Chapter 162

Chapter 162

"Report!"

A squad leader ran over, breathing hard as he delivered his update.

"The assassin shot himself after taking a bullet, but… we found shell casings from a second sniper rifle at the scene. There were at least two of them!"

"One got away?" Jack's eyebrow lifted slightly.

"Yes, sir. The individual was highly professional—used the gap in our suppressive fire to escape through the storm drains. We're tracking him now."

Jack let out a cold laugh.

He'd expected as much. They wouldn't be caught that easily.

Anyone bold enough to attempt an assassination on Jeremy had clearly planned this out.

The sewer system was a labyrinth. Tracking someone down there would be nearly impossible.

"Call off the pursuit." Jack waved dismissively, his gaze fixed on the pitch-black night sky. "This was just a probe. If they're desperate enough to silence him this quickly, it means we've got them rattled."

He turned and headed back toward the armored vehicle.

"Joseph, get in. We're heading back."

"Yes, sir!" Joseph forced himself upright and hauled Jeremy off the ground.

If they were brazen enough to send assassins in broad daylight—right in front of Jack and all these soldiers—they had to be cornered.

Perfect.

The more desperate they got, the sloppier they'd become.

And it only confirmed Jeremy's value.

The armored vehicle's engine roared through the empty compound, tires crunching over gravel.

Jack pushed open the door, his combat boots hitting the muddy ground with a heavy thud. He glanced back at Jeremy, who was being half-dragged out of the vehicle by Joseph, stumbling on unsteady legs.

Jeremy's face was ghostly pale, forehead slick with cold sweat, legs still trembling uncontrollably. The assassination attempt had shattered whatever was left of his composure.

"Take him to the interrogation room." Jack's voice was quiet but absolute.

"Yes, sir." Joseph nodded and hauled Jeremy toward a building deeper in the compound.

The interrogation room was underground. Dim yellow lighting. Cold concrete walls on all sides. A metal table, two chairs, one glaring desk lamp—nothing else.

Jeremy was shoved into a chair, his wrists cuffed to an iron ring bolted to the table. He hung his head, breathing raggedly, his entire body limp as wet clay.

Jack entered and shut the door behind him with a decisive click.

He didn't speak right away. Instead, he circled Jeremy slowly, his boots striking the concrete floor in a steady, deliberate rhythm.

Each footfall landed like a hammer blow on Jeremy's chest.

"You know that bullet almost went through your skull just now, right?" Jack finally spoke, his tone terrifyingly calm.

Jeremy flinched violently, lips trembling, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Someone wants you dead." Jack stepped in front of him and leaned down, palms flat on the table, eyes sharp as blades. "And they couldn't even wait. They made their move in broad daylight."

"Right in front of me."

"Seems like you know quite a bit."

Jeremy's body continued to shake. He hadn't fully recovered from the brush with death, the terror still gripping him tight. He stared at the glaring desk lamp as if it were the mouth of an abyss, pupils shrinking from sheer panic.

"I… I don't know… I really don't know anything!" he babbled, voice hoarse as sandpaper, cold sweat streaming down his ashen face and dripping onto the iron table.

"Don't know?" Jack let out a cold laugh, a flicker of mockery in his eyes.

Jack reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, slipping one between his lips. A soft click followed as his windproof lighter flared to life, the blue flame dancing briefly in the dim room, illuminating his sharp, composed features.

He took a long drag. Pale blue smoke curled lazily upward through the harsh lamplight, filling the space with suffocating pressure.

Then Jack leaned down and held the cigarette out to Jeremy between his long fingers.

"Take a drag." Jack's voice was low and rough through the smoke. "Calm yourself down."

Jeremy froze.

He stared at the burning cigarette, then at Jack's unfathomable eyes, his mind completely blank. Instinctively, he parted his trembling lips and accepted the cigarette.

Jeremy inhaled sharply—too sharply. He choked violently, coughing until tears streamed down his face. But he didn't dare drop the cigarette. He clutched it like a lifeline in this frozen hell.

Jack watched his pitiful display without a trace of sympathy. He straightened up, hands sliding into his pockets, looking down at the broken man from above.

"Nicotine might help you think a little clearer, Jeremy." Jack's voice was unnervingly steady. "That last shot missed. The next one won't."

He paused, his gaze like a blade aimed straight at Jeremy's heart. "They couldn't wait even one more second. What does that tell you? It means whatever's in your head is worth ten thousand times more than your life. Right now, you're a ticking time bomb. And I'm the only one who can keep you alive."

Jeremy's hand shook so badly he could barely hold the cigarette. Ash fell onto the table in trembling flakes. He gasped for air, the fear in his eyes slowly giving way to desperate struggle.

"I hate wasting time."

"So I'm giving you three minutes to decide."

"Either you tell me everything you know, or I hand you over to the Justice Department right now."

"But."

"Think it through."

"Once you walk out that door, do you really think you'll survive?"

That final sentence was the last straw.

Jeremy's hand jerked violently. Hot ash fell onto the back of his hand, leaving a red mark, but he didn't seem to feel the pain.

Being "handed over to the Justice Department" was more lethal than the sniper's bullet.

He knew exactly what would happen if he fell into 'their' hands. It wouldn't be a fair trial—it would be a quiet, convenient "accident." And his family might get dragged down with him.

"No… don't hand me over!"

Jeremy shot up from his chair like he'd been electrocuted, the handcuffs clanging violently against the iron table.

He snapped his head up, his previously unfocused eyes now burning with raw terror and survival instinct. He locked eyes with Jack as if staring at the only god who could pull him out of hell.

"I'll talk! I'll tell you everything! Everything I know—I'll tell you all of it!"