'Why hasn't this damn mission been completed yet?'
Son of a bitch!
Locke was utterly speechless.
Lorraine Broughton had not only failed to raise him, but she hadn't even left him a single penny. Most importantly, she hadn't even shown her face.
And the result?
The moment she crops up, he is immediately required to help wipe her ass.
Fine.
There is a mission, and it makes money. It is not a shameful thing.
But why hasn't this damn mission finished yet?
Could it be...
'Is there still something I don't know?'
Locke's six senses stirred. His brows twitched slightly as he rapidly flipped through every piece of information regarding Lorraine Broughton within his Memory Palace.
CIA.
MI6.
KGB.
That was it. The only ones who would have a reason to fixate on Lorraine Broughton were these three organizations. One was the group she owed loyalty to, and the trouble with the other two had just been settled.
Locke held a glass of bourbon, standing on the balcony and looking out at New York City under the cover of night. His eyes flickered slightly.
'Could it be related to Lorraine Broughton's final mission?'
In the file provided by Mr. Nobody, the earlier information was very detailed. Only the final mission, the one that led to Lorraine Broughton's death, was rarely seen, with over half of it blacked out.
Initially, Locke wasn't curious about how Lorraine died. But when this matter started involving his mission, Locke's curiosity was piqued.
His six senses stirred once more.
And...
Locke looked at the mission progress bar, which had suddenly jumped from 80% to 81%. He understood completely now, he had guessed right.
In the next second.
Locke's face turned dark.
Speechless.
That was exactly what Locke was thinking.
The next day.
Locke drove to a warehouse located under the Brooklyn Bridge to meet the mentor Mr. Nobody had assigned to him, Clyde Shelton.
Entering the warehouse.
With a loud clatter.
As a section of the floor was moved aside, a secret passage leading to an underground space came into view. Following Clyde Shelton inside, he discovered a secret base that was no smaller than the warehouse itself.
"Is this a CIA safe house?"
"Mr. Nobody's base."
Clyde Shelton led Locke into a room filled with various weapons, speaking casually as he turned to look at Locke,
"One of them."
Another typical guy using public funds for private business.
Who was the last one like that?
Clyde Shelton began expertly dismantling several weapons on the table into scattered pieces,
"Starting today, every Saturday, I will wait for you here. I will teach you everything I know."
Locke didn't respond. Instead, he looked at Clyde, "Did you know Lorraine Broughton?"
Clyde paused slightly and looked up at Locke.
Locke said,
"I've seen Lorraine Broughton's file. After the Berlin Wall mission, she went on several missions with you."
"...Yes."
"What was her last mission?"
"What?"
"Her last mission."
Clyde Shelton frowned,
"That is not something you are permitted to know."
Locke nodded. Then, he turned and left.
Clyde was stunned.
"Where are you going?"
"Home."
"..."
Locke meant what he said. His primary purpose for coming here was to find out what lingering problems Lorraine Broughton had left for him, not to undergo training.
He didn't mind being an agent who could farm missions in the future, but not minding didn't mean he had to be one.
Regardless, if he wanted to pick up missions later, he could just take them from the KGB side.
It didn't matter.
With a thud.
Only then did Clyde snap out of it at the sound of the door closing. His mouth hung open, looking as if he couldn't believe it. By the time he walked outside, he saw the silver Audi R8 already heading onto the Brooklyn Bridge.
"What the fuck?" Clyde blinked. Didn't Mr. Nobody say he had already agreed? What was this?
Clyde pulled out his phone and immediately called Mr. Nobody.
Soon.
On the drive back home, Locke received a call from Mr. Nobody.
On his private jet, Mr. Nobody rubbed his temples,
"Didn't you say you didn't care about Lorraine Broughton?"
Locke's expression was flat, "Just because I don't care doesn't mean you can withhold information."
Whether he cared or not was his business.
But the CIA not talking was an issue of good faith. They were on the same side now, and especially since it concerned Lorraine Broughton, what was there that he couldn't know?
"That mission is classified, you now..."
"Understood."
Locke nodded, directly interrupting, "Goodbye, Mr. Nobody."
"Hello hello hello..."
When Mr. Nobody tried to dial back again, the phone on the other end gave the indication that he had been blacklisted.
"This kid..."
Mr. Nobody had a bit of a headache. After a thought, he looked up and spoke to Agent L, who had come along with him,
"Have the plane turn around. Return to New York City."
Agent L nodded expressionless.
In the evening.
"Mr. Broughton, that person who calls himself..."
"I know. Have him come up."
"Alright."
After Mr. Nobody stepped out of the elevator, he looked at the open door. His gaze landed on Locke, who was sitting on the sofa, drinking while seriously studying. He smiled speechlessly, walked in, and closed the door behind him.
With a click.
Mr. Nobody tossed a file in his hand onto the coffee table. Then, he sat down, looking at Locke, who was holding a chemistry book and taking notes. He shook his head,
"Perhaps my choice in recruitment was wrong."
Locke looked up, glancing at Mr. Nobody,
"Take the file back. I don't need it anymore."
"What?"
"I'm very busy."
Locke set down his pen, looked at Mr. Nobody, and smiled.
"For me, joining the CIA is an option, but it is by no means the best option. You tested me, and I tested you. Clearly, I passed the test on your end, but you didn't pass mine."
Mr. Nobody frowned.
Locke glanced at the file on the coffee table, stamped with TOP SECRET and even having its title blacked out. He smiled.
"You were right, I don't care about Lorraine Broughton. Therefore, there's no need for me to read this file. If there's nothing else, I need to review. There's a chemistry test next month. Help me close the door when you leave, thanks."
Mr. Nobody was slightly stunned.
In his decades-long career, he had recruited if not a hundred, then at least fifty agents. But someone with Locke's personality, who would say goodbye over the slightest disagreement, was a first.
The most critical thing was...
Locke actually had the confidence to back those words.
Good-looking, wealthy, exceedingly intelligent, and possessing a photographic memory. He was clearly living the life of a winner, so why would he have to be your agent?
But.
Mr. Nobody said in a deep voice, "If you're saying this just because I didn't tell you the entire truth all at once, then perhaps you aren't nearly as mature and stable as I thought."
The pen in Locke's hand paused for a moment. Then, he set it down again, closed the notebook in front of him, looked at Mr. Nobody, and curled his lips slightly,
"I'm only seventeen, sir."
Whether he was mature or stable was his own business.
He could be mature, and he could be willful.
"Besides..."
Locke smiled,
"I have money, so I have the right to be willful."
Mr. Nobody was left speechless.
Locke rose from the sofa, not even glancing at the file on the coffee table. He walked toward the bar with his empty glass,
"Have a drink, and then, have a good safe trip. I won't see you out."
Mr. Nobody took a deep breath.
In the next second.
"ICA!"
Mr. Nobody turned, looking at Locke who had walked over to the bar.
"Your mot... Lorraine Broughton's final mission target was the ICA. The full name is the International Contract Agency. It's a killer organization we've been investigating, but we have never had direct evidence."
Since Locke didn't plan on reading it, he could only relate it verbally.
After all.
Who told Locke to be right?
The one who wanted Locke to join was Mr. Nobody, not Locke wanting to join Mr. Nobody.
Furthermore.
Mr. Nobody had originally intended to use Lorraine Broughton's files to recruit Locke into the fold. The only reason the final mission was blacked out was because this killer organization had remained unverified, and the photos from the scene were somewhat bloody.
Locke poured wine into his glass expressionless.
After a moment.
When Mr. Nobody finished speaking, he glanced at Locke, who hadn't made any movement over there. He stood up straight and walked toward the door. Stopping at the doorway, he shook his head, turned back to look at Locke by the bar.
"If you simply wanted to understand your mother, you could have just said so. I can guarantee that as long as it concerns your mother, Clyde will tell you everything down to the last detail. Goodbye, Locke. I hope you won't leave early next week."
With a thud.
Locke held his glass, looking at the room with the closed door. He took a sip of the wine in his glass, walked over to the sofa, and his gaze landed on the file on the coffee table.
Was he being willful just now?
No.
He was giving a warning, telling Mr. Nobody not to play the secrecy game with him. If he didn't want to do it, he could pull out and leave anytime, anywhere.
As for why Mr. Nobody rationalized it as him wanting to know more about Lorraine?
That was Mr. Nobody's problem, not his.
Locke flipped through the file, looking at the wreckage of an apartment building in the documents, as well as the high-definition flesh and blood within the debris.
His face remained expressionless, and these images didn't affect his drinking actions in the slightest.
He had only one thought.
International Contract Agency?
ICA?
Isn't this the damn organization that specifically trains a bunch of bald killers?
So...
This time, it wasn't just the KGB targeting me because of Lorraine Broughton.
This ICA is also targeting me because of Lorraine Broughton?
WTF?
For what reason?
Sitting at home, and trouble drops from the sky?
I haven't even seen Lorraine Broughton once, and I'm taking the blame for this?
***
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