"Beep, beep, beep…"
As the call connected, the Church, irritated at having his breakfast interrupted, complained, "Damn it! Don't you know it's only 7 AM in New York? Interrupting someone's family breakfast is incredibly rude, you know that?"
"Family? Have you patched things up with your wife and daughter? My apologies, Church. Why don't you call me back after you finish your meeting with Susan Plummer? We can talk then," William teased.
"Wait!" The Church quickly stood up, apologizing to his wife and daughter, "Sorry, dear. I'll be back soon to finish breakfast with you." He took the phone and stepped out of the dining room. "Damn it, what now? How do you know Susan's coming to see me? William Devonshire, are you seriously spying on a U.S. Special Operations planning director? F***, you've crossed the line!"
"Hah, I crossed the line? No, no, no. It's your subordinate who crossed the line, Church. Susan is coming after *us*, and I mean *us*, not just me," William's voice dripped with sarcasm. "If I go down, you won't come out unscathed either."
"Our problem?" It didn't take the Church long to figure it out. "Susan's still stuck on the Bilena Island situation?"
"That's right. For the past two months, your subordinate has been trying to dig up dirt on me. She even wants to control me," William chuckled. "I've got to say, you Special Ops folks sure have guts. Sending a former CIA black beret to infiltrate an ally's camp without authorization? Tell me, Church, how should I handle this spy, or was this part of your plan all along?"
"F*** you," the Church cursed under his breath. "If I were sending someone, I'd send a gorgeous woman to get close to you. How dumb do you think I am, sending a black beret? As if you don't already have plenty of operatives under your command."
The Church was furious. He had hinted to Susan before not to meddle in this case, but apparently, she had ignored him. Not only had she ignored him, but she'd also secretly sent someone to infiltrate William's ranks. Now that they'd been discovered, and William had traced it all back to him, it felt like a slap in the face.
His expression darkened, and with an emotionless voice, he said, "Do as you wish. You've already said he's an *ex*-CIA black beret. Since he's no longer active duty, whether he lives or dies has nothing to do with us."
"Heh, you said it. Once he's sent to meet his maker, don't even think about using this to threaten me. Just give me a call after you meet with Susan. Let's hope she truly won't stick her nose where it doesn't belong. You wouldn't want a subordinate who disobeys orders and tries to undermine her boss, right?"
"Talk to you later," the Church said, hanging up, then started getting dressed to head to the New York Special Ops headquarters.
After ending the call, William smiled smugly as he walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He took a sip, relishing the satisfaction. It seemed his efforts to project the image of a man who couldn't resist a beautiful woman had paid off, far better than he had expected. Not only had he exposed the assassins trying to target him, but he had also thoroughly confused the Church.
Of course, William didn't believe all his enemies were fools. He knew some might hesitate because of the persona he projected, while others who didn't know him well would walk right into his trap. Any beautiful woman sent to seduce him would be like a meat bun thrown to a dog—gone without a trace. Or rather, more like a candy-coated bullet sent back with explosive force.
What pleased him even more was that Robert McCall, who he had invited to London, had been thrown under the bus by the Church, labeled a discardable asset. Even Susan, a CIA director-level figure, was about to meet the same fate.
An hour later, William's phone rang again. As soon as he picked up, the Church got straight to the point, "What do you want to do?"
"Heh," William smirked, immediately realizing that Susan hadn't kept her promise to McCall to back off. "I've heard there's been a murder in Brussels, Belgium. One of your people was the victim. Send Susan to investigate. Someone will take care of her for us."
"That's it?"
"Of course. Isn't it better if we don't have to get our hands dirty? In the end, it'll all trace back to an internal mole. You might even use the mole-hunting as a way to get promoted. And if that happens, you'll have me to thank."
"F*** you. I'll be lucky if I'm not dragged down by the mole. This is my most secure line. Use it if you need to reach me again. Goodbye. No, better yet, I hope we never speak again. By the way, I want ten of those bulletproof suits you're selling. Consider it compensation for pretending I don't know anything."
"Ten suits? Haha, you've got a big appetite. Ten suits would sell for fifty million pounds. I'll give you two. Take it or leave it. Just send me the measurements. Bye."
"Bastard," the Church muttered, staring at the dial tone. He shook his head helplessly and leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. He knew full well that the agent killed in Brussels had been one of his, and it was William who had arranged for him to be eliminated, just to create an excuse to send Susan out of the country.
But the Bilena Island incident involved not just himself but higher-ups in the agency. If it were uncovered that Special Ops had been collaborating with local warlords to grow and sell "flour," the fallout could be devastating, and it might even lead to his own death. So, if Susan didn't die, who would?
Sitting silently for half a day, he was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come in."
"Boss, there's been an incident."
The Church, pretending to be focused on a file, casually asked, "What's going on?"
"Colbert was killed in Belgium."
"Who? Colbert?" the Church asked, surprised.
"Yes, boss. It was Colbert. What should we do?"
The Church thought for a moment. "Who do you think should be sent to investigate?"
His subordinate was about to suggest a name when he noticed a file on the Church's desk, with a retirement report showing just a corner of Susan's photograph peeking out. His eyes lit up. "Susan. She's the most experienced. She'd be perfect for a case like this."
The Church glanced at his subordinate, then followed his gaze to the report on his desk. He quickly grabbed the report and shoved it into a drawer, glaring at the subordinate. After pretending to think for a while, he finally said, "Alright, but you'll be responsible. If Susan messes this up, I'll hold you accountable."
His subordinate, pleased, nodded quickly. "Understood, sir. I'll notify Susan right away to prepare for her trip to Brussels."
"Good. Don't make it a habit. Now get out."
"Yes, sir. I'm leaving now."
Once the subordinate left, the Church grinned, pulling the report back out. He took Susan's file from inside and walked over to the shredder. With a few mechanical whirs, the document was reduced to tiny scraps.
If anyone were in the office at that moment, they would have seen that apart from Susan's file at the top, the rest of the report was just blank sheets of paper. It was clear that the Church had used this fake report to subtly hint to the subordinate, ensuring that when something happened to Susan, it would have no connection to him.
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