Chapter 267: The Guatemalan Mystery
Joe had an old friend named Frank Moses, also a retired agent. He'd visited earlier today, catching up on old times, but a major problem had arisen: he was being hunted.
Being hunted after retirement was commonplace for agents, so almost all of them continued training after retirement, leveraging the connections they'd made as agents to become intermediaries in the underworld.
Alternatively, they might train new successors for their former organizations to ensure their own safety. However, to confirm the new recruits' loyalty, their first assignment was to eliminate their mentors.
Joe, however, took a unique approach. Before he even retired, he found an opportunity to land himself in prison. Using his connections, he managed to stay there comfortably, creating a new way for agents to retire.
However, Ron scoffed at his tactics.
Ultimately, it's a lack of strength that causes trouble. If one's power is truly formidable, even if everyone knows they possess secrets that keep many powerful figures awake at night, they can do nothing about it. Those who excel in this area are held up as role models by all other agents.
Of course, Ron doesn't have such ambitions, but with his current strength, he could easily become a small-scale entrepreneur after retirement. Then, he'd be one of the true players in this country, and no one would bother him anymore.
This is a bit of a tangent, so let's get back to Joe.
Anyway, Moses, through his unique methods, managed to track down Joe after his release from prison. After some analysis by the two old men, they discovered that several old acquaintances who had recently died had all been directly or indirectly involved in the Guatemala mission.
"So, after all this talk, what exactly did you do in Guatemala?" Ron, impatient, interrupted Joe and asked.
"We were responsible for escorting one agent, and I don't know anything else. It was only through those dead contacts Moses investigated that I remembered that almost all of the old buddies we carried out the mission with are dead."
"Escorting an agent, and you don't even know what his mission was? That's interesting. What year was that? Maybe we have relevant information in our IRS database."
Ron lifted his chin, his eyes growing more interested.
"It was the fall of 1981. We escorted that agent all the way to the outskirts of San Benito. Later, we heard that everyone in that village was dead." Joe recalled as Andy typed on the computer. When Ron cast a questioning look at him, Andy shook his head.
"This is getting interesting," Ron stood up and paced around the room. "A village massacre—such a major event isn't even recorded in the IRS archives. Joe, do you remember anything particularly memorable after completing the escort mission?"
"Nothing."
"Okay, let's change the subject. You just said Moses gave you the fingerprints of his assassins. Did you find out who they were?"
"The CIA's South African assassination team, the one who helped cause so many riots over there," Joe's face was solemn.
"So it's them? Relax, they're no longer the feared unit they once were," Ron couldn't help but laugh at the name. "They were wiped out once before in Afghanistan, and their current force is just a bunch of new recruits. But the fact that the CIA dispatched them to carry out operations against you shows that there's a lot going on."
Unlike most people who get a headache when faced with trouble, Ron didn't feel overwhelmed. Instead, his eyes brightened, because he knew that behind major events, there are often greater interests involved.
If managed correctly, perhaps the dream of becoming a successful businessman could be fulfilled a few years sooner.
"Well, it seems like this is what's going on. Someone wants to silence everyone involved in the Guatemalan mission. For unknown reasons, they won't stop until they achieve their goal. So, the best outcome for them is that you're dead, right?"
"Yes, that seems to be the case," Joe nodded with a wry smile.
Ron took a silenced pistol and pressed it against the still-struggling prisoner's head.
"Bang!" A bloody hole appeared in the prisoner's skull, and the lifeless body fell to the ground. Ron, not feeling disgusted, swiped some of the blood from the corpse and smeared it on Joe's bewildered head. He then took out some strange bottles and containers and began to dress him up.
After a while, Joe's head had a bullet hole almost identical to the corpse's, making it look completely real.
"Now, take this," Ron said, pulling out another capsule and handing it to Joe. "Don't worry, this isn't poison. Ten minutes after you take it, your breathing and heartbeat will be so weak that you'll be practically dead. You'll fall into a state of suspended animation and wake up three hours later."
"Since someone wants you dead, why not actually die and show them?" Ron shrugged, and Joe nodded in understanding. "For many things, I believe hiding in the shadows will provide better convenience than being in the light. What do you think?"
"That's right." Joe took the capsule from Ron and swallowed it without even a drop of water.
"Ron, is there anything else we can help you with?" Ming asked with concern, observing Joe's increasingly hazy consciousness.
"Prepare two coffins and send them to the church for burial," Ron said, looking at Joe, who was still awake. "By the way, where do you think your old friend will go after leaving here?"
"Pensacola, Florida," Joe's voice grew weaker and weaker, almost inaudible. "There's another friend of ours, Marvin Boggs. Moses always likes to drag him along for good or bad things..."
...
Two days later, in Pensacola, Florida, although it was still winter, this small city near the Gulf Coast was still bathed in warm sunlight, as if winter had never existed.
In this place where everyone was still experiencing mild weather, the two people in their coats seemed particularly out of place.
"Can we find Marvin Boggs here?" Ron asked, wrapped in his coat, his collar covering most of his face. "The information I found says he died in a fire two years ago. Are you sure you're not losing it?"
The day after the base was attacked, Ron held a funeral for Joe, then handed all base affairs over to Andy. He and Joe slipped out in disguise.
As Ron had expected, after Joe's "corpse" was left in the church, someone sneaked in to view it, but because Ron deliberately interrupted them, they quickly slipped away.
"Don't worry, Boss, this is his way of operating. As far as I can remember, Marvin has died many times, but every time we need him, he's alive and well," Joe, his coat collar also covering most of his face, said confidently. "The last time I corresponded with him, his address was right here, in an old house by the river. He'd been in Vietnam and really liked living by the water."
"Let me guess, the way we're going to find him later is not that I tell you a joke in the woods, and then the third laugh you hear besides ours is his, right?"
As he spoke, they had already arrived at the place indicated by Joe. Ron parked the boat on the shore and stepped onto the dock.
"This method used to work well, but Marvin's sense of humor has gotten so much worse over the years that it's starting to seem less effective. Do you have thermal imaging with you, boss?"
Joe scanned the house, finding no sign of anyone having lived there recently.
"Or maybe I have an even simpler solution." Ron pulled out his phone, switched the camera to selfie mode, flipped it upside down, and flashed a peace sign.
"Click!" A new selfie was taken.
"Hey, Marvin, I've seen you," Ron shouted toward the nearby bushes.
"Watch out, boss!"
Joe had barely finished his words when a figure in camouflage suddenly leaped out of the brush. "Who sent you to assassinate me?"
The sharp arrowheads on the modern-looking crossbow gleamed an eerie green light, clearly coated in poison, Ron realized. One wrong answer and the bolt would pierce him.
However, Ron showed no fear. He was younger, and his movements were faster than the old man's!
Ron suddenly took a step forward, deflected the crossbow with his left hand, and with a whoosh, the poisoned arrow shot skyward.
The old man in camouflage uniforms saw the crossbow miss and, without hesitation, dropped it. He reached for his belt and slashed a combat knife across Ron's waist.
A glint of admiration flashed in Ron's eyes. Instead of retreating, he faced the incoming blade, shifting his feet and performing a magnificent turn like a dancer, skirting the blade and swooping directly behind the old man.
The same left hand that had deflected the crossbow struck downward, hitting the knife-wielding arm. Before the old man could even attempt a counterattack, Ron's arm, like a nimble snake, slipped through his guard, snaking along his shoulder and locking around his neck.
Then, with a single sweep of his foot, Ron pinned the sturdy old man to the ground.
"Relax, old man. I'm not trying to kill you. If I wanted to, one hand would be enough. You might have been formidable when you were young, but you're no match for me now that you're older."
"Bullshit! You're a liar! You must be a government spy, trying to recapture me and put me under mind control! I'm telling you, I won't go back with you, even if I die!"
The old man struggled violently under Ron's restraint. Ron looked helplessly at Joe, implying it was time for him to take action.
"Marvin, it's me." Joe took off his windbreaker. "That's my boss. We're here to see you. I forgot to tell you something. Boss, Marvin has been suffering from paranoia. Can you let him go first?"
"Of course," Ron said, standing up and quickly patting down the old man.
Of course, it wasn't because he was inappropriate, but to confirm whether the old man had any other weapons. A veteran like this, someone who'd lived to retire, was no pushover.
He'd learned this lesson from the veterans in his previous operations.
A quick search revealed quite a collection. Besides the knife Ron had knocked away with his second move, the old man also had two more daggers and a pistol.
"Joe!" he yelled, his face blazing with anger. "Have you been brainwashed by the government? Are you bringing people against me?"
"No, no, no, I'm not." Joe raised his hands, indicating he held no weapons. He slowly approached Marvin. Marvin stared at Ron warily, positioning himself so Joe was between them.
If Ron made any move, he could immediately use Joe as a hostage or a shield. Seeing this, Ron couldn't help but secretly respect him.
As expected of a Vietnam War veteran, his tactical awareness was unparalleled.
"I never intended to hurt you. We're friends, right? I saved your life once." Joe tentatively patted Marvin's shoulder. Marvin didn't resist, a look of recognition on his face.
"Yes, you're right. You're my friend."
"So, can you take the knife away from my privates now?" Joe said helplessly. Ron looked down. While they spoke, Marvin had pulled out another sharp blade and pressed it against Joe's crotch.
"Hahahaha!" Ron couldn't help but laugh. "I hope I never find out where he hid that knife just now, Joe. Your old friend is really something."
"Who is he?!"
Startled by Ron's voice, Marvin regained his alertness. Joe rolled his eyes at Ron helplessly. "He's my boss now. He won't hurt you. I'm in some trouble. Has Moses been looking for you lately?"
"Moses? No!"
"Well, it seems even after giving you a funeral, we're still ahead of your old friend..." Ron was halfway through his words when the sound of a speedboat engine came from the river, approaching from the distance.
"Someone's coming! Hide!" Marvin shouted, pushing Joe into the bushes. Ron, curious about who it might be, crouched down with them.
Soon, another speedboat arrived at the dock, and out stepped an old man and a young... well, maybe around thirty-year-old woman.
"Is that your old friend and his granddaughter?" Ron asked curiously.
"No, that's probably his new girlfriend."
Ron looked at the woman in disbelief, then at the bald old man, and gave him a mental thumbs-up: "He's quite the character~"
This immediately earned him a furious glare from Marvin: "Shh!"
(End of Chapter)
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