American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 175 A CIA Messenger
Elton Webber's death was like a pebble thrown into the Hudson River, failing to even create a decent ripple.

Although the CIA officer was publicly executed on the street in front of the Continental Hotel, the entire city of New York remained unusually calm, and not even the most basic retaliatory shooting occurred.

This unusual silence made Beta uneasy.

He stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, repeatedly stroking his whiskey glass. New York City, illuminated by neon lights, continued its bustling traffic, as if nothing had happened. This eerie calm often foreshadowed a much larger storm brewing.

The office door was gently pushed open, and Ashley walked in, wearing high heels, and placed a document in front of Beta: "Information from Gianna in Italy, the results of an investigation into recent events in New York."

Beta opened the file and quickly browsed through the information about Elton Weber, but most of the content was information he already knew.

He threw the files on the table: "They're all outdated stuff."

Just then, Katalia appeared at the door: "Someone delivered a letter. The messenger is still waiting in the lobby, saying he wants to personally confirm its receipt."

Beta thought for a moment: "After going through security, have someone go to Weston's office."

Katalia nodded: "Okay."

Fifteen minutes later, Beta pushed open the door to Weston's office.

A middle-aged man with an unremarkable appearance got up from the sofa. His clothes were as ordinary as those of any government clerk.

Beta nodded slightly and sat down in Weston's leather office chair. Weston took out a bottle of Macallan whiskey and was about to pour it when the man waved his hand in polite refusal and sat down again.

"Is there a letter for me?" Beta asked bluntly.

“I sent you a message.” He paused, then added, “First of all, let me clarify that I am representing the CIA.”

He asked, "Did you kill Jason Bourne?"

Beta fixed his gaze on the other person without answering.

After a long seven-second silence, the man spoke again: "You can call me A/B/C/D."

He spread his hands expressionlessly: "Any code name is fine."

Beta slowly leaned back in his chair, the leather seat making a slight rustling sound: "What do you want to say?"

The man said, “My first task is to formally inform you: Elton Webber’s actions were purely personal. He sent someone to assassinate you, you sent someone to kill him, and that’s the end of it.”

"Secondly," the man leaned forward slightly, "we need to confirm: Did Jason Bourne leave any belongings before his death? For example, a last message, or... any documents?"

Beta tapped her fingertips rhythmically on the armrest: "With your professional skills, you should have reconstructed the scene of the incident long ago. Do you really need to ask me about something like this?"

The man gave a formulaic smile: "We did reconstruct the events. But the cleaning team from the Continental Hotel..."

He paused deliberately: "The efficiency was astonishing. When we arrived, all we found were Jason Bourne's charred remains and the wrecked vehicle he was driving."

He stared at Beta: "Many key items have disappeared. Do you happen to know anything about this?" Beta smiled faintly: "I know nothing. He suddenly appeared and tried to commit an attack, and was then quickly subdued. For such professional questions, you should probably ask other eyewitnesses at the scene."

The man nodded slowly: “We hope this answer won’t be changed arbitrarily. Whatever the facts, given our partnership with the Antonio family, we’ve chosen to accept this version. And we hope you never suddenly recall any details about Jason Bourne.”

Beta said, "You seem to treat me with far less respect than you would your mother."

The man smiled and stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. "Until you are officially crowned Emperor of the Antonio family, and until we consider you worthy of respect, this is our standard attitude. Our respect for Gianna comes not from her title, but from her impressive methods and strategies."

“We never hide our principles. When the Antonio family is standing, we are partners; when the family falls, we will not hesitate to share the spoils and will not waste a second mourning.”

He concluded by saying, “Mr. Wick, the emperor’s throne is never easy to hold onto, especially when the emperor is too conspicuous. We are an intelligence agency, and ruthlessness and having no bottom line are our nature. When two pieces of intelligence are laid out on the table, you can’t tell which one is noble and which one is sordid; they are both intelligence, and both are useful to us. That’s how we survive.”

He nodded slightly in acknowledgment: "Thank you for your time."

The door closed gently, leaving only Beta and Weston in the office.

Beta turned to Weston: "Are they always this arrogant? Even when they're talking to the High Table?"

Weston slowly poured two glasses of whiskey: "He's right about one thing."

He pushed his glass across the table: "They won't change their attitude until you become a ruler like Jaina. Even within the High Table, they treat members who lack brilliance the same way."

He raised his glass: "Even if the other party is an elder."

Beta took a sip of whiskey: "Being an heir is much harder than being an assassin."

"The world is like a giant scale." He slowly swirled his wine glass. "To gain something, you must pay the corresponding price, without exception."

“Of course, some people always get far more than they give. That’s the nature of privilege. Compared to ordinary people struggling on the streets.” Weston raised his glass in a toast: “You’re lucky enough, Mr. Wick. You have privilege; your starting point is already the end of an ordinary person’s life. Even I could never become one of the elders of the High Table in my lifetime.”

Beta chuckled: "So privilege is like syphilis and AIDS, only spread through genetics and certain behaviors?"

Weston nodded solemnly: "A brilliant analogy. And the most ironic thing is that those who enjoy privileges always complain about the troubles that privileges bring, but if someone were to actually take away their privileges, the first person they would eliminate would be the one who made the suggestion."

Beta chuckled softly: "That's right, that's the kind of person I am."

He tilted his head back and drank the wine in his glass: "If you tell me now, there's a way to take away my privileges."

The wine glass was gently placed on the table, making a soft clinking sound: "My first reaction is definitely not relief, but to shut you up immediately, and shut you up forever."

Weston spread his hands: "You see, even silencing opponents is itself a privilege granted by privilege."

Beta gently placed his glass on the table: "I'm not sitting here to discuss philosophical issues that are punishable by death."

Weston smiled and refilled Beta's glass: "But you have to admit that sending people who discuss these kinds of issues to the execution ground is itself one of the privileges of privilege."

(End of this chapter)