A burst of blood erupted from Henry Foster's ribs. Almost simultaneously, a 7.62mm bullet pierced his temple, carrying away a portion of his brain matter as it exited.
The body stood frozen for a mont before collapsing onto the girl on the ground, startling her into a scream.
Almost at the sa ti the shot rang out, less than 20 ters away, JJ and her two companions, hidden behind a rock, rushed forward.
"Good marksmanship!" Harris exclaid. He had chosen a more direct hit to the torso, but the effect was far less than Jack's headshot.
A shot to the torso wouldn't be imdiately fatal; the attacker might instinctively pull the trigger before dying, posing a threat to both the hostage beneath him and Hotchner below the cliff.
Harris gathered his Remington M700, slung it over his shoulder, and said, "See you at the bar tonight. I'll have the best beer and bourbon."
He then walked down the slope.
Rossi picked up the spent cartridge Jack had fired, toying with it in his hand, staring blankly at the distant scenery without saying a word.
"Still thinking about what Harris said?" Jack put away his HK417, placed it aside, and sat down beside him, hugging his knees.
"Not just Ruby Ridge, but Waco six months later, and Oklahoma City."
"Everyone rembers an FBI sniper who killed a mother holding her baby, and six months later, in Waco, we didn't fire a single shot, yet 76 people died—won and children."
"These scenes still haunt my mind. Why did so many people distrust us?"
"After that, many of my old friends left the FBI, and I wavered too."
The Waco Rossi referred to was the David Koresh massacre that occurred in the small Texas town of Waco on February 28, 1993.
Also after the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives' (ATF) operation failed, the FBI took over, deploying National Guard tanks and armored vehicles to besiege the Davidian Ranch in the heart of Mount Carl.
After a standoff lasting over 40 days, the FBI decided to launch a raid using tear gas. During the raid, the cult mbers poured liquid fuel inside the building.
Ultimately, 76 people died, including more than 20 children and two pregnant won.
Two years later, on April 19, 1995 (the second anniversary of the Waco massacre), a truck carrying over two tons of a mixture of ammonium fertilizer, thane, and diesel fuel exploded north of the nine-story Federal Building in Oklahoma City.
168 people died and nearly 700 were injured. This was the largest terrorist attack on North Arican soil before 9/11.
The perpetrator, McVeigh, was a supporter of militia groups and a sympathizer of the Davidian sect. According to his confession, his purpose in carrying out the bombing was to prevent the governnt from committing similar "cris" as the Waco massacre or the Ruby Ridge attack.
In short, these events were all very mysterious to Jack. When he was involved in political comntary, he had researched so related materials and watched related docuntaries with great interest.
A cult founded by a psychopathic maniac whose leader's mission was to sleep with all the wives of his followers sparked a tragedy, which, two years later, beca the catalyst for a horrific bombing.
The perpetrator believed that the harsh actions of federal law enforcent were the cause of the tragedy, essentially ignoring the leader's atrocities, which spared no one, from won in their fifties to girls just over ten years old.
Because in his view, these won were all "voluntary," a worldview that Jack only gradually began to understand later, when the country began to promote the normalization of child na changes from the top down.
"So, what made you go back to the FBI?" Jack asked.
"An unfulfilled wish" Rossi said, keeping him in suspense.
Jack wasn't going to let him off easily, pointing to a bracelet in his other hand.
"You know, while we may not be as experienced as you, in the BAU, it's really hard for an individual to have any secrets."
Rossi shook his head again, still insisting, "It's not the right ti yet. This happened too long ago; I need ti to sort out my thoughts. But I promise, when I need you, I won't hesitate to ask for your help."
"I hope you rember this: since you've gone to so much trouble to build this team, you should make it work. Everyone, including myself, is so excellent; we won't let you down." Jack shalessly boasted.
While the two were talking, the three people opposite them were waving at them. The kidnapped girl was unhard, except for being sowhat shaken, and had already left under the escort of two local police officers.
The coroner, who had rushed over, had finished his work, and his assistants were struggling to carry the body down the mountain on a stretcher.
From their current vantage point, the figures of JJ, Reid, and Emily were bathed in a golden halo in the afterglow of the setting sun.
"Aren't you trusting too much?" Jack put his rifle back in the trunk and said to Hotchner with a smile.
"That's almost 300 yards. This isn't a professional sniper rifle,"
Hotchner shrugged. "It seems I had no choice; at least I was farther from his gun than that girl."
Jack was montarily speechless. He had only wanted to start a conversation to see if Hotchner could get him so equipnt, but this righteous remark left him unsure how to continue.
"I'll apply for a dedicated sniper rifle for you." Hotchner said with a slight smile.
Tsk, they've all beco wicked; even their poker faces have learned to joke.
Harris wasn't exaggerating; his bar not only had good beer, but also strong homade whiskey. The BAU mbers enjoyed a rare mont of camaraderie.
It was perhaps an extrely rare sight to see FBI agents and militia mbers drinking together, with the local sheriff and several officers also present. They even held a fundraising event for the officer who had been killed in action.
When Jack returned ho to Los Angeles, it was late at night. Opening the door, he found an unexpected guest on the sofa: Hannah, her face covered with a book, fast asleep.
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