American Detective: Starting as a Rookie Cop in an American TV Show

Chapter 1318 The trapped beast still fights
"Keep an eye on him." The fat supervisor was not stupid enough to question an experienced old CIA agent, but subconsciously he still thought that he needed to confirm it, so he stood up, opened the door and left the interrogation room.

Although this was a secret facility of the NSA and there were indeed not many guards and agents stationed outside, he still found it hard to believe that it was raided.

The agent who was left behind was a baby-faced man who looked about the same age as an FBI agent Frank knew, but he obviously did not have the latter's rich experience.

"Code 100."

Seeing that he was still standing there stupidly, the bald man was somewhat helpless, "They are coming here, open my handcuffs."

"I can't do this." The baby-faced agent heard the gunshots outside becoming more and more obvious. At this time, even he could distinguish them, so he quickly drew his pistol and was on guard.

Frank looked at him as if he was mentally retarded. "You have the key, don't you? 50 feet, unlock the handcuffs, or be killed."

Seeing that the guy was still hesitating, Frank was already bending his left thumb, preparing to break free from the handcuffs by dislocating his fingers. Although this would affect his performance in combat, he obviously couldn't care less at the moment.

The opponent's advancement speed was quite fast, and they were obviously professionals. Frank was not interested in betting whether the NSA's professional office agents could stop the opponent.

If he hadn't met Jack, he wouldn't even think highly of the FBI.

The combat capabilities of the FBI agents who seem to be able to do whatever they want in the country are generally so-so, and some are even worse than those urban police who are actually fighting on the front line.

The reason why few people are willing to mess with FBI agents is mainly because of the bonus brought by their status as federal police.

After all, even if you shoot and kill an NYPD officer and become a police killer, you can generally survive as long as you escape New York and its surrounding areas. But if you get into trouble with the FBI, you can only pray that you happen to be near the southern or northern border.

At this time, the sound of gunfire outside was clearly audible, accompanied by screams. The baby-faced agent seemed to have finally figured it out at this time, and hurriedly took out the key to try to help Frank unlock the handcuffs.

However, almost a second before he was about to succeed, gunshots rang out outside the interrogation room door. After penetrating the door, dense bullets continued to shoot into the body of the baby-faced agent and accurately avoided the seated Frank.

Frank subconsciously shrank his head, looked at the key that fell to the ground and sighed secretly, it was just a little bit short.

The blond white man with a crew cut kicked open the broken door, emptied the remaining magazine of an MP5 at the baby-faced agent who had not yet fallen to the ground, threw the empty gun to one of the two men who followed him in, straightened his tie, and slowly walked into the interrogation room.

"Frank Moses." The blond man with a crew cut had a typical villain face and spoke with a bit of villain-specific pretentiousness, "You know what? As a former CIA agent, your achievements are enough to make me bow down to you.

But that’s all in the past now, isn’t it? At your age, how many times do you have to go to the bathroom a night now?”

Frank was still staring at his hands handcuffed to the iron rings of the interrogation table. If it were a few years ago, he might have cared about such words.

After all, he had to take a bunch of pills every day to fight the various hidden injuries left by his experiences in his youth. Getting up at night had gradually become an unspeakable secret for a man over 60 years old.

But ever since he met a certain FBI agent who claimed to have mastered a magical secret recipe, he no longer has back pain or leg pain, and he can have a great time with his girlfriend who is nearly 20 years younger than him. Naturally, he doesn't care about such a small personal attack.

Smelling the familiar smell of gunpowder in the room, something from the past was stirring. Frank raised his lips slightly and looked at the blond man with a buzz cut. "Who are you?"

"Me?" Blond sat down opposite Frank, not realizing that villains die because of talking too much. "You can think of me as some kind of private contractor, the kind that specializes in obtaining intelligence for the government and cleaning up the mess. I am allowed to use any lynching, because those people above sometimes don't care how the intelligence is obtained. Of course, I know that may not be useful to you, but I can torture Sarah until you are willing to talk."

Frank couldn't help but want to laugh. After all, in his opinion, this powerful talker in front of him was probably no match for Anna, a former FSB action agent, let alone snatching Sarah, who was protected by Jack, from Jack.

However, the blond guy with a buzz cut was obviously well prepared. Seeing that Frank's expression was calm, his little mouth, which was sweeter than honey, continued to whine.

"Oh, by the way, speaking of Sarah, I like to see her shaving her legs in the bathtub. It reminds me of the Belgian mercenaries I worked with in Congo.

They would skin people alive during torture, and do you know where they would start? Guess."

The blond guy with a buzz cut answered his own question, and when he laughed he looked like a pervert, "Yes, it starts from the ankles, just like your Sarah."

After saying that, he stood up and sat on the interrogation table, looking down at Frank. The old wooden table creaked under the weight. The two men who were on guard nearby were holding submachine guns and laughing foolishly.

"Give me the information I want, or you will have to watch your woman struggle in agony under my skinning knife."

Frank shook his head speechlessly and muttered, "I told her a long time ago that she must remember to draw the curtains when taking a bath."

"What?" The blond man with a shaved head didn't hear clearly what Frank said, and he leaned over to listen carefully, but he saw Frank tilt his head back slightly, and then slammed his head hard on the table.

The wooden interrogation table, which was already overwhelmed, broke into pieces in an instant. Amid flying wood chips, the blond man with a shaved head sitting on one side of the table fell to the ground in a panic, his eye sockets hit the upturned corner of the table hard, and he held his head and screamed in pain.

Without waiting for the two gunmen who entered the interrogation room with the crew-cut blond man to react, Frank, whose hands were still handcuffed, swung the fixed iron ring still connected to the handcuff chain and hit one of them.

The other gunman hurriedly tried to raise his gun, but Frank turned around and knocked the submachine gun out of his hand, then strangled him by the neck.

Frank, who was half a head taller than him, easily dragged him out of the interrogation room. At this time, there were six gunmen on guard at the stairs in the corridor. They turned around when they heard the noise behind them.

Faced with six black gun muzzles, Frank could only retreat to the other side of the corridor with the hostages. There was no exit here, only a large room similar to an archive room.

"Damn it, f*ck, son of the beach." A series of curses came from the interrogation room. "I didn't expect a retired old man to have such skills. But 1234567, seven to one, and you're handcuffed and don't even have a gun."

Covering his forehead, he quickly walked to the corridor, took out a SIG Sauer P220 with a silencer from his arms, and shot the hostage held by Frank in the head.

Frank was stunned for a moment, then dived into the room before he could pull the trigger again.

"You son of a bitch." The short-haired blond cursed inwardly and waved at one of his men, signaling him to move forward quickly, "Go ahead, be careful not to kill him directly."

However, before he could finish his words, the gunman, who was cautiously holding his gun and looking towards the door, was knocked to the ground by something unknown. He was still struggling to get up, but there was as if there was a monster in the room, which dragged him in without even a scream.

(End of this chapter)