louisehourcade Chapter 717 was temporarily changed to a handover point!
Chapter 717 was temporarily changed to a handover point!
As soon as those words were spoken, both Lynn and Jason grasped the key point.
"What backup plan?" Lynn asked.
Leon didn't say anything.
Aida, however, said, "He took more than one item from the gray box and handed it over."
Jason took a breath: "A copy?"
“It’s not a copy,” Aida said. “It’s disassembly.”
The rain seemed to suddenly intensify, pattering loudly against the roof of the vehicle. No one on the platform spoke for a moment. Only the technicians were speaking in hushed tones about the evidence numbers.
Lynn looked at Aida: "What do you want to change to?"
The woman paused for a second: "Alive."
"Just this?"
“Add one more,” Ada said. “Don’t lock me up with him, and don’t hand me over to those guys at the Brooklyn Detention Center.”
Blake frowned beside him: "You've got a lot to ask for."
Aida looked at him coldly: "Because someone in your group took the money."
Blake's face immediately darkened: "You'd better have evidence."
“I will give it to you,” Aida said. “Let’s get out of here first.”
Lynn and she looked at each other for two seconds, then Lynn nodded: "Okay. But you have to lead the way now."
"Now?" Jason asked.
“Yes,” Lynn said. “She dared to speak up because she knew things were moving over there too. Every minute she delayed meant another minute for them to wipe out the operation.”
Jason nodded immediately: "Okay. Blake, you cut both sides open. Leon, take your men, Ada, come with us."
Blake looked at them: "You need reinforcements."
"Yes, but don't make it obvious," Lynn said. "Plainclothes officers, two cars, no flashing lights."
"Understand."
As Leon was being led into the car, he was still staring intently at Aida, his gaze filled with hatred, and also with the realization that he had finally understood that in someone's eyes he had only ever been a tool to clear the way. Aida didn't look at him again, but before being led into another car, she said in a low voice, "Before going to the Upper East Side, we'll go around West 42nd Street."
Jason pressed her into the back seat while asking, "Why?"
“Because it was with Michael’s gray car, not with his,” Aida said. “It was to see if you guys were splitting up again.”
Lynn got into the driver's seat and looked back at her: "You know the people in that car."
Aida watched the rainwater slide down the car window, and after two seconds said, "I know one. If the passenger is a man, his name is probably Derek. He's the one who closes things out, not the core."
"Who is the core?"
The person inspecting the goods doesn't show up.
Jason scoffed: "These guys live by the rules."
The car drove off, leaving the Chelsea platform. The rain had painted the New York morning a grayish hue. Pedestrians held umbrellas, and delivery trucks, taxis, police cars, and municipal vehicles were all crammed together. Nobody knew what they had caught on that abandoned platform. The radio kept reporting location updates; Samantha was still keeping an eye on Michael Dean's car.
Lynn didn't head east immediately. Instead, as Ada had suggested, she first circled around to the vicinity of West 42nd Street. That area was near several large parking garages and old office buildings, which looked even more drab in the rain. Jason stared at the rearview mirror and, sure enough, cursed two minutes later: "Got it. A black Dodge, hanging there all the way from Eighth Avenue."
Aida leaned back in her seat, her voice flat: "It wasn't them. They were cleaner. This one was probably taken by you after you were recognized."
"Where's that gray car?" Lynn asked.
“It doesn’t go directly to the main target,” Aida said. “It only watches who will be separated from the banking case.”
Jason turned to look at her: "You guys have a pretty thorough understanding of federal procedures."
“It’s not the Federation,” Aida said. “It’s all the same people being hunted.”
Lynn turned the steering wheel, suddenly cutting off into a narrow alley, using a bus to block his view, and then making two more turns. The black Dodge behind him, as expected, couldn't keep up and was stuck at the traffic light. Jason glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled: "Good, at least now there's one less layer of tail."
Samantha continued reporting through the earpiece: "Michael's car is parked in front of an old apartment building on East 75th Street. The driver didn't get out, but Michael got in. The gray sedan is parked next to the coffee shop at the street corner, and neither of them got out."
“Apartment building information,” Lynn said.
"Found it. The registered owner is a shell real estate company that has been short-term renting multiple times in the past five years, and the tenant records are very messy. Last month there was a cash repair expense, which was reported as heating pipes, but there was no outsourcing record."
Jason said in a low voice, "It sounds like a delivery point."
"Are there any other exits in the building?" Lynn asked.
“Front door, rear fire escape, underground garbage chute connecting to the back alley,” Samantha said. “The floor plan has been sent to your vehicle.”
The screen popped up, and the floor plan appeared.
Aida glanced at it and said, "Not the upper floors. The inspection won't be done up there. It'll be either the second floor or the basement."
“Why?” Jason asked.
“Because we need to hurry,” Aida said. “The upstairs is a huge traffic jam.”
Lynn nodded and said into the communicator, "Where are Blake's men?"
"Three minutes from the scene."
"Don't get too close. Two at the front entrance, two in the back alley, one guarding the entrance to the underpass, and one floating around. Let's go in first."
Jason turned to Aida: "You go in too."
“I only brought it to the door,” Aida said.
Are you afraid of being seen?
“I’m afraid I’ll get shot through the throat first,” Aida said coldly. “The inspection team may not recognize you, but they will recognize me.”
“Then you need to go in even more,” Jason said. “Your role now is more than just leading the way.”
Aida glanced at him and finally didn't argue.
The car was parked under a tree half a block away from the apartment building. Rain dripped down the branches and leaves, and the windows of the coffee shop on the street were fogged up. Sure enough, the gray sedan was parked next to the shop, and two men in ordinary coats sat in the front seat, one looking at his phone and the other looking at the street. Neither of them seemed to be waiting for Michael; rather, they seemed to be waiting for someone to come and move the building.
“The gray car is the finishing touch,” Aida said softly.
"Which one do you know?" Lynn asked.
“The driver’s profile looks like Derek,” she said. “I don’t recognize the passenger.”
"it is good."
Blake's undercover car glided silently into the backstreet. Lynn glanced at the time; it was almost eleven. The deadline for sealing off the bank was fast approaching, but nobody cared about that now.
Jason stretched his shoulders and neck; the bruise under his ribs made his movements a little stiff, and he knew it, but he didn't mention it at all: "How do we line up once we're inside?"
“Michael isn’t the key,” Lynn said. “He’s the one delivering the message, maybe money or confirmation. What’s really needed is the person in the building who picks him up, or the room he’s going to meet.”
"Where's the gray car?"
“Wait five minutes after we go inside before we move,” Lynn said. “Don’t startle us.”
Aida leaned back in her chair and suddenly said, "If there's a small silver box in the room, don't open it directly."
Both of them were looking at her at the same time.
"why."
“Because ‘sewing’ isn’t just for picking locks,” she said. “She also uses it as a closing gift.” Jason stared at her for two seconds, then smirked. “You really want to live.”
“Of course,” Aida said.
When they got out of the car, the rain had lessened a bit, but the sky was even more overcast. The apartment building's lobby had the kind of stone steps and bronze doors common in old Manhattan; it looked respectable on the surface, but up close it was clear it hadn't been properly renovated in many years. Michael went in and didn't come out again. There wasn't a real doorman at the front desk, only a vacant manager's seat for handling packages.
Lynn and Jason entered one after the other, with Ada sandwiched between them, her handcuffs covered by a dark coat. The hall was blasting heat, and the windows were fogged up, creating a barrier between the hall and the damp chill outside.
The elevator is old, and the indicator light flashes slowly. The hallway is very quiet, with only the faint sound of a radio coming from one floor.
Aida whispered, "The second floor."
“How did you know?” Jason asked.
“If the first floor is the lobby, the second floor is the most suitable for a temporary location. It’s close, quiet, and not easily visible from the street.” She paused. “Besides, someone like Michael wouldn’t want to go underground.”
The elevator stopped on the second floor.
As soon as the door opened, a strong smell of old wooden floors mixed with disinfectant hit me from the hallway. This place seemed to have once been a large apartment sublet; the hallway wasn't long, with two doors on each side. A very faint sliver of light shone from under the door on the far right.
Lynn raised his hand, signaling to stop.
Through the earpiece, the guard at the back alley whispered, "No movement seen at the rear fire escape."
Plainclothes officer outside the front gate: "The gray car is still here."
Jason glanced at Aida.
Aida's gaze fell on the door, and she whispered, "That's the one."
"There are a few people inside."
"I don't know," she said, "but you won't be inspecting the goods alone."
Lynn didn't immediately press the door shut. Instead, she glanced at the door frame, lock, the carpet along the bottom edge, and the old-fashioned electrical meter box on the wall. The door was ordinary, with old dark green paint, and the lock cylinder had been replaced. There was no movement of light or shadow along the bottom edge of the door, indicating that either the person inside was far from the door, or there was an obstruction on the ground.
Jason took a deep breath: "Should we knock?"
"Knock," Lynn said. "Michael's been in there too long. If we break down the door suddenly, the people inside will either pack up or burn the body first."
Who knocked?
Lynn glanced at Aida: "Her."
Aida's expression remained unchanged: "You really aren't afraid of my death?"
“You’re even less willing than we are to let the person inside leave,” Lynn said.
Aida looked at him for two seconds, then surprisingly nodded. She took half a step forward, raised her hand, and knocked on the door—not hard, just two knocks, like a pre-arranged signal.
There was a moment of silence inside.
Then came the sound of footsteps.
It wasn't Michael. His steps were lighter, and when he stopped behind the door, he didn't open it immediately.
"Who is it?" A deep male voice came from inside.
Aida looked at the door, her voice lowered: "Something went wrong. Leon didn't come back."
There was a moment of silence inside, followed by a very soft click from the door lock.
Lynn's eyes darkened.
The door was only a crack open.
What appeared first from the crack wasn't a face, but a hand holding a gun.
"lie--"
Before the words were even finished, gunfire erupted from behind the door. Lynn yanked Ada away, slamming his shoulder into the door. Bullets grazed the edge of the door, sending splinters of wood and plaster flying. Almost simultaneously, Jason kicked the door open from the other side. The chain snapped violently, and the door slammed open, releasing a rush of hot air and smoke.
The living room was temporarily converted into a handover point.
On the table lay a file box, a sealed bag of cash, and an open portable scanner. Michael Dean stood beside the coffee table, his face ashen, as if he had forgotten how to even raise his hand. Near the window, a man in a dark brown coat was backing away, a gun still in his hand, while his other hand reached for a small silver case on the table.
"Don't let him touch the box!" Aida shrieked.
The man's expression changed instantly when he saw her: "You—"
Jason fired directly, hitting the edge of the silver case. The case flew out, hitting the corner of the wall, but didn't open. The man cursed, turned, and rushed towards the side door. His movements were ridiculously fast, not like a normal cover retreat, but more like he had memorized every escape route in the house.
Lynn didn't chase him. First, he shot the gun out of the other man's hand, then stomped over the coffee table, using the momentum to push forward and slam Michael to the ground: "Federal law enforcement! Don't move!"
Michael screamed, "I'm not—I was just delivering something—"
“I know.” Lynn pressed him down. “So you’d better shut up and save your words for later.”
A loud bang came from the side door; Jason had chased after something and smashed it open. Then came a series of footsteps; the man by the window had clearly run into another passageway inside the suite. Aida stood by the door, watching in that direction, and gritted her teeth, saying, "Derek."
Lynn turned to look at her: "The ones from the gray car?"
“Yes,” Aida said. “He wasn’t inspecting the goods, but he was very close by.”
Where is the inspector?
Aida's gaze swept across the room, then suddenly stopped.
The door to the other room on the left side of the living room was ajar. There was no sound behind the door, but the silence was unsettling.
"Inside," she whispered.
Lynn immediately released Michael and handed him to the plainclothes officer who had just rushed in: "Keep an eye on him."
He and Ada then approached the half-open door one after the other. Jason was still chasing them from inside the room when there were two loud bangs, it was unclear whether a cabinet was overturned or another shot was fired. There was a faint smell of burnt wax in the room, not like a kitchen, but more like paper or sealing material that had just been heated.
Lynn used the muzzle of his gun to force the door open.
Inside was a hastily furnished study. The curtains were half-drawn, the light was on, and there was a long table with an opened file folder, disposable gloves, a broken wax seal, and an empty dark-colored box on it. A person was standing behind the chair.
He was neither tall nor thin, wearing a black turtleneck and a long gray coat, his hair tied back, and his face was so clean it was almost unremarkable. The man wasn't carrying a gun; he only had a piece of paper he'd only read halfway through clutching in his hand. His gaze slowly lifted from the paper and landed on Lynn and Aida.
It was a face that easily led people to underestimate it at first glance; quiet, even a bit scholarly, like any mid-level consultant who moved between foundations, research institutes, and consulting firms.
But the moment Aida saw him at the door, her breathing clearly skipped a beat.
“Rachel,” she whispered.
The man looked at her for two seconds, then smiled slightly: "I knew it would go wrong with you first."
The sound was very soft and even.
Lynn didn't move the gun at all: "Hands up."
"Do you think it's still meaningful to raise your hand now, Detective?" The man folded the paper in half, his movements unhurried.
“Yes,” Lynn said. “At least you can live and speak.”
Rachel seemed to seriously consider it for half a second, and then actually raised her hands, but there was no hint of surrender in her posture. Instead, it looked like she was going through some boring routine.
“You arrived faster than I expected,” he said.
“You sit more steadily than I thought,” Lynn said.
"Because I never intended to go far in the first place."
Aida said coldly, "Of course you don't intend to. It's others who run away, and it's others who die." (End of Chapter)