Chapter 512

Ponda staggered to his feet, falling several times. He felt that there was something wrong with his equilibrium.

He was clearly standing, but his senses were telling him that the world was spinning.

He instinctively tried to adjust his balance, only to end up falling to the ground.

He looked back at the house, now a ruin, and at his colleagues trapped under the debris, their mouths opening and closing in agony, yet he couldn’t hear a single sound.

What the fuck, what happened?

His mind was a blank. The massive explosion had left him in a daze.

Even his vision was blurry with afterimages.

He suddenly felt a force from behind push him forward, nearly knocking him to the ground. When he turned back, he saw many of his fellow agents rushing from other areas towards the ruins, using their hands to move things out, to throw them away.

He stood in the crowd, his eyes sometimes dazed, sometimes clear.

After a while, perhaps a few minutes, he gradually came to his senses, and the sounds he had lost returned to his ears.

“Quick, save them…”

“Help…”

“Someone help me!”

“Does anyone have a tourniquet?”

Four men simultaneously dug a mangled body out of the ruins, laid it to one side, and then continued digging.

No one knew how many people were in the house at the time, nor did they know how many had survived. All they knew was that they had to get these people out from under the rubble as quickly as possible.

Ponda also joined the rescue team. He now understood what Lance meant by “don’t get too close to the front.”

At the same time, a shudder of fear, coming from the depths of his soul, ran through him.

If he… had been a little closer, did that mean he would also be buried under the rubble?

“I’ve found Webber!”

Ponda straightened up, immediately dropped what he was doing, and walked towards the voice. A large crowd had already gathered there. He pushed his way to the center of the crowd, and he did indeed see Webber.

But not a complete Webber. Only his upper body, and a mangled upper body at that.

Ponda’s head was buzzing. Although he had known the answer before he came, he was still startled.

He turned to look at the dark wilderness around him, and a disquieting chill rose from the soles of his feet.

In the city, Dale was on the phone with a friend, a capable friend.

“…It’s not that I don’t want to help you, Dale. We’ve known each other for many years. You know what kind of person I am.”

“If there was anything I could do to help you, I definitely would.”

“Your repeated poor performance has made everyone very disappointed in you. The fact that you haven’t been transferred to another place is already the best we could do.”

Dale’s head throbbed as he listened to these words. “I know, so I’m not asking you to do anything for me now. As long as I can be safe, that’s enough.”

“I’m no longer planning to return to Golden State. I’m going to buy a house here and bring my family over…”

As he said these words, Director Dale’s mood clearly dropped. If he could, he didn’t want to resign himself to his fate.

But he had indeed not done a good job.

He had been considering some things lately. When he decided not to return to Golden State, it meant that his bottom line was in jeopardy.

Make a fortune, then retire, had become his subconscious thought. He knew he had this thought, but he was trying his best to deny it, or to ignore it as much as possible.

At the same time, he also knew very well that one day he would have to face this problem clearly and take that step.

Crimes of office—many people had done it. It was actually no big deal.

His friend on the other end of the line coughed. Director Dale sensed that something was wrong. “You’re calling me, it can’t be just to say a few irrelevant words. Is there something you want to say?”

“Tell me!”

He added some force to his tone. His friend was silent for a few seconds before saying, “Golden Port is a rapidly developing and important city, both in terms of its international role and its geographical location in the Federation. So, some people are very interested in your position.”

The first half of the sentence didn’t seem to be a problem to Director Dale, which was why the final twist almost caught him off guard.

“You’re saying, someone is interested in my position? Who?”

“We are good friends, so I’m willing to tell you the truth… several people.”

“Damn it!”

“You fucking called me in the middle of the night just to tell me that someone is trying to kick me out of this position?”

“Fuck, fuck you, brother!”

Director Dale’s sharp shouts echoed in his office.

His friend on the other end of the line waited for a while. After his emotions had stabilized a bit, he continued, “The Prohibition Committee recently received a report that mentioned the problem of smuggled liquor in Likalai State.”

“23% of the Federation’s smuggled liquor enters the Federation through Likalai State. Its long coastline has become a favorite spot for smugglers.”

“And it’s too close to Yalan.”

“You know what I mean.”

Director Dale had spent a considerable amount of time in Golden State. He certainly understood the meaning behind these words.

It wasn’t that a large amount of smuggled liquor was coming in through this channel, making Prohibition a joke.

It meant that there were huge interests at stake.

Interest is the true driving force of the world. With interest, there is desire, there is demand.

Someone had set their sights on the interests here, and he didn’t have the ability to hold on to his power, so someone wanted to move him aside.

Like moving a piece on a chessboard, they would pinch his head and then toss him aside.

If he could cooperate, there was a high probability that he could still remain on the board. But if he didn’t cooperate, then he would be thrown into the chess box.

“One of them is even a local of yours, from the State Prohibition Committee. Don’t tell anyone I said this.”

“That… Webber, his uncle is lobbying.”

Director Dale cursed again. After cursing a few times, he became very dejected, because he had no ability to resist this matter.

The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Hazardous Materials, from its inception, was a vertical department, directly responsible to the members of the Congressional Prohibition Committee.

The purpose of this was to prevent the Bureau of Hazardous Materials from being suppressed by local governments, as local economic policies and protection strategies could conflict with some law enforcement content.

This also meant that the upper echelons of the Bureau of Hazardous Materials had absolute control over them. Webber’s uncle didn’t even need to win over the big shots in Congress. He just needed to propose that “the director of the Golden Port Bureau of Hazardous Materials needs to be changed,” and if no one objected, then he could start operating.

Director Dale tugged at his collar, feeling an invisible noose around his neck, gradually tightening.

“Is there any way to make this not happen?”

There was no sound from the receiver. It was clear that his departure was a foregone conclusion.

He cursed a few more times. Suddenly, he heard footsteps outside, and then the office door was burst open.

His face was filled with anger, not because someone had burst open his office door, but because someone was coveting his position and power.

Now he needed an outlet for his frustration.

He glared at the person and then said into the phone, “I’ll call you back later.”

Then he hung up and looked fiercely at the agent who had burst in. “You’re this old, and your mother still hasn’t taught you how to knock?”

This was actually a very nasty way of putting it, equivalent to insulting someone’s mother.

But fortunately, this person was in no state to care about such things. He was panting heavily, his face filled with terror. “Something terrible has happened, Director Dale!”

Director Dale looked at his face for two or three seconds, and his expression gradually became serious. “You’d better tell me something that I would consider terrible!”

“Senior Agent Webber is dead…”

“A total of eleven people are dead, and more than a dozen are seriously injured. Many are lightly injured. I don’t know…”

Director Dale’s head now felt as if it had also been blown up by a bomb. In that instant, there was only one sound left in the world.

A high-frequency, constant “eeee” sound. The whole world began to spin. He gripped the edge of the desk tightly, forcing himself not to fall.

After about ten seconds, he came back to his senses. His stiff eyeballs moved, and his gaze became a little more agile.

“What happened?”

The subordinate recounted the entire incident, including how they arrived at the farm and found no one, but discovered whiskey worth four to five hundred thousand.

Then they searched the entire farm and found some account books and a locked iron box in a room.

Senior Agent Webber opened the iron box in front of everyone. Who would have thought there was a bundle of explosives inside?

And the pull cord for the explosives was attached to the top of the iron box.

He was killed instantly on the spot.

Several pieces of him are still missing.

The people around him and near the iron box were all killed. Besides the explosives, the iron box also contained a kind of triangular iron shrapnel. Any bone in its path would be pierced and shattered.

Director Dale leaned back heavily in his chair, his face filled with exhaustion. “Call back all the off-duty agents. Have them participate in the rescue work. And then…”

He hesitated for a moment, about a few seconds. “Call the police.”

What he was thinking now was how to extricate himself from this matter. Calling the police was a very appropriate move. And from this, it could be seen that Director Dale was indeed not a mediocre talent in politics.

Using a third-party law enforcement agency to collect evidence and investigate could minimize his potential suspicion and responsibility in this matter. But at the same time, this would also make the Bureau of Hazardous Materials the focus of public opinion again, and a negative focus at that.

He could already imagine the strange expressions on the faces of those gentlemen in Congress when they saw this news—

That Dale they had given up on had fucking made big news again?

He was a little desperate now, even feeling that he couldn’t even retire safely.

The news spread quickly in Golden Port. After all, it was rare to see a large number of police cars and ambulances rushing out of the city with their sirens blaring.

Both the hospital and the police station were as leaky as sieves. Soon, a series of phone calls brought the news to the ears of the upper-class society.

The Bureau of Hazardous Materials encountered a trap/ambush while investigating a case, and dozens of people died.

Charlie also confirmed this situation from the side. Hunter also went to the scene to personally handle the case, as requested by Charlie.

Although he was just a low-level tool, a politician, his years of contact with the Bay Area had made him vaguely understand Director Dale’s meaning. If he wanted to be independent, then this was an opportunity to bring both sides together.

Regardless of whether Director Dale could hold on to his position at the Bureau of Hazardous Materials after this incident, even if he couldn’t, he was not completely worthless.

His network of connections, the phone numbers he knew, might come in handy someday.

The scene at the farm was very lively now. Large searchlights were set up everywhere, illuminating the farm’s building complex as if it were daytime.

The police had also formed “search teams,” searching for anyone hiding in the tall grass. From time to time, a flare shot into the sky would briefly illuminate the wilderness like daylight.

Hunter used a screwdriver to pry a triangular fragment from the wall. Just holding it lightly in his hand, he could feel a slight sting when its sharp point touched his skin. It was very sharp.

There were many such fragments on the walls. Whether it was wood, cement, or any other structure, it would be pierced and embedded.

“The design of this bomb is very professional,” Hunter put the fragment in a matchbox and then into his pocket.

Such professional shrapnel was definitely not just casually made. He needed to investigate and see who made it, or if anyone knew any information about it.

The tragic scene made him break out in a cold sweat, especially when he heard that this abandoned farm might be connected to the Lance Family. He felt a strong sense of unease.

There were many traces and indirect evidence at the scene, but not a single piece of direct evidence.

To deal with Lance, indirect evidence was definitely not enough. There had to be heavy, strong evidence to send him to prison.

As for killing him?

Hunter had considered it, but gave up, because it was unrealistic.

If he couldn’t mobilize a large number of law enforcement officers or gunmen, he couldn’t do it. If he were to solve the problem of Lance, he could only go through legal channels.

At the same time, he, including Director Dale and Charlie, realized one thing: there was a mole for Lance in the Bureau of Hazardous Materials.

And this mole was high-ranking enough to know about this matter. It was even possible that this was a trap, a setup, arranged around Webber.

That night, all the agents from the Bureau of Hazardous Materials who had participated in the operation did not go home. They all went to the police station, including Ponda.

He was still in a state of shock, constantly smoking. But this also fit the psychological state he should be in.

“…Anything else to add?” an officer paused his pen. He looked at Ponda. There were more than ten cigarette butts at Ponda’s feet.

He didn’t necessarily smoke every puff of every cigarette. Sometimes he only took the first and last puff, sometimes a few more.

The presence of cigarettes had become a psychological dependence for him. People who have suffered severe trauma do have such a need.

Ponda shook his head. “No more.”

He had just recounted what happened that night in great detail. He didn’t hide any content, because he believed that others would also be very detailed.

The officer nodded, turned the page, and then prepared to write. “Can we talk about Webber?”

Ponda looked up at him. “About what?”

“Did he have anyone in the Bureau of Hazardous Materials with whom he had a particularly bad relationship?”

Ponda’s pupils contracted slightly. He lowered his head, using the act of smoking to avoid the other’s gaze. “I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

The officer didn’t mind being more explicit. This was also a method of observation and interrogation. “We suspect that someone set this trap specifically for Webber.”

“So we want to ask, was there anyone who had a bad relationship with him?”

Ponda could already feel his scalp and the skin on his body begin to itch, followed by a feeling of sweating.

He could clearly feel the sweat seeping out of his pores. His mind was racing. He needed to protect himself.

He had never been so focused before. His thoughts were like lightning, crazily circling in his head, making his brain spin at supersonic speed.

If it weren’t for the membrane outside his brain, his brain matter might have already been flung out.

He licked his lips. “I don’t know… maybe I’d count as one?”

“You?” The officer’s expression changed slightly. He stared at Ponda.

Ponda did not avoid it and met his gaze.

He had also interrogated others. He knew very well that during an interrogation, some subtle changes in expression could lead to suspicion and questioning.

Just now he had spoken so frankly about the problem. If he were to be evasive now, and not even dare to look at this officer, his suspicion would be infinitely magnified.

At the same time, he did not avoid the fact that he and Webber did not get along, because everyone knew. Avoiding this issue would only show that he had a guilty conscience.

So he was very frank.

He nodded and said, “Yes. Originally… the Bureau of Hazardous Materials was planning to promote me, but Webber was parachuted in from the State Prohibition Committee and took my promotion spot.”

The officer showed a “so that’s how it is” expression, and at the same time, there was some sympathy in his eyes. A guy who got in through the back door, of course, not in the physical sense.

“So you didn’t like him?” the officer asked.

Ponda shook his head and said, “It should be that he didn’t like me. He always gave me a hard time. I was considering a work transfer.”

“After all, he’s my direct superior, and he has connections in the State Prohibition Committee. I’m no match for him.”

“But this afternoon, he suddenly called me to his office, wanting to reconcile with me. He even said he would promote me to senior agent.”

“He hoped that I could better support his work, and then these things happened tonight.”

The officer recorded this truthfully. He drew a few circles around Ponda’s name. “So you’re saying, he hinted to you in a subtle way that he might be promoted to Director?”

(End of Chapter)

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