On the quality improvement of Omega agents

"Sir," Garcia pushed open the office door, "Breakpoint [-] has already gone to the war zone."

Bruce nodded, then refocused his attention on the document in his hand, but his female adjutant did not leave immediately.

Garcia hesitated for a moment, but she still spoke: "Sir, Agent No. [-] did not receive any help from the infirmary."

Bruce looked up, noting that the adjutant had wisely chosen the word "help" instead of "heal".The black-haired man glanced at Garcia lightly, and said, "Mr. James has his own measure." He saw the female soldier's hand clinging to the trouser line, and showed a flat smile: "He will thank you for your concern, Garcia Ya."

Garcia was taken aback.Well, Randall did thank her for coming.The female soldier thought she would receive a warning from Bruce, after all, she was not free to ask about the secret agent.But Bruce doesn't, sir, act like the blond agent isn't anything special anymore.

Bruce signed the document, and he heard Garcia silently close the office door.The black-haired man threw the pen on a thick stack of file bags, making a loud clack.He put a tiny communicator in his right ear, and the noise revealed that his agent was already in the helicopter.

Kent gave him a wake-up call, and he had to make a decision.

The black-haired man picked up the intercom phone on the table, "Technical department? This is Stuart."

……

"How much time will Breakpoint Three's drug addiction give him?"

……

The head of the special task force who got the answer hung up the phone, and there was no extra expression on his face.Randall was his best agent, and it was a sad loss, Bruce thought.The man's sea-blue eyes flashed before his eyes, and Bruce grabbed the cup and drank the cold coffee.

He needs a cool head enough to carry out the next work, he can no longer allow the blond agent to be unscrupulous by his side.The Pentagon has already regarded the Special Task Force as a thorn in its side, and the high-level officials in the bureau are also afraid of him, and Randall James, the Omega agent he brought up, bears the brunt of the best results of the entire breakpoint plan.

He had to make a gesture to the Bureau and the Pentagon, and at this time the breakpoint plan could not go wrong initially.Bruce Stewart never found any reason for himself, although it was too unbelievable for him to be tempted by an omega agent.Randall influenced him in some way, Bruce admits, a fact amply borne out by the accelerating depletion of alpha inhibitors in his drawer these days.

He knew what Randall had been waiting for.Seven years had finally gotten his leopard to break free, and Bruce didn't blame him.From the first time he saw the thin, blond young man, Bruce knew that he, like himself, had unquenchable ambitions.The leopard he raised is about to try to leave him, but it is obvious that this fierce beast still has nostalgia for the warmth of belonging he gave. For three months, Randall has been testing him, testing the breakpoint plan The completion of the project, to test how much real affection there is between them.

Surprisingly, the fact that there is, although Bruce doesn't mean the kind of affection that Randall expects.

And Bruce never allowed anything out of his control.He can pamper Randall, but he cannot pamper himself.The more power a person has, the higher the price he pays. Bruce knew what he would give up when he entered the industry.He has always been cold, so he should no longer expect so-called warmth.He has learned enough.Bruce twirled the ring on his ring finger and closed his eyes.

Randall couldn't give up yet, but he couldn't get any closer either.He needs to keep his distance from his agents.

Zone I.With an eight-hour time difference, it was already dawn when he parachuted from the helicopter. Randall felt the straps of the parachute stretching his shoulders, the wind whizzed past his ears, and there was no sound in the earphones.

The blond agent landed on a fairly flat piece of land. He buried his parachute and looked around. It looked like it used to be a farmland, but now it was just a large area of ​​​​weeds, hiding stones, shell casings, and maybe wasteland of corpses.Randall stretched cautiously, then flinched slightly.

His orders were to go at once,—meaning he had nothing on, in the same rags he'd worn from the brig that morning, with an empty bourbon bottle.The logistics people gave him a dagger with the serial number worn out on the plane, a pair of hard-wearing boots, that's all.

He didn't see Bruce, not even audiovisual materials.He can't bring weapons into other countries, and he has no logistical supplies. The assassination mission is simple and clear, and he doesn't even need a mission briefing.

——At seven o'clock tomorrow morning, in the garden of the city center, the man sitting on the right of the third bench is about 50 years old and bald.kill him.

Randall glanced at his simple sports watch and set off.

Randall felt that he hadn't run like this for a long time. He heard the air pass through his trachea, enter the lobes of the lungs, make a circle in the chest cavity and make a sound like a bellows before exhaling from the mouth. The air before dawn There was a faint white mist.

The dawn in the desert area was very cold, and the heat stored in the sand had already dissipated. When he started running, the icy air penetrated Randall's shirt and wiped against his skin.

The central park of the frontier town in District I.Six fifty in the morning.The sun has just risen, and the air has not yet warmed up. This place is not like those parks in the middle of the streets in developed countries, with white-collar workers in a hurry, homeless people with nowhere to sleep, and performance artists with college degrees.There is only the rudimentary after the war, trying hard to cover up the scars, and the dry branches of the trees point to the sky.

A blond man appeared at the end of a trail at the end of the park. He was wearing an old-fashioned black windbreaker, slacks, and a pair of thick combat boots that ordinary people don't like very much. He looked a little out of place.Although it looks a little tired, it does not prevent the man from being handsome and slender.

——Such a person should not appear here and now.

The fifteen-kilometer march made Randall feel exhausted. He got what he needed from a hardware store, and took a windbreaker from the hanger and put it on. ——Wearing only a white shirt with blood stains will inevitably scare passers-by. After all, civilians in war are always prone to nervousness.

Randall slowed down, but all the muscles in his body were still tense.Target locked.

The blond agent paused on the side of the bushes, he tilted his head unconsciously, and the tiny communicator in his ear did not make a sound.Randall smiled, and he said to himself inexplicably: "Do it."

Langley. CIA headquarters.

Bruce stood on the platform on the second floor. He looked at the huge real-time screen hanging from the roof with a cold expression. The cold fluorescent light was projected on the face of the black-haired man, and his expression was unpredictable.There is no one in the lobby on the first floor.

Standing beside Bruce is Deputy Commissioner Andrew Kent.The tall and strong white man squinted his eyes to identify the image on the screen, "It's not clear, Bruce."

"There is no camera on him, and the real-time images we can get are only the surveillance video of that park."

Kent shrugged his shoulders, and didn't ask any more questions about the quality of the video and the eerie motionless camera angle.

Most of the empty park can be seen on the screen, and the barren flower beds are grayish-yellow. In the lower right corner of the screen, a varnished bench can be seen. A bald man is leaning on it to read a book. newspaper.Kent, who has a typical Texan style, is expressionless at this time, and he is watching the man's movements.

The bald man seemed unaware of the approaching danger.On the screen, Randall, who was still missing just now, appeared next to a bush with only dead branches and leaves, and Kent blinked.He suddenly turned to Bruce and whispered, "What did he say?"

Bruce, who was standing on his right, was still looking at the screen, silent without any response.

Two seconds later, the dark-haired man turned his head, and he glanced at Kent: "Sorry?" Bruce's tone was not pleasant, and he raised his hand to remove the micro-communicator in his right ear.

Kent's gaze pauses for a moment on Bruce's face, then turns away. "Nothing," he said.

"You're not supposed to be on my left, Kent. I thought you knew," Bruce said.The black-haired man casually put the communicator in his pocket.

"Does Breakpoint Three know the identity of his target?" Kent asked.

Bruce glanced at the deputy director of the CIA, and his voice did not fluctuate: "He shouldn't know." The black-haired man fixed his gaze on the screen, and continued: "Agent Breakpoint knows what should not be explored, Kent. He can do it."

Kent smiled: "I didn't doubt you, Bruce. He was trained by you. I naturally believe that you can give him such a high evaluation." He changed the subject: "It's just that Mr. James looks very Smart man, if he knows that the person he is going to assassinate is the intelligence chief of District I, as soon as he makes a move, there will be batch after batch of military police from District I chasing him down, what will he do?"

Bruce turned his gaze to Kent, and the deputy director of the CIA had a half smile on his face.Bruce twitched his lips: "If Mr. James has other ideas, I will deal with him."

Kent laughed, finally feeling a little uncomfortable in Bruce's gaze. "Sorry." The deputy director said, but he didn't explain the reason for his apology. —he heard the warning in Bruce's voice, maybe it was because he questioned the loyalty of Breakpoint Agent, maybe it was just because he called the blond agent by his last name.

In Kent's eyes, the blond agent is a dangerous bomb. He has been dormant, willing to work for the Special Service under Bruce's control, just waiting for the right opportunity.And damn it no one but Bruce knows when this deadly bomb will go off, turning everything that shaped him and destroyed him into ashes.Kent didn't allow such a risk factor to exist, even if that person was the best agent. ——Then the only option is to do the most dangerous mission, let the bomb die with the enemy, after all, it is a way to kill two birds with one stone.

Randall James is Bruce's man, even if he wants to "handle", he should do it.

The fixed picture seemed to freeze the atmosphere. The head protruding from the edge of the bench moved slightly, browsing the newspaper in his hand, and the people behind him approached silently.

Kent narrowed his eyes.The blond agent didn't even bother to check his target's face, he stopped behind the bench, and took his hand out of his pocket.On the surveillance video at this time, only part of the agent's swaying coat, which obviously didn't fit well, could be seen. His expression and eyes could not be seen.All they could see was a hand slowly approaching the vitals of the unconscious middle-aged man.

Something sharp was pushed in from the back of the target's neck without hesitation, at a moderate speed, and without encountering any resistance.

It looked straight to the brain.

The video is blurry, but it is enough to see that the middle-aged man twitched for a moment, then quickly became stiff, and the whole person slowly fell on the bench in a strange posture. Hands slipped.easy.

Kent blinked, "What's that?"

Bruce looked at Randall's flickering black clothing on the huge screen, approaching and moving away, his eyes flickered.His agents have always known how to perform his tasks beautifully under the most rudimentary conditions. "It's just an ice pick," Bruce said.

He cut the video before the blond man's face came into view.