The world of American TV series: Starting with the L.A. Patrol.

Chapter 1214: Grudge

"Gabriel Singer is now a pilot for a private air transport company. His plane will land at a cargo airport in Mobile, Alabama early tomorrow morning."

Jack was talking about their schedule for tomorrow, but his eyes never left the rearview mirror. At this moment, he was very glad that he had not made any pretentious remarks before.

Because the slap in the face came too quickly, I was just thinking that the CIA would not dare to be too reckless in the country, but before they left Florida and entered Alabama, a black GMC Yukon with the same government license plate followed them.

"Lend me your gun." Before Frank could finish his words, Jack threw his pistol along with the spare magazine to him.

The guy in Yukon River was dressed similarly to Jack, in a black suit, white shirt, and dark tie, looking like a federal agent. Based on the CIA's style, Jack was even certain that this guy probably had a fake FBI ID in his pocket.

After all, it has long been a well-known practice for the CIA to impersonate FBI agents when doing things within the country.

"Wait until we're out of the city before taking action," Jack reminded.

At this time, they had just entered a small town called Robertsdale at the border of the two states. There were cars coming and going on the road and many pedestrians on the sidewalks.

However, the guy who was chasing him was obviously a very arrogant person. When he saw Jack turn onto the road leading out of the town as soon as he entered, he obviously realized that he was being followed and was exposed, so he chased him straight after him.

"Damn it."

Jack increased his speed slightly, but no matter how good his driving skills were, he didn't dare drive too fast on city roads. Running a red light was no big deal for the FBI, but hitting an innocent passerby was a bit too much.

However, the Yukon behind seemed to be worried that the night would be too long and it stepped on the accelerator to catch up, as if it wanted to get close to the Subaru.

Jack snorted coldly and stepped on the accelerator to continue accelerating, putting distance between him and the Yukon River again.

But the Suburban and Yukon are both large SUVs after all, and their performance is similar to be honest. It's hard to tell which one is better on city roads.

Seeing that the front of the Yukon River, which was still chasing him, was getting closer and closer to the back of his car and was even showing an attitude of intending to PIT, Jack suddenly stepped on the brakes, and then changed gears, steered, pulled the handbrake, and stepped on the accelerator, all in one go.

Caught off guard, the Yukon hit the back of the Suburban. While the other party subconsciously stepped on the brakes to create distance, Jack had already controlled the huge body of the Suburban and began to drift with the help of the impact force.

The entire Suburban began to rotate with the middle area between the front and rear seats as the axis. When the body turned 90 degrees, Frank, who had already loosened his seat belt in advance, opened the passenger door.

When the car body twisted to 180 degrees, Frank stepped out of the car, holding the SIG Sauer P320-XTen given to him by Jack in both hands, and shot at the driving position of the Yukon River while walking.

The Suburban turned 360 degrees, and the rear of the car just brushed Frank's heels. At the same time, the front windshield of the Yukon River was riddled with spider-web-like bullet holes.

The man in the suit in the car reacted very quickly and fell down on the seat as soon as he realized something was wrong.

However, the gunshots did not stop. Frank was just like Jack did in the cemetery that day. He did not move his shoulders or feet, and kept suppressing and quickly approaching the enemy at a rate of one shot per second.

The 15-round magazine was quickly emptied, and Frank replaced the spare magazine. He was already less than 10 meters away from the Yukon River.

Almost in the less than 2 seconds when the gunfire stopped, the man in the suit, sensing something was wrong, immediately shifted the car into reverse gear and stepped on the accelerator, reversing the car at high speed without hesitation.

Gunshots rang out again, and the Yukon River with holes all over its front disappeared around the corner at a speed comparable to when it came. The Subaru also drove up to Frank's side, and Jack helped him reopen the passenger door.

"Frank, there's something wrong with the FBI. How did they track us down?" Marvin, who had been sitting in the back seat of the car holding the pink pig without saying a word the entire time, started to report the incident to Jack.

"It's obvious that someone has been watching you."

Jack took out his cell phone and called Dana Moger, briefly describing what had just happened to him.

Of course, he did not reveal that there were two retired CIA agents sitting next to him. Instead, he changed Beckett's case and claimed that he was investigating and was ambushed by suspected federal agents.

After reporting the license plate number of the Yukon and hanging up the phone, Jack said to Frank with some regret, "I'm sorry, I can't go to Mobile with you."

This is probably the disadvantage of being in the system. When internal conflicts arise, even if he is the victim, he must report to his superiors immediately and accept investigation.

Although the female boss is considered a "family member", the necessary procedures still have to be followed, and Jack must go back to New York first.

Jack flew back to New York alone that night. As soon as he walked into Dana Moger's office, he saw a familiar face he hadn't seen for a long time, CIA agent Michael Weston with a sly smile on his face.

It has been almost two years since I last saw this guy (Chapter 591). It was also in this office and the scene was somewhat similar. The difference was that it was normal working hours during the day, but now it was late at night, which was considered overtime.

"Aha, I'm glad to see you're okay, Jack." Michael Weston, whose voice was still hoarse, was extremely enthusiastic when he saw Jack. He immediately got up from the sofa and gave him a hug.

Jack felt his suit pocket being gently touched, as if something was stuffed in it. He endured the discomfort of being hugged by a man and did not push the guy away immediately.

"Now that the misunderstanding has been explained, I will take my leave first. It's getting late and there is a beautiful girl waiting for me."

Jack pushed Michael, who was about to rub his feet, back to the sofa and said, "You left just after I arrived. Is this the CIA's way of apologizing to the victim?"

Under the surprised gaze of this guy, Jack took out the small piece of paper he had just put into his pocket, unfolded it, and read out the two names on it, "William Cooper, Cynthia Wilkes, who are they?"

"Hey, man, that's not fair."

Michael, furious, reached out to snatch the note back, but his skills were too inferior to Jack's, and he was pushed back to the sofa by Jack after only two or three moves. Dana Moger, who was sitting behind the desk, was watching all this with a smile.

"So it's that bitch Cynthia. No wonder she's so unruly."

Seeing Jack looking at her in surprise, Dana, who always maintained the image of an elegant female boss in front of him, shrugged indifferently.

"She is an operations director of the National Covert Services (NCS) under the CIA's Directorate of Operations (DO). She is a well-known bitch who loves milk."

Hearing the vulgar words constantly spewing out of his female boss's beautiful red lips, Jack had the urge to cover his ears, but he could tell that the grudge between the two parties must be quite deep.