Chapter 183: Gathering
"It was them who forced me, save me."
Under the influence of adrenaline, the two seriously injured men couldn't even faint. Jack ignored Baker, leaving the old man alive as evidence for Stevenson and Finley.
Only by seeing and hearing all this with their own eyes and ears could they firmly take a stand. This proved effective as Stevenson's earlier hint of reluctance had turned into burning anger.
Jack grabbed Dawson, dragging him to the kitchen table. He picked up a kitchen knife and stuck it by Dawson's ear.
"I promise you, as long as you answer honestly, you'll be sent to the hospital. Otherwise, I'll cut off your balls and make you swallow them, just like you did to others."
Dawson shuddered. Initially thinking he was doomed, his eyes now showed a desperate desire to live.
"Swear to God you'll spare me."
Jack, growing impatient, grabbed the kitchen knife and cut Dawson's belt.
"I swear to God, if you tell me everything you know, I promise you'll be taken to the hospital."
"Why didn't Little Kleiner show up today?"
The interrogation didn't take long. The reason for Little Kleiner's absence was that the counterfeit money shipment was scheduled for tonight, precisely at three in the morning.
The Kleiners were indeed planning to flee. The Venezuelan mercenaries were not only there to help but also to expedite the goods.
Due to the Coast Guard's six-month blockade, the Kleiner family's counterfeit money couldn't be shipped in bulk, and the South American buyers had lost patience.
Now that the blockade was over, if they couldn't ship enough goods quickly, the next ones nailed to the wall would be the Kleiners.
They had accumulated counterfeit money worth nearly fifty billion, weighing over 50 tons with packaging, and planned to transport it in three trucks to the port in one go.
To prevent accidents, Little Kleiner even hired an FBI agent to escort them. Once the counterfeit money was shipped, they planned to burn down the entire ranch to destroy all evidence.
Knowing that Finley was unaware his old FBI friend was a traitor, Jack forced Dawson to reveal the FBI agent's name.
"Picard, that's all I know."
"Fuck, I thought he was my friend," Finley cursed again.
Jack smiled, "At least he advised you not to come to this town, didn't he?"
Jack then pulled out his silenced FK7.5 and shot Dawson in the head. In the living room, Braxton also shot and killed the dying Baker.
"Holy shit, didn't you swear to God?" Finley was startled.
"Your swearing is getting worse," Jack glanced at him. "I swore to send him to the hospital, didn't promise to send him alive. I'll sign him up for organ donation later."
Turning to Stevenson with a complicated expression, Jack said, "Sorry for messing up your kitchen, but I guess you won't be staying here long. Once this is over, leave this damn place early."
Stevenson nodded numbly, "We're planning to move to Tupelo to live with my parents. The education there is better."
As they moved the bodies, Jack took out his phone and called Rachel. Before he could speak, he heard good news.
"You really found Paul? That's great. Just letting you know, don't go to the mayor's house. He's with the Kleiners. They're making a big deal today."
Jack hung up and called Ray King, informing him of the change in plans. The raid was now unavoidable, or all evidence would be destroyed in a fire by morning.
"Will you come with us?" Jack asked Stevenson, who was holding his wife.
The young town cop gritted his teeth, glanced at his wife, and tightened his grip on his shotgun.
"I'll go with you. I want to kill those bastards."
Jack quickly reassured him, "No need to risk your life. Just come along with your wife and act as hostages."
Stevenson hesitated, but his wife, clutching his arm, agreed immediately.
"Charley is my cousin. It's great she's okay. I've been calling her and Paul these past few days. You saved us; we can't do nothing."
Jack found the quick shift in her emotions puzzling, but it saved some effort. After reallocating the vehicles, Jack continued driving his Firebird with Finley as a passenger, Stevenson and his wife in the GMC the killers had brought, and Braxton in the truck loaded with bodies.
The three vehicles headed towards the Kleiner family ranch.
Zoe and Hannah were hidden behind a small hill, about a kilometer from the ranch buildings, but climbing to the top reduced the distance to around 300 meters, within Hannah's confident range for using the Barrett M82A1M at night.
To avoid exposure, Zoe and Hannah waited by the roadside on the other side of the hill after scouting the area.
Both girls still wore their tight black outfits from the previous night but added bulletproof vests.
Jack greeted them after getting out of the car and was surprised to see Chris in a wheelchair, pushed by Dana.
"The hospital has his subordinate and girlfriend protecting it. Ray King's men are also there. I can't take a bullet for nothing; I have to pay it back."
Chris's knees were propped up with a silenced and scoped HK417 sniper rifle, which, with a 20-inch barrel, was accurate enough for the job.
"Whatever makes you happy."
Jack had no words. The hill wasn't high, and with Braxton's help, it wouldn't be too hard to get Chris up.
"Really, I don't need to go up? I've been in good shape lately."
Old Hunter, also in a bulletproof vest, twirled his Colt Python revolver on his finger before holstering it. Behind him, Didi guarded the Heuberg family.
After much persuasion, Jack convinced the old man to abandon his plans for a comeback. Meanwhile, Rachel and Roscoe arrived with Paul.
It was still early, not yet midnight. While the Heubergs and Stevensons reunited, the rest gathered by Jack's car to discuss tactics.
To verify Dawson's information, Jack had Paul draw the factory layout while listening in.
"There are about 50 people inside, with one-third being workers. The South American mercenaries numbered over 30, but we've taken out ten in the past two days."
"Counting the Kleiners' men, we face about 30 armed men, including an FBI agent."
Zoe added details she and Hannah had observed.
"Their security is tight tonight. I saw at least six patrols outside, two men each, changing shifts every 20 minutes. They're armed with Uzi submachine guns and UMP45s."
Braxton suggested using fire to drive them out, which Rachel immediately vetoed.
"The place is full of flammable chemicals used for cleaning ink. It could explode, and if all the evidence burns, the IRS won't help us."
"We need to engage from a distance without fire, but we don't have enough smoke grenades for such a large building."
Jack was stumped. The ranch was large and isolated, so noise wasn't a concern, but they couldn't delay, especially with an FBI agent inside. Who knew what might happen by morning?
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