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

Chapter 269 Special Agents Change, Hotel Gathering (Daily Life)
Washington.

Although homeless people and drug dealers can be seen everywhere on the streets, as the capital of the United States, it naturally has real wealthy areas, and they are top-tier wealthy areas that far surpass those of New York and Los Angeles.

After all, the residents here are all political and business elites and powerful figures, so the security level and privacy protection far exceed those of ordinary wealthy communities.

Georgetown in the Northwest is known for its cobblestone streets, Federal-style buildings, and upscale shopping streets.

The average price of a home here exceeds two million dollars, and both former President Clinton and the current African American president own property here.

The new Secretary of State, Underwood, also settled here.

"Try to finish the move within two hours." Underwood, with a pipe in his mouth and hands on his hips, stood in front of the townhouse, directing Secret Service agents to move furniture and personal belongings.

His commanding posture, coupled with sunglasses and a pipe, gave him a commanding presence reminiscent of MacArthur.

When he was the party whip, he had to go to the Capitol Building to work every day, so he had been living near the Capitol Building in the Southeast District for a long time.

However, after being promoted to Secretary of State, his office was moved to the State Department building, which is located further away.

After discussing it with his wife Claire, they decided to buy this multi-million dollar villa in Georgetown.

As the owners of multiple listed companies, Claire is worth hundreds of millions, and buying a house is a piece of cake for this political and business couple.

As for the movers, they were all specially dispatched by the Secret Service.

The moving of the Secretary of State's belongings naturally cannot be handled by an ordinary moving company.

The Secret Service has a dedicated team responsible for providing relocation services for senior officials and ensuring their security.

"Be careful!" On a truck, four or five workers were carrying a solid wood desk that was several meters long.

This is the old table that Underwood is used to. It is made of thick material and weighs several hundred kilograms.

The workers chanted slogans as they struggled to move forward.

A bodyguard who had served Underwood for over a decade knew the importance of the table. Seeing that the workers had tried several times to remove it without success, he stepped forward to help coordinate the process.

The group adjusted their postures and carefully continued their work.

Suddenly, a worker seemed to lose his grip due to exhaustion, and the solid wood table, weighing several hundred pounds, tilted to one side.

The special agent was caught off guard and his ankle was hit hard, instantly deforming.

"Um"

This special agent was indeed a tough guy; even when injured, he only groaned and gritted his teeth to endure the pain.

"Irving, are you alright?"

Underwood quickly stepped forward to help him up.

The special agent, sweating profusely, gritted his teeth and waved his hand, saying, "It's nothing, just a sprained ankle, maybe a fracture."

"Your bones are broken and you still say you're fine!" Underwood frowned and scolded, then ordered someone to help the agent to the bedroom.

Immediately afterwards, he looked up at his desk, and after confirming that it hadn't been damaged, he secretly breathed a sigh of relief, while giving the Secret Service staff who had come to help him move things an annoyed look.

"They get paid and receive better benefits than police officers, but when it comes to work, they're not even as good as ordinary movers!"

This veteran politician, who usually kept his emotions hidden in front of outsiders, unusually lost his temper. After glaring at everyone, he turned and went back into the villa.

After he left, the special agents who had moved the table exchanged glances and continued working expressionlessly, as if nothing had happened.

In the bedroom, the injured special agent lay on the bed. His right leg was in a cast and immobilized on a brace.

After Underwood entered and locked the door, he walked to the bedside, frowned, and asked, "Is the injury serious?"

“It’s just a minor injury, Secretary of State, don’t worry.” Irving smiled. “Back when I was training with the Secret Service, I’ve had injuries that were dozens of times more serious than this.”

He was handsome and tall, and his resolute demeanor, especially that of a soldier, made his smile appear even brighter under the sunlight streaming through the window.

Underwood sighed, his fingers gently tracing the bandaged wound on his leg, and said in a low voice, "I've told you more than once that I'd transfer you to a less stressful and safer department, but you never listen. Look, you're still injured now."

Owen shook his head dismissively: "My job is to ensure your safety. I won't go anywhere else, no matter how good it is. Besides..."

He smiled slightly, his tone subtle: "If I were to take another job, how could I possibly spend every day with you, Secretary of State?"

Underwood's eyes softened, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes at him: "At a time like this, you're still calling me Secretary of State."

The atmosphere between the two subtly heated up, and the air in the room seemed to become tense.

Almost everyone in the federal cabinet knew that Underwood had some unusual tastes, but what they didn't know was that the Secretary of State had been having an affair with the Secret Service agent who had been protecting him for over a decade.

No, describing it as "having an affair" might not be accurate.

Because Irving is already "one of them" in their family, and he even often "does things" with the couple.

Underwood stroked Irving's leg, which was in a cast, as his fingers slowly moved upwards.

Although the two remained silent, they simply smiled at each other, both anticipating what was to come. But the next second, an untimely phone call disrupted the tense atmosphere.

Distracted, Underwood frowned in annoyance and took out his phone, but his expression became subtle when he saw the contact.

Jack?

Why is he calling at this time?
Underwood nodded to Irving, signaling him to calm down, then opened the door and went outside to answer the phone.

"Jack, shouldn't you be busy eliminating Cobra's strongholds on home soil right now? Why are you suddenly contacting me? Did you miss me?" Perhaps because of the heated atmosphere just now, Underwood couldn't help but tease him.

Of course, it's also possible that this old gay man had long been attracted to Jack's cold and sharp demeanor.

Jack, however, had no time for such nonsense and went straight to the point: "According to the Counterterrorism Bureau, two days ago, someone in the Secret Service secretly adjusted the organizational structure, intending to transfer your personal agent and reassign a new one. Be careful lately; someone in the cabinet might be targeting you."

"Oh?"

Upon hearing this, Underwood couldn't help but turn around and glance at the bedroom behind him, his gaze seemingly piercing through the door and lingering on Irving's injured leg.

"Haha, that's it."

He nodded slightly without changing his expression. "Thanks, Jack. This information is very important to me. I'll remember this favor."

“Okay, I’ll contact you again next time.” Jack was about to hang up when Underwood quickly added, “By the way, Jack, I’ve arranged the job for Ginny. Ginny just needs to go to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to report and sign whenever she has time.”

"Ok."

As soon as the call ended, Underwood's face turned cold, and he narrowed his eyes as he looked at the Secret Service agents who were arranging furniture inside the villa.

There are countless people in the cabinet who have the ability to infiltrate the Secret Service, but there is only one person with the courage and ability to directly reach out to the Secretary of State.

"Heh." Underwood sneered, ignoring Owen who was still calling his name softly behind him. He lit a cigarette and went into an empty room alone, seemingly lost in thought.

On the other side, Jack, having hung up the phone, casually tossed it onto the sofa and turned to look at Ginny, who was doing a workout video in the living room.

"I've booked your flight to Washington for tomorrow. Frank has already arranged a position for you at the State Department as a Women's Ambassador."

"Oh, what does that have to do with me? I don't want to."

However, Ginny rejected this lucrative job that others would have coveted without even turning her head.

She continued to intently mimic the movements of the fitness instructors on TV: "I can't do this kind of job. I'm not married and I don't have children, so what kind of women's ambassador am I?"

“It’s just a title,” Jack rubbed his temples. “The actual work is to promote women’s equal rights. Why don’t you become a feminist? You’ll have both money and social status.”

“No!” Ginny refused decisively. “I’ve never experienced gender equality before, and I don’t understand it. Why should I do anything for equality? I’m not interested.”

"you"

Jack was so angry he laughed.

Indeed, given his position as the head of the counterterrorism bureau, Ginny was always the one being pampered in law enforcement, so she would never have had the chance to experience anything like gender QS.

But this position is clearly just for prestige; after working there for more than ten years, once you reach a certain age, you can be promoted to a more important position like director.

But looking at his daughter's nonchalant attitude, Jack couldn't understand why, despite his cunning and scheming nature, his daughter was so innocent and naive, unlike the children of officials.

“Heh, I know what you’re thinking, but let me tell you, there’s no use in you staying in New York,” Jack decided to change tactics. “Rorschach is definitely no longer in New York; he’s most likely gone overseas.”

Sure enough, Ginny immediately turned off the TV, ran over and grabbed his arm: "Daddy, you know where he is, right?"

"Humph!"

Jack glared at her, annoyed, then said helplessly, "If I knew where he was, I'd be the first to arrest him! Right now, the whole country is cracking down on terrorist strongholds, and Washington is the safest place. Listen to your father this time; when you go to Washington, I'll buy you a new car."

Having heard that Rorschach had left New York, Ginny did consider leaving as well, but she was worried that Rorschach wouldn't be able to find her when he returned.

After much hesitation, he finally nodded reluctantly under Jack's urging gaze.

On second thought, with Rorschach's abilities, he could find himself anywhere.

not to mention.
Ginny remembered Rorschach's promise and secretly thought: maybe going to Washington would make it easier to see him.

“That’s more like it,” Jack smiled with satisfaction. “That’s my daughter, Jack.”

"Okay, okay~" Ginny waved her hand impatiently, "Go ahead and get busy, I still need to lose weight."

"Losing weight?" Jack frowned, staring at his daughter who had started doing exercises in front of the TV again. "Who the hell would dare to say you're fat?"

“No way!” Ginny turned her head to admire her round yet perky buttocks and muttered, “Rorschach said he likes buttocks that can lift soda bottles, I need to practice more.”

"Wortfalk?!"

Jack's brow twitched violently; he felt as if the wound on his lower abdomen was about to burst from anger.

That bastard who's wanted worldwide should be grateful that his own daughter even took a liking to him, yet he still dares to be picky!

--------

night.

Rorschach, who was resented by Jack, not only did not leave New York, but instead swaggered over to the Continental Hotel in New York, quietly waiting for a large group of guests to arrive.

The clock hand points to nine o'clock in the evening.

It's the time when New York's nightlife begins, the busiest time of the year, when neon lights are glittering.

The area in front of the Continental Hotel in downtown Manhattan was bustling with activity, with many tourists excitedly looking around and taking photos on the nearby streets.

In previous winters, New York City was sparsely visited due to temperatures often dropping below freezing, with people preferring the pleasant climate of California on the West Coast. However, after the San Francisco terrorist attack, rumors of a nuclear leak caused California's golden beaches to become deserted, and tourists flocked to the East Coast.

Just as the tourists were enthusiastically taking photos and checking in, a group of hotel staff in black suits suddenly appeared and began to disperse the crowd at the entrance without saying a word.

Some people asked the police on duty for help, but the police not only did not stop them, but also assisted in clearing the scene, clearing the entire street and setting up a cordon.

These police officers didn't know why they were doing this; they were just following orders to ensure that ordinary people were not allowed to enter the area around the hotel tonight.

Before long, a fleet of luxury vehicles slowly drove up, all of them top-of-the-line bulletproof cars, gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

The guests who got off the bus had different temperaments, some were sinister and ruthless, while others were refined and cultured. Although they were dressed in a sophisticated manner, they exuded the aura of villains.

To put it simply, he's not a good person at all!

After getting out of the car, they ignored each other, exchanged only a cold glance, and strode into the hotel.

"I heard the Amora family has suffered heavy losses recently. First, their military contracting company in Africa was completely wiped out, and several key oil fields for which your company was contracted for security were seized by armed forces. Then, you, the head of the family, were assassinated. Amora, I heard you broke two ribs and would have died in Turkey if you hadn't had a bulletproof vest. How come you've recovered from your injuries so quickly?"

In front of the hotel, a man as strong as a polar bear sneered at a sixty-year-old man leaning on a cane.

However, his words did not elicit the slightest reaction from the other party. The old man merely glanced at him indifferently and replied unhurriedly, "Compared to the cargo ships of your Tarasov family that were burned by Eastern European human traffickers, this loss is insignificant. It's rare that you can still laugh."

The Tarasov representative scoffed dismissively: "The Tarasov family controls assets worth far more than hundreds of billions. Do those poor Eastern Europeans really think I'd care about a loss of a few hundred million? Let them be smug for a few days."

As he spoke, his gaze passed over the old man and locked onto a group of gloomy-faced Eastern Europeans in front of him.

These guys are members of the Adela family, the largest criminal organization in Eastern Europe and the world's largest human trafficking organization.

He had no intention of letting these people return to Europe alive during his trip to New York.

After all,
He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the group of Middle Eastern visitors behind him, their beards thick and their expressions menacing.

Perhaps he won't even need to lift a finger tonight; these bloodthirsty assassin groups can handle all the trouble.
(End of this chapter)