You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

"I don't like low floors; preferably above the tenth floor. No windows facing the street, or the windows must be bulletproof. If not, I'll replace them myself; you can pay for it."

"There must be a separate underground parking garage, and the elevator must be able to go directly there without any stops in the public lobby, and it's not allowed for just any pizza delivery guy to come up and knock on my door."

"Finally, there must be a backup escape route, or the balcony structure must be suitable for a rapid descent."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

Raymond's fingers, which were about to search for properties on the computer, froze in mid-air.

He pushed up his slipped-down glasses and stared at the computer screen in astonishment.

Is this supposed to be a rental?

"Wait... Vance."

Raymond swallowed hard, his tone becoming somewhat strange:

"You...you're already on guard against retaliation from the gang?"

"Otherwise what?"

Lyon naturally retorted:

"Last night I led my team to kill over a dozen people and also offended the Blood Gang drug dealers. Do you think they'll send me a banner of appreciation?"

"It's always better to be prepared than to have someone sneak into your bedroom in the middle of the night and slit your throat."

Raymond gasped.

He worked in the police station for more than ten years in administration, and he had seen many ruthless people as well as many cowards.

But this was the first time he had ever seen someone like Lyon, who had just finished a battle last night and whose injuries hadn't fully healed, start neurotically planning a safe house this morning.

Most police officers are either still basking in the joy of being heroes or bragging in a bar, only to start to feel the fear when their windows are smashed by bricks.

"Okay... alright then. Since you're the professional, we'll do it your way."

Raymond sighed and his fingers flew across the keyboard.

"There are plenty of neighborhoods like this in Seattle. As long as you have the money, I can find you a place with an air-raid shelter."

"There's one more question."

Lyon's voice came again:

"My name cannot appear on the rental agreement for this apartment."

"I want it to have absolutely nothing to do with me on paper, so that no journalist, lawyer, or any guy who digs up information from the internet can find out where I live when they check public records. Is that possible?"

"hiss……"

Raymond really had a toothache this time.

"Vans, you're giving me a hard time."

"Under Washington state law, renting a house requires registration in your name, and your credit history and Social Security number (SSN) will also be checked. If you want to claim reimbursements through your company account, you must have a contract on file."

"If I don't put your name on it, how will the finance department approve it? What if the audit bureau investigates? This is a serious crime in the United States, called embezzlement or tax fraud."

"Furthermore, under the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA), the media has the right to request access to the police department's expense details. If they discover that the department is paying rent but cannot identify the tenants, that would be big news."

That's your problem.

Lyon wasn't buying it at all:

"Chief Sterling said you're a professional. If you can't even handle this little thing, then I'll have to ask her if she can get me a more professional butler."

"No, no, no! Don't go looking for that she-devil!"

Raymond immediately cowered when he heard Sterling's name.

Just kidding, I just got divorced. If I get fired for something like this, I'll have no choice but to become a homeless person.

He gritted his teeth, his mind racing.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up.

"Fine, since you insist on doing it this way..."

"Actually, there is a way."

"We can pursue the path of civil asset confiscation."

"Listen, Vance. While I can't rent it to you directly, I happen to have a batch of... special properties."

"Some time ago, the anti-drug team seized a luxury apartment in the city center. The original owner was a Russian money laundering expert, and the house was registered under one of his shell companies."

"According to the procedure, this house should enter the foreclosure process in six months."

"But we can temporarily retain it, nominally as 'evidence in an ongoing investigation'."

"In this way, the house remains under the name of that Russian shell company, and the utility bills are automatically deducted from that frozen account, so they can't trace you."

"You're living inside, ostensibly to 'guard evidence' or 'carry out an undercover mission.'"

"You don't need to write your name, and no one can find you. Unless someone can break into the precinct's top-secret archives with a federal judge's search warrant."

"How is it? Is this plan safe enough? Is it professional enough?"

"Okay, let's do it that way. Send me the key and address as soon as it's done."

Raymond heard the sound of keyboard clicks and enter keys coming from his end.

"Okay, if there's nothing else, I'll hang up now. I need to catch up on some sleep, or I'll die of exhaustion."

"Wait a minute, Garcia. There's something else."

Leon suddenly called out to him.

"What is it now, my goodness? Are you trying to rent the White House too?"

Raymond's voice sounded like he was on the verge of collapse.

"That's not necessary."

Lyon smiled casually:

"When you were clearing evidence at the scene last night, did your men... find a Remington M24 sniper rifle? The kind with a Leupold high-powered scope?"

That was a huge item he redeemed with a whopping 800 points.

The situation was urgent. We had run out of bullets and were in a hurry to charge down, so we just threw them into the grass because they were in the way.

Although he was later carried onto an ambulance, he didn't forget his friend.

That's a top-of-the-line version produced by the system, with an excellent feel. If it were destroyed as evidence or stolen by some ignorant person, he would be heartbroken.

Now that we have Raymond as our housekeeper, it's time to reclaim this asset.

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by the sound of pages being turned.

"The M24...the one with the high-powered night vision scope?"

Raymond's voice sounded somewhat puzzled:

"There is indeed one. It's in the unclassified weapons section of the evidence list."

"This gun is very strange. It has no serial number, no factory stamp, and almost no signs of wear. It's a ghost gun."

"The forensic team was still wondering where those gangsters who only knew how to hold guns horizontally got their hands on such high-quality military-grade equipment. In the end, they could only conclude that it was left behind by some mercenary..."

At this point, Raymond's voice suddenly stopped.

All that could be heard on the other end of the phone was heavy breathing.

Raymond may be a fat office worker, but he's not stupid.

He personally polished last night's action report.

It is clearly stated in the testimonies of Harrison and the other group members:

The enemy had a sniper, and he was taken out.

Then, Team Leader Leon Vance provided precise long-range fire support from the high ground, blowing out the tires and suppressing the enemy infantry.

So here's the question.

As a team leader with a background as a patrol officer, how did Leon provide long-range sniper support?

Blow it with your mouth?