American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 61 List
Upon returning to the safe house, Beta immediately began cleaning up. He removed all his disguises, stuffing the used mask, wig, and other items into a plastic bucket. Then, he took out a pre-prepared potent solvent from a locker and poured it in without hesitation.

"Hiss—" Acrid white smoke instantly rose up, and a violent chemical reaction sound came from inside the bucket as the camouflage material rapidly dissolved in the solvent. Beta turned and walked to the sink, turned on the tap, and carefully scrubbed the remaining adhesive off her face with professional cleaner.

As the cool tap water washed over his face, he gave himself a facial massage to relax his tense muscles. But the moment Beta looked up at the mirror, his movements froze. The image in the mirror filled him with disbelief, his pupils dilating slightly.

Beta froze, his right hand hovering in mid-air, his index finger hesitantly reaching for his earlobe. There, a striking red hue appeared. The moment his fingertip touched it, the warm sensation sent a shiver down his spine.

He slowly withdrew his hand, raised his blood-stained index finger to his eyes, and gently pinched it between his thumb and index finger. The crimson stain spread across his fingertip, like a drop of paint falling into clear water, so glaring it was startling.

"Fuck"

He stared at the crimson on his fingertips, his voice so low it was almost inaudible.
-

Director Moore spoke slowly, his aged yet steady voice carrying the authority that comes with age: "Keep turning the pages, let me see just how rotten the British intelligence service really is."

The entire conference room fell into a deathly silence, but soon, the commotion spread like ripples.

"The authenticity of this list is completely questionable!" one of the officials whose name was on the list slammed his fist on the table. "I believe it cannot be used as evidence in the Downing Street assassination case at all!"

"Questionable?" Another official, not on the list, immediately stood up to retort, his voice full of sarcasm: "Then tell me, where is there any doubt?"

The meeting room erupted in chaos. Some people hurled insults, throwing words like "parasite" and "traitor" at each other; others watched coldly, arms crossed as if observing a farce; still others glanced at Director Moore from time to time, awaiting instructions from this veteran of the intelligence community.

Moore leisurely took a cigarette from the metal cigarette case and slowly put it between his lips. The lighter paused in his hand for a few seconds before snapping open with a soft blue flame.

The head of the Special Operations Division bowed slightly and said in a voice that could only be heard up close, "Keep quiet."

Medvedeva frowned in confusion.

Just then, an official near the computer exchanged a glance with the operations director, who had looked up again. The next second, the official suddenly sprang to his feet, pouncing on the computer with the USB drive plugged in like a wild beast. He slammed heavily onto the table, and with a loud crash, the computer and projector fell to the ground.

"It's all fake! It's all fake!" the official roared hysterically, pounding his fist on the computer on the ground.

The agents in the conference room reacted swiftly, rushing forward to grab the crazed official and roughly shove him back into his seat. The operations director calmly straightened his rumpled suit, bent down to pick up the fallen equipment, and reinserted the USB drive.

The entire farce, from its outbreak to its demise, lasted only a minute. Under Moore's icy gaze, the official slumped down, staring intently at the table in front of him.

The projector lit up again, and Doyle's list reappeared before everyone's eyes. On the surface, everything seemed to have returned to square one: the list, the USB drive, the two factions of officials at loggerheads, and Director Moore puffing on a cigarette.

But Medvedeva keenly sensed something was amiss. She clearly remembered that the list initially showed a total of 125 pages.

Now, the inconspicuous number in the lower right corner of the screen clearly shows 124 pages, and the font size of the entire list is also slightly different from what was just displayed on the screen.

Medvedeva turned to look at her supervisor, only to meet a sharp gaze that held both warning and admonition. She recalled her supervisor's earlier whisper: "Keep quiet."

Medvedeva lowered her head. The list Doyle had given her had been secretly switched right there in this conference room, right under the noses of all the high-ranking officials present.

The supervisor and Director Moore exchanged glances: "Sir, shall we continue?"

Director Moore slowly exhaled a puff of smoke, the grayish-white smoke swirling around him: "What do you think?"

The supervisor nodded in understanding and clicked on the first name on the list, along with the corresponding supporting evidence.

Medvedeva stood beside the supervisor, her gaze sweeping over every face in the conference room. These were the highest-ranking officials in the British intelligence system, and they were already aware of the existence of such a list.

what does this mean?
Factional struggles and power games have long been the norm in this system. No one is an outsider; everyone is fully aware of it. Britain's most elite intelligence agency has, at some point, degenerated into a naked arena for power struggles rather than a tool for safeguarding national security.

Director Moore slowly exhaled a puff of smoke, his gaze sweeping across the opened documents on the screen one by one.

As the list was gradually revealed, the atmosphere in the meeting room became tense.

The officials reacted in various ways: some were suspicious and their eyes darted back and forth between Director Moore; some's faces changed drastically, and they became stiff and uneasy; some leaned back in their chairs with a sigh of relief; and some, more agitated, stood up angrily, pointed at Director Moore, and demanded, "Are you abusing your power to eliminate dissidents? Are you paving the way for your re-election?"

Director Moore calmly stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table and looked at the head of the Special Operations Division: "I need an explanation for the source of this list."

“Reporting, sir,” the supervisor replied immediately. “This list was personally provided by Scotland Yard Chief Superintendent Doyle.”

Medvedeva turned her gaze to her supervisor, who had never revealed the specific source of the list to anyone, only vaguely stating that the intelligence came from a "senior official in London."

Chief Inspector Moore slowly rose to his feet: "Chief Inspector Doyle is also one of my political enemies. Why would he give me this list? Doesn't he know my stance?"

His voice suddenly rose: "Or is it that he'd rather hand this list over to his mortal enemy than not expose you parasites?!"

The conference room fell into dead silence.

Director Moore looked around at everyone and said, word by word, "Because Doyle knows better than any of you that if corrupt elements are not removed from Britain's most important intelligence agency, the entire national security will be threatened! He is a hero who cares about the country, even though he may be a traitor in your eyes."

He walked toward the door: "Today is the 25th. Before the 1st of next month, those on the list should submit their resignations. Don't force me to resort to drastic measures."

The office door slammed shut.

(End of this chapter)