68: Chapter 68 The Casting of the Scapegoat

The rain in Washington grew heavier, as if trying to wash away all evidence of crime.

But in certain corners, the filth only accumulated thicker.

"Who are they going to pin the blame on?"

Old George was wiping down his M1911; the smell of gun oil, mixed with the damp, musty odor, permeated the narrow basement.

"Who else could it be?" Chen Mo leaned back against his chair, staring at the intricate relationship chart on the wall.

"It's either that unlucky 'Sons of Freedom' organization in the Middle East, or some non-existent Russian hacker group. The people in Ouroboros lack imagination; they only know how to use the same old tricks."

The television news confirmed his words perfectly.

A spokesperson for the Department of Homeland Security stood at the podium with a grave expression, claiming there was evidence that this attack was a premeditated act of foreign terrorism.

"They want to turn this into a pretext for war."

Jessica sneered, pressing bullets into a magazine. "As long as they shift the conflict outward, no one will care about the domestic scandal."

"Perfect logic." Chen Mo nodded.

"If I were that 'Old Man' sitting behind the scenes, I would do the same. What do a few thousand civilian deaths matter? As long as they can hold onto that position, they would even be willing to bomb Pearl Harbor again."

"So what do we do?" George holstered his gun. "Go blow up that spokesperson's podium?"

"No." Chen Mo picked up a document from the table, which had been pulled from the Butcher's server.

"Since this is a grand performance, it can't just have villains; it also needs a 'traitor' who let the villains in. The audience loves a show where the traitor gets caught."

He slapped a photo onto the table. The photo showed a balding, middle-aged man with a greasy face, embracing a young model.

"Patrick Gore." Jessica recognized the man. "That senator. Isn't he already… because of the scandal…"

"He's not dead yet." Chen Mo interrupted her.

"Ouroboros wants him to 'commit suicide,' but he's been hiding well these past few days. This idiot has several passports and quite a bit of cash. He thinks that if he just rides out this storm, he can go to South America and spend the rest of his life there."

"You want to kill him?"

"Killing him would be too easy." A cold trace appeared at the corner of Chen Mo's mouth.

"I want him to be the one who 'opened the gates of hell.' I want him to carry this black pot, so heavy that he'll never be able to turn his life around in his next life."

Chen Mo tossed a kraft paper envelope to Jessica.

"Inside is a forged transaction record and several email exchanges. The content shows Senator Gore using his authority to sell the security blueprints of the Georgetown laboratory to terrorists, in exchange for thirty million dollars."

"This is fake." Jessica flipped through the documents, her brow furrowed.

"The data is real, the timing is real, and even the thirty-million-dollar transfer is real."

Chen Mo pointed to his head. "I just swapped the 'buyer' from Ouroboros to terrorists. In this world full of lies, something that is nine parts true and one part false is more like the truth than the truth itself."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Gore has a mistress who lives in a penthouse apartment at DuPont Circle."

Chen Mo pulled up a building floor plan. "That's his safe house and his last stop before he prepares to flee. I want you to put this stuff into the safe in that apartment."

"Framing someone." Jessica threw the document back on the table. "Is this the 'justice' you taught me?"

"This is a means to an end." Chen Mo stared into her eyes.

"Gore did take that money, and he did give the green light for the live human experiments. The homeless people who died in the laboratory, the students coughing up blood in the hospital—he has a share in every single debt. I'm just 'packaging' his crimes a little, making them easier for the angry public to digest."

Jessica fell silent. She looked at the photo of Gore, the tragic scene she saw at the laboratory that night appearing in her mind.

"I'll go." She grabbed the kraft paper envelope. "But I have one condition."

"Speak."

"After he takes the fall, I want to send him to hell with my own hands."

"Deal."

Half an hour later, an inconspicuous maintenance van parked under the luxury apartment building at DuPont Circle.

George, wearing a pair of blue work coveralls stained with grease, walked to the front desk carrying a toolbox.

"Gas repair." He chewed gum and pointed upstairs. "Someone reported a smell on the top floor. In this hellish weather, it's no joke if it blows up."

The front desk security guard frowned, just about to verify, when George shoved a rolled-up hundred-dollar bill into his hand.

"Make it easy, buddy. I don't want to be out working in this weather either."

The guard shrugged and swiped the elevator door open.

Meanwhile, Jessica had already climbed like a black gecko up the exterior drainage pipe to the penthouse terrace.

The rain was the best cover; no one would notice a figure climbing in the downpour.

She used a glass cutter to cut a corner of the floor-to-ceiling window and slid silently into the room.

There was no one in the room, but it was full of signs of life. Expensive Persian rugs, designer bags scattered on the sofa, and the lingering smell of cigars in the air.

Jessica turned on her flashlight, biting it in her mouth, and followed the blueprint Chen Mo gave her to find the safe hidden behind an oil painting.

This kind of old-fashioned mechanical lock was no difficulty for her at all.

Two minutes later, the safe door popped open. Inside were stacks of cash, several gold watches, and two handguns.

She stuffed the kraft paper envelope to the bottom of the cash pile, placing it as if it had always been there.

After doing all this, just as she was about to close the safe door, Chen Mo's voice suddenly came through her earpiece.

"Don't rush to leave. Take those two guns; those are Gore's defensive weapons. A tiger without teeth is the only kind that gets bitten to death by dogs."

Jessica paused for a moment, reached out to grab the two guns, and shoved them into the holster at her waist.

"And," Chen Mo's voice carried a hint of mockery.

"Take some of that woman's jewelry too. We need to fabricate a scene of 'fleeing in a hurry,' or the illusion of a robbery."

Jessica gritted her teeth and grabbed a handful of necklaces, stuffing them into her pocket.

"You really are a bastard."

"Thanks for the compliment. Retreat. The police will be here in five minutes. I've already called the police for that kind security guard, saying he saw someone break in with a gun."