"What?"
"If it were just the NYPD showing up, that wouldn't mean much. But both the FBI and the DHS arrived—that is more than enough to confirm our hypothesis!"
"That Lorraine Broughton?"
"Yes."
As a veteran of the KGB, Vanya Egorov, the Deputy Director of the Directorate for American Intelligence, put his glasses back on. He looked at his niece, Dominika Egorova—who had been brought into the organization by him after her ballet career was ruined—and said,
"No one can betray us, Dominika. No one. No matter how well she hides, we will find her and bring her to judgment!"
Lorraine Broughton was an eternal thorn in the side of the KGB.
If it hadn't been for Lorraine Broughton, the KGB would have smoothly obtained that spy list and successfully obstructed the reunification of East and West Germany. Perhaps the ultimate outcome would have been entirely different.
But... they thought Lorraine Broughton was one of theirs. They never in their wildest dreams expected that while the KGB believed they had turned MI6's Lorraine Broughton into a double agent, she actually didn't belong to MI6 at all. She was with the damn CIA!
Lorraine Broughton had kept her feet in three different boats, chaining them together seamlessly, and utterly humiliated both the KGB and MI6. This once left the KGB feeling like their cheeks were burning red with embarrassment.
Granted, sixteen years had already passed. Perhaps MI6 had forgotten all about it; after all, London was perfectly capable of treating its child as its master, so forgetting was completely normal. But the KGB had not forgotten.
Especially last year, when they turned a CIA operative and learned a piece of information from his mouth: it seemed that this Lorraine Broughton wasn't actually dead.
Instantly, that old thorn resurfaced. Thus, tracking down this spy who had sworn allegiance to the great KGB and then shamelessly betrayed them, capturing her, and bringing her to judgment became a matter of course.
They had originally thought this search would be incredibly difficult.
Yet... the moment they landed in the States, they overheard several girls at the airport discussing Locke Broughton's photobook. Following that, they made a trip down to Texas, spent a bit of effort, and uncovered Locke Broughton's birth records.
Subsequently, they followed the vine to find the melon, locating the family trust functioning behind Locke Broughton. Right after that, they arrived safely in New York City.
And everything that transpired tonight only served to solidify their hypothesis.
"Lorraine Broughton is still alive," Vanya Egorov said in a low, heavy voice. "She has even been watching over her son from the shadows. Capturing this Locke Broughton will allow us to drag out the traitor who dealt us such a agonizing blow."
And by accomplishing this feat, he could return home to take up the mantle of Deputy Director of the General Headquarters!
Dominika Egorova, who bore a striking resemblance to the famous actress, frowned. "But what about Yurina?"
According to the original plan, both she and Yurina were supposed to wait inside the apartment for Locke to return before taking him away directly.
However, her arrival this time was under the guise of the Moscow Ballet Company visiting Broadway in New York. A representative from the Broadway theater happened to show up earlier, so to avoid exposure, she had stepped down ahead of time.
But... Yurina Sharapova hadn't returned.
Vanya said grimly, "She has likely been killed by personnel from the Department of Homeland Security."
"What?"
"This only further confirms our deduction."
"..."
Vanya Egorov rose from his chair, independently cutting off the signal transmission from the remaining bug. His sharp eyes flashed as his mind engaged in a fierce brainstorm:
"Locke Broughton must have those federal lackeys watching over his perimeter. In fact, this Locke Broughton is definitely aware of his mother's existence. That explains why he possesses such keen counter-surveillance capabilities, and it explains why the FBI and DHS arrived at lightning speed right after he called the police."
Sitting on the bed and listening to this, Dominika Egorova felt like something was off somewhere, but she couldn't quite articulate what it was at the moment.
Still... she felt that things probably weren't exactly as he described.
Since Lorraine Broughton was a CIA operative, shouldn't the mission to protect Locke Broughton also fall to the CIA? After all, even back in Moscow, she had heard that the CIA and the FBI were perpetually at odds. So why were the FBI personnel so heavily invested in the son of a CIA operative?
Could it be because he was simply too handsome?
Thinking back to the jaw-droppingly handsome Locke she had passed by in the elevator lobby, Dominika couldn't help but let that thought drift through her mind.
However, Vanya Egorov didn't grant Dominika any time to ponder. He grabbed his coat from the side and said,
"I need to report the confirmation of Lorraine Broughton being alive to Lubyanka. Proceed according to Plan B."
Plan A was naturally to drive straight into the heart of the dragon, capture Locke, and bring him back to Lubyanka to blackmail the traitor Lorraine Broughton into returning on her own. But Plan A had clearly failed. With federal dogs protecting Locke's side, they could only activate Plan B.
Furthermore, because Plan B required preparation, the groundwork had actually already been completely laid out just to be safe.
As for what Plan B entailed? This weekend, the Moscow Opera House had a performance on Broadway. Plan B was to ensure Locke appeared inside that theater, capture him, and smuggle him away.
This operational style was classic KGB. Behind the meticulous planning lay an unmistakable, heavy-handed roughness!
Snapping back to reality, Dominika nodded. Just as she was about to speak, a sharp *slam* echoed, and Vanya Egorov had already left the room.
An issue could be reported all at once, but similarly, it could be broken down into several reports over multiple stages. That way, even if you only performed a single task, it would appear on paper as though you had accomplished a great many things.
Watching the closed door, Dominika's eyes flashed with an inscrutable light, her thoughts remaining hidden.
...
The next day.
Locke took a shower and walked downstairs.
Helen, who had prepared a sumptuous breakfast just like any other day, looked at Locke as he came down and smiled warmly. "Good morning, Locke. Did you sleep well? No nightmares, I hope?"
Locke shook his head. "None. I slept very well."
Yesterday, after the NYPD personnel withdrew, he had originally intended to retrieve the bug he had intentionally hidden away and follow the line to hunt down these inexplicable KGB agents.
However, Gwen refused to let Locke stay home alone. If Locke wanted to stay at the Star Tower, she would stay with him. In Gwen's words, the security at the Star Tower wasn't even as reliable as the automatic intercom system at the entrance of their own apartment building.
Locke was more than willing to have Gwen stay over at the Star Tower, but George's glare forced him to choose to return to Gwen's apartment together.
Frankly speaking, Locke truly didn't understand. George clearly already knew that his wild boar of a self had successfully enjoyed his precious white cabbage, so why did the man still glare at him every single time? Could this be the final, lingering stubbornness of an aging father?
Locke tried to put himself in George's shoes, but the mental exercise yielded nothing. Because if it were him, he wouldn't waste a single word on the guy targeting his cabbage; he would draw his gun and shoot him down on the spot.
Helen's cooking was always incredibly fragrant.
After Locke and Gwen finished their breakfast, George—who had been maintaining the stern dignity of a strict father—finally looked over at Locke.
"For the next few days, don't go anywhere else after school."
Although George couldn't fathom who else besides the FBI and DHS would be bored enough to monitor Locke, since the incident had occurred, he had to consider all angles. It didn't matter if something happened to this wild boar, but if his cabbage happened to be right beside him when trouble struck, that would be truly disastrous.
"Right." As George spoke, he seemed to remember something. He stood up, calling a halt to Locke and Gwen who were already preparing to head out.
Stepping quickly up the stairs, he returned a moment later holding a Glock 19 and a magazine loaded to the brim. He separated them, racked the slide with a sharp *clack* to ensure it was clear, and handed it directly to Locke.
"Keep it on you."
Standing to the side, Gwen was utterly stunned.
"Dad, we are going to school."
Was he insane? Carrying a gun to school—if it got lost and picked up by some delinquent students, whose fault would that be? Even if the probability was low, what if?
George explained, "Leave it in the vehicle. I still have confidence in Midtown High's security. What I'm worried about is your commute back home."
The school police presence at Midtown High couldn't be called the absolute best, but it was fully comparable to Trinity High. Standard teenage roughhousing was bound to happen, but a shooting incident was entirely impossible.
Seeing the look on George's face, Gwen nodded and fell silent.
Locke took the weapon, hefted it in his hand, and performed a dazzling sequence of manual operations, catching the ejected round. Confirming that it was fully functional, he looked at George.
"I won't let Gwen come to any harm."
His woman was someone he cherished deeply. Whoever dared to touch a single hair on Gwen's head, Locke would ensure ten generations of their bloodline were wiped from existence.
George nodded and said nothing more.
...
Soon, on the way to school, Gwen stared at the Glock 19 that had just been placed inside the glove compartment. Her brow furrowed slightly.
"Thinking about it, could it be people from Trinity? They might want to dig up some scandal on you to force you to withdraw from establishing the New York State High School Student Council Competition Platform."
The hearts of politicians were filthy, and the hands of Wall Street were black. Therefore, Trinity—which housed the descendants of politicians and Wall Street elites—was bound to be underhanded and corrupt.
Despite their glamorous appearance as members of high society on regular days, the filth and underhanded tactics they deployed in the dark were dirtier than anyone else's.
Hearing Gwen's words, Locke let out a chuckled laugh. Looking at her, he comforted, "Rest assured, it's nothing major."
Gwen countered, "Last time your home was wiretapped, it was an attempt to frame you as an accomplice to the Peerless Assassin. What about this time? How about we take a few days off from school?"
Locke: "..."
***
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