Watching Bruce perfectly place six M995 rifle rounds into an insulin box.
Katherine suddenly realized, “So that’s the transport method.
They use insulin packaging to transport bullets.
Medical supplies are rarely inspected thoroughly, especially in international shipping.”
Hank took the box and looked at it closely: “Find the tracking code.
Emma, contact the FDA and check the source of this insulin.”
Three hours later, the members of the Intelligence Unit returned to the office to organize the case.
Emma reported her findings with a grave expression, “According to the FDA investigation, this insulin comes from a Canadian company called Markham Medical.
Their head confirmed that their company ships to the Chicago area, but primarily to hospitals and clinics.”
“When was the most recent shipment?” Hank asked, frowning at the news.
“Five days ago, it was shipped to a sales representative named George Wilenko, claiming a hospital had an urgent need,” Emma said, looking at the investigation report with a slight hint of doubt.
“But the strange thing is, George Wilenko is a senior salesman at Markham Medical.
He’s fifty-eight years old and only two years away from retirement.
The company said he only recently applied for a transfer to the United States to expand business.”
“Track his cell phone.
I want to talk to Mr.
Wilenko; he might be the mastermind seller we’re looking for.” Hank ordered Sheldon, who was the technical support for the Intelligence Unit.
Soon, Sheldon from the tech team sent back the results: George Wilenko’s cell phone signal was located in a parking lot in the Cicero District.
Hank immediately took Bruce and Katherine and drove there.
Their cooperation this morning had impressed him.
He wanted to forge this duo into the sharpest blade of the Intelligence Unit.
At the same time, Hank had Antonio lead a team to the hospital to find the three arrested gang leaders and ask for useful leads.
…
In the Cicero parking lot, a small white cold-chain transport truck was parked in a corner.
In the driver’s seat, a gray-haired man was slumped over the steering wheel with a clear bullet hole in the back of his head.
The window glass was splattered with blood and brain tissue.
“fuck, damn it,” Hank cursed under his breath as he looked at the bloody scene.
“This is a silencing.
There’s someone else behind this.”
Bruce carefully opened the car door.
The body was already stiff, with an estimated time of death over 12 hours ago.
There were no signs of a struggle inside the vehicle; it seemed to be the work of an acquaintance.
“There was a second person at the scene,” Katherine checked the passenger seat and pulled out a coffee cup from under the seat, which still had lipstick marks on it.
“It was a woman.
I remember Emma’s investigation report showed that George’s wife is also in Chicago.”
Hearing this, Hank pulled out his phone and contacted Sheldon: “Sheldon, find out where George’s wife is now and send the location to my phone.”
In less than a minute, Hank’s phone chimed.
Just then, the responding patrol officers arrived at the scene.
Hank instructed the patrol officers to secure the scene and call for backup, then he drove off with Bruce and Katherine.
The group quickly arrived at a hotel following the location sent by Sheldon and brought Emma, who was caught in the middle of an affair, back to the station.
In the Intelligence Unit’s private interrogation room, Emma, facing Hank’s relentless pressure, had long since lost her composure and told him everything she knew.
The other members of the Intelligence Unit had also returned and were currently listening in from the observation room next door.
It turned out that George had a nephew named Michael Gantz.
Originally, this shipment was proceeding normally until George received a call from Michael and hurriedly got off the highway.
Emma didn’t know anything after that; she had gotten out of the car halfway to go to the hotel.
Hank had Sheldon launch an investigation into Michael.
Sheldon soon sent a report.
As the investigation into Michael Gantz’s background deepened, the truth gradually surfaced.
Michael Gantz, 30 years old, was former Canadian military logistics personnel.
He was dismissed two years ago for ‘management failures.’ Since then, his whereabouts have been erratic, but bank records show he recently had large capital movements…
After reviewing the report, everyone was basically certain that Michael was the seller behind the scenes.
“It seems this Michael used George’s medical transport channel to smuggle weapons,” Hank pointed to the documents on the table and summarized.
“After George found out, he probably got scared and wanted to call the police, so he was silenced.
Now Michael needs to get rid of this shipment as soon as possible, which is why he contacted three gangs simultaneously.”
“But he already knows we’ve caught three buyers,” Antonio pointed out immediately.
“He’ll be more cautious, or he might even leave Chicago with the goods.”
“No,” Bruce suddenly spoke up.
“He’ll look for a new buyer.
Now that he knows he’s exposed, he won’t dare to move them easily. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
If he gets caught on the road, two million dollars worth of goods goes down the drain.
He won’t give up easily; he’ll only speed up the transaction.”
Hank stared at him: “What do you suggest, Stacey?”
“Disguise as a new buyer and go directly to his home base,” Bruce said without hesitation.
“There’s a Chinese saying: ‘If you don’t enter the tiger’s den, how can you catch the tiger’s cub?'”
Hearing this, Hank crossed his arms and thought seriously.
“Old Ai, you’re experienced.
You take Bruce and execute the plan together.”
Old Ai raised an eyebrow at the suggestion: “It’s a risky plan.
What if Michael recognizes us?
What then?”
“He won’t,” Hank said confidently.
“Bruce is a newcomer with almost no public exposure.
We’ll just disguise him as a cynical rich second-generation heir.
Old Ai, you’ll be the middleman.”
Old Ai thought for a moment: “Fine, but everything on-site follows my command.”
…
That evening, in the abandoned warehouse district of the South Side.
Bruce wore an expensive casual suit and a gold watch, appearing flashy and aggressive—the perfect image of a rich, foolish playboy.
Old Ai wore a plain jacket and had some stubble, playing the role of an experienced ‘consultant.’
They arrived at an abandoned auto repair shop, following the location Michael had specified.
“Remember,” Old Ai whispered again in the car, “talk less, observe more.
Make him think you’re an arrogant idiot, but with money.”
“Understood.” Bruce nodded and adjusted his breathing.
The next second, a wicked, overbearing smile appeared on his face—three parts arrogance, seven parts disdain.
Before long, a black SUV drove into the repair shop.
Michael Gantz got out of the car.
He was lean with short hair and eyes as sharp as a hawk’s.
He scanned the two of them, his gaze lingering on Bruce for a few extra seconds.
“You the one who called?” Michael asked, his Canadian accent obvious.
“That’s me,” Old Ai lit a cigarette for himself.
“This is my…
client.
He’s interested in your product.”
Michael walked closer, sizing Bruce up: “You look young.
A rich kid who likes playing with guns?”
Bruce deliberately showed impatience: “Stop the fucking chatter.
Money isn’t an issue.
Let’s get this over with; I have a party to get back to.”
Michael smiled; he liked this kind of wealthy playboy.
“In our business, caution is a virtue.
You come with me to the warehouse to inspect the goods.
We’ll make it quick.
Your buddy stays here.”
Old Ai was about to object, but thinking of Bruce’s abilities, he acted indifferent and walked toward the door, taking the chance to signal the team.
“Fine,” Bruce didn’t refuse either and got into Michael’s car.
“Lead the way.”
Michael’s car drove to a more remote area, finally stopping in front of a large warehouse.
There were two armed guards outside the warehouse.
The interior was brightly lit and filled with open wooden crates.
Bruce walked over impatiently, as if he found the whole thing incredibly bothersome.
Looking closer, the wooden crates contained neatly arranged C7 rifles, so new they gleamed with oil.
Another crate held rows of M995 bullets, along with grenades, plastic explosives, and even several sets of body armor.
“Latest inventory from the Canadian military,” Michael said proudly.
“I have some…
channels.”
Bruce estimated the quantity; it was indeed worth two million dollars, just as Banfield had said.
“I need to test them.”
Michael’s lackey handed him a C7.
All hit the bullseye.
“Not bad,” Michael raised an eyebrow.
“Had some practice?”
“Just mess around with them,” Bruce made up an excuse casually.
“Give me your price.”
Just then, a faint voice came through the hidden earpiece in Bruce’s ear: “In position.”
It turned out that saying ‘test’ was the code for the operation, proving that Bruce had seen the arms.
The next second, gunfire erupted outside the warehouse.
Michael’s expression changed drastically as he stared at Bruce’s face: “fuck, are you a fucking cop?”
Bruce, playing the part to the end, put on a panicked face while grabbing a Colt 1911 from the table and diving behind a wooden crate.
“fuck, you’re the one trying to rip me off!!!”
At that moment, the warehouse doors were burst open.
Hank led the Intelligence Unit members inside, armed with long guns.
“CPD!
Nobody move!”
One of Michael’s men went down instantly.
Michael quickly ducked behind a crate, no longer caring about Bruce, and began blind-firing.
“Cops, go to hell!
fuck!”
He had no heart to consider right or wrong now; he just wanted to escape.
Seeing that no one was watching him, Bruce didn’t hesitate.
He stayed low, using the crates for cover as he moved, occasionally raising his hand to fire, accurately hitting enemies every time.
In the blink of an eye, he was beside Michael.
Watching Bruce’s agile movements, Michael was surprised and terrified: “You…”
Bruce didn’t waste words.
With a grappling move, he pinned him to the ground.
A few minutes later, Hank and the others finished the battle and came to Bruce’s side.
Katherine nervously scanned his body, only relaxing once she was sure there were no wounds.
Michael looked at Bruce in despair: “You…
you’re a cop.”
Bruce took the handcuffs Katherine handed him: “CPD!
Michael Gantz, you’re under arrest for arms trafficking and the murder of George Wilenko.”
Michael gave a bitter smile and slowly stood up: “That old man…
he was my uncle.
I didn’t want to.”
“Save it for the judge.” Bruce stepped forward and handcuffed him.
The gunfire inside the warehouse gradually subsided.
The attackers were either killed or captured.
Hank went to several wooden crates and inspected the shipment of weapons.
Bruce stood behind him.
“The goods are all here.
Two million dollars market value.”
Hank looked at Michael Gantz being led into a police car, then turned to Bruce: “Well done.
Undercover operations are high-risk, but you handled it perfectly.”
Old Ai also walked over and patted his shoulder: “You played the rich kid well.
I almost believed it myself.”
While clearing the scene, Bruce stood outside the warehouse, watching crates of weapons being tagged as evidence and hauled away.
In his mind, the system’s voice rang out calmly: Arrested Canadian arms dealer Michael Gantz.
[Reward: bronze treasure chest] obtained.
Bruce took a deep breath.
The night air of Chicago was mixed with the smell of gunpowder, gasoline, and blood.
This was his battlefield.
With every battle finished, he became stronger.
“Stacey!” Hank shouted from a distance.
“Tomorrow morning at eight, we need to talk about you and Hayek officially transferring to the Intelligence Unit.”
Bruce nodded and looked at Katherine.
The two shared a smile.