Super Detective in the Fictional World

amatically.

In the past, many things had to be agreed upon before they could be carried out.
Now, as long as they followed certain rules, they could act independently against individuals suspected of terrorist activity.

Compared with the last incident, the deaths in today’s New York case were nothing.

It wasn’t unusual for certain agencies to watch the situation deteriorate or even fuel the flames.

However, no matter what benefits certain people wanted to reap from this incident, the Detective Bureau couldn’t shoulder the blame.

Luke was in the Detective Bureau, and Dustin would be directly crushed by the blame if he couldn’t shoulder it.

Thus, the Detective Bureau had to capture Targo alive, and the other higher-ups would also do their best to do the same.

The small fry should be taken down to the last man.

However, Luke couldn’t guarantee how long they would live after they were released from the police department.

In any case, once everything was over, the fate of these people had nothing to do with the Detective Bureau.

You took the first step, I’ll take 50! It was only right to return the favor.

As Luke pondered this, something substantial finally popped up in the conversation in the logistics van.

In the face of the other party’s haranguing, John didn’t flare up, and simply retorted, “I only know that there’s some dog called Simon who has placed bombs all around the city, and he’s already set off ten of them.
How would I know why he’s fixated on me?”

The three men turned around and looked at each other.

The oldest man, who was about 50 years old, was from the FBI.
He nodded at the other two middle-aged men who were around forty, one African-American and one Caucasian.

The Caucasian man with gold-rimmed glasses was from Homeland Security.
He took out a file from his bag and showed them a photo.
“Do you know this person?”

John and Zeus, who had been silent the whole time, looked at the photo carefully and shook their heads.

Neither of them knew anyone in the next few pictures.

The African-American agent picked up the file and turned back to the first page.
Pointing at the tall man in sunglasses, he said, “This man is Mathias Targo, a bomb expert who has carried out far too many terrorist attacks.
Also, he usually charges a fee for his work.
We call him a freelance terrorist.”

John stared at the picture.
“Who’s the woman next to him?”

The man in gold-rimmed glasses said, “His girlfriend, Katya.
The rumor is that an agent put a bomb under their bed.
In the end, Targo never went back, while Katya met her maker.”

After that, the African-American agent flipped to the second page.
“This man is from Germany.
Reportedly, he served in a classified unit, but the German side hasn’t acknowledged him.
His name is Peter Gruber.”

Then, all three of them looked at John, clearly waiting for his reply.

John felt that something wasn’t right and asked in confusion, “Wow, that’s a lot of detail.
But what does it have to do with me?”

The three of them had strange expressions on their faces.
After trading looks for a moment, it was the old man from the FBI who said, “The name Gruber should ring a bell, right?”

John was stumped, and Dustin frowned.

A troublesome man in a beard appeared in John’s mind as he mumbled, “Yeah, that sounds familiar.”

Joe, who was standing guard next to the vehicle, suddenly thought of something.
“Is that from the Nakatomi Plaza case in Los Angeles?”

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