"Oh?"
Jillian instinctively raised an eyebrow. Jamie, who was beside her, picked up the file, opened it, and saw that it was about the series of explosions that occurred this morning on the New York City Subway Line 7 and at the Flushing adows US Open Main Stadium.
"7:05 AM, over an hour ago?"
"Yes, the main perpetrator this ti is very brazen, openly live-streaming the terrorist attack online. From the live-stream video, it seems he threatened a passerby, but this passerby doesn't seem simple either."
The middle-aged detective spoke as he flipped to the third page for Jamie.
"The key point is here. The passerby deduced that the bomber used high-level bomb-making skills, remote control circuit boards, electronic detonators, high explosives. This might be the clue you are looking for..."
Jillian and Jamie instinctively exchanged glances.
The reason the middle-aged detective said this is because he knows the two ca from the FBI Washington headquarters to the New York Division to investigate a murder case.
The identity of the deceased is not simple: Klyka Orlov, who on the surface was a logistics company owner, but secretly an arms dealer.
He used his logistics channels as a cover, bribed customs anti-smuggling units, and sold arms worldwide, making profits of hundreds of millions of US Dollars, exclusively choosing to cooperate with "blacklisted" contacts, business partners ranging from illegal warlords and rebel armies to terrorists and murderers.
Yet half a month ago,
Orlov was assassinated in his secret private residence, and the scene lost so cash, weapons, explosives, and a rcedes GLS vehicle.
After tracing internal clues, the FBI finally pinpointed the vehicle's location near an abandoned junkyard in New York's northern Queens suburbs.
Thus,
headquarters sent Jillian and her partner to investigate, with the New York Division providing assistance.
Jillian imdiately opened the computer on the desk, searched for Tik's passionfruit live-stream room using the keywords from the case description.
At this mont, the live-stream screen was still pitch black.
But from the sound, one could feel the broadcaster moving, though the background noise was too chaotic to discern what exactly he was doing.
That's because Gu Ji intentionally stuffed his hand into his pocket, blocking the phone's microphone pickup.
The sound of the mall's scanning machine is too distinctive.
Just hearing it a few tis, the police could determine he was now in a mall supermarket.
He deliberately clutched his right flank with his right hand to prevent the wound from being exposed, while his left hand held items as he went to the checkout counter.
After paying, Gu Ji quickly located an ergency exit, first used his phone to take pictures of the building's fire escape route map, then went to the unoccupied stairwell platform between the first and second floors, gently lifting his baseball jacket.
Perhaps from moving around.
The right half of the white T-shirt was already completely stained red with blood. At the fifth rib, there was a bloody hole, precisely at the upper margin of the liver. If the bullet went in an inch further, it would have caused massive liver hemorrhage, and he wouldn't survive long.
Gu Ji endured excruciating pain, carefully took off his baseball jacket, biting the sleeve.
No choice.
At this ti, he couldn't make a single sound; although the police should have deduced from the bloodstains in the car that he was injured, as the bullet was lodged in the rib and didn't hit any arteries or organs, there wasn't much bleeding, so his specific injuries weren't clear for the mont.
But once it was exposed that he was treating his wound.
The police would feel "unrestrained," imdiately taking advantage of the situation to pursue him, potentially locking onto stores or supermarkets selling dical supplies, thereby identifying his features again from surveillance.
Fortunately, Gu Ji already had certain dical treatnt knowledge and had just learned trauma care and ergency auxiliary dical courses during an exchange class with the Flying Tiger Team in Xiangzhou, so handling a gunshot wound on his own was no problem.
He first disinfected his portable folding knife with dical alcohol.
Raising his right arm, he took a deep breath and stabbed into the wound, causing a heart-wrenching pain that made Gu Ji's vision darken and his back snap straight, nearly fainting.
This inevitably made him long for the special historical imprint at the BASF checkpoint that could reduce the stabbing pain.
Fortunately, he was biting the clothing in his mouth.
After finally coming around, Gu Ji, akin to picking at a blackhead on the nose, tentatively searched for the bullet's location, the process of which could only be described as "blade twisting" in terms of pain.
Just after a few tries, his forehead was drenched like being washed by heavy rain, and his face was as pale as paper.
Finally, the tip of the knife felt the hard touch of sothing.
He gently flicked, and a deford copper bullet, stained with fresh blood, fell to the ground. Gu Ji's body softened, barely leaning against the wall, finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.
[What was that sound, seed like sothing fell!]
[Where exactly is the strear now? Why has there been no movent for so long!]
[No idea, probably found a place to hide, I guess?]
[Hiding wouldn't help, the police must have already surrounded the mall; should've escaped earlier!]
[It's useless, helicopters are guarding the parking lot exits, any suspicious person or vehicle coming out will be locked on again. He can only enter the mall and look for another solution!]
[In a word, personal power can't stand against the police, escaping capture is too difficult, especially with the strear's location being leaked—if it weren't for the live-stream constraints, he would've fled a long ti ago!]
...
"Ciri, you're right, this passerby nad 'Baron' is indeed not an ordinary person."
FBI New York Division office, Jillian was watching the live stream and found previous recorded videos of the live stream on YouTube.
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