxy smile playing on her lips: "You were definitely thinking something you shouldn't have just now."

She extended her index finger and tapped Beta's head from a distance.

Beta shrugged: "Biological instinct, hormone secretion, there's nothing wrong with that."

His gaze fell calmly on her damp eyelashes: "Unless you don't belong to the human category."

A triumphant smile curved at the corners of Katalia's lips as she turned, the hem of her bathrobe tracing a light arc.

She walked away, her feet sinking into the damp floorboards, the wooden floorboards creaking softly, until the bedroom door clicked shut, cutting off her view of Beta.

Beta took a deep breath, filling his chest with air, and then slowly exhaled. He rubbed his face vigorously, trying to shake off those inappropriate thoughts.

(End of this chapter)