74: Chapter 74 Only Hunters Look Back

The air in Washington D.C. always carried a nauseating scent of disinfectant, one that even three days of heavy rain hadn't managed to wash away.

Chen Mo sat in an inconspicuous black Chevrolet at Dulles International Airport, the car window rolled down a crack.

In the distance, the Gulfstream G650 belonging to the Rockefeller Family was undergoing its final refueling.

Ground crew members in orange vests swarmed around the $65 million steel behemoth like a colony of busy worker ants.

"Is it cleaned up?" Chen Mo didn't turn his head, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on the screen of his encrypted phone.

Old George sat in the driver's seat, using an alcohol-soaked cotton cloth to wipe down an M1911 that hadn't even been used.

"The fingerprints, hair, and skin dander in the safe house, along with the toilet seat—I wiped them all down twice with bleach."

George holstered the gun under his arm with unhurried movements. "As you instructed, I left that empty box filled with Senator Gore's 'incriminating evidence' in the fireplace and burned half of it."

"The FBI will treat it like a prized find." Chen Mo looked at the news pop-up that had just appeared on his screen: "Senator Gore Suspected of Selling Biological Weapon Secrets to Foreign Powers, Commits Suicide to Escape Punishment."

Official efficiency is always so high, especially when it comes to finding a scapegoat.

"What about those lists?" George asked.

"Memorized, then destroyed."

Chen Mo held up his phone, the screen displaying a string of complex garbled code.

That was the "list of low-level Cleaners" dug out of Gore's brain.

Thirty-two names, covering mid-level officials in the D.C. police department, editors-in-chief of two mainstream newspapers, and a few field-grade officers in charge of logistics at The Pentagon.

These people weren't big shots, but they were the cogs in this massive state machine.

Gore used this list to save his life, but Chen Mo intended to use it to "fatten the pigs."

"I don't intend to kill them." Chen Mo pressed the delete key and watched the progress bar hit zero.

"If I kill them, the legislature will just replace them with a new batch of obedient dogs. It's better to keep these frightened dogs and put my own leash around their necks."

In the half-hour that had just passed, he had sent an email to every single person on that list.

The content of the email was simple: a photo of them taking bribes or doing dirty work, plus the sentence, "I need you to remain silent at the appropriate time."

No extortion of money, no threats to their lives.

This kind of unknown fear was more devastating than having a gun pointed at one's head.

[Ding! Detected that the host has constructed an initial intelligence deterrence network.]

[Influence radiation range expanded to: Washington D.C. (Dark Side).]

[Prerequisites met, system module updating...]

[Organization module enabled.]

Chen Mo's temples throbbed twice, as if a red-hot needle had been driven into them.

Within his field of vision, those previously scattered data streams suddenly began to reorganize.

Beside the simple personal panel, a new tab appeared.

He clicked it open.

A huge, semi-transparent spiderweb diagram emerged on his retina.

Located in the very center was a black silhouette, which was himself—[The Head].

Several lines of different colors extended outward.

A red line connected to [George S], marked as [Loyalty: 95 (Life and Death Bond)] [Role: Cleaner/Logistics Manager].

A gray line connected to [Jack Martin], marked as [Loyalty: 70 (Tied by Interests/Fear-Driven)] [Role: White Glove/ATM].

An appena-lit dark purple line extended into the distance, connecting to an icon without a profile picture—[Nightingale], marked as [Loyalty: 85 (Hatred-Driven/Faith Reshaping)] [Role: Executioner].

There was also a golden dashed line connecting to [Ava Rockefeller], marked as [Puppet/Funding Pool], with the status displayed as [Extremely Terrified].

"So this is the so-called 'Mastermind' perspective." Chen Mo sneered inwardly.

This was more than just a relationship diagram.

He could see this web breathing.

Funds flowed through Jack's node, intelligence gathered at George's node, and hatred burned at Nightingale's node.

Even on those tiny light points representing "peripheral pawns," he could see real-time status feedback.

For example, the deputy editor-in-chief of The Washington Post who had just received the extortion email currently had a status of [Sanity Plummeting].

"Boss, it's time to board." George glanced at his watch. "If you don't want to keep the Rockefeller princess waiting too long."

Chen Mo closed the system panel, and the dizzying sensation of controlling everything slowly faded.

He pushed open the car door, and the cold wind after the rain poured into his collar.

"Let's go." He straightened his tie, reining in that air of a street thug. "Let's go see if our piggy bank is full."

The two walked up the boarding stairs one after the other.

At the cabin door, the flight attendant wore a standard professional fake smile and bowed in greeting.

Chen Mo walked into the cabin, but instead of sitting on the comfortable leather sofa, he stood by the porthole, looking down at the city beneath his feet.

This was the heart of power, and also the biggest cesspool.

He had thrown a grenade into the cesspool, splattering everyone with shit, and then, taking the fattest piece of meat, he had walked away clean.

"Will you miss this place?" George poured himself a glass of whiskey, neat.

"Only hunters look back at the hunting ground."

Chen Mo pulled down the window shade, shutting that white domed building out of his sight. "And I am here to restock."

The plane began to taxi.

The roar of the engines drowned out the wail of police sirens in the distance.

Chen Mo closed his eyes and began to calculate the next move in the game.

Washington was just the beginning.

"Get some sleep, old man." Chen Mo leaned back against the seat, his voice very soft. "Once we get to New York, you won't have time to drink."