Brian's Viper handgun didn't have a suppressor—it would've been a nuisance to conceal—so its sharp gunshots startled the surrounding birds, sending them flapping into the sky and circling the treetops.
The fight was over in mere seconds. Castle, following Brian's prior instructions, had immediately ducked down and curled into a ball the moment the first shot rang out.
Each gunshot made him flinch involuntarily, as if he were the one getting shot. It took him a long moment before he hesitantly lifted his head and turned to look behind him.
The bodies of the two masked gunmen were a gruesome sight—their skulls had been blown apart, scattering bits of brain matter everywhere. Castle shuddered and quickly turned back around.
Unfortunately, what he saw in front of him wasn't much better. Brian had shot the man through the chin, and the bullet had exited clean through the top of his skull, sending his entire crown flying.
The only one still alive was the leader—the man who had been talking earlier. Brian had fired four precise shots, shattering his limbs. Now, he was writhing on the ground, screaming in agony.
"It's over already?" Castle looked around in confusion, but Jack was nowhere to be seen.
"Not quite," Brian muttered.
He walked over to the corpse in front of Castle and kicked it over. Under the man's arm was a bullet hole. The shot had passed between his ribs, piercing his heart.
Brian quickly calculated where the man had been standing before he was hit. Then, he spun around and aimed his Viper at a cluster of bushes near the path.
"Do I need to say 'please'?"
Castle's eyes widened in shock as the suspiciously thick bush rustled—then, suddenly grew taller, transforming into a human figure.
"Calm down," a deep voice said. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be a corpse."
"Not necessarily," Brian countered coldly. "My partner had eyes on you long before you realized it."
The bush-man let out an annoyed huff before peeling off his camouflage netting and stepping toward them. He was carrying an AUG assault rifle with a suppressor—an early model, the same one that appeared in classic Counter-Strike, nicknamed the "Bullpup" or "Scope Rifle" by players.
The setting sun cast a golden light through the trees, illuminating his bald head like a glowing orb.
"Frank? Frank Moses? What the hell are you doing here?" Jack's confused voice came from the other side of the path. Bruce Willis' iconic bald head was unmistakable.
Castle glanced left, then right, his face full of confusion. "Wait… you two know each other?"
Jack shook his pants, which were still damp, and awkwardly walked onto the road. He had spent eight to nine hours lying motionless in an oak tree. The plastic bottle Brian had provided for, well, "relief" had too small an opening, so he had no choice but to go directly against the tree.
No shame in that—sniper work was nasty. Real professionals adjusted their diets before missions, sometimes even going vegetarian to reduce the need for bowel movements. The last thing you wanted was to take a dump mid-operation and attract wild animals—or worse, a patrol dog.
"I saw your phone's GPS. I was wondering why you'd been sitting in one spot for hours," Frank admitted, looking embarrassed.
That explained a lot.
Frank was the mystery man who had interrogated Roger Hansen, which meant he was the one who left the phone and the note for Jack.
"Why didn't you call me?" Jack asked, still puzzled by the old CIA agent's behavior.
Frank's expression grew even more awkward, and his voice dropped. "I took the earliest direct flight to Paris… but I didn't expect you to get here so damn fast."
"You took the earliest flight…" Jack rolled his eyes, his admiration taking a hit.
Fine, fair enough. A retired CIA operative, trying to keep a low profile while traveling from New York to Paris, would have to rely on a fake passport and commercial flights. That actually made sense.
"What the hell is going on?" Jack had a thousand questions that needed answers.
"Let's clean this up first," Frank said. He walked over to the wounded kidnapper, who was still moaning in pain. Without hesitation, he put a bullet in his head.
"He's useless now."
Then, he crouched down, pulled out the man's phone, memorized one of the numbers in his contacts, and promptly shot the phone to pieces.
Meanwhile, Brian retrieved two shovels from the trunk of the Citroën C5 and handed one to Castle, silently motioning for him to start digging.
The forest floor was not easy to dig up—there were too many tree roots and scattered rocks. By the time Jack had finished changing his pants and stepped out of the car, Castle had barely managed to scrape out a small hole.
Jack and Brian took over. Even so, it took another thirty minutes to dig a two-meter-deep pit and bury four bodies, along with their weapons.
Jack had only fired two shots from his sniper position, and he had already collected the shell casings. Brian, too, had picked up every last casing from his own shots.
Meanwhile, Frank had somehow disposed of the kidnappers' Mercedes pickup truck and returned in a Renault SUV.
"Let's go. I'll take you somewhere safe," Frank called out, waving them over.
Jack followed him out of the Fontainebleau Forest and all the way back to Paris, where they finally stopped in front of an old apartment building.
Climbing the creaky wooden stairs to the top-floor attic, Frank unlocked a door and gestured for them to enter.
"This is one of my old safe houses. It's secure—for now."
The room was thick with dust. It had clearly been abandoned for years. The air was stale, filled with the musty smell of a place long unventilated.
"Drink?" Frank pulled out a bottle of bourbon whiskey from a cabinet. The bottle was coated in dust, indicating it had been sitting there for a very, very long time.
"Who are you, really?" Castle fired off a barrage of questions. "Are you a spy? Do you know who kidnapped my daughter?"
Despite the apartment's state of disuse, the utilities were still functional. Frank rinsed four glasses, poured the whiskey, and feigned nonchalance.
"None of that matters. I'm just here to get your daughters back. Don't worry, as far as I know, they're still safe."
Brian, however, wasn't buying it. "I know who you are, Frank Moses. One of the CIA's best covert operatives. You've taken down drug lords, terrorists—you've even toppled a foreign government.
"Even in retirement, they labeled you 'R.E.D.' There's no way someone just 'hired' you for this."
"R.E.D.?" Castle looked between them, confused.
Jack sighed and explained, "Retired, Extremely Dangerous."
Then, he took a sip of whiskey and got straight to the point.
"The real target was never Sara or Kim, was it? It was Alexis.
Kidnapping Sara was just a way to push this into the national and international news, forcing you—hiding in Texas—to come out of the shadows."
Frank's face twitched. He hesitated before sighing deeply.
"I told you—it doesn't matter. What matters is rescuing those girls. I specifically told you to come to Paris alone. Why did you bring these two?"
Jack smirked. "Because we took a C-17 transport plane. There was plenty of room. No need to fight over commercial flight tickets."
Frank's eye twitched.
"Also, trust me—if I hadn't brought them, they would've made an even bigger mess."
Castle, growing impatient, stepped between them. "This still doesn't explain why Alexis and Kim were taken. Why them?"
Frank hesitated again, then finally looked Brian in the eye.
"The target was Alexis," he admitted. "Your daughter was just collateral damage. I'm sorry."
Brian clenched his fists. "No more secrets. Tell us everything."
Frank rubbed his bald head, took a deep breath, and muttered,
"This is my fault. I was too careless. They somehow found out about my connection to Alexis—knew that if they took her, I'd come out of hiding."
Castle's jaw dropped. "What?! What connection?!"
Frank exhaled sharply.
"Alexis is my granddaughter."
Then, he turned to Castle and growled,
"Richard—I'm your father."
Jack dropped his whiskey glass. It hit the floor, spilling everywhere, but didn't break—just rolled in slow circles.
His brain short-circuited.
What the hell did I just hear?!
This world has gone insane.
Jack stared at the shiny, bald Frank—then at Castle, with his thick head of hair.
There's no damn way these two are related.
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