The daily life of American TV agents

Chapter 307 Snow Mountain Incident and Banquet

"Then make sure, it's this Saturday night, I hope you will be happy."

Under Sheldon's disgusting gaze, Principal Hibbert patted Sheldon's shoulder heavily before leaving. As soon as the principal left, Shelton immediately took out the disinfectant and sprayed it on the place that had just been touched .

To be honest, just like that, Ron felt that it was enough for Principal Hibbert to save face before he was fired.

Sheldon is a genius, that's an undisputed fact, but at the same time, it's also a very difficult person to get along with, that's a fact.

"Oh, my God, there are potato sticks and a banquet invitation, today is such a good day!" Rajesh sighed in exchange for Sheldon's glaring, but unfortunately, no one has put Sheldon's Ideas matter.

Of course, when Ron was enjoying the quiet and interesting daily life, there were always some lunatics who were not willing to be ordinary and tried to do something, for example, now...

In an unknown valley on the Argentinian Snow Mountain, one of the world's famous ski resorts, in a high-end snow mountain villa, an old man who was tightly tied to a chair looked shiveringly at the gangsters who surrounded him them.

These gangsters are all bald. On this icy snow mountain, they don't even wear a hat. They look cruel. He really wants to ask, don't you think it's cold?
"I'm very sorry, Professor Arnold, it's almost..." The gangster began to tear the tape off his mouth, slowly and gently.

"Oh my God, tear it off!" The tape had been torn off for almost a minute, and Professor Arnold had become impatient, and even lost the most basic awe of the gangsters.

But the gangster is still polite, even a little bit like a gangster: "The order I received is that you must not be hurt."

With his mouth free again, Professor Arnold said helplessly: "I think you must have made a mistake. I am a university lecturer and I have no money for you."

"This has nothing to do with money, our boss just wants to chat with you."

"And should I feel at ease?"

"He'll be there soon, and he'll explain everything. Would you like some whiskey?" The gangster said patiently, and then ordered his subordinates: "Red, bring that bottle of 62-year-old Dalmore whiskey."

Behind the professor, a fat gangster got up to get it: "Seriously, this whiskey is really amazing, you will definitely get drunk..."

But right now.

Dong dong dong, there was a knock on the door outside.

But the wind and snow outside were too heavy, and a thick layer of ice had already been coated on the glass windows from the outside, making it difficult to see the appearance of people outside. He pulled it out and held it behind his back.

"It's too cold outside, can you invite me in for a cup of hot cocoa?"

Opening the door, there was a British gentleman with a friendly smile and no one else. Just as the boss breathed a sigh of relief and was about to drive him away, he suddenly remembered an urban legend that had been circulating among terrorists for a long time.

Legend has it that on the night before several extinct terrorist organizations are about to end, there will always be a well-dressed British gentleman knocking on the door, seemingly harmless to humans and animals.

But if you are deceived by his appearance, you are doomed, because this British gentleman is no ordinary person, but hides behind MI[-], which has become the laughing stock of the world, the real super intelligence agency of the British Empire.

Because this organization is too mysterious, the outside world has never known their real names. In the mouth of terrorists, they are called "gentlemen", but in the mouth of experts like Ron, they are collectively called "tailor shop" .

Because according to several people who have been lucky enough to work with them, their supply accounts always seem to be built in humble tailor shops in various cities.

These tailors generally focus on ordering high-end suits, and Ron has several suits ordered from one of the tailors.

Thinking of this, the bandit boss's heart tightened, and he immediately took out his gun to kill the suspicious man in front of him. Anyway, the place is full of ice and snow, and if he is thrown on the snow mountain, no one may find his body in a week.

And when someone found out, he had already gone somewhere.

But the gentleman outside the door moved one step faster than him. He had just pulled out his gun, and before he pointed it at the body of the person coming, a Walther P99 pistol with a silencer installed on it, blocked his pistol, and hit him. On his belly, pull the trigger quickly.

"Boom!"

With two muffled bangs, the gangster boss was hit hard in an instant, but it was not over yet. Not only did the gentleman not push him away, but he blocked his huge body in front of him, using his body as a shield, and rushed into the room against it.

The gangster who reacted hadn't figured out whether to shoot the gentleman hiding behind the boss, but the opponent had already stretched out his arm from behind the boss, and the fatal bullet instantly opened a blood hole in his forehead.

boom!
Another shot hit the bandit's calf who had just sat up from the sofa. The bandit screamed and fell to his knees. At this moment, the last bandit had aimed his gun at the gentleman.

With just a slight movement of his fingers, he can be sent to see God.

However, there was no look of fear on the gentleman's face, his wrist was only slightly shifted to this side, and he pulled the trigger first.

"Bang!" The bullet actually rubbed against the barrel of the pistol, sending the criminal's index finger flying as he was about to pull the trigger.

A smug smile flitted across the gentleman's face. This kind of difficult shooting was simply not worth mentioning in terms of the training he had undergone.

But the terrorists don’t think so. Whether it’s the gangster whose index finger was shot flying or the gangster who was shot in the calf, they all looked like they saw a ghost, because such things happened in their short life experience of less than 30 years. , simply unheard of.

If Ron was here, he would have scoffed at their fuss.

Cut, isn't it just hitting a coin-sized target at a distance of more than five meters?What's all the fuss about?I can accurately hit the firing pin of the rocket from a distance of 20 meters. What is there to be surprised about?
"Ah!" The gangster whose index finger was broken screamed, and quickly changed the gun to the other hand, and was about to continue shooting at the gentleman, but the bullet had been emptied, but the gentleman had already bullied him and grabbed the gun. Holding his hand holding the gun, he yanked hard, pulling his whole body in front of him, and at the same time, the toe of his right foot was lifted up abruptly.

"Ah~~~Hey!" The bandit screamed louder than a soprano in an instant, just because he happened to be hit on a key part.

Taking advantage of his screams, the gentleman pressed his finger next to the pistol, and while the empty clip slid down, he quickly took out another clip from his pocket and inserted it.

"Bang!" Following the first two thugs, a blood hole was opened in his head, and he took the box.

At this time, the bandit who had just been burdened by the calf drew out his dagger, planning to make a final fight.

But his courage is doomed to be in vain. Just now his companions couldn't do anything about their lives with guns?Not to mention the dagger in his hand.

It turned out that this was indeed the case. The gentleman didn't even look at it, and raised his hand and shot him to see God.

"Professor Arnold, I'm here to take you home." The gentleman turned his head and showed what he thought was the most charming smile, but at this moment he heard the door knocking inside the room, and his expression immediately became serious.

The gangster who was sent to get the wine just now arrived late with whiskey Shanshan, but the noise from this side didn't arouse his slightest vigilance, he thought it was just something falling on the ground.

The gentleman rolled on the spot, the hob was under the tray where he was carrying the wine, and he raised his hand. The bullet entered his chin and flew out of his forehead.

Gentleman got up, took the whiskey just in time from Soft Island's corpse, and poured himself a full glass.

"62-year-old Dalmore whiskey, it tastes really good," the gentleman took a sip calmly: "It's a sin to spill a drop of this kind of wine, don't you think so?"

The expression was full of triumphant victors, and Professor Arnold hadn't recovered from the shock just now, it all happened too fast.

Dong dong dong, there was another knock on the door. The gentleman's expression tightened, and he regained his seriousness. He held a wine glass and hid his pistol behind him, and walked towards the door step by step.

But before he reached the door, there were a few "chacha" sounds behind him, and he began to feel that something was wrong. Could there be any gangsters in the room that he hadn't killed yet?
Just as he was about to turn around, there was a sound of "whoosh", his body felt cold, and there was a bloody vertical line on his face, which continued from the top of his head to his whole body, and then his body split apart along the bloody vertical line to both sides.

It turned out to be an unknown sharp weapon that cut his body in half...

"Don't you really care about such a big thing that happened to Ron? Think about it, a senior agent of a tailor shop was split in half with a sharp weapon on a snowy mountain in Argentina. You know how big this news is. Brilliant!"

A week passed quickly. Just as Ron put on a handsome suit and was getting ready to go to the banquet, the phone rang, and Hobbs' noisy voice kept chattering on the phone.

"Those tailors must be going crazy. There are only 12 senior agents in total. One was folded in Afghanistan before, and now this one died in Argentina for no apparent reason. I see what confidence they have, and they will continue in front of me in the future." Pretend to beep!"

Ron sighed helplessly while arranging his tie in front of the mirror: "Please, it's just a senior agent. As you said, we all know that there are a total of 12 senior agents in the tailor shop. Two of them died, wouldn't they still have ten people? It's far from being seriously injured, I think it's too early for you to gloat over others' misfortune."

Since Hobbs started to stand with Anonymous, he began to call himself a senior American agent.

Although the United States and the United Kingdom are allies in name, in the intelligence system, unless there is some target that needs to be attacked together to act together, in most cases, the spy organizations of each country are hostile to each other.

Colleagues are enemies, and this is more fully reflected in this industry, so Hobbs's schadenfreude is natural.

"That's right! They lost two people, two people less!" As if afraid that Ron didn't hear clearly, Hobbs repeated: "All of a sudden, the staff is reduced by 1/6!"

"Accounts are not settled in this way," Ronda straightened his tie, and held his phone to his ear: "The tailor's agents are not what you think, although it is said that the 12 senior agents are equal, but this Among the 12, there are upper and lower divisions, and as far as I know, the two senior agents who died recently belonged to the lower division."

Ron, who often dealt with the Holmes brothers, obviously had a better understanding of the tailor's information.

"As long as there are no problems with the six senior agents, they can immediately act as teachers and lead a group of trainees to train, and soon a new senior agent will be trained to replace the original position, and your intelligence Somewhat dated."

"The guy who died in Afghanistan already had a replacement, and they're still short on one."

"Is that so?" Hobbs was taken aback by Ron's news proficiency: "Why didn't I see the information on my side? You know it so clearly on your side?"

"I told you a long time ago, whether it is the CIA or the FBI, since the end of the Cold War, your intelligence agents have been getting worse day by day, even worse than the women who often chat in the coffee shop, the news of gossip is accurate Some, I think it's time for a new batch of people to come in."

"Okay, after this matter, I will communicate with Anonymous. Let's talk about the snow mountain. I plan to go to Argentina to have a look. Do you want to come together?"

"Good luck to you," Ron replied insincerely.

"Hey! Didn't you always get involved no matter what happened before? Why don't you seem to be interested in anything recently? Don't you even want to witness such an interesting thing as watching the British slump? "

Again, although Britain and the United States are allies, they do not like each other in private, and it has long been a day or two.

Just like among American women, if they are approached by a man with a fluent London accent, most of the time they will be very happy to chat with him, and even made the London accent one of the sexiest accents among American women.

But for American men, there are only two words, ha ha.

It's just a bunch of pretenders.

This situation also applies to the United Kingdom. Although the United States has become the number one power in the world, in the eyes of noble British gentlemen, they are still just a bunch of country bumpkins.

He couldn't get along in the British mainland, so he left his hometown and went to the colonies to make a name for himself. He was just a local rich man who turned his face and didn't recognize anyone.

In terms of pedigree, it has to be more authentic to our British Empire.

"Well, I might really want to go in the past, but now I don't want to at all. Although it belongs to the lower part of the senior agent, it is undeniable that he is still the most elite talent in the tailor shop. One can imagine what kind of power it is to die for no reason? I don’t want to cause trouble for nothing.”

(End of this chapter)