Everyone stared as Jack placed six M995 rounds neatly inside one of the insulin cartons.
Catherine immediately understood what they were looking at.
“That’s how they’re moving the ammunition.
They’re hiding it inside medical packaging.
Shipments labeled as medical supplies aren’t going to attract the same attention as crates marked like ammunition.”
Hank Voight took the carton from Jack and examined the tracking information printed on the side.
“Find the shipment code.
Erin, contact the FDA and trace where this insulin came from.”
Three hours later, the Intelligence Unit was back upstairs organizing everything they had learned.
Erin stood near the whiteboard with an investigation report in hand.
“The insulin came from a Canadian company called Markham Medical.
The company confirmed they regularly ship products into the Chicago area, mostly to hospitals, clinics, and medical distributors.”
“When was the latest shipment?” Hank asked.
“Five days ago.” Erin looked down at the report.
“It was released to a sales representative named George Wilenko after he claimed a hospital had an urgent need.
Wilenko is fifty-eight, one of Markham Medical’s senior salesmen, and only a couple of years from retirement.
According to the company, he recently transferred to the United States to help expand their business.”
Hank immediately looked toward the tech station.
“Jin, find his phone.
I want to talk to George Wilenko before whoever is behind this decides to disappear.”
Sheldon Jin went to work.
It didn’t take long before he came back with a location.
George Wilenko’s cell phone was transmitting from a parking lot in the Cicero area.
Hank took Jack and Catherine with him.
Their performance during the previous operation had impressed him, and he had already started thinking about how useful the pair could become inside Intelligence.
Antonio Dawson was sent with another team to question the three arrested gang leaders and see whether any of them knew more about the supplier.
The location Sheldon provided led them to a mostly empty parking lot.
A small white refrigerated medical-transport truck sat alone near the far end.
Hank slowed as they approached.
“There.”
Jack and Catherine moved with him toward the vehicle.
The moment they reached the driver’s side, the situation became clear.
George Wilenko was slumped over the steering wheel.
A bullet hole marked the back of his head, while dried blood covered part of the window and dashboard.
“Damn it.” Hank’s expression hardened.
“Somebody shut him up.”
Jack carefully opened the door and examined the interior without disturbing more than necessary.
The body was already stiff, and judging from its condition, George had probably been dead for more than twelve hours.
There were no obvious signs of a struggle inside the truck, suggesting the shooter had been someone George knew well enough to let close.
Catherine moved around to the passenger side.
After checking beneath the seat, she pulled out a disposable coffee cup and studied it.
A faint lipstick mark remained around the lid.
“Someone else was riding with him.
A woman.”
She looked toward Hank.
“The report said George’s wife is also in Chicago.”
Hank immediately called Sheldon.
“Jin, find George Wilenko’s wife.
I want her location now.”
His phone chimed less than a minute later.
Responding patrol officers arrived just as Hank received the address.
He ordered them to secure the truck, call in the crime-scene unit, and maintain the perimeter before taking Jack and Catherine back to the car.
The new location led them to a hotel.
George Wilenko’s wife was there.
Unfortunately for her, she was also in the middle of an affair.
Not long afterward, Mrs.
Wilenko was sitting inside an Intelligence interrogation room while Hank questioned her.
Her composure didn’t last long under his pressure, and eventually she told him everything she knew.
The rest of Intelligence watched from the observation room next door.
According to Mrs.
Wilenko, George had a nephew named Michael Gantz.
The medical shipment had originally been proceeding normally, but while George was driving, he received a phone call from Michael and abruptly left the highway.
She had gotten out of the truck later and gone to the hotel, so she had no idea what happened after that.
Hank immediately had Sheldon run Michael Gantz.
The report came back quickly.
Michael Gantz, age thirty.
Former Canadian military logistics personnel.
Dismissed two years earlier following multiple management failures.
His movements since leaving the military had been inconsistent, but recent banking activity showed unusually large financial transactions.
The pieces immediately began falling into place.
Hank placed Michael’s file on the table.
“Michael used his uncle’s legitimate medical shipments to move weapons.
George eventually figured out what he was doing, probably panicked and threatened to go to the police, so Michael killed him.
After that, he needed to unload the shipment quickly, which explains why he reached out to three gangs at once.”
Antonio folded his arms.
“Except now all three buyers are in custody.
Michael knows the deal is blown.
He’ll either become a lot more careful or grab whatever he can and leave Chicago.”
“No,” Jack said.
Everyone looked toward him.
Jack tapped the shipment information.
“He’ll find another buyer.”
Antonio raised an eyebrow.
“Michael is already exposed,” Jack continued.
“Trying to move two million dollars’ worth of rifles, ammunition, grenades, and explosives is dangerous.
Every mile he travels with that shipment increases his chance of getting stopped.
He’s already invested too much to abandon it, so instead of running with the merchandise, he’ll try to sell it faster.”
Hank studied him.
“What are you thinking, Stacy?”
“We give him another buyer.” Jack didn’t hesitate.
“We go straight into the lion’s den.
Somebody approaches him with enough money to make him believe the deal is still alive, then we follow him back to wherever he’s storing the shipment.”
Hank crossed his arms and thought for several seconds before looking toward Al.
“You’ve done more undercover work than anyone here.
Take Stacy with you.”
Al Olinsky raised an eyebrow.
“It’s risky.
If Michael recognizes either of us, the operation is over before it starts.”
“He won’t recognize Jack,” Hank replied.
“He’s been on the job less than a month and has almost no public exposure.
Dress him like some spoiled rich kid with too much money and not enough common sense.
You play the middleman.”
Al considered it, then nodded.
“Fine.
But once we’re in the field, he follows my lead.”
That evening, Jack and Al drove into an abandoned warehouse district on Chicago’s South Side.
Jack wore an expensive casual suit and a gold watch, looking every bit like a wealthy young man who had never been told no in his life.
Al wore a plain jacket, several days of stubble, and the tired expression of a man who had spent decades arranging deals for people with more money than sense.
They parked near an abandoned auto repair shop that Michael had chosen for the meeting.
Before getting out, Al looked toward Jack.
“Talk less than you think you should.
Watch everything.
You want him to believe you’re arrogant, impatient, and rich enough to waste money.”
“Got it.”
Jack took a breath.
When he looked up again, his expression had changed completely.
A lazy, contemptuous smile appeared on his face.
Al stared at him for a second.
“Yeah.
That’ll work.”
A black SUV entered the repair shop several minutes later.
Michael Gantz stepped out.
He was lean, short-haired, and carried himself with the alertness of someone who had spent years watching for trouble.
His eyes moved over Al first before settling on Jack.
“You the one who contacted me?” Michael asked, his Canadian accent noticeable.
“That was me.” Al lit a cigarette.
“This is my client.
He’s interested in what you’re selling.”
Michael approached Jack and looked him over.
“You seem young.
Rich kid with a gun hobby?”
Jack gave him an irritated stare.
“Can we skip the bullshit?
Money isn’t the problem.
I’ve got somewhere better to be tonight, so show me the merchandise and let’s finish this.”
Michael smiled slightly.
Apparently, the act worked.
“In this business, caution keeps you alive,” Michael said.
“You come with me to inspect the shipment.
Your friend stays here.”
Al immediately looked annoyed, but he knew arguing too strongly could make Michael suspicious.
More importantly, he had seen enough of Jack’s abilities to believe the rookie could survive a few minutes alone.
“Fine.” Al stepped back toward the entrance, using the movement to discreetly signal the rest of the team.
Jack shrugged.
“Whatever.
Let’s go.”
He climbed into Michael’s SUV.
They drove deeper into the warehouse district before eventually stopping at a much larger building in a more isolated area.
Two armed guards stood outside, and bright industrial lights poured from the open entrance.
Inside, rows of wooden crates filled the warehouse.
Several were already open.
Jack walked over as though the entire experience bored him.
The first crate contained rows of C7 rifles, each one clean and coated with fresh oil.
Another held M995 ammunition.
Nearby crates contained grenades, plastic explosives, and several sets of body armor.
Michael spread his arms slightly.
“Latest inventory from Canadian military channels.
I still know people.”
Jack slowly examined the shipment.
The amount matched what Banfield had described.
Roughly two million dollars in illegal weapons.
“I want to test one.”
One of Michael’s men handed him a C7.
Jack checked the rifle, inserted a magazine, raised it toward a target at the far end of the warehouse, and fired a controlled three-round burst.
All three rounds struck the center.
Michael raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve done this before.”
Jack handed the rifle back.
“I mess around.
What’s your price?”
A faint voice came through the hidden earpiece in Jack’s ear.
“Team in position.”
The word test had been the operational signal.
It told Intelligence that Jack had visually confirmed the illegal weapons shipment.
Seconds later, gunfire erupted outside.
Michael’s expression changed instantly.
He stared at Jack.
“You’re a fucking cop.”
Jack widened his eyes as though equally shocked and grabbed a Colt 1911 from the nearby table before diving behind a wooden crate.
“What the fuck?
You’re trying to set me up!”
Michael had no time to decide whether Jack was acting.
The warehouse doors burst open.
Hank Voight entered with the Intelligence Unit behind him, several officers carrying rifles.
“Chicago Police!
Drop your weapons!”
One of Michael’s gunmen went down almost immediately.
Michael threw himself behind a crate and began firing wildly toward the entrance.
“Cops!
Go to hell!”
The warehouse erupted into chaos.
Jack stayed low behind the crates.
Nobody was paying attention to the supposed rich buyer anymore.
He moved between cover positions while the firefight continued, occasionally leaning out just long enough to fire.
With his enhanced shooting skills, every shot he took found its intended target.
Within moments, Jack had worked his way around the side of Michael’s position.
Michael turned and suddenly found Jack only a few feet away.
His eyes widened.
“You—”
Jack didn’t give him time to finish.
He closed the distance, trapped Michael’s arm, broke his balance, and used Tactical Grappling Lv.2 to drive him onto the warehouse floor.
Michael struggled once.
Jack tightened the hold.
He stopped.
Several minutes later, the remaining gunfire faded as Hank and the others finished securing the building.
Catherine was one of the first people to reach Jack.
Her eyes immediately moved over his chest, arms, and shoulders until she confirmed he hadn’t been hit.
Only then did she relax.
Michael looked up at Jack from the floor with disbelief.
“You really are a cop.”
Jack took the handcuffs Catherine handed him and pulled Michael’s arms behind his back.
“Chicago Police.
Michael Gantz, you’re under arrest for arms trafficking and the murder of George Wilenko.”
Michael gave a bitter laugh.
“That old man was my uncle.
I didn’t want to kill him.”
“Save it for the judge.”
Jack locked the cuffs.
By the time the warehouse was fully secure, Michael’s men were either dead, wounded, or in custody.
Hank walked between the crates, examining the seized weapons.
Jack joined him.
“It’s all here.
About two million dollars’ worth.”
Hank watched officers escort Michael toward a patrol vehicle before looking at Jack.
“Good work.
Undercover operations go bad fast, but you handled yourself.”
Al walked over and slapped Jack lightly on the shoulder.
“You played the spoiled rich asshole pretty well.
I almost believed you.”
Jack gave him a look.
“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”
As evidence teams began tagging the rifles, ammunition, explosives, and armor, Jack stood outside the warehouse and watched the operation wind down.
Then the familiar system notification appeared.
[Canadian arms dealer Michael Gantz arrested.]
[Reward obtained: Bronze Treasure Chest ×1.]
Jack took a slow breath.
The cold Chicago night carried the smell of gunpowder, gasoline, and blood.
Every case seemed to drag him deeper into a more dangerous world.
And every time he survived, the Super Cop System made him stronger.
“Stacy!”
Jack looked toward Hank.
“Eight tomorrow morning,” Hank called.
“We need to talk about officially transferring you and Hayek into Intelligence.”
Jack turned toward Catherine.
She was already looking at him.
The two exchanged a smile.
[Community Goals Ongoing]