140: Chapter 140 The Secret of Red Rock Valley

Cold.

A bone-chilling cold crept from Chen Mo's palm into his brain, like a rusty ice pick forcibly chiseling open his skull.

Without the delay of any system prompt, a torrent of memories erupted instantly.

The images shook violently, like an old CRT television with a bad connection.

A rainy night.

In 1994, Las Vegas, the rain was heavy enough to wash away any sense of guilt in one's heart.

Chen Mo "saw" his own hands—they were the hands of a young Albert Wang, gripping a .38 caliber police revolver, his knuckles white.

Ahead was a black Cadillac, parked near a cliff in Red Rock Valley National Park.

The headlights were blinding; two men in raincoats were filling in a freshly dug pit.

A striped suit jacket lay tossed by the pit, with the corner of an Ace of Spades peeking out from the pocket.

"Officer Albert."

A voice sounded from behind Chen Mo.

The scene turned abruptly.

A young Carl Rogers stood under an umbrella; his face lacked the age spots he had now, possessing only the viciousness of a wild wolf.

He didn't have a gun in his hand, but rather a photograph.

On the photo was a young Chinese-American boy, standing at the school gate with a backpack, eating ice cream.

"This kid really looks like you." Rogers handed over the photo, rain wetting the photographic paper.

"I heard the security at the public school nearby isn't very good; children often go missing. You wouldn't want your son to be unable to come home after school, would you?"

Albert's hands were trembling.

The muzzle of his gun drooped.

"That's right." Rogers stepped forward, stuffed a thick envelope into Albert's raincoat pocket, and patted his face.

"Mr. Ross went on vacation to South America; there are only a few workers illegally dumping trash here. Understand?"

The scene shattered and reassembled.

It was that same rainy night again; Albert fled the scene like a stray dog.

But he didn't go straight home; instead, he rushed like a madman into an abandoned mine shaft deep in Red Rock Valley.

Ross had made one last phone call to him before he died.

It was only one sentence: "The thirteenth Joshua tree, there's a ghost underneath."

The memory came to an abrupt end.

Chen Mo opened his eyes abruptly, gasping for air, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

That sense of powerlessness and humiliation from having a gun pointed at one's head and one's family used as a threat was so real it made him sick.

[Extraction successful!]

[Obtained status entry: Old Detective's Obsession (One-time use / Purple)]

[Note: This is the grievance Albert Wang never swallowed in his life. After equipping, you will possess the insight and intuition of this legendary detective at his peak, lasting for 30 minutes.]

[Obtained memory fragment: Coordinates of the Red Rock Valley corpse burial site.]

[Obtained memory fragment: Location of Ross's black ledger.]

Chen Mo released his hand.

Albert on the bed had completely stopped breathing; those murky eyes were still wide open, staring fixedly at the ceiling, as if questioning this fucked-up world.

The female assassin's corpse on the floor was still bleeding; the smell of blood mixed with the scent of disinfectant, making one nauseous.

"Boss?"

Jack's voice came through the earpiece, accompanied by the crisp sound of keyboard clicking, "The signal cut out for a second. What's the situation on your end? That nurse..."

"Dead."

Chen Mo pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the cold sweat from his hands, "Rogers's people. This old bastard is even more sensitive than I imagined; as soon as Albert showed some movement, the Cleaner showed up."

"And the clue..."

"Got it."

Chen Mo threw the handkerchief onto the female assassin's face, covering those eyes that died with lingering resentment.

"Ross didn't go to South America; he's right in Red Rock Valley. Not only did Rogers kill him back then, he also tried to bury the ledger recording all the black money transactions along with him. But he didn't expect that Ross had a backup plan."

Chen Mo walked to the window and yanked open the heavy curtains.

The sunlight outside was blinding, making it hard to open one's eyes.

"Jack, have Ava send someone to handle the scene at the nursing home. Just say it was a medical accident, or a mental breakdown, make up any excuse. Don't let the police get involved."

"Understood. And you?"

"Notify Nightingale, get the car ready."

Chen Mo looked at the rolling reddish-brown mountains in the distance, his gaze cold.

"I'm going to dig a grave. Since Rogers sent me a coffin, if I don't return a big gift, it would seem like I don't know my manners."

...

Three hours later.

A modified black Wrangler, like a beast, tore along the gravel road of Red Rock Valley National Park.

This is a famous attraction in Las Vegas; the huge red sandstone peaks were as red as blood in the sunset.

During the day, it's full of rock climbers and hikers, but now that it was getting dark, the park was closed, and it was so quiet all around that only the roar of the engine could be heard.

Nightingale sat in the driver's seat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other skillfully loading rounds into that M110 sniper rifle.

"Boss, what are we looking for?"

"A cave."

Chen Mo sat in the passenger seat, holding a tablet computer displaying the 1994 topographic map that Jack had just reconstructed, "Or the thirteenth tree that looks like a ghost."

"If I were Rogers, knowing the assassin I sent had lost contact, I would definitely guess that the clue had been leaked." Nightingale glanced at the rearview mirror, "We might not be the only visitors."

"Rogers is a smart man, but he's too old."

Chen Mo tossed the tablet aside and checked the glock pistol at his waist, "Smart people always like to overcomplicate things, thinking everyone is as afraid of death as he is. But he forgot that some dead people are more troublesome than the living."

The car came to a sudden, sharp stop.

The tires plowed two deep grooves into the gravel, kicking up a cloud of dust.

"What's wrong?" Chen Mo asked.

"There's no road ahead."

Nightingale pointed ahead.

It was a gap between two huge rocks, so narrow that only one person could pass through sideways.

According to Albert's memory, passing through this gap led to that so-called corpse burial site from back then.

It was completely dark now.

Red Rock Valley looked hideous and terrifying in the night; those strangely shaped rocks looked like a group of evil ghosts waiting for an opportunity.

Chen Mo pushed the door open and got out, his leather boots crunching on the gravel.

He walked to the rock gap and crouched down.

The sand on the ground had traces of being disturbed; although it had been covered up, in the eyes of a Corpse Collector, it was as obvious as a louse on a bald man's head.

Chen Mo reached out and touched the ground.

There was still residual warmth.

It wasn't from the sun; it was the heat left by tire friction.

"Looks like someone is more diligent than us."

Chen Mo dug a shiny object out of the sand.

It was a 9mm pistol shell casing. Brand new, not yet rusted.

Nightingale walked over with her gun raised, glanced at the shell casing, her voice very low: "Just fired, no more than two hours ago."

"Rogers is desperate."

Chen Mo flicked the shell casing away, a cold sneer pulling at the corner of his mouth, "He's telling us that this road is closed."

"Force our way in?" Nightingale pulled the bolt, making a crisp sound of chambering a round.

"Forcing our way in is so boring."

Chen Mo pointed to the pitch-black night sky above, "Since they like playing hide-and-seek, we'll play along with them. Except, this time, we're the ones playing the ghost."

"Put on the night vision goggles."

Chen Mo put on his tactical goggles, and his vision instantly turned a dismal green, "From now on, don't make a sound except for breathing. There's an echo in this canyon; even a fart could travel for miles."

The two of them slipped into the narrow rock gap like ghosts.

The wind blew through the gap, making a wailing sound, as if someone was sobbing in a low voice.

Passing through the gap, the view suddenly opened up.

It was a huge natural depression, surrounded by cliffs dozens of meters high.

In the very center of the depression, several high-powered searchlights illuminated the place as if it were daytime.

Seven or eight burly men in camouflage were busy around a stone wall; the sound of power drills was exceptionally harsh in the silent canyon.

"Damn it! Why is this rock so hard!"

A lead man cursed and kicked the stone wall, "Bring two more kilograms of C4! I don't believe I can't blow open this turtle shell!"

"Who is that?" Nightingale observed the man through the scope.

"Rogers's number one thug, Hammer." Chen Mo's voice was filled with chill, "It seems Rogers really wants that ledger, to have even let this mad dog out."

"Should we move?" Nightingale's finger rested on the trigger.

"No rush."

Chen Mo pressed down on Nightingale's gun barrel, "Let them do some manual labor for us first. This place is full of traps; if someone is willing to be the pathfinder, we should say thank you."