Tim seemed to have grasped something: "So you're saying, if we make a big show, they'll be afraid to act rashly?"
"No," Jack shook his head. "We can only put on the appearance of making a big show, but we can't really do it. If their covert operation fails, we won't get what we want either, so we have to be strategic."
---
An hour later, at the LA Long Beach cargo terminal.
"Why did you install such a conspicuous row of red breathing lights on the front of this Firebird? It looks cool, but it's terrible for night operations."
Tim complained, but the envy and jealousy in his eyes for Jack's car were unmistakable.
"This is a toy to attract girls, not for covert missions. You better hope nothing goes wrong tonight, or if my baby gets even a scratch, you're responsible."
Jack's words were harsh, but he was also regretting his decision. His flashy car wasn't equipped with artificial intelligence or even bulletproof capabilities. He had driven it in a moment of impulse, though it did feel great on the way.
"Jack, Tim, everyone's in position," Angela's voice crackled through the walkie-talkie.
The two in the car exchanged a look, opened the doors, and got out. Jack gave a low warning, "Be careful and stick to the plan."
Tim nodded, saying nothing more, pulled out his gun, and crouched down, moving stealthily towards the docks.
Jack took a different route and soon climbed to the top of two stacked containers.
The docks were brightly lit. About a dozen armed men were busy, some operating forklifts to load cargo into an open container, while others stood guard with automatic weapons. Jack noticed a black man, who had introduced himself as Colonel Norman Jenkins, standing by an SUV, discussing something with another person.
A few minutes later, there was a clanging sound from a corner. Colonel Norman Jenkins looked up and waved his hand, causing everyone to scatter. Soon, John, Neela, and Tim were brought out, hands on their heads.
"John, what's going on? I warned you," Colonel Norman Jenkins said, spreading his hands as he approached John.
"But I didn't listen," John replied calmly.
"I'm disappointed. I thought you were smart," Colonel Norman Jenkins's smile masked a hint of hidden menace.
"No, the smart one is my friend. Otherwise, the FBI wouldn't have noticed him. This was all part of his plan."
John tilted his head, and everyone followed his gaze to see Jack standing next to the stopped forklift, holding a gun to a hostage's head. With his other hand, he pulled back the tarp covering the cargo on the forklift's pallet, revealing neatly stacked bundles of hundred-dollar bills.
"How much is on this pallet? Let me guess, twenty million? It's the first time I've seen someone use a container to transport cash. How much can you fit in a full container? A billion? Two billion?"
Jack taunted with a grin, seemingly unfazed by the multiple guns aimed at him.
Colonel Norman Jenkins's smile remained, "See, John, you don't really think you can threaten us with one hostage, do you? I told you, sometimes we have to accept collateral damage."
John remained expressionless, pointing to his chest, where a laser red dot was clearly visible.
Neela lowered her hands from her head and crossed them over her chest, rolling her eyes. "And what if that collateral damage includes you? Point-fifty caliber, from 350 meters away, fired by Angela Lopez, the LAPD's best sharpshooter. You must have done your homework on us, right?"
As she spoke, she waved toward the highest crane on the dock.
Colonel Norman Jenkins's smile stiffened and then turned grim.
"Why make it difficult? This isn't going to end well for anyone. We're trained to complete our mission at any cost."
"Are you sure you can complete it?" Jack snapped his fingers stylishly. In the distance, a police car with flashing lights drove up, though it didn't use its siren.
Lucy and Zoe stepped out of the car and walked toward them.
"Can someone explain who gave you the authority to print counterfeit money in my jurisdiction and kill civilians without consequence?" Zoe demanded righteously.
Colonel Norman Jenkins was already feeling overwhelmed. A district police chief about to transition into politics seemed like the last straw.
"Alright, Norman, maybe we should hear what they want," said the person who had been talking with Norman by the SUV earlier, stepping out of its shadow.
Jack's eyes widened in shock, pupils dilating. Like mud, Clark!!!
This stern-faced man with a touch of melancholy in his eyes was none other than John Reese, the cold, suit-clad operative, and future ally of Harold Finch. His sudden appearance caught Jack completely off guard.
Fortunately, everyone's attention was on Reese, and no one noticed Jack's momentary lapse.
"Someone among you killed Joe Drakus. Hand him over, and we'll leave," Tim demanded, looking at Reese and then turning to Norman.
"And the money?" Norman nodded toward the container and the pallet on the forklift.
"That's not our concern," Tim glanced at the container filled with counterfeit bills, a hint of disgust flashing in his eyes.
"Tim?" John sounded like he couldn't believe what he heard.
"John, it's their mission, not ours. Listen to Tim," Jack quickly intervened to prevent John from acting rashly.
The atmosphere grew tense, and Colonel Norman Jenkins's eyes darted around nervously. Everyone seemed to be waiting for his decision.
John Reese walked up to him, "You DIA guys are in charge here, but this operation is under the CIA's name."
"Fine," Colonel Norman Jenkins finally relented.
"Pettigrew! Surrender your weapon."
"What?" A surprised colleague turned to look at him.
"We've been through so much together, and you're just going to sell me out like this?"
Colonel Norman Jenkins was equally frustrated, "I warned you to keep a low profile. Look at the mess you've made! What can I do now? Start a shootout with the LAPD here?"
He paused and then spoke in a low voice, "They have no direct evidence, so keep your mouth shut and let the lawyers handle it. You'll be out soon enough."
Pettigrew pursed his lips, and after a long moment, reluctantly said, "Yes, sir."
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