Black-Haired Internal Revenue Service SWAT Agent - Chapter 260



Only Krnovel

Old Lions

Torres also looks like he still can’t get his mind right because of the things these inspirations did to him.

This time, he said that he would take the test for promotion to team leader, and his direct supervisor has also stepped back to direct the investigation, so this punk has to take charge of everything from start to finish.

Well, not only Torres, but we also expected Matt Sheldon to be the boss and try to catch his young underlings and use them as a springboard for the main event.

However, the unexpected Rambo old men showed up and caused a series of major accidents…

To make matters worse, I’ve heard the Chicago Police Department call here 22 times because of accidents involving elderly people.

The Banana Muffin Ghost ignores all those calls and is now racking his brain thinking of how to use this old man special forces for his case.

Me too, but Torres, you’re really trying hard too, trying hard~.

“Thomas Duran has arrived, Captain.”

When Team Leader McGraw reported over our radio from the FBI office doorway, everyone, including me, stood up.

“Razor that, Peter!”

As I respond to Team Leader Cobalt, everyone stands outside the observation room, watching the corridor from the entrance to this interrogation room block.

Moments later, a member of Torres’ team showed up pushing a wheelchair with the old man in it, followed by McGraw and two Cobalt team members.

Who would believe that a white-haired old man sitting in a wheelchair is the one who killed four mafia gunmen and blew up a car?

However, it is clear that the gaze is not that of an ordinary person.

But, Team Leader Decker, who had been staring at the old man, put his head between me and Torres and whispered.

“That old man can walk without a wheelchair. I’ll check later.”

At those words, I turned my head slightly and looked at Mr. Decker, and he explained.

“For someone who spends all day in a wheelchair, his legs are quite muscular. Take a good look at that old man’s thighs, shins, and ankles.”

As he said, the ankles and shins were visible between the hem of his trousers and his shoes, so he looked different from people who couldn’t use their legs.

* * *

I’m already nervous about what unimaginable things might happen while I’m with these old people.

I was afraid that, while we were just staring blankly, he would suddenly storm out of the interrogation room and take over the FBI Chicago office.

So, I had the Cobalt team wait outside the observation room and interrogation room doors.

Then, I, Team Leader Decker, and Torres’ investigative team observed the elderly people gathered in the interrogation room.

Of course, no agency would do something like cramming suspects into a room like this, but Torres must have had some idea in mind when he created the situation.

Since Duran came in, not much has changed except that people have given him space.

But Thomas Duran, a veteran who had been on active duty since the days of President John F. Kennedy, continued to capture our attention.

The old man said that the coffee the FBI agents brought him tasted like shit and that all the federal agents should be thrown into the Chicago canals.

And then a few minutes later, the IRS is saying why they need SWAT, why they can shoot everyone if they don’t pay their taxes, because a charlatan like Donald Trump is now the President of the United States and this is the state of the country.

Although no one else responded to that, he continued to grumble for over ten minutes, his throat red with blood, changing the subject from one to another.

So they seemed to be sitting around the interrogation table, wasting their time doing nothing.

But a moment later, Team Leader Decker approached the laptop screen that Torres was watching.

Then, pointing to the screen, he asked.

“Nick, can you zoom in on the screen?”

“Of course, Chef. What would you like to zoom in on?”

“Zoom in on the faces of Matt Sheldon and Harry Barnes next to him.”

Torres zoomed in on the faces of the two old men on the screen inside the interrogation room.

While zooming in, Team Leader Decker squats down next to Torres’ desk and holds the screen closer to him, keeping an eye on it.

I got a strange feeling, so I got up from my seat and walked behind them.

“Try to make your mouth as big as possible, Nick.”

“Okay, Chef.”

At Decker’s order, Torres enlarged the two men’s mouths to their maximum size.

Then, surprisingly, a sight we had never seen before appeared.

Sheldon and Barnes’ lips were moving barely visible.

All the while Old Thomas Duran was muttering, they were talking to each other with barely any movement in their lips.

Torres quickly turned up the microphone volume on the interrogation room recording device to maximum, but the two men’s secret whispers were not heard.

The only sound coming through the microphone was the crackling of electricity from the old light fixtures on the ceiling of the interrogation room.

Torres took off his headset at the sight.

As he heard the child’s breathing becoming ragged, Torres’ patience seemed to be wearing thin.

Torres jumped up from his seat and walked out of the observation room.

Then his team members turned on the lights in the observation room, and from then on, both rooms could see each other through the mirrored glass.

I don’t know what they were thinking, but it seemed like the FBI guys were getting into full gear now.

Torres enters the interrogation room and our Cobalt operatives draw their tasers and cover him.

I thought he was grabbing the collar of some old people, but then I let out an “Ah!” without realizing it.

Torres reached under the table where the old men were sitting and pulled out a tiny recorder no bigger than his index finger.

When did you hide that down there?

Torres showed the recorder to the elders and told Sheldon.

“This recorder is a high-performance recording device that can even record the sound of a button being inserted into a buttonhole on a dress shirt. Matt Sheldon, if you don’t tell us what you and your group have been talking about, we will turn you over to the Chicago PD along with this recording and investigate Russell Campbell’s back-alley mafia in another way. Then you will have to deal with the Chicago PD and Russell Campbell’s back-alley mafia at the same time. Is that what you want?”

Nick Torres, I thought this guy spent his days propping his feet up on the edge of his desk and eating banana muffins, but sometimes he pulls off a stunt like this, and he’s still the FBI after all.

As Sheldon looks around at the other elders, Torres urges him again.

“Mr. Sheldon, you said you would cooperate fully with our investigation if we brought your associates back and ensured their safety. Why are you stalling and trying to get us to agree to this? Right now, the Chicago PD is calling the FBI at full blast demanding that we hand over control of your investigation because of the Mafia gunmen you destroyed. Now that we’ve had enough of this war of wits, let’s get down to business. Otherwise, we’ll call it a no-deal.”

Sheldon uncrossed his arms and placed them on the table.

Then he looked at the elderly commandos sitting on his left and right, one by one, and each time, they nodded to him.

Finally, he looks up at Torres and opens his mouth.

“Agent Torres, you FBI and IRS told us that if we give you back all $2.1 million in dirty money and hand over the leader of the hacker group we kidnapped, you’ll make a deal with us?”

“Yes, I did, Mr. Sheldon.”

The next moment, something startling happened to not only our group in the observation room, but also to Torres in the interrogation room.

Because Grandpa Thomas Duran jumped up from his wheelchair.

He pushed the wheelchair backwards and slowly approached Sheldon.

Then he stood beside him and said to Torres.

Earlier, I spoke in a polite and dignified tone and vocabulary, not in a muttering tone.

“Agent Torres, of the $2.1 million, $1.6 million is the Campbell Mafia thugs who stole our old folks’ retirement savings that they’ve worked their whole lives to save. The Chicago PD’s Financial Crimes Unit will be able to verify that.”

“That money can be returned to you in full according to the procedures of the relevant organizations.”

Then, Grandpa Duran looked at me standing in the observation room through the mirrored glass window and replied.

“That’s right. Verification and procedures! By the time the stolen money is returned to us after going through those verification and procedures, how many of our old people will still be alive?”

At those words, Torres also looked at me, and I raised both hands in a gesture that said, “I don’t know.”

Then, Grandpa Duran continues speaking.

“The four of us started this with the determination to finish out the rest of our days in federal prison or state prison. If we make that sacrifice, it will save six veterans and police officers who are about to undergo life-or-death surgery, and 27 other seniors who would rather be comfortable in a nursing home. Oh, by the way, I was going to say that! Of the $2.1 million, $1.6 million has already been paid to the hospitals for the surgeries, and we can’t return it even if we wanted to.”

Listening to Duran’s tone now, it really felt like his tone when he was talking about coffee, the IRS, and Donald Trump being a collaborator and a bastard was a charade.

Torres gestures his finger at me through the mirrored glass.

I went straight from the observation room to the interrogation room, with Team Leader Decker following behind me.

As we entered, Grandpa Duran looked down at Team Leader Decker, who had followed me in.

The old man continued talking, staring intently at my uncle as if he could sense some kind of aura between them.

“And also, I can’t hand over Campbell’s ace hacker, ‘Kyle Stewart,’ to you either.”

Torres was annoyed by those words, so I grabbed his arm and stopped him from approaching Grandpa Duran.

This time, Matt Sheldon continues speaking, still seated.

“Kyle Stewart is not a hacker for a mafia organization, but a ‘white hacker’ who has worked for our security company for a long time. Through him, we tracked down and found out that the Campbell Organization stole $1.6 million from our senior citizens, and later infiltrated the organization on an undercover mission and worked there. Now, he has run off with his retirement funds to an unknown destination. Oh, and Kyle’s retirement fund was the entire $500,000 of the $2.1 million, excluding the $1.6 million that went to the senior citizens, so now we have not a single dime left.”

Torres’ face turned grave.

Because all the evidence that could have destroyed the Campbell organization was gone.

An invisible tension filled the interrogation room, and after a while it seemed to heat up with people’s enthusiasm.

So, is the investigation to catch Russell Campbell, the Chicago Mafia, and the Outfit going to waste?

Torres looked at each of the old men with a look of astonishment.

Then his gaze turned to me and I sighed, unable to think of anything to say.

Here, my FBI lead investigator friend was going completely crazy and causing a scene, and no one could say anything.

Meanwhile, Duran looks at Team Leader Decker’s hand and speaks in a small voice.

“You’re from Delta (Force), right?”

Grandpa seemed to be referring to the little stainless steel ball bearings that Team Leader Decker always rolled around in his hands to keep the nerves in his fingers taut.

But our expressions changed when he said that next.

“But our old men didn’t come to that Delta federal agent party empty-handed. After hearing the following story, shouldn’t you be looking so bewildered? If you want Russell ‘Fucking’ Campbell so badly, we can hand him over. We can deliver his head to you on a silver platter.”

“yes?”

When Torres asked with wide eyes, Grandpa Duran chuckled and pulled over his wheelchair and sat down.

At that time, his expression seemed to show that he was looking at us all as his grandchildren.

What on earth will come out of the stomachs of these hundred-year-old, if not thousand-year-old, old snakeheads?