American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 100 Two People

Medvedeva gently stroked the cold bottle of liquor with her fingers, her voice unusually calm: "I am well aware of my situation. That USB drive is still in my office, and it could be taken out at any time by those above to appease the restless people in the department after the purge and to quell the anger of certain individuals."

She paused. "What crime will I be charged with? Leaking secrets? Treason? Will I be secretly executed?"

She raised the bottle, her gaze piercing through the amber liquid as she stared directly at the manager, her expression eerily calm.

The supervisor met her gaze, his voice low and menacing: "They planned this all along. Once you bring that list back to the department from Doyle and into that conference room, they'll get rid of you immediately."

"The charge is simple: stealing state secrets, causing a serious leak. You will be secretly arrested and secretly executed. All your files and records will disappear from this world along with you."

The convenience store's refrigerated display case emitted a low hum.

Medvedeva put the bottle back on the shelf, her voice calm: "But you've clearly still managed to get me an opportunity?"

The manager took a case of beer from the shelf and weighed it in his hand: "It's up to you. Do you want to keep struggling, or just give up?"

He lowered his voice: "You and I both know the source of the intelligence leak. My intervention to protect you means that the faction is willing to support my plan and will not sabotage your operation."

“This was your chance to turn things around.” The manager handed the case of beer to Medvedeva. “But you’ve messed it up.”

Medvedeva silently accepted the beer.

The supervisor continued, "We've never met, and I didn't know you'd returned to England. Pack up your files and head to Russia. It's better to be a traitor than to die unjustly."

"The department is in complete chaos right now, and there's simply no one to deal with the KGB. Take the documents with you, and they'll protect you."

As the supervisor turned to leave, Medusa suddenly spoke up: "Could you help me one more time?"

The supervisor stopped and turned around, frowning: "What?"

"Can you help me one more time?" Medvedeva repeated, her voice soft but unusually firm.

The manager looked around; the convenience store was empty except for the night shift cashier, who was grinning foolishly at the television.

He walked back to Medea and lowered his voice: "Help you? Medea, I assure you it's not out of kindness, but because you still have value to them and can solve the Downing Street case. Now? How can I help?"

“Five days from now, the department will secretly arrest you for leaking secrets as planned, and then,” the supervisor paused, “so you have five days to leave England. Take care of yourself, there’s nothing I can do.”

He turned around again, and Medvedeva's voice rang out behind him: "I want to live."

The supervisor did not stop.

Medvedeva raised her voice slightly: "I'm going to take care of Bianca."

The supervisor turned around, a look of shock flashing in his eyes: "Are you fucking crazy?"

Medea met his gaze: "I'll deal with Bianca, and you'll arrange for me to take over her investigation. I can handle the rest of the department and make Jackal and Beta the same person. That's my explanation to the higher-ups."

The manager's gaze pierced through the gaps in the supermarket shelves, fixing on Medea, who stood in front of the refrigerated liquor counter. The convenience store lights cast a shadow on his face, making his expression appear particularly somber.

“I don’t want to die.” Medvedeva’s voice was very soft: “And it’s even more impossible for me to abandon the status and identity I’ve earned at all costs, to flee to Russia like a stray dog ​​with the documents and become a traitor.”

She looked directly at her supervisor and said, "This is the sincerity I can offer to the higher-ups. Can you help me one more time?"

The manager slowly walked back to Medvedeva, stopping a step away from her and silently gazing at the stubborn woman with a complex and unreadable expression. The convenience store's refrigerated display case was still humming.

The supervisor slowly raised his hand, placed his palm on the glass door of the refrigerator, and gently tapped it with his fingertips.

“You’re more ruthless than I thought.” His voice was so soft it was almost drowned out by the noise of the freezer.

“That’s good, but Meda Lake,” the supervisor leaned forward, so close he could see the reflection in Meda’s pupils, “I’ve already gambled once for you. If it weren’t for me, you would be a concrete block in the Atlantic Ocean by now.”

He straightened up, took a can of beer from the shelf, and the metal pull tab made a crisp "click".

“If I protect you once and you fail, they’ll just think I have bad judgment.” The supervisor took a sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “If I protect you again and you fail again, I’ll be labeled as your accomplice. Then it won’t just be you who has to be dealt with, but me too.”

The cold beer can was placed in Medvedeva's hand, and the condensed water droplets spread into a wet patch on her palm.

The supervisor's voice was tinged with weariness: "Give me a reason, Medvedeva. I have children to support at home."

Medvedeva took a step forward, closing the distance between them: "Why did you help me the first time?"

The supervisor's gaze wandered, finally settling on the dazzling array of wine bottles in the refrigerated display case, and he remained silent.

"Is it because of me?" Medvedeva asked softly.

The supervisor turned his gaze back to her, looking at her with a complicated expression: "What do you think?"

Medvedeva held up the can of beer that her supervisor had drunk from.

She tilted her head back, her Adam's apple bobbing up and down with each swallow, the cool liquor spilling from the corner of her mouth, sliding down the curve of her chin, and finally disappearing deep into her collar.

The sound of the aluminum can being gulped down was particularly clear in the convenience store. With a "crack," Medvedeva crushed the empty can, the metal twisting and deforming in her palm.

She looked directly into her supervisor's eyes, her voice hoarse but firm: "Help me one more time. I'll agree to any conditions."

Their eyes met under the convenience store lights.

The supervisor clearly saw the emotions surging in Medvedeva's eyes like a tide, from a desperate gamble to hesitant hesitation, then to painful struggle, and finally solidified into a deathly despair.

He waited patiently until the despair subsided before slowly lowering his gaze.

In Medvedeva's tightly clenched hand, the edge of the crushed beer can had cut her skin, and dark red blood was slowly seeping out from the crack in the aluminum.

The supervisor released his left hand from the refrigerator and gently placed both hands over Medusa's taut fingers. His movements were light but forceful as he pried open her tightly clenched fingers one by one, removed the deformed metal can, and tossed it into the nearby trash can.

“Go back and take care of your wound.” The supervisor lifted her bleeding hand, his fingertips tracing the thin, long cut. His voice was lower than usual: “I also need to go back and make arrangements for my child.”

When the supervisor looked up again, his gaze sharp as a knife, he said, "Meva Lake, I'll gamble with you one last time."

He released her hand: "Either you succeed and you officially enter the core of the conservatives; or we both wait to be stuffed into gasoline drums, filled with cement, and sunk into the sea."

“Go back to France, and come back openly and honestly.” The supervisor turned around: “I hope you understand what I’m risking with this decision.”

(End of this chapter)