North American riot police: Start by arresting P. Diddy!

Chapter 239 What about me?!

"Do you know what you're doing?"

The old man's eyes were sharp: "Niehr, for the sake of the fact that you took a bullet for me more than ten years ago, I advise you to wake up."

Nehemiah roared hysterically, "If you really cared about your brothers, you wouldn't be so weak and sissy! You think it's only natural that so many brothers died, but now that I'm going to kill a few civilians, you act like a saint!"

His finger was gripping the trigger tightly, veins bulging: "I've never been so clear-headed. Weak people don't deserve to lead bloody missions!"

Without another word, the old man's subordinate, who had followed him silently for decades, resolutely pulled the trigger.

If it weren't for past friendships, given his personality, he wouldn't have said a single word; he would have just fired and ended it all.

However, after the gunshot rang out, the pistol suddenly exploded, sending fragments flying everywhere and blasting his right hand into a bloody mess.

"Fake!!!"

He clutched his bleeding hand and collapsed to his knees in agony.

The old man shook his head silently, then slowly stepped forward: "Perhaps I am indeed as you say, a bit too sentimental. But you've forgotten that before becoming the commander of the African garrison, I was the Ghost who commanded Operation Black, personally planning thousands of decapitation strikes. How could your petty tricks possibly escape my notice?"

Neh clenched his teeth, his eyes filled with resentment, but he was speechless.

The next second, the tower door was kicked open with a bang, and a team of fully armed special forces soldiers rushed in, each of them reeking of blood from a recent battle.

Upon seeing Neh lying wounded on the ground, they didn't say a word. They immediately grabbed his hands and feet, covered his mouth, and dragged him away.

Soon, the room returned to silence.

The old man gazed silently at the distant coastline, lost in thought.

Not long after, his subordinates came to report that all thirty VX gas missiles had been deployed and were on launch trajectory directly toward downtown San Francisco!
The old man nodded slightly.

Young faces seemed to appear before his eyes:
Those soldiers who sacrificed their lives for their country received neither the honors they deserved nor compensation after their deaths; they were like discarded garbage, ignored by everyone.

"I've tried."

His voice was hoarse: "We've tried everything, but we still can't get their attention. Hopefully, this time, we can change their minds."

The old man silently took the general's star badge, a symbol of honor, from his pocket and gently placed it on the windowsill.

"Whatever the outcome, please don't blame me, children. I will do my best."

After saying this, he bent down and kissed the badge that carried his life's glory one last time, then resolutely turned and left.

Inside, the emblem's ribbon fluttered gently in the salty sea breeze, just like its owner's lifelong belief: never to yield.

at the same time.

Dozens of speedboats were speeding across the sea a mile from Alcatraz.

On the ship, Jack Bauer, the head of the counterterrorism agency, listened to his subordinates' reports, his face growing increasingly grim.

"At 11 p.m. last night, a military research institute in New Mexico was attacked by armed men, resulting in hundreds of guards being killed or wounded. The intruders acted swiftly and decisively, demonstrating typical Delta Force tactics. They broke through the defenses in just fifteen minutes and took away thirty VX gas missiles."

"Half an hour later, they secretly transferred on a disguised transport plane and arrived in San Francisco before 5 a.m. this morning."

"This group first disguised themselves as tourists and landed on the island, quickly took control of the staff, and then took the first group of tourists hostage. There are currently about 100 hostages on the island, more than half of whom are foreign tourists."

Jack's expression grew even more serious after hearing the report.

He spent the entire night in a meeting at Washington headquarters investigating the "magic staff" chip. By the time he received the alert, the "enemy" from Africa had already completed their deployment and had taken a large number of hostages.

Even more bizarrely, starting from the early morning, the machine completely lost track of the group, as if it had been blocked by some kind of technology.

This familiar modus operandi reminded him of a name that was considered taboo by federal law enforcement.

"Contact the White House Situation Room, the Pentagon, the Department of Homeland Security, and the CIA immediately!"

Jack barked out, "Tell them the VX gas bombs are already—"

"Bang bang bang bang!"

A sudden burst of gunfire interrupted his words.

Bullets rained down like raindrops.

Ahead on the sea, bullets kicked up dense columns of water, and the splashing waves formed a water curtain, completely blocking the speedboat's path.

Just then, static suddenly came from the speedboat's radio.

A hoarse yet authoritative voice boomed through the radio waves into everyone's ears.

Jack's pupils suddenly contracted, and all the muscles in his body tensed instantly.

"Damn it! It's General Hammer!"

--------

Washington, D.C., White House Situation Room.

The space, less than fifty square meters, was now teeming with people.

The president, vice president, speaker of parliament, defense minister, army commander, and security chief—these key figures of power in the Western world—sat around a long table with solemn expressions, rapidly flipping through the documents in their hands.

On the giant screen in front, more than a dozen live video windows were flashing, and the faces of the Governor of California, the Mayor of San Francisco, and Jack, the head of the Counterterrorism Bureau, were clearly visible.

"This is a photo of General Hammer during his time in Vietnam, when he was just a major."

The military intelligence advisor pointed to the dashing young officer on the projection and quickly stated: "He has been to Vietnam three times to carry out special missions and has participated in more than ten counter-terrorism and peacekeeping operations, including Panama, Granada, and Desert Storm."

"Three Purple Hearts, two Silver Stars, and the Medal of Honor. My God!"

The advisor's hands trembled slightly as he flipped through the files. "This old general has so many medals that they need to be listed separately!"

He exclaimed from the bottom of his heart, "He is a true war hero."

“I prefer to call him a legend,” Defense Secretary Hudson suddenly interjected.

The consultant shrugged and joked, "Unfortunately, now we have to add theft and kidnapping to his resume."

"Watch your words!" Hudson said sternly. "Hammer is a true soldier; he must have a good reason for doing this!"

"No reason can justify his killing of soldiers and the seizure of VX gas bombs!" The Black President slammed his fist on the table in fury.

His brows were furrowed, and his eyes burned with anger.

To be fair, this president may really be the unluckiest president in American history!

He's only been in office for a year, and the US debt crisis has erupted, high-ranking officials such as the Speaker of the House and the Secretary of State have been assassinated one after another, and terrorist attacks have occurred frequently on the mainland. Now even the commander of the troops stationed in Africa has returned with poison gas missiles!
Although the motive remains unclear, the situation has become extremely serious!

"Who can explain the specific threat posed by the VX gas bomb?" He looked around at everyone present.

The meeting room fell silent. Although many people present were aware of the weapon's terrifying nature, no one could explain it to the president in simple terms.

Fortunately, there were professionals present.

A long-haired man stood up somewhat awkwardly, coughed lightly, and explained: "VX nerve agent, chemical name O-ethyl-S-[2-(diisopropylamino)ethyl]methyl thiophosphate, chemical formula C11H26NO2PS, its toxicity far exceeds that of sarin, and it is one of the most lethal chemical weapons."

"This colorless and odorless oily liquid can be spread through air or water and is almost undetectable. Skin contact or inhalation can lead to poisoning, causing central nervous system disorders, respiratory failure, and even death. The lethal dose is only 10 milligrams. It can be dispersed through artillery shells, missiles, aircraft, or aerosol generators, providing continuous poisoning in the form of droplets, vapors, or aerosols."

The Black president nodded as if he had suddenly realized something, and then fell into a brief silence.

Underwood smiled at this and asked directly, "To be more specific, how many casualties can a single poison gas bomb cause?"

"Probably in the sixty to seventy range," the long-haired man replied quickly.

“Oh, that doesn’t sound too bad,” Vice President Harry said with a forced smile, trying to ease the tension.

But the long-haired man quickly added, "Multiply that by a thousand." He looked around at everyone, his tone grave: "One poison gas bomb can kill at least 70,000 people, and there are thirty on Alcatraz."

"A spoonful of poison on the ground will kill everyone and everything within a hundred feet. If it were to explode in the air, no living thing in eight city blocks would survive. Do you understand, Madam Vice President?"

Harry nodded awkwardly, his face ashen, secretly resenting this arrogant young man.

After listening, the Black president stared sharply at him: "Which department are you from? You seem to know a lot about VX gas."

“Homeland Security, Bomb Disposal Technical Advisor.” The long-haired man bowed slightly. “You may call me Stanley, Your Excellency the President.”

“Very good, Stanley.” The president asked expectantly, “Is there any way to contain the spread after the gas detonates?”

Stanley hesitated for a moment: "Perhaps we could use thermite."

"Perhaps? I need a definitive solution!"

"With all due respect, Your Excellency. That is Alcatraz Island, and it is currently the monsoon season with strong sea winds. The poisonous gas will soon engulf San Francisco."

The group looked at each other, falling into a despairing silence.

"Jack, what exactly did old Hammer say to you?" Underwood asked Jack in the video.

Jack was inside the speedboat cabin, and through the window behind him, he could clearly see the turbulent sea and the eerie, towering Devil's Island.

Jack reported gravely, "General Hammer only warned the Counterterrorism Bureau not to approach. If we continue, he will execute all the hostages on the island, leaving none alive."

"Are you sure it really is Hammer himself?" Defense Secretary Hudson pressed urgently.

Jack stated unequivocally: "CTU has complete files on the troops stationed in Africa. I've seen General Hammer's video footage countless times; I would never mistake him."

Just as he was about to continue explaining, a piercing static sound suddenly came from the radio. Jack immediately looked up alertly: "It's Alcatraz signal. General Hammer wants to speak."

Upon hearing this, everyone in the intelligence room held their breath.

"Connect the signal immediately!" the Black president commanded sternly.

A few seconds later, the large screen flickered and then an elderly man with gray hair but vigorous spirit appeared in the center of the screen, exuding an imposing presence.

"Hammer!"

Secretary Hudson was the first to stand up excitedly: "It's me, Hudson. You've really messed up this time."

"Really? That means I did the right thing." The old man gazed silently at his former comrade, his tone calm: "How have you been lately?"

“What do you think? Right now, I’m surrounded by worried people,” Hudson replied with a wry smile.

The old man smiled slightly, then his expression turned serious: "Then I'll get straight to the point."

He spoke in a loud voice: "Over the past fifteen years, the 964 Black Ops members who have served under me have all been elites selected from various military units and sent around the world to carry out secret missions."

"But when they die far from home, their families not only receive no compensation, but they can't even be buried in a military cemetery! All I hear are lies about them!"

"I've endured this my whole life, now it's time to end it!"

"In 1998, in East Asia, the Black Ops lost 246 men."

“Wait a minute,” the military advisor suddenly interrupted, “East Asia? We have never admitted to sending troops there.”

The old man coldly scanned him: "Young man, you look unfamiliar. What's your position?"

"White House intelligence advisor, responsible for strategic analysis," the advisor introduced himself, sounding slightly nervous.

"Really? How old are you this year?" the old man suddenly asked.

"36 years old."

“Very well, Mr. Advisor, you have no idea what I’m talking about. Because when you were nine years old, I was on a secret mission in Asia, which earned me a Purple Heart.”

The old man waved his hand impatiently: "So please shut up, I don't have time to waste on a nobody like you!"

The advisor turned pale and wisely stepped back, remaining silent.

The Secretary of Defense glared at the young advisor with displeasure, then turned to the screen: "Hammer, as you can see, the core of power in North America is gathered in this room. If you have any requests, feel free to state them."

“It’s very simple. There’s no simpler request than this, old friend.”

The old man smiled faintly and said, "I want the White House spokesperson to hold a press conference within five hours, where our beloved black president will personally acknowledge the sacrifice of these children who died on the battlefield to the media and the public, grant them military funeral treatment, and provide each of them with a pension of no less than 500,000 US dollars!"

"This is absolutely impossible!" The Black President glared at him. "Hammer! You are a soldier, and a high-ranking general at that! You know better than anyone the immense public opinion crisis that would have been caused to the country if the classified files of the Black Ops had been exposed!"

"So you're just letting them die for nothing?! Not even a single damn penny of compensation?!"

The old man roared in anger, "Is this how you treat those who died for their country?!"

The president, barely suppressing his anger, said, "The compensation issue can be negotiated slowly, but Hammer, this requires congressional procedures. It's not something I can approve with a single word, you..."

"Blah blah blah~~~"

The old man exaggeratedly mimicked interrupting the president, "See, that's why I don't want to waste my breath on you politicians. 'We can talk,' 'We'll go through the process.' I clearly gave you several years!"

His voice trembled: "You forced me to this point! Don't blame me for being ruthless!"

Underwood calmly interjected, "So, can I understand that if we don't meet your demands in five hours, you will drop those thirty poison gas bombs on downtown San Francisco, three nautical miles away?"

Everyone's expression changed drastically, and the air seemed to freeze instantly.

The old man silently scanned their solemn expressions and said decisively, "That's right! This is my ultimatum! If you refuse to acknowledge heroes, I will use the lives of ordinary people to seek justice. At that time, all of you will be impeached and removed from office, utterly disgraced."

But Underwood suddenly laughed, shook his head, and said seriously, "No, I believe you won't do that, General Hammer."

He narrowed his eyes, his fox-like gaze seemingly able to see through people's hearts: "An old general who is willing to vindicate the fallen soldiers, willing to abandon the power of the African emperor, and uphold the honor of a soldier would never use poison gas to harm millions of civilians!"

Underwood pressed on: "You can put on a tough, threatening stance, but you can fool others, even yourself, but you can't fool us. Hammer, you're not that kind of person. You won't kill innocent people indiscriminately. That's your bottom line."

His aides around him quickly gave him signals not to provoke Hammer any further, because at this point, the old Hammer in the video was already ashen-faced with bulging veins.

They dared not provoke this iron-willed veteran!

But Underwood ignored him: "Remove the gas bombs from the missiles, Hammer. Then release the hostages, go back to Africa and continue being your emperor. Retire in a decade or so, take the billions of dollars in your overseas accounts, travel the world with dozens of young models, and enjoy your retirement in peace. That's the ending you deserve. Don't ruin your future."

The old man fell silent, his voice low and deep: "Do you think I'm joking with you?"

"No, of course not."

Underwood said confidently, "I just believe that you, General Hammer, are not the kind of cold-blooded, ruthless person who would slaughter civilians!"

At this moment, the expressions of everyone in the intelligence room became somewhat subtle.

Indeed, given Old Man Mo's character, he doesn't seem like the kind of executioner who would actually use poison gas to harm civilians.

This threat is very likely just verbal rather than actual.

Looking at the silent old man in the video, Underwood smiled, as if victory was assured.

However, in the next second, a voice signal suddenly entered the communication channel.

"And what about me? Do you think I'm the kind of person who would be soft-hearted?"

The intelligence room fell into a deathly silence, and a few seconds later, a chorus of gasps filled the air.

Underwood, who had been smug, suddenly changed his expression and froze.

Is that Rorschach Butcher's voice?!

(End of this chapter)