North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws-Chapter 566 - 323_1

THUD.

In a small, smoke-filled room, a hammer striking an iron tabletop resounded with a loud bang.

A hook-nosed man with a receding hairline pointed at Amon's face, spittle flying as he cursed, "Our CIA has lost so many elite operatives! We were about to close the net, and then you show up and steal the fruits of victory—aren't you afraid of choking on them?"

Amon wiped the spit from his face and looked emotionlessly at the hook-nosed man. "Has anyone ever told you that your breath stinks?"

"Fuck..." the man began to retort.

BANG.

A gunshot reverberated through the small room.

The bald, hook-nosed man's eyes widened. His finger, still pointing at Amon, trembled. A scorched, red bullet hole had appeared on his forehead. He slumped backward softly, dropping dead on the spot.

Glancing at the grim expressions on the faces of the group behind the dead man, Amon tossed the handgun onto the table. He leisurely loosened his tie, wiped a speck of splattered blood from his face, and then said in a low, firm voice, "Get someone in here who can talk without spitting to negotiate with me!"

The CIA, accustomed to throwing their weight around overseas, had sent their most hawkish and aggressive elements—individuals who had orchestrated countless bloody incidents abroad and were not easily intimidated.

A sullen-looking middle-aged woman pushed through the crowd and said harshly, "You should know that we're just following orders. If we fail this mission, it won't end well for any of us."

"The three major military-industrial complexes, eh?" Amon tapped the table. "But we've lost so many soldiers this time, and you just open your mouths expecting a share? Isn't that a bit disrespectful to the people I answer to?"

The woman's sullen face cracked a smile. "If we can resolve this, we're also prepared to contribute resources valued at no less than two billion US dollars. Does that give us something to discuss?"

Amon exchanged a glance with the grim-faced general beside him and nodded. "With that, at least I have something concrete to bring to my superiors."

The middle-aged woman nodded.

They were all dogs for someone; naturally, they all understood that only a dog capable of safeguarding its master's interests was a good dog—a useful dog that wouldn't be slaughtered at whim.

From the moment Amon had them board the warship, these CIA agents knew that, for some reason, the other side was willing to negotiate.

Everything before this was simply a test of each other's bottom lines. Of course, if one side showed weakness or failed to grasp this dynamic, the other wouldn't hesitate to be ruthless, and further negotiation would be pointless.

"It's simple!" The woman waved to the people behind her.

The others left one by one.

Seeing this, Amon's eyes narrowed slightly, and he also waved his hand toward those behind him.

When only the middle-aged woman, the general, and Amon remained in the room, the woman retrieved a small bag from under her seat and placed it on the table.

The bag opened to reveal a detailed map.

The woman pointed to a small dot on the map. "The Empire's Fourth Fleet, [REDACTED designation], was ashore for R&R during military exercises when they were poisoned and set ablaze by anti-government rebels in Benin. This resulted in the deaths of hundreds of elite Federation soldiers. The United States Federation, as a defender of world order, intervened to support the Benin government and protect its civilians from persecution by deploying troops to suppress the rebels..."

Amon waved his hand, cutting through the woman's lengthy preamble, and asked directly, "I've never even heard of this African country. Just tell me what's there."

The middle-aged woman shrugged. "A gold mine. One that was just discovered by the local government."

Upon learning this, their original plan had been to back a certain tribe for an armed takeover. However, with the support of Amon's family, the task would become much simpler. Moreover, they could complete their mission and avoid making new enemies—killing three birds with one stone.

The same applied to Amon.

He pulled the general aside, muttered into a satellite communicator for a long while, and then returned to the table. "My master agrees. However, this operation must officially be framed as arms support. The Federation cannot directly deploy troops. Subterfuge of this nature is your forte; surely you don't need me to instruct you, right?"

Hearing this, the woman's pupils contracted.

What shocked her wasn't that the other side chose a different method to seize the gold mine, but their unwillingness to use the incident as a pretext for military intervention.

Hundreds of Federation soldiers had been 'unjustly' persecuted. With their spin, falsehoods could become truths, easily swaying those foolish citizens to support the cause. Benin was just a small, insignificant African nation, and such an action would also serve to demonstrate the Federation's military might. On the international stage, no country would dare to openly confront the United States Federation over such a trivial matter.

Why would the people behind Amon refuse such a multi-beneficial opportunity?

The middle-aged woman's mind raced.

She suddenly remembered something—a piece of intelligence they had originally planned to use to entrap the FBI.

Connecting this to the yet-to-be-officially-announced National Security Department associated with Amon, and the extremely powerful political family behind him, the middle-aged woman realized a terrifying truth.

She drew a sharp breath, but dared not let any of her terror show on her face.

Too ruthless! These people are even more brutal and vicious than our CIA hawks. At least their actions targeted only those outside the United States Federation. This group, however, to achieve their political goals and satisfy their interests, was intent on destroying countless families within the United States Federation!!!