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"You..."
Chris had been admiring Morin's handiwork when a thought finally caught up to him. He slapped his forehead.
"I almost let you fool me."
"You said earlier you were going to arrest two people."
"Who are they?"
"And don't pull something like this again," Chris added with a warning tone. "You'll make things very difficult for me."
"Relax," Morin waved it off. "When have I ever acted without a plan? I won't cause you trouble."
"I'm heading to Wisconsin. This time, I'm only arresting two ordinary people."
"Ordinary people?" Chris was puzzled. "Then why even report it to me?"
"They're ordinary," Morin replied calmly. "But the person close to them isn't."
"Their son is the CIA agent I'm working with. Once the CIA realizes the list is gone, they'll move fast. The intelligence is too sensitive. They won't hesitate to use extreme measures."
"So you're arresting his parents first... to protect them?" Chris immediately got it and nodded.
"Go for it."
"I like how straightforward you are, Director," Morin smiled. "I'll teach you how to drive when I get back."
"F***," Chris grimaced. "Can you not say that in such a disgusting way? And that 'when I get back'-don't you always say that's basically planting a flag?"
"Ah," Morin paused. "You're right."
"But that rule doesn't apply to me."
"Why?"
"Because I'm strong enough," Morin said as he walked away. "And solid enough."
Wisconsin.
A clothing factory.
Clough Hunt and Maggie Hunt stared in horror at the armed agents who had stormed in.
"W-what do you want?" Clough forced himself to ask.
The lead agent ignored him. He pulled out a photograph and compared it carefully.
"Are you sure?" another agent asked.
"Positive. Exact match."
The lead agent handed the photo back and looked at Clough.
"Clough Hunt. Maggie Hunt. You are suspected of being the ringleaders of an international drug trafficking syndicate. The CIA is placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent-"
"Hold it!"
"Put your guns down!"
"Which department are you from?!"
Shouts erupted from outside.
The lead agent stopped mid-sentence and frowned. An agent rushed in through the door.
"What's happening?"
"The IRS," the agent said stiffly. "The IRS is here."
"What?" The lead agent froze.
Before he could process it, the factory gate was rammed open. A squad of fully armed agents in uniforms marked IRS stormed in, moving in clean, tactical formation.
"Who's in charge here?" Morin asked flatly.
"I'm CIA Level Three agent Steve Ross," Steve said, frowning. "Who are you?"
"IRS Armed Division. Level Four agent. Worsley Baba."
Morin produced a freshly made badge.
"You're CIA?" Morin continued. "Where's your badge? And what exactly are you doing here?"
To ensure nothing could be traced back, Morin was wearing a hyper-realistic human-skin mask. His voice was altered. The badge was authentic.
Even if the CIA investigated later, they would find nothing.
Which meant Morin could act without restraint.
"You don't have the authority to question me," Steve replied after checking the badge. His tone softened slightly. "This operation is classified."
He didn't understand what he was dealing with.
He didn't realize that if IRS agents were ranked by how dangerous they were to offend, the man in front of him would sit alone at the very top.
"Listen carefully," Morin said, stepping forward.
He pressed the muzzle of his gun against Steve's chest.
"I'm asking you a question. I'm being very serious. I'm also exercising extreme restraint."
"I am the IRS."
"And I'm here to arrest someone. Understand?"
He pointed at the stunned Hunt couple.
"Explain your mission. Now."
"Unless you'd like to be charged with obstructing a federal investigation. Or shot."
Steve's heartbeat spiked.
He hadn't expected this level of aggression.
For a split second, both IRS and CIA agents raised their weapons, guns locking onto guns. The air turned rigid.
"Our mission," Steve said quickly, "is to arrest the Hunt couple. According to reliable intelligence, they may be the leaders of an international drug trafficking syndicate."
Secrecy didn't matter anymore.
Faced with the possibility of an armed clash, talking was the only option.
"Oh," Morin nodded, lowering his gun. His tone relaxed.
"You should've said that earlier."
"All right."
"You can leave now."
"...Okay-wait. Leave?" Steve froze after instinctively agreeing.
Why should he leave?
"What else would you do?" Morin asked calmly.
"These two are under IRS arrest. We've monitored them for over a year. They are not drug kingpins. Your intelligence is wrong."
"And even if it wasn't," Morin continued, voice steady, "do you really think the CIA has the authority to take tax evaders we've been investigating for a year... right out of the IRS's hands?"
Steve hesitated.
"Tax... evaders?" he repeated.
"Yes," Morin said. "Severe tax evasion."
He gestured, and one of his agents stepped forward with a thick file prepared long ago.
"So I'm confident your intelligence is incorrect," Morin said. "Do you have any evidence proving they're drug syndicate leaders?"
"I..." Steve fell silent.
He was just an arresting agent. Evidence wasn't his responsibility.
"Since you don't," Morin waved his hand. "We're taking them."
IRS agents immediately moved in.
"And with all due respect," Morin added, not even looking back, "your CIA intelligence department needs retraining."
"Mistaking factory owners for international drug lords?"
"That's embarrassing."
He took the people.
And mocked them while doing it.
This time, Morin didn't bother pretending to be reasonable.