Capítulo 159: The Handwriting
Ten minutes later, Zhang Jue threw a lecherous-looking man to the ground. There was also a barrette that had been twisted.
That fast?
Stevenson glanced at Zhang Jue. This kind of sniper usually waited for his target at a very long distance and was very good at concealment. If he were to look for him, not saying that he would never find it, but it would certainly take quite a bit of time.
Zhang Jue looked like he had gone out and slipped away. His expression seems normal. There were even two cups of hot coffee in his hand. Stevenson sighed.
Was it really that big of a gap in terms of skill to anyone who works with him?
He felt a little sympathy for the friend Zhang Jue was talking about. Spending all day with someone as powerful as Advisor Zhang did make it easy to develop self-doubt. Zhang Jue handed him the coffee and took a sip himself, mumbling that the take-out industry in this country was underdeveloped and that he still had to go to the store to buy it himself.
It was winter, and a sip of hot coffee could really cheer people up. Zhang Jue took a long breath, then kicked the sniper in the ass.
"Don't fucking play dead for me, or I'll twist your body like your gun too!"
The lecherous-looking man immediately opened his eyes and really did pretend to be unconscious. He climbed up and sat on the ground and said with a smile, "Please don't be mad at me. We are all out here just to make a living. You can ask any question, and I will say absolutely everything."
"Tell me everything? I don't believe that." Zhang Jue said, looking at Stevenson, "Do you believe it?"
Stevenson was also specially trained in it in terms of interrogation, and he cooperated, "I don't believe it either."
The man obviously panicked, "No, no, I just get paid to do things. As long as you are willing to let me go, I will never lie!"
"Alright." Zhang Jue took out the dagger he had with him and handed it to Stevenson, "Then tell us, let's hear it for a moment, Stevenson. That shot he just took almost hit you. Now I'm handing him over to you. If you think he lied, do whatever you want with him."
With that, Zhang Jue got up and walked out of the room. Leaving the sniper to Stevenson alone to take care of it.
The sniper saw his bad situation and begged for mercy, "Boss, believe me. I will tell you everything I know."
Stevenson's face was calm as he flipped the dagger Zhang Jue gave him in his hand, "Fine, then tell us who you're really waiting for here."
Half an hour later, Stevenson exited with a confession and handed it to Zhang Jue, who was sitting on the railing watching the view.
"He's a hitman, doesn't know much about anything we're looking for. The employer seems to have a very strong background, and they're after Smith's flash drive. The flash drive contents are unclear to him, and the employer said whoever looks at it will die."
"USB Flash Drive huh? Zhang Jue pinched his chin, remembering the news of the past two days in this country. Thinking about it, the content that's saved within it shouldn't be a tape of some celebrity adult video, right?
Zhang Jue pondered for a moment. His eyes glanced into the room, "How is that person?"
Stevenson said, "I knocked him out and tied him up. He can't get away."
Zhang Jue looked at the clean dagger in his hand, "And you didn't stab him a few times?"
"Uh..." Stevenson said awkwardly, "He was more cooperative, and I judged that he wasn't lying. So I didn't do anything to him."
"Alright, Stevenson." Zhang Jue patted his shoulder, "You're really a good guy."
....
The search for Smith doesn't come to fruition. They confirmed that Smith was alive, but they also knew that he was involved in a very serious incident. Zhang Jue told Stevenson to put the sniper in the trunk and send him back to the Foundation for further interrogation.
He stayed here and continued his investigation. Smith's room was simply furnished, and Zhang Jue looked around again and found some details he hadn't noticed before.
In the bowl on the table, there were some noodles that had long been moldy and dried up. Chopsticks were scattered to the side. Apparently, Smith was eating noodles, suddenly something happened, and then in a hurry to leave the place. It was likely the same group of people who had been rummaging around here had come.
Zhang Jue sat at the head of the bed, pondering where Smith might have gone. The bed was the most common kind of iron-framed bed. His fingers tapped on it, and the iron pipe made a rhythmic sound as if that helped him think more.
As he tapped, he noticed that a certain section sounded different, as if it was a bit muffled. There seemed to be something inside.
"Hmm?"
Zhang Jue turned on his flashlight and shone it in from the other end of the iron pipe, finding that it seemed to be a paper ball. The paper ball was new and had obviously been stuffed in not long ago.
Zhang Jue's instincts drove him.
He found a coat hanger, broke the wire straight, and poked it through the other end of the iron pipe, just enough to hook the paper ball. It took him a good deal of effort to get the paper ball out of it. He opened the paper ball and saw the contents on it. The corners of his mouth could not help but curl up.
His luck was as good as ever.
Only to see that the paper ball, written in crooked handwriting, "Danger! Leave quickly!"
Apparently, someone gave Smith a warning. The message had neither a beginning nor an ending, so it was unknown who had written it. Zhang Jue took it in his hand and examined it carefully. He thought the writing seemed familiar to him as if he had seen it somewhere before.
He usually worked at Site-14 and didn't know many foreigners, let alone someone who would write to him. But Zhang Jue just felt that he must have seen this writing before.
Harvey? Hael? Clement?
None of them seemed to be the person behind it. Was it some random researcher's writing?
He sat in Smith's room, thinking for a long time, and finally remembered when he had seen this handwriting. It was still before he went to the Foundation's headquarters on Thanksgiving Day when he and Yang Xue were answering quizzes in a mall.
A mysterious person called him and persuaded him to answer that additional quiz. The reward for the additional quiz was a ticket for the fight between Fang Tianlong and Hudson, and the ticket had the same string of English on the back.
"Mr. Zhang, Can I trust you? Let me see your abilities!"
He was sure that the words on that invitation to the boxing match and the ones on this paper ball must have come from the same person's handwriting.
What does it mean? Who was this person?
At the time, Zhang Jue had gone to see Fang Tianlong and Hudson's boxing match because of that phone call and that writing. Then he met SCP-1440, The Old Man who bet against Death itself.
Obviously, the mysterious person knew something was going to happen at the boxing match that night and probably wanted to test him to see if he could work it out. But after that incident, the mysterious person disappeared without a trace.
Zhang Jue had thought about tracking him down, but because there was so much going on, like a meeting with SCP-682 and then fixing the hard drive, he had put it on hold. He hadn't expected that the mysterious person would show up again here.
Giving a warning to others. Kind of interesting.
In the beginning, Zhang Jue hadn't seen this Smith person as too important. Just like the Foundation, at best, he was considered a captain with some abilities, nothing more. The current Smith had no way of predicting what would happen in the future, and finding him was just better than nothing. But Zhang Jue was now interested in him.
Because that mysterious person must have a connection with him.
...
Somewhere in a Philadelphia's sewer. Will Smith gritted his teeth and wrapped his injured leg in bandages. In the past two days, he has dodged an unknown number of waves of pursuit. This reminds him of his previous experience as a mercenary and his enemies. But that time was in the jungle, while now he was in a metro city. He wondered what had happened to all of his partners.
At a glance, he saw his partners joining him. Yet when he opened his eyes, he was still in a dark and damp sewer.
"Drip, drip, drip."
His phone suddenly rang. His original phone had been thrown away long ago, it was his own for emergencies, and no one knew the number, so he was a little surprised. He pressed the answer button anyway and didn't speak a word.
"Smith, I know you're listening." The mysterious person's voice was a little hoarse.
"In the B&B at thirty-four Minetta Street, I've got some antibiotics, clothes for you to change, and some food. You can go there safely now."
There he is again!
Smith clenched his fist slightly. These days, there had been a mysterious person who was secretly giving him help—usually leaving some notes. The mysterious person seemed to know him very well. The note is usually placed under the bar where he often sits or in the toilet where he hides his cigarettes.
This was the first time he heard the mysterious person's voice.
"Who are you?" Smith asked.
"It doesn't matter who I am." The mystery person replied, "All you need to know is if there's only one person in this world that you can trust, then it's me."
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