Boom!
Right before their eyes, the pickup truck transformed into a giant orange fireball in an instant, hurtling into the sky before crashing back down as a charred heap of wreckage.
"Gwen!"
"Uncle Jack."
Under the protective guard of the SWAT team, Gwen pushed her door open and immediately embraced a heavily armed man who hurried over. He appeared to be roughly the same age as George.
Jack, the captain of the NYPD SWAT team.
He had just taken office last month.
In his previous clash with an older official, Jack had managed to defeat the liberal faction within the precinct thanks to the absolute trust and unreserved support of Inspector George Stacy's faction. This victory firmly established Jack as the new leader of the NYPD SWAT team.
Jack and George shared a friendship spanning many years. Whenever Locke visited George's house, Jack would occasionally be there.
Furthermore, Jack's daughter was set to attend Midtown High this coming September, largely due to letters of recommendation provided by Locke and Gwen.
After all, they were the two ultimate top students at Midtown High, and Locke was the student council president. Even if Jack's daughter only had average grades, Midtown High would gladly grant that small favor out of respect.
Jack looked at Locke as he stepped out of the driver's seat and gave a firm nod. Once he confirmed that both teenagers were completely unharmed, he spoke into his earpiece to George, who was currently circling overhead in a helicopter, unable to find a suitable landing spot and looking anxious enough to fast-rope down.
"George, both kids are fine."
Yes.
In fact, they were completely unscathed.
But...
The fact that Locke was entirely fine meant only one thing.
Someone else was about to face absolute catastrophe.
And a massive one at that!
By the time Mr. Nobody received the news of Locke being ambushed and found himself utterly dumbfounded, Locke and Gwen had already been safely escorted back to the NYPD headquarters building.
"Here."
"Thank you."
George thought for a moment before handing a glass filled to the brim with bourbon to Locke, who was sitting on the sofa in his office right next to Gwen.
Locke accepted it with a quiet word of thanks. Under George's attentive gaze, he downed the entire glass of bourbon in a single gulp, then handed the empty glass back.
"Can I have another one? I drank that a bit too fast."
George's brow twitched several times. However, considering this was likely the post-adrenaline crash, he abandoned the thought of having an officer write up a citation for an underage teenager drinking alcohol.
Without a word, he turned around, poured another glass of bourbon, and handed it back to Locke. Only after sitting down did he ask with a hint of curiosity.
"When exactly did you get that car modified?"
Locke accepted the glass, looking somewhat relieved.
"Right after the apartment was bugged. I realized I needed a safe house on wheels. So, I commissioned Silver Shield Insurance to overhaul it to the identical specifications of the presidential transport. After all, as you know, they really didn't want to payout for a fifth Audi R8."
This was the absolute truth.
If George went to cross-reference this with the Silver Shield Insurance Company right now, he would get the exact same answer.
The car had indeed been modified and armored. It was just that Locke had used his Peerless Arsenal to subtly enhance that bulletproof capability by a fair margin.
After speaking, Locke glanced at Gwen, who was sipping hot cocoa beside him to soothe her nerves. With a slightly emotional expression, he looked back at George.
"I figured it was best to be safe than sorry, just in case. I never expected it would actually save our lives."
George wanted to laugh.
But in the next second.
George imagined the scenario where they didn't have an armored car—the image of Locke and his precious daughter being brutally murdered on the spot. A wave of lingering dread washed over him, and he nodded in deep, solemn agreement.
As for anything else, George didn't overthink it.
There was no reason to.
Locke had a well-documented track record of being prepared for contingencies. Furthermore, George had already witnessed Locke's extraordinary luck firsthand—at the cost of breaking his own fishing addiction—and fully understood what it meant to be a man kissed by the Goddess of Fortune.
Therefore...
George wasn't overly surprised by Locke's explanation. Similarly, he didn't question why Locke's marksmanship was so unbelievably fast, precise, and lethal.
With the precedent of those five vampires being taken out with single headshots near Lake, it was perfectly normal for him to be faster and more accurate than a few ordinary thugs.
However, George's brow remained furrowed.
"Who exactly did you cross this time?"
"..."
Sensing Gwen's body stiffen slightly beside him, Locke took a sip from his glass and looked directly at George.
"George, I'm only seventeen. Trust me, even if I did offend someone, they wouldn't deploy suicidal hitmen just to hunt me down."
George paused for a moment, then nodded, "True."
The kind of enemy a seventeen-year-old kid could provoke would, at most, use money to hire a few low-level street thugs from Hell's Kitchen to rough him up or intimidate him.
But just now...
That was a literal squad of highly trained, fearless fanatics.
In a typical chase, no matter how disorganized the NYPD might appear, ordinary criminals would choose to retreat the moment the police arrived on the scene.
Yet that group?
They clearly weren't common thugs. Instead, they carried the distinct, heavy stench of a rogue intelligence agency.
Right then.
Gwen, who had been holding her hot cocoa silently, looked up.
"Dad, can you find a room where Locke and I can rest for a bit? We are the victims here."
George snapped out of his thoughts. Sensing her exhaustion, he nodded with a reassuring smile.
"Of course, sweetheart. Dad will arrange it right away."
A few moments later.
George called over a female officer to escort Locke and Gwen to a secure holding room within the building. He then let out a sharp whistle, calling out to Kate Beckett.
"Kate, find out exactly where the suspects and witnesses from the previous Star Tower wiretapping case are being held right now. Look into it yourself—don't just call the FBI directly. I'm worried they might lie to us."
Beckett paused briefly before nodding, "Understood."
George's brow furrowed tightly.
The recent wiretapping incident at the Star Tower.
This highly coordinated, high-stakes ambush.
And...
The so-called shadow intelligence war that Washington claimed had taken place at the Manhattan port.
Previously, because the suspect in the Star Tower wiretapping case had already confessed, and both the physical evidence and witness testimony were accounted for, George hadn't connected the wiretapping case to any espionage activities.
But now?
As a veteran detective, George could faintly perceive that there seemed to be an underlying thread connecting all of these events.
The one who noticed something amiss was none other than Gwen.
Inside the breakroom.
Gwen, who had remained silent since entering, sat down on the sofa and turned her gaze toward Locke.
"Locke, who is trying to kill you?"
Locke turned his head to look back at Gwen.
Gwen forced a small, strained smile.
"I can tell you know exactly who..."
Locke cut in directly, "The International Contract Agency."
He had never intended to hide the truth from Gwen.
Keeping secrets wasn't a healthy habit, especially in a relationship. Gwen had always been completely open with him, so naturally, Locke chose to have no secrets from her in return.
As for the Peerless Assassin, Rococo, and Caine?
Those belonged to their respective identities and had absolutely zero correlation to Locke himself.
Gwen blinked in surprise, staring at Locke. She seemed slightly caught off guard.
Uh...
She hadn't expected Locke to be so incredibly direct and forthright.
Seeing the expression on Gwen's delicate face, Locke offered a warm smile, reiterating his promise.
"Gwen, I have no secrets from you. In fact, I only found out about this International Contract Agency yesterday myself. I just didn't expect them to strike so rapidly."
Hearing Locke's earnest reassurance and his explanation, Gwen recalled how he had looked ready to explain things back in the car before being forced to prioritize their escape. She nodded, biting her lip slightly, "This International Contract Agency is..."
"A syndicate of professional assassins."
"What?"
Gwen blinked, a thought suddenly crossing her mind as she looked at Locke.
"Is it the same organization the Peerless Assassin belongs to?"
Locke paused briefly, "What? No. This is an organization that the CIA once investigated but could never definitively verify."
How could he possibly belong to that syndicate?
He wasn't a clone, after all.
"The CIA?"
Thinking of Mr. Nobody, Gwen couldn't help but look at Locke intently, "Did you join the CIA?"
Locke shook his head, "No."
If Gwen had asked him yesterday, he certainly would have said yes, as he had intended to. But as it turned out, he had skipped out on his very first day with the CIA reserve team.
Gwen looked at Locke and offered a soft smile, "I believe you."
Seeing the expression on Gwen's face, Locke let out a soft chuckle as well. He then went on to explain everything that happened yesterday and today in explicit detail.
Exactly as he had promised, he kept nothing hidden.
Between Locke and Gwen, there were no secrets!
He didn't want Gwen to go digging around blindly on her own because of any deception on his part.
If she were to make a single misstep, Locke might wake up in the middle of the night only to find that the only way to see Gwen again would be to literally fight his way through the depths of hell to tear her back.
Gwen's mouth fell open as she stared at Locke. "So that Mr. Nobody only tried to recruit you because your mother was with the CIA?"
Locke's eyelids twitched slightly, "Could you please avoid using that title? If you refer to her as Lorraine Broughton, I'd deeply appreciate it."
Gwen ignored the request entirely, lowering her head in deep thought.
"But why is the International Contract Agency hunting you down? Could it simply be because you wanted to look into the circumstances surrounding her death, and they caught wind of it? Are they trying to eliminate you to prevent you from seeking vengeance against them in the future?"
Locke's lips twitched, "I have absolutely no intention of avenging her."
However, he certainly had every intention of avenging himself.
And his fury was already mounting by the second.
Gwen suddenly paused, a look of realization hitting her face, "Wait, that doesn't make sense."
Locke snapped out of his thoughts, "What doesn't make sense?"
Gwen looked up at Locke, her brows knitting together, "How could the International Contract Agency possibly know about this so quickly? Right—could it be because of the wiretaps inside your apartment? But even that doesn't line up. Is it because you threatened to walk away, and that Mr. Nobody gave you that unredacted file?"
Locke raised an eyebrow.
Gwen's insight was essentially enough to deduce one major fact.
The International Contract Agency wasn't some untouchable mystery.
At the very least, they weren't an absolute secret to the Central Intelligence Agency. However, to someone like Mr. Nobody, they remained highly elusive—precisely because the CIA comprised Mr. Nobody, but Mr. Nobody did not represent the entirety of the CIA.
***
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