Law America, the Devil's Agent

Chapter 90 Professional Team Crisis Early Warning

The atmosphere in the investigation office had become unusually strange these past few days.

Costello sat at his workstation, his drawer filled with files that had already been organized.

The personnel transfer records of Crawford and Mosley, as well as a draft of an internal investigation report that he had prepared overnight.

These things should have been delivered to Link the day before yesterday.

But he can't do it now.

He glanced at the corner of the ceiling out of the corner of his eye:

There was a brand new spherical camera there, with its lens pointed directly at his workstation.

There's more than one.

Two more were added to the corridor, and another was installed next to the fire safety sign at the entrance to the office area.

He looked away and focused his gaze back on the computer screen in front of him, his fingers mechanically typing out unimportant daily reports.

Surprisingly, the office was full of people.

None of the colleagues went out to have fun or left their posts without permission; instead, they were all laughing and joking around in the room.

Even Ferran, who is usually elusive, was sitting in his office, as steady as a rock.

Costello took Momo's internal investigation report out of the drawer; then locked it back in.

He needs to get these materials to Link.

However, the investigation office has very strict internal regulations:

No work documents may be taken out of the office area without permission. Mobile phones must be stored in the safe at the front desk after get off work. Any electronic transmission involving sensitive information must go through the approval process via the internal encrypted email system, and the approval authority is in the hands of Ferran.

This power, which was once practically meaningless in the hands of this idle manager, has now become a real obstacle for Costello, sitting firmly in his office.

He has been trapped here for two days.

During that time, Link sent him a message urging him to hurry up.

He couldn't just sit there waiting; he needed to find a way out undetected amidst the filing cabinets, cameras, and the silent gazes of the entire office.

Costello.

He raised his head.

Ferran was standing at the door of his office, holding a steaming cup of coffee, his smile relaxed and friendly.

He beckoned Costello over.

"There is a document that requires you to go to the parish court's records office."

Retrieving original documents from an old case isn't a major matter, but it requires a formal staff member from the investigation office to personally handle the handover.

He placed a bunch of keys on the table and pushed them towards Costello:

The archive room key, the temporary access card to the side gate of the court, and your office mobile phone.

"You can leave work once you've handed over the documents; you don't need to go back to the office. Keep your phone with you; contact me if needed."

Costello was overjoyed. He suppressed his excitement, reached out to take the items, nodded, and walked outside.

Ferran stood behind the office blinds, watching Costello's figure disappear at the end of the corridor through the gaps.

He put the coffee cup back on the table, took his phone out of his pocket, and dialed a number.

The office was as usual, everyone was happily discussing and laughing at the union meeting, and no one cared about the disappearance of the outcast in this space.

The call was connected.

Amidst the noise and laughter, Ferran made no attempt to conceal his intentions:

"Took the bait."

"Get it."

A rough voice confirmed the call.

After hanging up, the roar of an engine could be heard in the background.

Philadelphia, at a car repair shop.

This is not just an abandoned wasteland, but also the headquarters of Flamingo Private Defense Company.

Behind the roller shutter door were several bulletproof modified black SUVs, and the walls were covered with modified weapon racks.

An old portable speaker is blasting deafening heavy metal rock.

Several old sofas soaked in grease formed a semicircle, on which sat dozens of men wearing tactical vests. Some were cleaning guns, some were smoking, and some were tilting their heads back and chugging beer.

The roller shutter door was suddenly pushed open from the outside.

Hughes walked in.

His beard stretched from his chin all the way to his ears, and his neck was covered with faded military tattoos.

He is the owner of this private defense company.

Everyone in the room stood up, and a long-lost silence fell over the room.

"Business is here, you kids."

Hughes walked to a makeshift tactical table and tossed a folder onto it.

Inside are two headshots and several candid photos taken from a distance.

The photo shows a Chinese man and a pastor.

It was Link and Costello.

He pinned the photo to the whiteboard and began assigning tasks in a concise tone: "Target: Two people:

One was a lawyer, and the other was a church investigator.

The two are currently working together to gather evidence against our employer.

Our mission today is not to issue warnings or threats, but to carry out a thorough cleanup.

Therefore, I designed a triple scheme with multiple parallel paths.

The first level is pinpoint sniping.

A strike team was stationed at the entrance of the restaurant where the two men frequently met, and they were to be shot dead during their next rendezvous, with the bodies disposed of on the spot.

The second step is tracking and pursuit. If the first plan fails, we need to start considering a chase.

They were divided into three groups to follow their vehicles.

The third layer is encirclement and strangulation.

If the first two plans fail, set up a mobile encirclement along their escape route, combined with real-time tracking and positioning, to encircle and strangle them.

He laid out a map of North Philadelphia on the billiard table, marked the barbecue restaurant, Curtis's law firm, and the two men's respective addresses in red, and then drew several pursuit routes in different directions between these locations.

His core members surrounded the map, and several veterans had already begun marking sniper positions and ambush points on sticky notes.

A young man sitting in the back row flicked Link's face in the photo with his finger.

"Hey boss, this is just some pretty boy driving a sports car, and we've mobilized so many people for him."

Half the company came.

Hughes put down his pen.

Several veterans nearby instinctively took a step back.

The blond-haired man seemed oblivious to the subtle shift in the atmosphere around him, still grinning and waving the photos.

Hughes slowly stood up, then turned around and slapped the blond-haired man across the face.

The voice was muffled.

The young man fell off the chair, his lip splitting open and blood dripping down his chin onto the greasy cement floor.

Everyone fell silent.

"You think he's a gigolo?"

Why do you think I had to send half my manpower?

Hughes grabbed the blond-haired man by the collar and pulled him up from the ground. He looked at the still-bleeding face and said, "This pretty boy you're talking about who drives a sports car, according to the intelligence I've gathered, single-handedly led his men to wipe out the entire Blood Hand Gang!"

That Blood Hand Gang, which had been entrenched in the North District for so many years, was wiped out in one morning.

How do you think he did it?

Do you really think he just stands in court reading out legal statutes?

He pushed the blond-haired man back into his chair and said coldly, "From now on, we'll operate in groups."

All teams are uniformly equipped with rifles, pistols, and spare magazines. Communication is conducted via encrypted channels, and each team is provided with a spare communicator.

Known members of the opposing team include Costello, and they may also be accompanied by private security personnel.

If a firefight breaks out, leave no survivors.

Everyone whispered to confirm the task assignments and began checking their equipment.

Hughes, seeing that the atmosphere was right, slowly walked off the court.

Once outside, he turned to the driver beside him and whispered, "Let's go. Montier Private Hotel. I'm going to report to my employer."

After Costello finished handing over the documents at the parish court's records office, the first thing he did upon getting into the driver's seat of his car was to contact Link.

"It's me, Attorney Link."

Everything you asked for and everything you prepared is ready.

Meet at our usual spot, right in front of that restaurant.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, then Link's voice came through.

See you at the door.

Costello hung up the phone, turned the steering wheel, and drove out of the courthouse parking lot.

He didn't notice at all that, just as he hurriedly drove out of the parking lot, a black sedan parked across the street also turned on its taillights.

The barbecue restaurant's signboard remains as eye-catching as ever.

Costello parked the car in his usual spot next to the restaurant, picked up the brown paper bag containing the paper files from the passenger seat, and quickly walked towards the restaurant.

Link was already waiting there.

He leaned against the car door, holding nothing in his hands, but when he saw Costello walking quickly over, he was about to give a slight greeting when his expression suddenly changed!

He seemed to have sensed something.

Then Costello approached.

The two shook hands, and Costello handed over the brown paper bag, about to speak.

[Crisis Premonition - Expert Level] Triggered!

The hairs on Link's back stood on end!

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