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

Chapter 350 Her End, My Beginning

Stephenson Medical Center.

Eric knew nothing about the command center, but even if he did, he wouldn't care.

From the moment he discovered the miniature camera, he knew he had come into the sights of certain people.

But that's all; to him, it was just a ripple on the surface of the water.

He acts with integrity and uprightness! Therefore, neither the CIA's attention nor the potential dark side of things is worth mentioning to him.

With increased strength and changes in events, it's unlikely that they can maintain a low profile as before.

"The medial aspect of the right temporal lobe, anterior to the hippocampus."

Dr. Stephenson's voice pulled Eric back to reality, prompting him to turn to the control panel.

Lauren was standing next to Dr. Stephenson, her eyes fixed on the brain images that had been scanned on the screen.

The attackers were dealt with, and the power was restored. The examination of Rhys naturally had to continue, but because of the body, it was moved to a different location.

Little Jenny had already been coaxed to sleep and was lying on the sofa behind him. Eric turned around to check on Little Jenny, and the little girl was sleeping soundly.

As for Tifa, she went out to deal with the people outside.

It must be said that the FBI is indeed less restricted than the Los Angeles Police Department in some aspects, and is even excessively lenient in some key areas. Its authority is also far more flexible than that of local police departments.

According to standard procedure, in cases involving shootings and deaths, all weapons involved should be temporarily seized for inspection.

As it turned out, Tifa simply showed her FBI badge and identification, exchanged a few words, and everything was resolved.

So his Watcher 2011 custom gun was still securely clipped to his holster, which made him feel a little uncomfortable for a moment.

"Look here, the tumor is pressing right on the junction of the hippocampus and amygdala, which is the trigger point for pain in the brain."

Eric looked away and gazed at the brain images displayed on the screen.

Dr. Stephenson had circled a location with a cursor where a walnut-sized tumor shadow was clearly visible.

Is this a side effect of human experimentation? Eric frowned, a little unsure himself.

"So this is what's causing Rhys's headache?" Lauren swayed and lost her balance. Eric quickly grabbed her arm and supported her swaying body.

"From a medical perspective, yes, the tumor in this area directly irritates the spinal trigeminal nucleus, which is the direct cause of his severe headaches, but..."

Dr. Stephenson paused, pointed to the irregular, tentacle-like tiny shadows at the edge of the tumor, and then asked疑惑地:
"However, this growth pattern is a bit abnormal. It doesn't look like a naturally occurring tumor. In my personal opinion, it's more like it has been subjected to some kind of continuous and abnormal stimulation."

Lauren asked, "An unusual stimulus? Doctor, what do you mean?"

Dr. Stephenson shook his head, his brow furrowed: "I can't be sure. It could be some kind of pathogen we don't yet know about, or it could be a rare autoimmune reaction attacking the nervous system."

Importantly, Reese's condition is already quite serious because the tumor has invaded the limbic system, causing severe headaches. If not treated promptly, Reese's memory integration and mood regulation will be affected.

Eric listened to the conversation in silence, his mind already tilting to one side.

The unusual stimulation described by Dr. Stephenson is very likely a side effect of the medication.

"Oh my god."

Hearing Lauren's emotional voice, Eric glanced at her, saw her covering her mouth, her shoulders trembling slightly, and her face full of confusion, and sighed inwardly.

Although she is the wife of a Navy SEAL, she is ultimately just an ordinary woman, and it is already remarkable that she has managed to hold on until now.

For Lauren, these past twenty-four hours have been nothing short of a series of misfortunes. First, she was kidnapped by an unknown killer, then her husband suffered unexplained excruciating pain, followed by an attack by an armed assassin, and now she has been diagnosed with a brain tumor.
Who can stand this.

"Doctor, can Rhys's tumor be cured?" Eric asked.

Dr. Stephenson said, "We need to see the biopsy results first. If it is glioblastoma, although it is rare and highly malignant, it is not untreatable."

With the right treatment plan, there is a 70% chance that the condition can be effectively controlled or improved within approximately six to nine months.

------------------

In a small, enclosed room, an old wooden table was smashed to pieces, and documents and coffee table fragments were scattered all over the floor, mixed with splattered dark red blood.

A fallen desk lamp flickered on its own, casting swaying shadows on the wall in a dim yellow light.

Ben collapsed helplessly in a pool of blood in the corner, his chest heaving violently, each breath accompanied by a hoarse sound of blood and foam, clearly indicating that his lungs had been punctured.

He looked at the figure standing before him, his eyes showing no fear of death, but rather a voice, choked with blood and saliva, escaping from his throat:

"I'll be waiting for you in hell!"

The figure did not answer; his featureless face remained completely expressionless as he calmly raised the gun in his hand.

puff!puff!
Two muffled, silenced bursts of fire followed. One shot struck between the eyebrows, extinguishing the flames in Ben's eyes, while the other pierced his heart, ending all of Ben's physiological functions.

Ben's head slammed backward, leaving a dent in the wall with radiating bloodstains, and his body finally stopped convulsing.

The figure staggered slightly and leaned against the wall, revealing an ordinary face that would be instantly forgotten in a crowd.

He looked down at his left abdomen, where his dark clothing had been cut open, and blood was slowly seeping out—the last mark his target had left on him during the fight.

But his face remained unusually calm as he scanned the scene expressionlessly, confirming that the target had completely lost vital signs and that all communication equipment had been destroyed.

Immediately, he tore off a piece of curtain fabric and quickly applied a simple compression bandage to his waist and abdomen.

Stepping out of the now-silent room, I gently closed the door behind me.

Upon reaching the relatively clean corridor, he took out an encrypted phone and pressed the message button: "Target permanently silenced, all potential risks of leakage have been eliminated."

After sending the message, he listened intently to the sounds around him before silently disappearing into the emergency exit.

-

Meanwhile, in a secluded little office.

Spencer Watts sat alone under a solitary lamp, the soft light unable to dispel the solemnity between his brows.

On the desk in front of him, all the available information about Eric Stevens was laid out.

From background information, activity records, monitoring data, and other content, one document after another was stacked into a thick volume of documents.

"Where did this monster come from?" After reviewing most of the documents, even Spencer, who was in charge of a department, couldn't help but mutter to himself, a rare look of disorientation appearing in his eyes.

Unlike Quincy, the station chief who was based in Paris, he was based at headquarters, and once he used his headquarters authority to conduct an in-depth investigation, he could obtain far more detailed information than the external stations.

He not only uncovered Eric's close relationship with Tifa, but also reconstructed Eric's past experiences in Quantico, Virginia, including the airplane incident, the Holy Spirit Cult incident, the train incident, and even the turmoil in Paris.

Through these intricate threads of events, the complex connections between Eric and Bill naturally come to light.

Spencer frowned; he knew perfectly well who Bill was.

No further explanation is needed; this one point alone is enough to illustrate its significance: Bill's former direct superior is now one of the most powerful deputy directors within the CIA.

People like these can directly influence the appointment and removal of key positions within the bureau and the flow of illicit funds, representing institutional power.

What he currently possesses is merely limited operational power.

Thinking of this, Spencer subconsciously picked up the top document.

Like Paris stationmaster Quincy, in his in-depth investigation of Eric's background, he also uncovered the most suspicious aspects of Eric's past:

Surprisingly, there were no relatives listed in the social network.

Eric's childhood and youth are well-documented and detailed, but there is very little information about his parents, and the limited information available is questionable, as if these two people had never actually existed.

Even the source of the ten million yuan inheritance is unclear and shrouded in mystery.

Who are his parents, and what kind of background do they have?

"This is really a headache." Just as Spencer was racking his brains for a solution, a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in."

The subordinate who had reported earlier pushed open the door and entered, reporting directly: "Sir, Number One Bourne just sent back a message that target Ben Edwards has been dealt with, confirmed to be permanently silenced, and the related risk of leakage has been eliminated."

Upon hearing this, Spencer did not look away from Eric's file, but simply responded with a faint "Yes."
"understood."

He was not surprised by the result. He knew the strength of Number One and the background of Ben Edwards. The data comparison showed that there was a clear gap between the two.

After all, Number One was worth thirty million US dollars, far more than the deceased Number Two, and his strength was naturally incomparable to that of an ordinary field agent.

The subordinate hesitated for a moment, then tentatively suggested, "Should we send Number One?"

Spencer interrupted:

"He is not allowed to touch Eric Stevens until he receives my explicit instructions."

Seeing the confused look on his subordinates' faces, Spencer leaned back in his chair, regaining his usual calm demeanor.
"Number One is our most successful qualified product so far. We have spent so much effort to cultivate him. He is not an ammunition that can be used casually. Eric Stevens is an extremely dangerous and quite troublesome person."

Have you ever wondered why, with such formidable personal abilities, he would willingly remain an ordinary detective?

Before his subordinates could answer, Spencer answered his own question, muttering:

"Don't assume that Pendleton's side failed because they underestimated the enemy; on the contrary, they sent out the strongest soldiers in their own ranks."

However, this small team stumbled at this person's home and was intercepted by patrol officers within minutes, ultimately suffering a complete defeat.

He's treating Los Angeles as his base of operations! He's using the entire Los Angeles police force as his moat!

Given his abilities, if they couldn't kill him in a single blow within minutes, anyone would be trapped in a quagmire of pursuit and encirclement by the Los Angeles Police Department.

At this point, Spencer sighed softly, Eric's resume flashing through his mind, and continued:
"On the surface, he is a trainee detective, but in reality, he has already established a solid foundation of trust within the LAPD, and his reputation is so high that the entire Los Angeles Police Department regards him as a hero."

This means that he makes no mistakes, and any law enforcement action that attempts to target him will face a strong backlash from the entire Los Angeles law enforcement system.

Not to mention, his girlfriend is a promising FBI superintendent, and his network of connections is far more complex than it appears.

Spencer deliberately omitted information about Eric and Bill.

The subordinate unconsciously licked his lips, having already understood Spencer's concerns and apprehensions.

Overt actions are unlikely to succeed, and assassinations are extremely difficult; a failed assassination attempt on such a person would only bring trouble upon oneself.

As a senior member of the CIA, he was all too aware of the danger posed by such people. Simply put, as long as Eric didn't die, he probably wouldn't be able to sleep peacefully from then on.

In this light, Eric Stevens is like a hedgehog that's impossible to bite.

"Then what do we do?" the subordinate hesitated before asking, "Are we just going to let it go like this?"

“The operation failed, and the target will only become more vigilant. That trainee detective is definitely a tough nut to crack; the more we confront him head-on, the greater the risk.” Spencer released his hand from between his eyebrows and said:
"In this situation, continuing to restrict their investigation as planned and cutting our losses is the wisest course of action." The subordinate seemed to understand: "You mean a temporary retreat?"

"It's a strategic adjustment! What we can do now is to clear away all relevant evidence and completely cut off the entire investigative lead."

We must completely erase all evidence and traces of the Norths project that could point to us.

Even if they have doubts, they won't find any substantial evidence. As long as they can't produce evidence, they can't do anything to us.

At this point, Spencer's voice lowered:
“Send Number One to Aleppo to clean up Tabarimusa and Number Four, so that they can only trace them up to this point forever.”

"Yes!" the subordinate nodded, accepted the order, and turned to leave.

"Wait." Spencer's voice made him stop at the doorway.

Spencer continued picking up Eric's background file from the table:
"Keep investigating! Find out the ultimate source of his inheritance, and the possible original identities of his parents."

Like Quincy in Paris, Spencer sensed that things were a bit complicated, and his tone became serious as he spoke:
"Remember to be cautious. If necessary, you can seek third-party intervention through unofficial channels. If any abnormalities are found, stop immediately."

"Yes, sir." The subordinate walked over, took the documents, nodded seriously, and left the office, leaving Spencer alone.

Spencer leaned back in his office chair, closed his eyes to rest for a moment, looked at his personal cell phone on his desk, thought for a moment, and then reached out to pick it up.

--------

Quantico, Virginia, FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU).

Department head Aaron held a cell phone in his left hand, while his right thumb pressed hard against his furrowed brow.

On the computer screen in front of him, Tifa's constantly updated investigation log was displayed.

“I received the message, Quintus. I will speak with Tifa and tell her to be more cautious and avoid risks for the time being.”

After the call ended, Aaron put down his phone, but his eyes never left the screen.

Tifa's investigation was procedurally impeccable, with every step firmly within the rules.

From the moment she filed the case, he sensed something unusual, but he never expected the waters to be so deep and the counterattack to be so swift.

In such a short time, the Department of Justice has already begun preparing a formal letter questioning the jurisdiction of Tifa in the naval personnel attack case it is investigating.

The Office of Professional Responsibility has even received an anonymous report regarding potential procedural irregularities in Tifa's recent investigations.

Thinking of this, Aaron shook his head; Tifa had stepped into some deep water this time.

If it weren't for his old friend Quintus's significant contribution and exchange of benefits during the Holy Spirit Cult incident, allowing him to be promoted from Chief of Staff to Executive Assistant Director, he would have been in a much better position.

That's why Quintus sent this message and a subtle reminder at such a crucial moment; otherwise, he would probably still be in the dark and wouldn't receive the news until he goes to work tomorrow morning.

"Sigh, what exactly is Tifa investigating?" Aaron thought helplessly. He glanced at the time of Tifa's last update on the screen, took out his phone, and dialed Tifa's number.

------

Stephenson Medical Center.

Eric sat on a bench in the hallway and glanced at the slightly ajar door next to him.

The conversation between Dr. Stephenson and Rhys could be faintly heard inside the door.

At this moment, Tifa returned after handling external affairs and sat down next to him.

"Is everything taken care of?" Eric asked instinctively.

Tifa nodded and hummed in agreement.

Eric habitually raised an eyebrow because he suddenly noticed that Tifa's expression was a little off.

"what happened?"

Tifa said, "I just received word that the higher-ups might get involved in this case."

Aaron told me that there was some activity at the Department of Justice.

After listening to Tifa's brief explanation, Eric was slightly taken aback, then a look of understanding flashed in his eyes, and he was not too surprised.

After all, the list involves too many people.

"They want to use bureaucratic methods to get rid of you. The anonymous report is not to convict you, but to create enough procedural doubts to temporarily freeze your privileges and buy time for their operations in the Department of Justice."

Tifa sighed and nodded.

Eric smiled and said, "The action was faster than I expected, but being able to mobilize these resources against you in such a short time is a sign of respect, and of course, a warning as well."

Eric reached out and gently grasped Tifa's slightly cool hand, continuing:
"Our individual capabilities are limited, and frankly, given their power and resources, there isn't much we can actually do openly."

In a sense, they were the passive party from beginning to end, and they all accidentally stumbled upon and resolved Rhys's crisis. Therefore, Tifa's attack was more of a consequence of the Rhys incident.

From the moment she officially opened a case with the FBI, built a protective firewall for herself, and began investigating the truth behind the attack, these people immediately changed course, doing everything they could to destroy evidence, just to cut off all possible connections.

No evidence equals no guilt! So-called accusations may actually be considered defamation!
This is all the old tricks of the Americans, and Eric was speechless.

This is why many investigations involving important figures in the United States often end without resolution.

It's not uncommon for a key figure to commit suicide with eight shots fired from behind.

Tifa remained silent.

From a legal perspective, there is an insurmountable gap between the case she is in charge of and the truth that Reese is investigating.

The lack of a direct and legitimate connection between the two prevented her from reaching out.

Knowing that these people have problems, yet having no evidence, this situation is unsolvable.

At that moment, the conversation inside the door could be clearly heard.

"I have to attend a funeral during the day, Stephenson. Before the treatment plan, is there any medication that can relieve my headache?"

"Reese!"

"This is very important to me."

A sigh followed: "Corticosteroids can relieve swelling, and propranolol and topiramate can treat the tremors and headaches you might experience."

But Rhys, medication can't save you; it's only a temporary solution. Your tumor will grow over time, and then it will be too late.

"."

Tifa looked up and her eyes met Eric's in mid-air. The two understood each other without saying a word. The so-called funeral was just a pretext. What Rhys really wanted to do was probably to find out the truth.

“Darling, let’s stop here,” Tifa whispered.

Eric stared at her, raising an eyebrow slightly: "Have you thought it through?"

“Mm.” Tifa nodded, took Eric’s broad palm in her hand, and smiled with relief.

“I don’t want to see you put yourself in danger anymore. After watching your fight with the assassin tonight, and with Aaron’s reminder, I understand that this is not a situation we can handle at this stage.”

At this point, Tifa gripped Eric's hand even tighter: "Anyway, I can't afford to lose you, and I don't want to risk losing you."

“Okay, I will always support your decision.” Eric just smiled and pulled Tifa into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"We'll work hard to climb higher! We'll climb until no one can limit our position!"

Tifa's eyes hardened, and she said earnestly, "Yes!"

Eric smiled, not wanting to tell Tifa about the plan that had already formed in his mind.

From the moment the list appeared, he never expected to get justice in public.

He knows all too well the rules and logic of how Americans operate.

One was just a trainee detective at the Los Angeles Police Department, and the other was just a senior profiler at FBI GS-13. They sounded pretty good, but they were no match for the people on the list. The two of them certainly couldn't shake this powerful gang on the surface.

But
These people put on a show in public, but they've been doing dirty tricks behind the scenes.

That doesn't mean he can't learn from it.

In any case, someone has to pay the price for the fact that he laid a hand on his woman.

Otherwise, without a mission reward, who would care about such troublesome matters that have nothing to do with him! He's not some kind of hero!
Thinking of this, Eric looked towards the door and narrowed his eyes slightly.

He needs someone to stand up for him and draw all the attention to him. If his assessment of Rhys is correct, and there is no way to openly seek justice for his comrades, Rhys will definitely take revenge.

--------------

Ten o'clock in the morning.

A ward at Stephenson Medical Center.

Eric sat in a corner of the sofa, the morning light filtering through the blinds and casting dappled shadows at his feet.

Tifa is currently sitting in the FBI field office in Los Angeles, having a difficult three-way meeting with local officials and officers from the Naval Crime Investigation Service (NCIS).

He was well aware of the true nature of this negotiation; the NCIS that took over would inevitably present a carefully packaged truth as an explanation.

Or offer some corresponding benefits as compensation.

This means that Tifa's official investigation will now come to a temporary close.

But Tifa's end was his beginning.

Eric turned his gaze to the opposite side of the sofa.

Having recovered, Rhys stared intently at the laptop screen, the names on the list flashing across his cold pupils one by one.

This guy is indeed a tough character. He only took a few pills and managed to suppress his weakness from last night. His tense expression at the moment makes people forget that he still has a tumor in his brain.

Sensing the impending outburst of emotions from Rhys, Eric lowered his eyelids.

Before giving the list of names on the USB drive to Reese, he had already told Reese everything, including the obstacles their investigation had encountered.

Perhaps seeing a certain name, Rhys's finger, which was scrolling through the page, suddenly stopped. Eric noticed a vein throbbing in his temple, a physiological reaction that only occurs when one is suppressing a headache.

“Eric, this list is more interesting than I expected.” Reese’s voice was eerily calm, as if he were commenting on something that had nothing to do with him.

"Three Capitol Hill names, two Department of Defense names, and..."

Riston paused: "My direct superior when I was in the Navy SEALs."

(End of this chapter)