The real life of an American police officer: Winning over others with virtue

Chapter 337 Sorry
Warm water itself has a calming effect on the nerves.

In the bathtub, Tifa leaned back against Eric's chest, feeling completely relaxed, with nothing but ultimate comfort.

But the hand that was wrapped around her waist was always causing trouble, making her mind uneasy.

"Don't do anything naughty!" Tifa pressed down on the mischievous hand, her tone carrying a hint of helpless indulgence.

Eric chuckled softly, resting his chin on Tifa's head.

"Those people are after you. Who do you think they are?"

Tifa's eyes narrowed slightly: "Apart from that SEAL team, I can't think of any other possibility."

“Just as I thought.” Eric nodded, reached for his phone on the edge of the bathtub, unlocked it, and handed it to Tifa.

"Look, do you recognize anyone?"

Tifa took the photos and looked through the faces Eric had taken. Although the images were chaotic and bloody due to the impact, as a profiler, these bloody images didn't move her much.

Her gaze lingered more on the twisted and deformed van in the background of the photo, which allowed her to roughly estimate how Eric had solved the problem and how astonishing and dramatic the scene must have been.

“I don’t know him.” Tifa took a deep breath and said, suppressing her emotions.

"In a moment, I will try to use the FBI's internal resources for cross-referencing."

These people are professional; they wouldn't operate without a record.

Eric agreed, noting that the FBI, as a large national department in the United States, has very high levels of resources and authority.

"These three came prepared; their only failure was due to underestimating the defense level of my house."
Clearly, they probably didn't thoroughly investigate my background at all; they just focused all their intelligence on you.

Eric narrowed his eyes slightly and said softly, "The mental boost has made my mind quite clear and efficient."

He rubbed his chin against Tifa's wet hair: "The action was so fast, I guess they just knew you were here with me the moment they found out, and then started planning their operation against you from that point on."

This shows they're in a rush. I think they're not just targeting you tonight; you're probably just another part of their plan.

At this point, Eric handed the documents next to him to Tifa.

Who would know you're here with me right now?

Tifa flipped through the pages, looking at the detailed personal information about her, and her eyes instantly focused, following Eric's train of thought.

She specializes in solving difficult cases, so she has no shortage of reasoning skills.

“I did not disclose my whereabouts to my family or the FBI, and no one else could possibly know about our relationship. If anyone knew I was here immediately, it would only be the sergeant who brought me here.”

Tifa's face turned ugly.

“Camp Pendleton, huh?” Eric frowned, his words like a pebble thrown into calm water, stirring up ripples in both of their hearts.

This possibility would fundamentally change the nature of the entire event.

If the problem truly lies within the military, then the SEAL team incident is no longer a simple operational failure, but involves a deeper conspiracy.

The internal purges and eliminations may be to cover up some unspeakable secret.

"so."

After a moment of silence, Eric said in a low voice, "That SEAL team is crucial. Tell me the details."

Tifa nodded and began to recount in detail what she knew about the events.

As Tiffa recounted the story, Eric grasped several key words in his mind.

Pre-prepared explosive devices, highly targeted ambushes, and well-trained militants, among other things.

Combining all of this, the clues gradually pieced together in his mind.

Eric could only think of two possibilities.

The first possibility is that intelligence about the operation was leaked.

The second possibility is that someone set a trap, deliberately sending that SEAL team to their deaths.

But Eric quickly ruled out the first possibility, because the leak of intelligence simply didn't make logical sense.

If it were just an intelligence leak, there would be no need to go to such lengths to forge operation logs, let alone risk hunting down Tifa, who was merely an evaluator assisting with the operation.

The bigger the commotion, the more flaws are revealed.

Therefore, the second seemingly impossible guess is actually the most likely.

But someone wanted to send that SEAL team to their deaths, which involved far too many people.

Eric felt a headache coming on just thinking about it.

Sending that SEAL team to their deaths meant that the entire chain of command, from the intelligence source to the specific planning of the mission, had to be streamlined.

After all, the SEALs aren't stupid.

Those struggling at the bottom of society are not being considered.

But at the very least, the military, the intelligence community, and even the mid- to high-ranking commanders involved in the operation could all be part of this network.

Eric's thoughts began to wander. He guessed that none of these people had expected that, with that level of bombing and ambush, two people would still survive.

Of course, this is just speculation, but it doesn't stop him from acting along this possibility.

If this path doesn't work, we can go back and start over.

“My dear, we are likely facing a deep and far-reaching conspiracy,” Tifa said.

“Hmm,” Eric replied, then explained his deductions to Tifa.

Tifa looked up and exchanged a glance with Eric behind her; their eyes met, and they reached a consensus:

"So the key point of this possibility is why they would want this SEAL team to die? This team itself may have a big problem."

"You mentioned earlier that the only survivor, Lieutenant James Reese, is also in Los Angeles?" Eric asked.

Tifa nodded and said, "He and Sergeant Weeks are both in Los Angeles. They both belong to Camp Pendleton, so their homes are in Los Angeles."

“I happen to be on vacation,” Eric said with a smile.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go meet Lieutenant Reese. You’ll come with me.”

He had no intention of keeping Tifa at home. Given the current situation, the person who carried out the attack must know that the operation had failed and that Tifa was not dead.

From any perspective, Eric felt that he could only truly feel at ease if Tifa was always within his sight.

Most importantly, without Tifa, that Lieutenant James Reese would have had no reason to pay him any attention.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Pendleton Camp.

Naval Special Operations Command building.

A middle-aged man in special military uniform stood by the desk, having just hung up the phone, and remained silent.

The sergeant standing next to him could see that his battalion commander's expression had become very unpleasant, and a sense of unease and anxiety had risen from him.

If Tifa were there, she would have recognized the sergeant as the one who had brought her back.

"Fake!"

Finally, the middle-aged man couldn't help but curse.

He had just learned that the operation in Los Angeles was not entirely successful; the assessment team had given no feedback whatsoever, as if the message had vanished without a trace.

This means that the actions of the Los Angeles assessors may have failed, and a crucial part of the plan is missing.

Thinking of this, the middle-aged man felt uneasy. The operation had failed, but why hadn't the three people returned or been contacted?

He grew increasingly uneasy. If something happened to these three men, the camp would be missing three soldiers out of nowhere, which was too risky.

If my identity is exposed, damn it!
The middle-aged man looked at the sergeant beside him and said in a deep voice, "Josh! Go to Los Angeles and see what's going on."

Josh stepped forward and said, "Yes, sir!" Then he turned and left.

"Fuck!" the middle-aged man cursed again, closed his eyes, and felt a little regretful.

But since it's already done, there's no going back.

After showering, only a bedside lamp was on in the bedroom, casting a soft light.

"Honey, I found it."

Tifa leaned against the headboard, her laptop on her lap. She turned the screen toward Eric beside her, her voice turning cold.

"As we suspected, the problem really is within the military."

Eric leaned closer to Tifa, his gaze sweeping over the two files displayed side-by-side on the screen.

The FBI's resources and Tifa's GS-13 level access were quite powerful. Based on the suspicions about the military, such as the incident in the bathroom, Tifa directly used the FBI's access to connect facial recognition data to the Department of Defense's database.

The system eventually returned the matching results. Only two photos with clear faces were matched. The information was simple and not much, but it was enough.

Because their names, IDs, and affiliated units all belong to Camp Pendleton.

Seeing this, Eric shook his head inwardly, not too surprised. After all, he had long assumed that there was something wrong with the Pendleton camp, and the identities of these three people were just expected evidence.

“It matches our guess perfectly,” Eric said.

"It seems we have to meet with Lieutenant Reese tomorrow. Only after we resolve this matter can we have some peace and quiet."

----------

Los Angeles mornings are always shrouded in a thin, grayish-white mist.
James Reese stood by the kitchen window, watching the increasing traffic on the street. He took a sip of black coffee; the bitterness of the coffee spread on his tongue, but it was nothing compared to the torment in his heart.

Even now, he still can't understand why the action log is like this.

Was the intelligence flawed, or was someone setting a trap for them?

"Rhys?"

"dad?"

James Reese snapped back to reality and turned to meet Lauren's concerned gaze and his daughter Jenny's innocent face.

"What's wrong?" James Rees quickly put on a gentle smile and asked.

Seven-year-old Jenny excitedly announced, "I just said that Mom and I have already planned what to do on your first day back home!"

The light shining in his daughter's eyes stung James Reese. Over the years, he had sacrificed too much time with his children for the sake of the country and for his family, to carry on his father's will and certain principles.

Lauren noticed her husband's change and gently stroked her daughter's hair: "Why don't you tell Daddy about the new activity we've been playing?"

"When you weren't around, Mom and I started doing stand-up paddleboarding, which is a combination of surfing and kayaking. It's so much fun!"

Hearing his daughter's words, James Rees stepped forward and embraced his wife Lauren, a hint of sadness and guilt flashing in his eyes.

He survived, but his comrades died, which meant the deaths of every family.
Lauren seemed to sense the change in her husband's mind. She pursed her lips and gripped Rhys's hand tightly, saying:
"You can ask your dad if he wants to come with us."

"Do you want to come, Dad?" Jenny blinked her expectant eyes.

I think you'll like it!

James Reese took a deep breath, suppressing his surging emotions, and said, "Honey, haven't I told you yet? Daddy's surfing is actually pretty disastrous."

“It’s easy, we can go to calm water,” Jenny said earnestly.

James Reese and Lauren exchanged a glance, then shrugged casually and said:
"Honey, that's a great plan! Shall we go? Let's try stand-up paddleboarding! Let's see who's better!"

"Yay! That's awesome!" Jenny exclaimed excitedly.

"I'm definitely the best!"

Looking at her daughter's innocent smile, Rhys felt as if the gloom in her heart had been dispelled a little.

Lauren also smiled with relief.

Just then, the phone rang, breaking the warm moment.

James Lisbon frowned, took out his phone, and then nodded at Lauren.

"It was called from the operations command."

As James Reese spoke, he walked to the side and took out his phone.

"Hello? This is Reese."

Under Lauren's gaze, James Reese's expression changed drastically.

"No! Sir, that's impossible!"

"Yes, ma'am! I'll be right there."

After saying that, James Reese hung up the phone, his expression so unpleasant that even young Jenny noticed something was wrong.

"What happened?" Lauren asked worriedly.

"Sorry, I have an urgent mission and I have to go out." After saying this, James Reese quickly kissed his wife and daughter goodbye, grabbed his car keys, and rushed to the garage.

A moment later, an SUV suddenly sped out from the middle and raced down the street.

Lauren stood by the window, watching the SUV speed away, her arms crossed, looking worried.

"Mom, what's wrong with Dad?" Jenny walked over and tugged anxiously at her clothes.

"Dad might have some urgent business to attend to," Lauren said gently, her expression instantly softening into a warm smile.

"Come on, honey, let's keep working on our surfing plan, okay?"

----------

The SUV pulled up roughly in front of the apartment building, and James Reese got out, his face so dark it could drip water.

He strode across the cordon, ignoring the stares of the patrolling police officers around him, and rushed straight up to the fourth floor.

The rooftop platform has been cordoned off, and several LAPD officers are standing there maintaining order.

A middle-aged man in a naval uniform with shoulder insignia indicating the rank of lieutenant colonel was standing at the door of a room. Upon seeing him, the man immediately came forward to greet him.

"Reese!"

Rhys didn't stop walking at all, his voice squeezed out from between his teeth:
"Sir! Where is Weeks?"

This middle-aged man is his captain, Howard, the captain of SEAL Team Seven.

“I’m so sorry, Reese!” Howard reached out to stop him.

"The forensic doctor just took the body away, we have to wait for the meeting! It will be in about thirty minutes."

However, Reese brushed past Howard and rushed toward the room with the door open.

“Hey, listen, Reese, I’ll support you, but don’t do anything stupid,” Howard quickly followed, lowering his voice.

"The Naval Crime Investigation Service hasn't arrived at the scene yet; you can't do this."

James Reese ignored him, burst into the room, and abruptly stopped in the living room.

On the wall next to the living room sofa, splattered bloodstains resembled a cruel modern art painting.

A large amount of blood radiated outwards, with a dark center and fine splatter spots at the edges.

Typical characteristics of close-range shooting.

James Reese clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles turning white, and he felt a tightness in his chest.

Howard, standing behind James Rees, sighed, "The initial assessment is suicide. After all, so many people died in this operation; Weeks probably couldn't handle it."

"impossible!"

Reese whirled around, his eyes bloodshot: "Weicks has the strongest mentality on our team! He's been through worse, and he never backs down!"

Reese stared intently at Howard: "Sir, you know! He would never commit suicide!"

Howard instinctively avoided Reese's gaze, and silence filled the space between them. Finally, he simply spoke.

“I know! But I’m really sorry, Rhys! The facts are clear.”

(End of this chapter)