Chapter 75: Gratitude

"But why would Sean make bombs?" After listening to Roan's account, Mona asked, confused, "Isn't he an undercover?"
"Who knows?" Roan shook his head, then turned to Mona and asked gravely, "I remember Agent Marlen’s undercover reports this month didn’t mention anything about this, did they?"
Mona hurried back to her desk, carefully checked the files on her computer, and nodded, "Yeah."
Receiving the confirmation, Roan didn't hesitate and immediately entered the team leader's office.
"What's wrong?" August, who was bent over his paperwork, looked up in puzzlement at Roan, who had entered without knocking.
But after hearing Roan’s suspicion, August’s expression instantly became serious. "Are you sure Sean bought those phones to make bombs?"
"No, I’m not sure." Roan’s words made August frown, but Roan continued, "But in matters like this, it’s better to err on the side of caution. I remember you told me that the FBI’s Organized Crime Division is conducting an operation with the DEA tomorrow against the Hyena Gang. If their information source is Sean, then..."
"Then the losses for Organized Crime could be enormous." August nodded. Dillon from Organized Crime was also in the Columbus Foundation. Without wasting a moment, August immediately took out his phone and dialed Dillon.

"Is there really something like this?"
After August explained, Dillon, who was sitting in the conference room planning tomorrow’s operation with his team, suddenly sprang up as if his seat was on fire.
After a few seconds’ silence, Dillon gestured to August to hang up for a few minutes, then dialed another number to call the person in charge of tomorrow’s DEA operation.

Inside the team leader’s office of Investigation Group 5, Roan and August exchanged a silent glance and picked up their coffee.
After a long while, August’s phone rang again.

"Thank you, August."
On the other end, Dillon’s tone was still heated from a recent argument, "Tomorrow’s joint operation isn’t based on information from Sean, but the DEA didn’t know Sean was buying phones..."
He summarized the situation briefly, his tone somber and earnest:

"August, I owe you one."
If August hadn’t told him about this, tomorrow’s joint operation with the DEA might have left the FBI completely unprepared, possibly costing many agents their lives—and ending Dillon’s career.
"Just buy me a drink sometime."
August laughed, then glanced at Roan and added, "But the credit for this goes to my agent, Roan Greenwood. He’s one of us. When we go for drinks, I’m bringing him along—don’t be upset."

"Is he the Roan Greenwood who killed the serial murderer with a pen, got featured in the New York Daily a few days ago?"
Dillon’s eyes gleamed, waving off the matter of drinks as trivial. He mentioned his team was short-handed and wondered if Roan could help out for a few days.
"We’ll talk later."
August chuckled, ignoring Dillon’s request, and promptly hung up.

"Old drunkard."
Hearing the busy tone, Dillon grinned and strode out of his office, shouting to his agents:
"Thanks to the unreliable DEA, we’re revising the operation plan for tomorrow!"
"Yes, sir!"

—

Far away, in a certain office of the DEA’s New York branch, team leader Meldon grabbed the files on his desk and threw them hard at Agent Marlen.
"F— YOU, Marlen!"
Meldon’s eyes blazed with fury as he pointed at Marlen and cursed, "What’s wrong with your undercover agents?"
What angered Meldon wasn’t that Marlen’s undercover might be turning traitor. At the DEA, deaths, defections, and disappearances among undercover agents are common—Meldon was long used to it.
What truly infuriated Meldon was that he hadn’t heard about this from his own people, nor from other colleagues at the DEA.
Instead, it was those FBI guys who called to ask if it was true.
Their FBI agents are precious; unlike the DEA, where agents can die from a slip-up in intelligence...
He felt humiliated—by another department!

"Sorry, sir."
Seeing the anger on Meldon’s face, Marlen, knowing his temperament, didn’t argue but explained quietly, "I’ll redo the psychological assessments of my undercover agents..."
"Screw your psychological assessments!"
At those words, Meldon glared at Marlen again.

Normally, anyone wanting to join the FBI, CIA, NSA, etc., must undergo background checks, professional evaluations, lie detector tests, psychological assessments—a single failure means no admission.
But the DEA is different.
Even if you’re bankrupt, struggling financially, your family background is unsuitable, you failed the lie detector, or even have gang connections—you can still become a DEA agent.
The reason is simple: people like that are usually sent abroad, undercover in southern federal countries.
A spotless, completely clean individual cannot penetrate the circles trafficking powder in those southern nations.
Therefore, the DEA doesn’t pay much attention to these screenings for domestic undercover agents.
A "psychological assessment" is often just a DEA agent standing with the undercover, sharing a cigarette and chatting.

Taking a deep breath, Meldon sat back in his chair, eyes fixed on Marlen.
"Did you tell your undercover agent about tomorrow’s operation?"
"No, but..."
Marlen shook his head, opened his mouth as if to say something, but finally denied, "Sean doesn’t know about it."
"Good."
Meldon sighed in relief, straightening the files on his desk as he spoke gravely, "Revise tomorrow’s operation plan. Include the possibility that the Hyena Gang may have remote bombs. Our DEA agents shouldn’t die from a slip-up in intelligence, either!"
"Yes, sir."
Marlen nodded and left the office.

Closing the door behind him, Marlen’s face instantly darkened. He muttered through clenched teeth, "Damn Sean, and those FBI bastards..."

—

"Nicely done, Roan."
August grinned broadly after hanging up.
"It wasn’t just me, sir."
Roan shook his head, his expression earnest. "William discovered Sean buying phones, Mona found the files, I just deduced he might be making bombs."
"Good!"
Hearing this, August’s smile grew even wider.