Black-Haired Internal Revenue Service SWAT Agent - Chapter 261



Only Krnovel

Gang Wars

Sheldon stood up from his seat and walked towards Torres.

After that, he and Grandpa Duran, who was their leader, started to take out the snakes in their stomachs.

“We were able to raid Russell Campbell’s organization’s cash vault and hacking truck in just 48 hours because we recruited one of Campbell’s associates. Of course, that associate also inserted my undercover agent Kyle (Stewart) into the hacking team. You’ll be shocked to know who that is, everyone.”

At those words, Torres sat down in the chair next to him, looking as if he had fainted.

Really, I must never ignore my grandfathers from now on.

“There’s nothing more to say, boss. Please believe me. What I told you last night is all I know. Beyond that, I don’t know, and neither do those old men.”

“Frankie Jones, Campbell’s closest aide, spoke in a voice that was almost a scream, his face covered in blood and tied to a chair.

He wasn’t shivering all over, tied up in his underwear in a cold warehouse.

Jones was trembling as he sensed that Campbell was about to take his life.

“I’m asking you one last time, Frankie. Aside from those old guys, you also made a deal with the FBI and CPD, right? You must have given them something that could be used as evidence. What did you give them?”

“There is no such thing.”

“You fucking punk, stop wasting time and trying to find excuses to survive. You shouldn’t be worrying about surviving here, you should be worrying about how to end it once and for all without suffering. Tell me, Frankie! Tell me what information you gave to the FBI and CPD, and I’ll kick you in the head for old times’ sake and end all this suffering right away.”

“No one has ever given inside information about our organization to anyone but the old folks. Trust me, boss. The FBI and the police haven’t even contacted me. Trust me, please!”

At those words, Campbell looked at his other subordinates standing on his left and right.

They nodded to Campbell, indicating that they no longer needed to pursue the organization’s traitors.

Then Campbell struck Jones’ legs hard with the baseball bat he was holding while he was sitting on the chair.

“Ahhhhh!”

Jones’ screams echoed throughout the empty warehouse.

It was already a huge shock to Campbell that his own right-hand man was behind this entire conspiracy.

But what shocked him even more was the fact that none of the 17 gunmen sent to the four elderly people last night returned, except for three.

And the news that the gunmen’s leader, Shawn Monte, had been arrested by the FBI made Campbell sense that another problem might arise.

Campbell was now becoming increasingly anxious that he was being targeted and that all federal agents, including the FBI, were swarming him.

Fueled by madness, rage and fear, he beat Frankie Jones, the number one contributor to the Durex Corporation’s cash laundering operation and one-time protégé, with a baseball bat for ten non-stop minutes.

“Damn it, you little rat, how could you betray me like this?”

He muttered as he threw the bat in front of Jones.

Frankie Jones had already confessed that the night before, he had colluded with Matt Sheldon’s group to provide information on where the cash laundering was taking place and the schedule and locations of the hacking operations.

By then, all of his toes had been smashed by Campbell’s own hammer.

Soon after the cash was stolen from the warehouse, Campbell suspected that there was an insider collusion, so he brought in freelance fixers from outside his organization to monitor and investigate all of his members.

As a result, Frankie Jones’ movements were captured as he was communicating with the outside world by changing ‘burner phones (disposable cell phones)’, and after two hours of brutal torture, he opened his mouth.

Campbell confessed that he had conspired with Jones six years earlier, under duress from a man named Matt Sheldon, who had evidence that Jones had murdered and hidden the bodies of an accountant and lawyer who had embezzled his dirty money.

Kyle Stewart, a top-tier hacker who had been redesigning and leading the hacker business, also felt that his organization was going to be finished after hearing Frankie Jones’ confession that he had conspired with the elderly to bring him in.

Campbell quickly liquidated all legal and illegal business he had been conducting under the Durex Corporation name and prepared to flee Chicago.

But before that, it was necessary to once again determine how much information Jones had leaked, and to how many outsiders.

However, Frankie Jones, who was already half-dead from the torture on the first day, was not revealing any new information and was only begging for his life.

Campbell let out a long sigh and stared at the vehicles inside the warehouse.

In his personal armored limousine, three SUVs and two large vans, his remaining 12 gunmen were waiting for him.

They were planning to escort Campbell out of Chicago with $12 million in hidden funds they had taken from the warehouse.

Campbell knew that regardless of Frankie Jones’ confession, the FBI, which had been targeting him and his organization for years, was about to make a swoop.

He nodded to his gun-wielding subordinate, concluding that further questioning of Jones, which had been little more than a formality, was no longer worthwhile.

Phew!

A moment later, Campbell nodded, and the man raised his shotgun, sat down on his chair, bowed his head, and fired at Frankie Jones.

* * *

Vehicles that came out of the logistics warehouse entered the main road through the port area exit.

Campbell attached a surveillance vehicle to each of the large vans loaded with cash, and the four vehicles were torn apart in opposite directions at an intersection.

Just in case the cash-snatching henchmen got their ideas wrong, both large vans were equipped with remote-activated bombs.

Upon arriving at the agreed upon location, Campbell planned to blow up the van if the cash was not collected by people he trusted.

Campbell looked around the intersection at the cars heading either side of the intersection, holding two remote detonators in his hands.

As the vehicles disappeared from view, Campbell’s aide, Neil Evers, sitting in the front, held up a tablet PC screen to him.

The movement of cash vehicles was displayed in real time on the electronic map.

“egg plant!”

At Campbell’s direction, the limousine and his escort vehicle turned and moved toward the nearest highway.

The cash vehicles reported their movements via satellite phone, and Evers continued to talk to them.

Meanwhile, Campbell kept his gaze fixed on the dark street and tried to clear his complicated mind.

His decision to pull out of Chicago rather than pay back the millions of dollars in cash that Chicago crime syndicates were trying to launder was clearly going to take its toll.

As he was pondering that ominous thought and planning his next plan, Evers suddenly threw down his tablet PC and ran towards him.

“Boss! Be careful!”

At that moment, a bright light poured into the limousine, and a terrible impact was delivered to the left side of the car.

Kwaaaaang!

The limousine made a half-turn and stopped, and Campbell, who hit his head on the right side window at the moment of impact, was barely able to keep his wits about him.

Then, people were heard shouting outside the limousine, followed soon by gunshots.

Tata tata tata tang! Tata tata tang!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Tata tata tata tang! Tata tata tata tang!

“Get down, boss.”

Like Campbell, Evers, who had hit his head on the right side of the car door and was bleeding profusely from the head, pulled out a Micro Uzi submachine gun (the smallest model of the Uzi submachine gun) from his bosom.

He walked towards the left door and tried to open it, but he flinched and stopped.

“Get down!”

As Evers yelled at Campbell again, a burst of AK gunfire was heard from the left doorway.

Tata tata tata tata!

Countless bullet trajectories were created as bullets ricocheted against the bulletproof window, and the sound of rifle bullets exploding continued from the doorway.

As the gunfire subsided, people around the limousine began shouting again, which could be heard inside the car.

This time, Campbell was able to immediately identify the assailants by listening to their voices.

At least five or six assailants were all shouting at each other in Chechen.

While Torres was reporting to his superiors what these old men were doing to Russell Campbell, our IRS SWAT was watching them.

Matt Sheldon, Duran Inspired, Harry Barnes Inspired, and Danny Hill Inspired were now in a relaxed mode, completely relaxed and without any tension, as if they were now telling us everything.

Mr. Hill, the junk shop owner, even asked me outright if I could play online blackjack on my smartphone.

However, when Grandpa Duran, who had been furtively looking at Team Leader Decker who had been standing by the entrance, finally made eye contact with him, he smiled brightly.

When Decker nods his head slightly, he looks as if he is hesitating to speak, but then opens his mouth.

“Anderton, Josh Anderton was the shooter, wasn’t he, Mr. (Chief Decker)?”

At what the old man said, the smile suddenly disappeared from Team Leader Decker’s face.

Then, a surprised expression, something that is rarely seen on him, follows.

I was standing between the two people at the table, so I could look around and check out their mood.

What is this atmosphere?

Duran said, pointing with his finger to the bearings that Team Leader Decker was rolling in his right hand.

“This is the finger warm-up method I taught Anderton when he first came to Delta and received group training on the ‘Long Gun’. It’s a method I created and passed on to my junior Delta agents that keeps the nerves and senses in your fingers in optimal condition and keeps them warm in cold weather like these days.”

At those words, the eyes of the grandpas and our Cobalt team members turned to Team Leader Decker’s hand.

He was looking at Grandpa Duran, with five bearings placed on his palm.

Grandpa Duran looks at the bearings carefully and then snickers.

And then he said something that surprised us all.

“You have the bearings I gave to Anderton. He must have given them to you. They used to be bigger than they are now, but they seem to have shrunk a lot in Anderton’s hands and yours.”

Team Leader Decker seemed even more surprised by those words, his mouth slightly open.

Damn, I just happened to find the genealogy of Delta Force agents like this…

Still, Team Leader Decker kept his distance from Grandpa Duran.

Because the current situation was clearly not conducive to a Delta Force reunion.

When the Grandpas Special Forces raided Russell Campbell’s hacking trailer truck, Matt Sheldon used the captured hackers to hack into eight specific accounts.

He then confessed that he had transferred all the money he had robbed from there to Russell Campbell’s hidden accounts.

In other words, to outsiders, it looked like Campbell’s hackers had stolen the profits from the infamous Chechen mafia and the Chicago Outfit’s illicit business.

Anyway, the Chechens and the Chicago Outfit who stole that huge sum of money will figure out who hacked it, and it’s only a matter of time before it’s revealed that Russell Campbell is behind it.

These grandpas arranged for the Campbell Mafia to be destroyed by both the Chechen Mafia and the Chicago Outfit.

Indeed, I’m so curious about what kind of mess will happen that I can’t even think about leaving work.

Let’s just hope our IRS SWAT doesn’t get caught up in that mess.

Campbell had barely escaped from the Chechen mafia that ambushed him five hours earlier.

This was thanks to the men who had been escorting the cash transport van heading north to Chicago joining the scene in addition to the men who had been protecting him.

However, in the ensuing gunfight, Campbell’s men were all annihilated by a dozen Chechen mafiosi who rammed three cash transport vehicles into the area.

As the Chechens began to comb the streets, he managed to steal a car parked on the side of the road and drove to the busy West 37th Street, where the Outfit had its stronghold.

At this point, the only person who could protect him was the Chicago Mafia he had previously been a part of.

He made a call using a burner phone he bought at a convenience store, looking across the street at an imported car dealership.

After a few beeps, the phone was picked up by Graham Porter, a former Campbell subordinate who was now in charge of legitimate businesses on Chicago’s East Side.

“This is Potter.”

“Hey, Graham! Is it safe to talk?”

Campbell looked toward Porter’s room on the second floor of the car dealership building.

Campbell was relieved to see that he had risen from his chair, and a small portion of his head was visible through the vertical.

“What’s going on, boss? What happened to Durex Corporation?”

“Has the rumor already reached there?”

“I’m sure even the homeless people living in the back alleys of Chicago have heard that Boss’s organization was destroyed by the Chechens. Why are they attacking you…”

“We don’t have much time, so listen carefully to me, Graham. You’re going to have to help me. First, I need a safe haven. Tell the Outfit leadership that a Chechen organization has attacked and is trying to take over our Durex Corporation business. Tell them about my situation and get me a safe haven.”

“Okay. Where are you now?”

Campbell turned his gaze toward the Diner, about a hundred yards diagonally across from Graham Porter’s car dealership.

Then he answered, staring at Porter’s figure across the road.

“Isn’t there a diner nearby? The one with the blue sign? I’ll be having coffee there, so send the kids over. Some good guys.”

Soon, a porter appeared at the window and pushed the vertical to one side.

He answered, staring toward the diner, oblivious to Campbell standing just across the street, near the bus stop.

“Understood, boss. I’ll send three or four kids over, so you can get to a safe place for now. I’ll tell the adults in the Outfit.”

“Thank you, Graham.”

After hanging up the phone, Porter made another phone call while Campbell continued to watch him through the crowd of people waiting for the bus.

After that, he made three or four more calls while Campbell continued to patrol the nearby streets, waiting for his men to head to the diner.

However, Campbell changed his mind about five minutes after making the initial contact, when a BMW pulled out of the back of the dealership building and onto the road.

Because I saw a familiar face sitting in the passenger seat of the BMW sedan.

There sat a schoolteacher-looking man with a long face and thick-rimmed glasses. He was a professional killer sent by the Chicago Outfit to quietly eliminate someone.

Back when Campbell was a member of the Chicago Outfit, the Outfit’s leadership would send these killers to Campbell’s territory.

Then, the street gang leaders who were interfering with Campbell’s business disappeared from the streets without a sound.

Campbell, who had been a mid-level mafia boss for a long time, instinctively sensed danger and soon boarded a bus that had arrived at the stop.

Campbell, sitting on the bus seat and looking toward the diner, was trying to mentally comprehend what was happening to him.