Daily life of an American TV drama agent

"Sorry, Mr. Finch," Ron continued, probably sensing Finch's discomfort, "I'm not an idealist like Reese, and I'm not alone. I have a lot of mouths to feed, and I'm happy to I'll help you, but I must see tangible benefits.

I mean the benefits are enough to make me excited. For your reference, when I was asked to help with CIA work, I directly offered a high price of 50 million. Of course, depending on the difficulty level of the task, I can also give you an appropriate discount. . "

Ron put on a complete face of a profiteer. Of course he remembered that the price offered to him by the CIA was 10 million, and later it was increased to 30 million. But he bet that Finch must not know that business is about self-importance. Nothing more than normal.

The most important thing is that the person in front of him is very rich. He is so rich that he can easily spend hundreds of millions of dollars. After all, he should be much more generous than the stingy guy from the CIA, right?

Ron knew that the remuneration given to him by the CIA for the last mission was 100 million US dollars. After deducting the 30 million that Ron actually took, 70% of it was a kickback to them!

As expected of the CIA, you are still ruthless when it comes to making money!

"No, no, no, I think you made a mistake. I don't know how much the CIA offered you, but I believe that what you got in the end was definitely not the price you said."

Finch obviously knew the CIA's capabilities very well, and was not intimidated by Ron. He directly offered his price: "Twenty million, I only want you to save one child. After the event is completed, the money will be transferred directly to your account." Since your agent knows about my existence, he knows that I will never breach the contract."

"No problem, I'll take over this job. Send a copy of the mission goals and your progress to my email. No matter what the problem is, as long as it's in Los Angeles, I promise to solve it within three days."

Twenty million is already a high price, and Ron is very satisfied with it.

"No, you only have a day and a half, Mr. Cooper," Finch seemed to have guessed that Ron would agree, and handed him the file bag he had prepared: "Target person: Salior Gates , a Los Angeles criminal court judge. His wife died young, leaving him with only one son to depend on. But his son was kidnapped at noon today, and the kidnapper also injured my partner.

The victim is currently at home in Santa Monica. Where are you going? "

Finch was introducing the case, and Ron had already turned around and was about to leave: "Of course I have to meet the judge first. I believe what I see with my own eyes more than the information I heard."

The small town of Santa Monica is located at the end of Highway 10. It is famous for being comfortable and livable among the many satellite towns in Los Angeles. The number of middle-class families living here is the largest among several other small towns.

Judge Gates' residence was in an alley two blocks away from Route 10. Ron did not go in directly, but walked around twice to make sure there were no other people watching around before knocking on Gates' door.

"Hello, who are you?" Gates' expression was a little sad, but he concealed it so well that most people might not be able to see it.

Ron showed his ID: "IRS, Judge Gates, can you let me in for a chat?"

"I did not evade taxes!" Even though he was immersed in sadness, Judge Gates responded immediately and reflexively. This shows that the reputation of the IRS can almost stop children crying at night in the United States.

"Congratulations, you are an outstanding American citizen, but this is not what I want to talk to you about." Ron pressed his foot against the crack of the door: "I'm here to pick up the class of the gentleman inside, yes, This is the gentleman who is pointing the gun at the door. Mr. Finch is calling you to go to the hospital."

"Okay, I'll leave this to you." The door was fully opened, and a man with gray hair on his temples walked out. It was obvious that he had received the message from the earphones.

"Wait a minute, they don't allow me to contact the police or the FBI, otherwise they will fight!" Judge Gates was sober for a rare moment, but his focus was not on the same channel as Ron.

"I am the IRS. Have they ever said you are not allowed to ask the IRS for help?" Ron asked Judge Gates speechlessly. He turned around and grabbed the man who was about to leave.

"Wait a minute, John, I heard you have found some clues, right? Who is it that kidnapped his son?"

"Sayaka, Pskov Zevan, a brutal Eastern European street gang, they have business dealings with Pashtun warlords, use guns to trade heroin, and also do some kidnappings in Warsaw. It seems that they They just expanded to Los Angeles, but I still haven't figured out why they kidnapped little Sam.

It's very strange that the kidnappers haven't called yet, so I don't know if they are looking for money or if they have any other demands. "

"It's a very normal method, deliberately ignoring the family members for a long time, so that the family members' psychological defenses will collapse during the long waiting center, so that they can ask for more money later." Just as he was talking, the phone in the room suddenly rang, and Ron smiled playfully: "It looks like we'll know what they want right away."

Gates picked up the phone at the signal of the two, and his voice was transmitted simultaneously to Ron and John's headphones through the bug. There was a deep male voice on the phone.

"Hey, your son is in my hands, are you alone now?"

Ron nodded at Gates: "Yes, you have to prove that my son is still alive and let Sam listen to the call."

"Dad? Help me, I want to go home~" Little Sam's call came from the phone receiver. Judge Gates immediately collapsed when he heard it, but before he could say a few more words, the robber immediately turned over the phone. Seize it.

"Don't worry, your honor, your son is fine now. He is a good boy and very smart, just like you."

"How much do you want? I can give you whatever you want. I just ask you to return my son to me."

"Look, you are very smart," the other person said with satisfaction: "But you are lucky. We don't want money. We want your help. In a case you are handling now, the prosecutor is suing Angela Mahan. case, the prosecutor will lose.”

"What?"

"Dismiss the case, judge." The other party simply said more plainly: "Angel and Mahan are acquitted, otherwise your son will die."

After the other party finished speaking, he hung up the phone immediately. Ron looked regretful, because he only had five seconds to locate the number, and the other party was obviously an expert.

"What a clever little guy, I can't locate him," Ron shook his head helplessly: "Mr. Judge, what kind of case is Angela Mahan? Now it seems that she is the key to finding your son."