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

Chapter 341 I can’t figure it out
Pendleton Camp.

Naval Special Operations Command building.

“Sir! I believe this was a one-off attack on SEAL Team Seven, Second Platoon.” Reese’s heavy voice rang out as he looked at Rear Admiral Gamir Ricketts, commander of the Naval Special Operations Command at Camp Pendleton.

"We've been hunting Kahanni! Someone provided false information; this is a trap!"

Sitting behind the desk was a middle-aged or elderly man whose rank was indicated by shoulder insignia as a major general.

“As you said, Special Operations Command and the CIA are tracking Tabari Musa, and operations in Shulia have been temporarily suspended,” Major General Gamir said.

"But what I want to know is, what exactly happened during that operation?"

Rhys frowned: "What do you mean?"

Major General Gamir said, "You are the only surviving eyewitness, but there are many contradictions between your account and the operation log."

"Sir!"

Rhys straightened up: "There's no contradiction! Once you realize someone tampered with our recordings, everything makes sense!"

"Is this what you think the truth is?" Major General Gamir asked, exchanging a glance with Howard, who was standing next to Reese.

"Was it the Shulia Democratic Forces soldiers who detonated the bomb in the chaos, not Special Operations Private Mitchell?"

“Yes, sir!” Rhys affirmed.

"I stand by my statement. We must first find out who possesses such advanced technology? Who has the capability to do such a thing? Who would frame us?"

Major General Gamir stared at Rees for a long time before replying somewhat perfunctorily:

"Okay, I'll have someone look into it."

After saying that, Major General Gamir nodded to Howard.

Seeing this, Howard stepped forward and gently tugged at Reese's arm, signaling him to leave together.

Reese pursed his lips, saluted, and turned to follow.

The two walked out of the building together. Outside was a large beach, where soldiers were shouting slogans during training.

Howard glanced at Reese, who had remained silent.

“I just received a notice from my superiors that every brother in the second platoon, including Weeks, will be posthumously awarded a Silver Star, and even the Secretary of Defense himself will fly in to attend the funeral.”

Seeing Reese become sad, Howard sighed, "I believe the brother's family will be comforted and properly compensated."

Reese didn't say anything, and the two walked straight to an SUV.

“Reese, are you sure you’re in good shape to attend the funeral? We can find a reason for your absence; you don’t need to force yourself,” Howard said, looking at Reese as he got into the driver’s seat.

Upon hearing Howard's words, Reese snapped out of his reverie. Without saying a word, he simply straightened up and gave Howard a military salute.

“I will be there on time, sir.”

After saying that, he drove away.

Howard watched them leave, took a deep breath, and turned back to the major general's office.

at this time.

Major General Gamir was smoking a cigar, holding a folder in his hand, standing by the window, looking out at the sea.

"he's gone?"

“Hmm,” Howard said, walking over and standing beside him.

"Sir, have we made a mistake?"

Major General Gamir chuckled.

"Why didn't you say that when you were taking the money? From the moment you joined, there was no turning back, Howard."

Howard remained silent, unsure how to respond.

Major General Gamir, too lazy to care about this so-called and useless camaraderie, tossed the folder in his hand to Howard, his action revealing undisguised anger.

"The operation in Los Angeles failed, the consequences were huge, all the men you sent out are dead!"

Howard's heart sank, and he quickly took the folder and opened it.

Inside was an official letter signed by the FBI and formally transferred through the Department of Justice. It was related to the attack on a senior profiler by three active-duty sergeants at Camp Pendleton by the FBI's Business Analysis Unit (BAU).

Therefore, the letter formally requested Camp Pendleton's cooperation in the preliminary investigation into the attack on federal officials and domestic terrorism, requesting the provision of complete personnel files, financial records, and detailed duty logs for the three active-duty soldiers over the past 72 hours.

Upon seeing the photos of the three soldiers' bodies, Howard felt his throat go dry.

He really hadn't expected the woman to react so quickly and with such force.

damn it!
"This letter is just the beginning. The FBI is asking me why our soldiers would attack an FBI GS-13 superintendent?" Major General Gamir said calmly.

"Howard, you promised me before that it would succeed."

Upon hearing this, Howard broke out in a cold sweat and was speechless. He admitted that he had indeed been careless.

He certainly hadn't expected that three highly trained special forces soldiers would fail in their mission against an FBI profiler.

"Sir, this is an unexpected incident that we did not anticipate."

"Heh, an unexpected turn of events." Major General Gamir chuckled.

“We’ve had enough surprises, Howard.” He turned and stared intently at Howard, his gaze piercing and oppressive.

"We must cut our losses! The letter requires us to provide a record, and there is still room for maneuver. We can prepare a record and keep our story consistent."

We insist that the three soldiers acted alone, that we knew nothing about their actions, and that their attack had nothing to do with us or Camp Pendleton.

We need to be more careful this time, and avoid getting the FBI's attention, understand?

Howard gripped the folder tightly and took a deep breath:

"Yes, sir! I will arrange everything."

Upon hearing this, Major General Gamir turned back to the window, a deep anxiety flashing in his seemingly calm eyes.

Do you think their people will succeed?

"Yes, sir!"

Howard said, "They say that Reese's wife and daughters have been taken into custody and are waiting for his return."

Rhys is a family man; his wife and daughters are everything to him. As long as his wife and daughters are under his control, no matter how powerful he is, they will obey him!

Upon hearing this, Major General Gamir exhaled a puff of cigar smoke, took a breath, and said in a deep voice.

"That's good! Let's avoid any more unexpected events. As long as Rhys dies, like Weeks, and PTSD is permanently etched into him, everything will fall into place. Then..."

-

The SUV stopped before the red light.

Sitting in the driver's seat, Rhys reached into the glove compartment next to him and took out a handgun, turning it sideways as he pondered over the gun.

This is the pistol that everyone in his platoon has.

SIG P250, 9 mm.

The advantage is that the gun is light and easy for beginners to handle, but the recoil is too strong and can easily cause accidental injury.

Weeks has always disliked the SIG P250; you could say he hated it.

Importantly, based on his understanding of Weeks, even if it were suicide, he should have used his beloved M1911 pistol, not his hated SIG P250.

This is why he suspected Weeks' cause of death.

The person behind it can forge and tamper with everything; he can even try to believe it, thinking that his memory is wrong, but he cannot forge Weeks' personality.

He couldn't ignore it.

Reese stared blankly, still unable to understand who had killed Weeks in this way, and who wanted to wipe out their entire squad.

He didn't believe that a mere Kanehan could have done this; there must be a powerful force behind it all.

beep!beep!
The urgent honking behind him abruptly pulled him back to reality. Rhys took a deep breath, glanced at the rearview mirror, put the pistol back in the glove compartment, and stepped on the gas, driving away from the intersection.

At this time, the cell phone rang.

Reese glanced at the screen; it was Ben, his former comrade-in-arms and brother, now a CIA agent.

(End of this chapter)