Chapter 145: Breaking In

The nightscape of Los Angeles remained dazzling and vibrant.

Qiu Fengyu suddenly sat up from the bed. With the utmost speed, he wrapped himself in a bathrobe, opened the window, tore the bedsheets into long strips, and tossed them out. His execution of these actions was exceptionally practiced and proficient.

"Knock, knock, knock." A rhythmic knocking sound echoed. This particular cadence was the hallmark of the FBI. Then a voice shouted loudly, "Hey, buddy, I know you're in there. You'd better open the door, or we're going to breach."

The room fell into a heavy silence.

"Action!" a white man in his early thirties of medium build gave the order to the one who had been shouting.

The man made standard tactical hand signals. Two masked armed operatives stepped forward, carrying a heavy battering ram. With a sudden, thunderous crash, the door was blown open. Immediately, heavily armed personnel wearing black balaclavas rushed in from both sides of the doorway, raising their weapons and sweeping the area with the tactical flashlights mounted on their barrels.

The lights inside had already been turned off, plunging everything into darkness. Only the beams of the flashlights swept relentlessly across the room.

"Clear!"

"Clear."

The operatives searching the four corners of the room continuously reported their findings. Soon, they converged on the sitting room. The white man in charge frowned. The operative who had called out the door walked over to him and said, "We found a bedsheet trailing downward, but it didn't reach the ground. We estimate he climbed down into the window of the room below and broke through the glass. We've lost this guy... he's really slippery."

"Did we give ourselves away somewhere?" the man in charge said. "Roy—" He crooked his finger at a figure standing not far away, clad in black combat gear and a balaclava, yet possessing a relatively petite frame. "Are you certain you didn't reveal any flaws?"

The operative removed the balaclava, revealing a head of golden hair and a delicate face. It was none other than the woman who had shared a "heart-to-heart talk" with Qiu Fengyu earlier—Monica Roy. She was now transformed into a fully geared, fiercely lethal operative.

Monica walked up in front of him, thought for a moment, shook her head, and said, "Boss, I am certain I did not expose any flaws. But how did he discover us in advance and escape?"

"That leaves only one possibility: this fellow remains constantly on guard, even here in Los Angeles." The man nodded, then turned to Monica and said, "Order our people to pull back."

"But... we've been played by this kid," the operative who had called out the door said, stepping closer to the commander. "Just like that? We're leaving? I can lead a team to start intercepting him from the lower floors. I have a fifty percent chance of finding him and bringing him right to you. I guarantee it."

"Don't waste time, Evans. You shouldn't make guarantees even with a ninety-nine percent chance. Our opponent is no ordinary person. He is an elite military man, not someone from our usual walks of life. He is certainly familiar with our playbook. Let's go, leave this place, and don't alert the others." The commander made his final decision.

"Fine, you're the boss," the man named Evans nodded. Then he waved his hand. "Let's move out. Watch yourselves and don't wake the others." The squad of armed men filed out in single file, quickly vanishing into the outer hallway.

Peace seemed to return to the suite once more. A figure dropped silently from the ceiling of the bathroom. He looked around, walked into the sitting room, and spoke toward the doorway, "Come on in. I know the three of you are still out there. If I had wanted to do you harm, you'd already be lying on the floor."

Sure enough, three people stepped through the doorway, advancing in a wedge formation. One of them immediately raised his gun and took aim at Qiu Fengyu. Yet Qiu Fengyu looked at them with complete nonchalance. "The FBI? What is it you want from me?" He scrutinized the three of them under the dim light filtering in from the hallway and the window.

"Aren't you going to invite us to sit down?" the leading man said to Qiu Fengyu, gesturing with a wave of his hand to stop Evans from keeping his weapon raised. "You don't seem like such a petty person. And... you have indeed exceeded my expectations. You possess a keenness, an alertness beyond what ordinary people can imagine, along with exceptional physical skills. You are even better at concealing yourself."

"I'm also quite skilled at protecting myself," Qiu Fengyu said, spreading his hands. "What do you want?"

The leading man took a seat. Qiu Fengyu walked over to the slot where the room key card was inserted. With a crisp snap, an electrical spark flared, and the room's lights snapped back on. Qiu Fengyu could now see the three individuals much more clearly, though his gaze lingered on Monica with a meaningful expression.

"I'm sorry, I was just following orders!" Monica's face flushed red, and her expression was deeply awkward. After offering a brief, apologetic remark, she fell silent, standing quietly before the leading man who was now seated on the sofa.

Qiu Fengyu sat down as well, directly facing the man.

"Scott Ford!" The man extended his hand, and Qiu Fengyu shook it. Then, the man reached into his pocket, drew out an identification credential, and handed it to Qiu Fengyu. It was unmistakably an FBI badge. Qiu Fengyu took a brief glance; he could recognize that the credential was genuine.

During his time in Ukraine, numerous CIA personnel had also been involved, and Qiu Fengyu knew what their credentials looked like—the anti-counterfeiting measures employed were identical. It was quite easy to verify.

"The FBI?" Qiu Fengyu handed the identification back to Scott Ford, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "Why make such a massive fuss over me? If I hadn't seen that you bear no malicious intent toward me, I imagine it would be a serious question whether you could walk out of this room alive. You made the correct choice, Mr. Ford."

"Don't talk big, pal!" the fellow named Evans retorted, clearly unconvinced.

Qiu Fengyu glanced at him sideways, not bothering to dignify him with a response. This guy was definitely not a qualified FBI operative. Instead, Qiu Fengyu turned his gaze back to Monica Roy. "I suppose Monica Roy isn't your real name either?"

Monica's face flushed again, but she shook her head. "No, I have always used my real name, and... I really did immigrate from France. I was French until I was ten years old."

"Don't rush to defend yourself. You don't need to feel any guilt either; you were merely following orders. It's fine, I don't mind. I couldn't care less." Qiu Fengyu shook his head. "Actually... the reason I was able to anticipate your moves beforehand is simply because I saw right through you, Monica... If your real name even is Monica, that is. Can I still call you that?" A trace of mockery laced his tone.

"Of course, of course you can." Monica blushed yet again. She had blushed many times today, perhaps driven by a mixture of lingering guilt and the humiliation of failure.

"May I hear the reason? Where did she go wrong?" As their commander, Scott Ford was eager to uncover the root cause of this failure. If Qiu Fengyu had truly been their enemy, it was hard to say whether they could have escaped with their lives today. Given a man of Qiu Fengyu's caliber and his ability to anticipate their every move, the team he brought along might well have been wiped out right here. He was certain Qiu Fengyu must have prepared numerous countermeasures.

"First of all, your drunkenness," Qiu Fengyu said, looking straight at Monica. "I've seen plenty of drunk women, but someone pretending to be as drunk as you could never maintain that level of clarity. Moreover, a truly intoxicated woman's body goes completely limp. Yet when I picked you up and carried you toward the bathroom, I could already feel that the muscles in your waist were stiff."

Monica opened her mouth to speak, but Scott Ford stepped in to ask on her behalf, "That alone isn't enough to deduce that she had a plan against you... Were there other issues?"

"Good question. Of course, that alone wouldn't be enough. Because that could simply be a woman drinking to muster false courage, out looking for a thrill and wanting to cheat on her partner." Qiu Fengyu shrugged, then looked at Monica and said, "You know what? This brand of tea produced in India does indeed have an earthy scent. But the tea in this room didn't have it, because this tea wasn't produced in India at all. It was manufactured in Vietnam and packaged to counterfeit this Indian brand."

Monica stared at him in utter astonishment, heat rising rapidly to her face. As it turned out, she had committed the most fatal oversight herself. She had done a mountain of homework, even studying the specific characteristics of the tea found in the room—truly, man proposes, but fate disposes.

"You certainly wouldn't have expected such a high-end hotel to stock counterfeit tea leaves. This tea lacks that earthy scent entirely, yet you insisted on claiming it had one. It seems you rarely stay in hotels of this caliber. Therefore... all those aristocratic manners you put on must have been specially practiced just to carry out this mission, right? Including memorizing the details about this tea." Qiu Fengyu's tone had grown remarkably calm, devoid of any overt mockery. "You're a conscientious woman, but you're a bit too dogmatic. You're really not cut out for fieldwork."

"Nonsense! Who died and made you the expert?" Monica could not swallow her pride. Being dismissed by Qiu Fengyu as utterly worthless stirred up deep resentment within her, far overshadowing her previous sense of shame.

"Of course I'm not the authority; this is an internal matter for the FBI, and I can't interfere." Qiu Fengyu chuckled. Seeing Scott Ford about to speak, he raised a hand to stop him. "I know what you're going to say... You certainly want to argue that this only proves Monica is a woman who likes to lie, not necessarily that she's an FBI agent. True, I didn't know you were with the FBI—at least, not until you battered the door down."

"Yet you still figured it out!" Scott Ford offered a helpless, wry smile.

"Naturally. You also had a fellow among you who blindly followed textbook dogma—namely, him." Qiu Fengyu pointed a finger at Evans. "Despite trying to alter his tactical hand signals, he still lapsed into habitual movements that make them quite easy to recognize. That is a signature trait of FBI field agents. I've seen it on friends of mine before."

"That is indeed a major flaw!" Scott Ford nodded. "And that's why you didn't strike us."

"Exactly. Once I determined that you bore no malicious intent, I held my hand." Qiu Fengyu said this, then abruptly stood up, walked into the bathroom, and emerged carrying an object that looked like a fire extinguisher. "I started preparing the moment I grew suspicious. I'm a very cautious person. Concentrated nitric acid, cloth strips, iron pipes, and a fire extinguisher—these make for weapons with immense destructive power. Hollywood movies taught me that. To be honest... I love Hollywood movies, just as I love the city of Los Angeles. They always provide so much inspiration."

"Did you really think of that just from watching movies?" Evans blurted out.

Qiu Fengyu gave a helpless shrug and spread his hands. "I thought you'd appreciate my sense of humor."

Scott Ford and Monica exchanged identical glares of exasperation. This guy really wasn't cut out for normal society either.