Daylight Operation

Department of Homeland Security Building.

Lake sat in his chair, one hand propping up his chin, the other holding a document, gazing at it thoughtfully.

The information Hydra provided for killing Megan Walsh was so abundant, it made one suspect Megan Walsh was cultivated by Hydra herself.

Not only her age, but her blood type, and even the assassination missions she had carried out were listed.

Good heavens.

Were they really being this blatant, not even bothering to conceal it?

Lake shook his head, speechless.

However…

To be precise, there wasn’t enough. Lake could use the Department of Homeland Security to arrest Victoria Knowles because Victoria Knowles was an arms dealer, falling within the scope of arrestable individuals.

But this Megan Walsh?

Lake looked at the resume in the file but couldn’t find a good angle.

Megan Walsh had been trained since childhood, carrying out her first assassination mission at thirteen, targeting a tyrannical warlord. Her second target was a terrorist, and her third was a mad bomber…

Judging solely by this, Megan Walsh didn’t fit his criteria for taking jobs at all.

Sigh.

Lake sighed, realizing he wouldn’t be earning that million dollars.

Rules could not be broken.

Lake considered himself to be of the Chaotic Neutral alignment, neither Good-Lawful nor Evil-Unlawful, simply Chaotic Neutral. He only killed targets who were guilty but couldn’t be convicted by law.

The law was the baseline of morality; not breaking the law didn’t equate to being innocent.

Obeying laws and regulations was merely a standard for being a person. Someone who constantly boasted about obeying laws and regulations could only be described as scum, nothing more.

However…

Lake thought of what List had said when he caught up to him after Lake left The Continental Hotel yesterday.

This Megan Walsh, codenamed eighty-three, was highly favored by a certain bald man.

Lake understood.

It was a heaven-sent opportunity.

Lake still remembered that damned, dark-skinned egg trying to arrest and scheme against him. He hadn’t sought trouble with the dark-skinned egg simply because he disliked trouble.

And now?

Lake picked up another file from his desk, let out a cold laugh, and picked up the phone. "Notify Team C, I’m going out."

With that.

Lake hung up the phone.

An illegal immigrant who had entered the country under a disguised identity, posing as a student at New York Second High School, what could they be planning? Perhaps a conspiracy targeting the federal government?

Such a suspect, brought in for questioning, would be perfectly justifiable.

Soon.

Outside the Department of Homeland Security Building.

Lake got directly into the car. "Let’s go, Midtown High School."

The car started.

After about three months, the New York State action team had formed six action teams through dispatch or recruitment. Each team had twelve full members, consisting of law enforcement officers from all over the federal government.

Team C’s members, including the captain, were all people Lake had poached.

The team leader was Jack from the New York Special Operations Team.

The team members were also those who had previously worked with Jack.

Lake had promised them higher salaries to lure them over. After all, they were merely part of the New York Special Operations Team there, but here, they were federal agents.

Higher salaries, better titles. For this, when Team C was fully assembled, Jack had treated Lake to the most delicious Texas barbecue as a token of his gratitude.

Lake’s forensic pathologist, Olivia, had also been poached by Lake.

Joe had not.

Lake had wanted to bring Joe along, but unfortunately, Joe was unwilling. However, after Lake resigned, Joe was promoted, replacing Lake as the head of the NYPD’s Major Crimes Division Three. As for the forensic pathologist who replaced Olivia, it was rumored they had recruited someone from New Jersey.

Who it was, Lake hadn’t asked.

An hour later.

Lake left Midtown High School with Jack and the others.

Shit.

He’d forgotten about school dismissal time.

Lake got into the car.

"Sir."

"Speak."

"I’ve tracked Megan Walsh’s phone signal. Sending the coordinates to the car’s navigation now."

"Good."

Lake glanced at the small red dot transmitted to the car’s navigation interface and said to Tiffany, his assistant at the Department of Homeland Security command center, "Thanks."

The vehicle quickly started.

Megan Walsh had checked into Liz Larson’s home at the same school using forged identification and disguised exchange student credentials. The red dot’s trajectory on the navigation also appeared to be heading towards Liz Larson’s house.

Liz Larson’s home was on Thirty-Seventh Street, eight blocks away.

"That way."

Lake, looking at the school bus that had already passed the Thirty-Seventh Street intersection and was continuing forward, said, "Turn there."

The car turned.

Suddenly.

Lake saw his target walking in the middle of the road, carrying a backpack.

But…

There was also a white van following closely behind.

Just as Lake was about to drive towards them, the side door of the white van opened. A white man, with practiced and skillful movements, darted behind the target and directly subdued them.

Good grief.

In broad daylight, under the open sky, did they really have to be so blatant, grabbing someone on the street, and right in front of a senior federal special agent?

Were they crazy?

This was federal territory, not some back alley in Western Europe.

Lake’s expression darkened. Also, you’re a killer, aren’t you? Even if you haven’t honed your killer’s intuition, couldn’t you at least have some vigilance?

Just like that, so obedient, letting yourself be subdued without a struggle?

It was a disgrace to killers.

Lake’s face was grim. He covered his earpiece and notified the team in the trailing special operations vehicle, "Prepare for engagement."

As soon as he spoke, Lake directly took out a round police light, opened the passenger side window, and stuck it onto the car roof.

Wooo-wooo-wooo.

The white van in front, the white man who was moving the target into the van, glanced back. His eyes narrowed, and his movements quickened.

With a bang.

The white van instantly burned rubber. Before the white man was fully inside, it sped off.

How bold.

Lake directly grabbed the car’s comms and called the NYPD for assistance.

Soon, a voice rang out from a patrol car patrolling nearby: "All units, be advised, white van, license plate number XXXXXXX, intercept. Target is heading from Thirty-Seventh Street towards Forty-Eighth Street."

Lake also grabbed the car’s loudspeaker: "Vehicle ahead, pull over. This is your final warning. Pull over."

The white van’s speed did not decrease at all.

In fact…

It was accelerating.

After Lake issued his three procedural warnings and saw no effect, he shrugged helplessly.

The next second.

A Glock 17 appeared in Lake’s hand.

The car window rolled down.

Lake extended his gun-holding right hand out the window, aiming at the van ahead.

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

Four shots in one second!

All hitting their mark!