You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Chapter 390 North America's Number One Breakthrough

It's 7:50 p.m. at the South Union Lake Shopping Center in Seattle's West Side.

With only a few hours left until Christmas, the mall was packed with people making a last-minute rush.

Lyon stood in front of a scented candle shop, carrying two shopping bags, his eyes scanning the shelves.

"What the hell do you want to buy?" Eva stood to the side, staring blankly at the artificial snow scene in the distance, holding a cup of hot cocoa in her hands.

"You've been leading me around these shelves for the past half hour," she added.

Lyon turned to look at her.

"I'm thinking, what Christmas gift should I give to a female office worker who works overtime every day, basically lives in ACU, and relies on caffeine to keep going?"

"Give her coffee beans," Eva said, "or a decent coffee machine."

"I gave her a bag of coffee beans last time, and she gave me a really hard look and cursed at me for ages." Leon put the shopping bag on the ground and pinched the bridge of his nose.

She said, "I already work overtime every day. Are you bringing me coffee because you think I leave work too early? Or do you think that drinking this special drink will make the animals run a few more laps?"

Eva frowned.

"So what does she want?"

Leon was silent for a few seconds, then casually took the half-full cup of hot cocoa from Eva's hand, took a sip from her hand, and continued to look around the shelves, seemingly unaware that anything was wrong.

"How would I know? If it were you women with normal brains, what would you normally want to accept?"

Eva tapped her chest with her free hand. "I'm not good at this as an assassin, but why don't you ask Chloe? She should know."

"Chloe would suggest I send Mia a bundle of C4." Leon shoved the empty cocoa cup back into Eva's hand. "I can already picture her receiving the C4 and then using a broom handle to knock me out of the second-floor window of ACU."

"It's not that bad," Eva said.

"You don't understand." Leon shook his head, deliberately lowering his voice to imitate Mia's tone.

"Officer Vance, you've shown a strange enthusiasm for something you're not good at." He straightened up, his voice returning to normal.

Eva's lips twitched. "Then why don't you give her a nice wrist rest, or a promise of a promotion?"

"A promotion promise is just empty words." Lyon turned away.

"Didn't you just say you wanted to buy candles? You can't even buy these?"

"This candle smells like burning paper in the toilet." Leon picked up the candle next to him, smelled it, and put it down with a pained expression.

"And why would I spend over forty dollars on something that smokes?"

A moment of silence.

"I really don't know what to give. The thought of dealing with Mia's gift and then having to deal with Sterling and Chloe's gives me a headache," Leon finally said.

"Then you might as well just give her money. She can do your financial audit, and you can give her your year-end bonus," Eva said.

"Giving out year-end bonuses on Christmas? You think it's like the boss at East Asia handing out red envelopes?"

"Otherwise what?"

"Giving money is how bosses treat their employees; it's too vulgar for us to give money."

Eva looked up at the glass dome of the mall. "Sir, please let me go. I want to go back."

"But tomorrow is Christmas, and I have to buy Christmas presents tonight, otherwise all the shops will be closed tomorrow," Lyon said.

Eva was about to retort when she caught a glimpse of someone walking quickly towards her from the other end of the corridor.

"Boss!"

Lyon turned his head and saw Big T walk through a group of customers queuing to pay.

This guy has clearly changed his outfit recently. His leather jacket is new, his gold chain is new, he has a watch on his wrist that looks expensive, and his hair is oiled.

Ever since that Seattle no-holds-barred fighting tournament, where Big T used a bag of US dollars he was given to organize a gang to clear out the homeless, this guy has really made a name for himself on the streets.

He took over the old relationships with the King's Gang, the meetings between several small gangs in the southeast of the West Side, and the flow of gray vehicles and guns on the outskirts of Seattle using the name of Lyon and the tacit approval of the patrol officers. Now, many of these are being handled through Big T's hands.

His barbershop has opened several branches, and the name has changed from the original "Ray's Barbershop" to "Ray's Chain".

Big T himself has transformed from a pathetic little boss who was forced to draw his gun with a screwdriver by a homeless man in an alley but dared not fire it, into a well-known figure in the West District's underground circles.

However, he still acted arrogantly in front of Lyon.

"I finally found you! I called you seven or eight times, and you didn't answer a single one!"

"You made a call?" Leon put the earphones back on the shelf, took his phone out of his pocket, and glanced at it.

There were indeed several missed calls on the screen, all from Big T, and two text messages, one saying "Boss, urgent matter" and the other "Where are you?".

He didn't notice it at all while he was shopping.

"I was shopping and didn't notice," Leon said, putting his phone back in his pocket.

Big T glanced around, his gaze lingering on Eva for a second.

Eva glanced back at him expressionlessly, and Big T's gaze immediately snapped away, returning to Leon's face.

He wiped his forehead again, his palms sweating profusely: "If you don't answer, I'll think your enemies have pinned you down at the back entrance of the mall and taken advantage of you."

"So you just rushed into the mall to collect my corpse?" Leon leaned against the shelf, glancing at his outfit.

"You're wearing this everywhere you go now?"

Big T paused for a moment, looked down at himself, and subconsciously puffed out his chest: "No, boss, it's just that—I have a lot of people under me now, and I need to look presentable when I go out to discuss business."

"Don't you always hold your business meetings in the back room of the barbershop?" Leon said. "This outfit is enough for you to hire several errand boys."

Big T chuckled twice, then lowered his voice, his expression turning grim: "Boss, something terrible has happened. There are gunmen and unlicensed taxis outside, and both bus routes are down."

"I was just checking the accounts at the barbershop. As you instructed, I contacted a smuggler in California to get a batch of clean unlicensed taxis, but when I called, the number was disconnected."

"The black gun route that used to take us from Portland suddenly became unreachable a few days ago. We couldn't get through to the middleman by phone, and we couldn't find him at the places he frequented."

"My contact in Tacoma has also disappeared and his phone is switched off."

Lyon frowned and his face darkened.

Leon picked up a pair of headphones from the shelf and examined them. "Are all the cables outside Seattle broken?"

"It's not that absolute, but it's close. I feel like someone in the underworld has made a statement, telling us not to supply us with guns and cars from outside. And it's not a local Seattle gang. The locals don't have that kind of audacity or guts."

Lyon remained silent for a few seconds.

Big T's supply of black guns and black cars is a gray area that he tacitly acknowledges. Although it is not directly under his control, it is still crucial to him.

The armed thugs that Big T used to clear the area and maintain order, the unnumbered weapons registered with Walter at the Psychedelic Cat stronghold, and the vehicle channels that could be mobilized in emergencies—many of these resources were used.

Someone must be trying to shrink his living space from outside Seattle, trying to trap him in Seattle.

"Go back first. Tell your men to behave themselves for the next few days and not to leave Seattle to chase after supplies. Keep the existing guns and ammunition under centralized management. Have the veterans on guard. I'll contact you if I get any news."

Big T nodded, and before he could say anything more, Leon's phone rang.

Caller ID: Bradley.

Lyon was somewhat surprised.

Bradley last contacted him about ten days ago, after their meeting at the veterans' barbecue restaurant. The FBI's HRT commander had officially decided to apply to stay in Seattle to act as Lyon's inside man within the federal system.

Logically, he should be busy dealing with the power struggles within the FBI and the mess left by Director Carl, and wouldn't have come looking for him so quickly.

"Don't tell me you're calling to wish me a Merry Christmas." Leon pressed the answer button.

Bradley's voice came through the receiver, with the sound of wind and the muffled thud of a car door closing in the background, making it sound like they were on the move.

"Leon, where are you now? I need to see you right away."

"West End shopping center," Lyon said.

Something's happened.

"What? The FBI headquarters building was bombed?"

"Even more exciting than that!" Bradley's breathing was noticeably erratic.

"Which blind bastard is planning to target me this time?"

"No, it's not aimed at you—at least it's not directly targeting you, but this will affect you sooner or later," Bradley said through gritted teeth.

"Something big has happened! Just half an hour ago, Seattle produced North America's top penetrator!"

Lyon's grip on his phone tightened slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"It's not convenient over the phone. I'm almost at the West End, in ten minutes at the mall's underground parking lot. We need to talk face-to-face. If this isn't handled properly, the entire Seattle police force and federal agencies will be turned upside down!"

"I see."

Lyon hung up the phone and glanced at Big T.

"Did you hear that?"

Big T swallowed hard, not quite understanding, so he whispered, "North America's number one dribbler—is a very good shooter."

"The really powerful kind? Or is it related to our unlicensed taxis?"

"I don't know yet." Leon put his phone back in his pocket and glanced at the dark street outside. "So I'm going to listen to what breakthrough he made. Since you heard it, follow me."

Leon quickly led Eva and Big T through the B2 level of the underground parking garage and stopped in a corner.

A gray Chevrolet with Washington state license plates rolled down the ramp, its brake lights casting two red glows on the damp wall. Bradley opened the car door and strode towards them.

He wasn't wearing FBI standard gear today; he wore a dark gray down jacket pulled down to his chin, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched as he walked, his eyes scanning every pillar in the parking lot.

"Let's talk in the car." Bradley opened the car door and got back in first.

Lyon got into the passenger seat, Eva got into the back seat, and Big T hesitated for a moment before standing outside the car.

"What are you doing standing outside?" Leon rolled down the car window.

"I—should I just wait outside?" Big T glanced at Bradley. Of course he recognized the FBI agent; he had seen him sporadically in the news after the psychedelic cat incident.

"Come in," Lyon said.

Big T opened the other rear door, crouched down, and sat inside, trying to stay as far away from Bradley as possible.

Bradley ignored him and went straight to the point: "Leon, when I said 'North America's number one dribble' on the phone just now, I was referring to someone who assassinated Trump."

"???"

"What do you mean by 'So outrageous, yet assassinated'???"

Bradley leaned forward abruptly and slapped Leon on the shoulder: "Could you keep your voice down?!"

Lyon turned his head and looked at Bradley's face, which was tense with nervousness.

"Okay," he said, his voice lowering.

"Then tell me, how did Trump get assassinated again? The election is over, and the Democrats are still going to do it?"

Bradley leaned back in his seat, took a deep breath, and gathered his thoughts.

"You remember the Seattle riots, right?" Bradley said.

"The National Guard beat up civilians, an old lady hit a soldier's helmet with a slipper, Major Patterson overslept, and this incident later made the national news. Trump posted several times on his social media platforms, naming Seattle and saying that he wanted to commend the old lady who hit the National Guard."

"I remember," Lyon said. Of course he remembered; he had just skydived from Hudson's private plane.

"Later, Trump happened to host a media dinner at the Hilton Hotel in Washington, D.C. It was ostensibly an annual media exchange event, but in reality, it was just a dinner gathering of some conservative media and politicians, with Trump giving a few words as an excuse."

"In Seattle, they also picked a few key figures from the videos of the riots," and sent out several invitations, including one from the old lady who was pulling out her slippers.

"Wait," Leon interrupted him. "Why didn't I know about this?"

Bradley spread his hands: "It's just bringing a few people over to make a scene, what's the big deal?"

"The White House hosts dozens of these dinners every year. The invitation lists are all drafted by the staff. They select a few civilians who have a lot of public interest, send out a few invitations, and go through the motions. Sterling from your Seattle Police Department didn't even receive an invitation, so how would you know?"

Why?

"It's probably because you're busy running for mayor here," Bradley said.

"Anyway, we didn't invite any of the higher-ranking people, only a few low-level characters."

"Okay, continue," Leon said.

"The dinner starts at 6:30 tonight," Bradley said.

"Among those present were key figures from the Hong Kong Police Force, Secret Service agents, personnel from the Vice Presidential Security Service, and a host of journalists and politicians."

"The first layer of security is at the hotel lobby entrance, with metal detectors, X-ray machines, body searches, and standard procedures."

"and then?"

"Then someone sneaked in. He's supposedly from Seattle, male. His identity is still being verified, or it might have been verified already, but he hasn't told me yet."

"He carried a shotgun with over two hundred shotgun shells, a pistol with over three hundred pistol shells, two knives, four throwing knives, and a total of over five hundred rounds of ammunition."

"Several? More than five hundred shots?" Leon turned his head.

"More than five hundred shots," Bradley repeated.

"How he managed to bring so much stuff in is still unclear. My current information is that the hotel did not check the luggage of guests a few days before the banquet."

"Then here's the key point: why is he called North America's number one penetrator? Because he charged straight into the venue."

"What do you consider an assassination? Planting a bomb beforehand? Or sniping from a high vantage point? Anyway, he just forced his way through by running."

"First, he broke through the first layer of security, which is the layer where people are checked."

"Only one person in the first layer of security reacted and fired, and that person fired a total of five shots." Bradley raised one hand, spread his five fingers, then retracted four of them, leaving only the index finger.

"Only one shot hit, and that shot hit one of our own men."

There was a two-second silence in the car.

"Five shots at close range and only one hit the target, and it was a teammate? Is this a security operation or a joke?" Leon said.

"Don't rush to yell," Bradley said.

"There were more than just the first layer of security at the venue. Special District Police, Secret Service agents, FBI agents, and even agents from the Vice Presidential Security Service were also present. Do you know how they reacted?"

"explain."

"The Hong Kong police are looking for cover," Bradley said.

"The Secret Service agents were shouting Code Red (emergency), but after shouting it, they couldn't tell where the gunshots were coming from, so they didn't know which way to run."

"The Vice President's security detail reacted quickly, rushing onto the stage and dragging Vice President Vance away."

"What about the people from the Presidential Security Service?"

"That's the problem. The presidential security detail was just a step too slow," Bradley said.

Lyon looked at him.

What does "being a step too late" mean?

"That means Vice President Vance was evacuated immediately, while Trump wasn't," Bradley said.

"When the assassin rushed into the banquet hall, Trump was still on stage. The presidential security agents had just drawn their guns when the assassin opened fire. Trump was shot and is now in the ICU. He should be alive for now."

Lyon leaned back in his seat, staring at the concrete pillars outside the windshield.

"Where is the assassin?" Leon asked.

"He's been arrested," Bradley said.

"I don't know his current situation in more detail, but before he took action, he set a timer to send a video to his relatives and friends."

"In the video, he claims to be a friendly federal assassin," saying that Trump and his ilk, including pedophiles, have raped high-ranking U.S. officials, plunging the United States into irreversible decline.

He said he knew he was going to die, but he wanted to use it to awaken the sleeping Americans to rise up and fight back.

After listening, Lyon remained silent for a few seconds.

"It sounds like someone who's been driven to the brink," Eva said.

"Hmm," Bradley responded, not continuing the topic.

"So what does this have to do with me? What's the problem now?" Leon asked.

"The problem is, this person somehow got onto the Seattle invitation list," Bradley said.

"The invitation list was sent from Washington to Seattle. Although the procedure can't really be carried out that strictly, theoretically the Seattle Police Department should have handled it, as should your precinct's administrative system."

"The White House assumed that we had already done a screening, and we assumed that the White House would conduct a background check, but it turned out that neither side did."

Lyon remained silent.

"In other words, if the FBI or the Secret Service were to investigate, the Seattle Police Department's invitation approval process could be brought up again, and since Sterling is currently running for mayor, if this is brought up again—"

"Yes, but Sterling's public identity is that of a Republican, and I'm not sure what the Republican Party's stance will be on this. The situation is very chaotic right now, and it's not just the Seattle Police Department that will have problems," Bradley said.

"The Vice President's security detail reacted faster than the President's security detail, and if Trump is unable to continue as president, then according to the Constitution, Vice President Vance should serve as interim president."

"These two things have been linked together, and whether Vice President Vance had this motive—I'm not sure."

"Trump previously stated publicly that Vance was not his successor. Although some people think this was to protect Vance and prevent him from being assassinated, I don't know the truth."

"Then, did the Democratic Party act as a driving force? If not, how will they react? Will the states take this opportunity to cause trouble? It's hard to say whether extremist groups will take this opportunity to launch large-scale riots. That's why I say the situation is very chaotic."

"As for the Seattle FBI office, it's in complete chaos. After Carl was sidelined, the Washington headquarters is reorganizing the authority of the Seattle bureau."

"And what about you?" Leon asked.

"My application to stay on hasn't been approved yet, but I'm already working on keeping myself in Seattle," Bradley said.

"If this matter is not handled well, my application may also be blocked, and then I will have worked for nothing. I need a stable place in Seattle."

The big T in the back seat huddled in the corner, not saying a word from beginning to end, his expression as if he were listening to gibberish.

He only understood that someone had assassinated the president, and that this might involve Sterling.