Chapter 74: Bomb! (Please vote! Please keep reading!)

“We had no idea Sean was an undercover agent.” On the other end of the call, Dillon, a supervisor in the Organized Crime Investigation Division, heard August’s inquiry and immediately had his staff pull up Hyena Gang personnel files before replying, “Our records show Sean as one of the Hyena Gang boss’s key henchmen. The DEA never told us he was undercover.”

Dillon didn’t think much of it. Their own division had plants inside the Hyena Gang as well, and those identities hadn’t been shared with the DEA either. By standard procedure, only a handler within the department knows about an undercover’s existence. It isn’t until just before an operation that the agent’s status is revealed to joint task forces, to prevent friendly fire.

So, when August mentioned Sean’s undercover status, Dillon was a bit puzzled. He chuckled and asked, “How’d you find out about Sean? Did you hack the DEA’s internal network?”

August shot Rowan a glare. Rowan sat obediently in his chair, putting on an expression of total innocence.

“Of course not!” August flatly denied it, then shifted to a more serious tone: “This Sean is connected to a heinous criminal case we’re investigating. There’s a strong chance he’s the perpetrator.”

Dillon understood immediately; August was giving a heads-up before any action, checking if targeting Sean would interfere with their own operations. “Here’s what I suggest, August: Don’t search Sean’s residence today—we can’t risk tipping off the Hyena Gang.”

Just then, Norton, one of Dillon’s detectives, knocked and entered with a file. Dillon’s pupils contracted as he read it, and he spoke in a low voice, “Tomorrow, the Organized Crime Division and the DEA are conducting a joint operation against the Hyena Gang. Your unit can have people standing by outside. Once the operation’s done, Sean will be handed over to you for questioning.”

Whether the DEA would agree to this was, for now, conveniently ignored by both Dillon and August.

“OK,” August agreed with a nod and a smile, and even made plans with Dillon to grab a drink after work.

The call ended. August informed Rowan about the joint operation scheduled for tomorrow. Rowan’s brows knitted in thought; after a few seconds of silence, he simply nodded and left the supervisor’s office.

When he relayed the news to the rest of the Fifth Investigation Unit, many visibly relaxed. The serial murder case was nearly wrapped up. Now it was only a matter of preparing key evidence and waiting for Sean to be brought in the following day.

Yet Rowan, back at his desk, looked grim. They had no direct evidence in hand. His main reason for approaching August had been to let those monitoring the Hyena Gang know he planned to search Sean’s house, hoping to find hard evidence that Sean had been at the lakeshore the previous night.

Now, though, events had shifted: Sean would be arrested first, and his residence searched after.

Mona, at her desk, realized this as well. She frowned, casting a worried glance at Rowan and whispering, “The longer this drags on, the more likely Sean will get rid of those shoes. And if that happens, our chances of convicting him drop. This...”

“Don’t panic,” Rowan replied, his voice steady and reassuring.

“The autopsy report isn’t out yet—maybe they’ll find Sean’s DNA. And after the Hyena Gang is dealt with tomorrow, there’s a good chance we’ll find the gray sedan Sean drove that night.”

“OK.” Seeing Rowan’s confidence, Mona calmed down.

But then Ryder returned with grim news.

“Sorry, Rowan.” Ryder pushed open the Fifth Unit’s door, his face dark as he approached Rowan’s desk. “The medical examiner’s report isn’t ready, but I checked in. They didn’t find any white genetic material in the victim, just some dimethyl silicone oil. Nothing under the victim’s nails but dirt, and nothing linking to the killer.”

Dimethyl silicone oil is the primary component of the lubricant on some condoms.

“And fingerprints?” Mona asked, frowning.

“None,” Ryder shook his head. The trace evidence team had combed the victim’s clothing; aside from a few substances found in the car trunk, there were no prints or hair from the perpetrator. Any skin cells might have been washed away by the water in the pit where the body was found.

“Damn it!” Mona swore, then turned to Rowan.

Rowan stroked his chin in thought, then suddenly remembered something. He looked up, asking, “What about the clear plastic bag I gave to the trace lab?”

“What bag?” Ryder was bewildered—he hadn’t been at the scene and didn’t know what Rowan meant.

Seeing Ryder’s confusion, Rowan quickly asked him to return to the trace lab and have them check the clear plastic bag.

Ryder nodded and left again. Mona looked anxious, but Rowan, calm as ever, waved a hand. “Don’t worry. When the cart reaches the mountain, there’s always a road; when the boat gets to the bridge, it’ll find a way through. Every difficulty has a solution.”

“What are you even saying?” Mona looked utterly lost. Born and raised in America, she had no idea what Rowan’s mangled proverbs meant.

“Doesn’t matter.” Rowan didn’t bother to explain. He stood, clapped his hands to catch the team’s attention, summarized Ryder’s update, then said sternly, “Everyone, here’s where we stand: we have to find more evidence linking Sean to the crime scene last night!

Get moving—dig up everything Sean has done over the past month. Let’s find more leads and, in the end, nail him with solid proof!”

“OK!”

“No problem!”

William and the other five techs shouted their assent. The staccato of typing filled the Fifth Unit’s office. Mona, too, dove back into reviewing surveillance from last night.

“There’s something odd, Rowan.” A few minutes later, William called Rowan over and pointed at the data on his screen. “According to Sean’s credit card records, a week ago he bought ten old-model Rapid 2003 cell phones at a mobile shop.”

“What?” Rowan was briefly stunned. He looked down at the photo of the Rapid 2003 model William had pulled up, and his pupils contracted. He swore aloud: “Fuck! Sean is building remote bombs!”

“What did you say?” “Bombs? What bombs?” The word “bomb” froze everyone in the Fifth Unit for an instant. Four years ago, the building had collapsed—they hadn’t forgotten.

Staring at the computer image, Mona suddenly remembered something. She covered her mouth and gasped, “Last year, a Jewish synagogue outside New York exploded. The perpetrator used Rapid 2003 phones as detonators!”

“That’s right.” Rowan nodded. In his former life, it was a news report about that very incident that made the old hitman teach him how to build remote bombs.

“This phone’s battery lacks a proper thermal sensor and has no failsafe.”

With everyone’s eyes on him, Rowan signaled William to enlarge the phone’s image and explained, “With a simple modification, if anyone calls this phone for more than thirteen seconds, it’ll immediately trigger the explosion. Of course, a single phone isn’t that powerful, but if you wire up some grenades or other explosives around it and call at the right moment...”

“Damn it!”

“Jesus!”

The moment Rowan explained, everyone stared in horror at the record—Sean had bought ten of those phones. Their faces paled instantly.