135: Chapter 135 Thunder Descends, Those in Power Bow Down

Augustus took half a step forward, spread his hands, and made a gesture that was somewhere between an explanation and an apology, his voice slower and heavier than before.

"We do not mean to mock you in any way."

"The Secret Service is indeed very strong, being the world's top presidential security force."

"But..."

He paused, forcing the second half of the sentence that had already risen to his lips back down, seemingly trying to weigh his words but realizing that no matter how he phrased it, he would offend someone.

In the end, he simply sighed, lowered his hands, and added:

"...Never mind. When Lord Zhang Long arrives, you can see for yourselves; it will be more useful than me saying a thousand or ten thousand words right now."

Biden had not spoken from the beginning to the end. Only at this moment did he reach out to pick up a bottle of mineral water from the stone table, unscrew the cap, and take a sip, unhurried and calm.

The Secret Service squad leader responsible for security beside him immediately leaned down and whispered a reminder to Biden:

"Please try not to consume bottled water before it has been tested."

Biden put down the water bottle and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. His tone was a few shades flatter than when he had said "Just keep waiting," but the words themselves caused Sawyer and Chief of Staff Madeleine Rasmussen to hold their breath simultaneously.

"The Deep State has no reason to use a bottle of mineral water to take my life."

After speaking, he stood still by the stone table on his own accord, rested the mineral water bottle on his knee, and his gaze fell calmly on the center of the courtyard, on the open space completely covered by sunlight.

Chief of Staff Madeleine Rasmussen and Sawyer did not speak again.

Chief of Staff Madeleine Rasmussen slowly retreated to the side and behind Biden, her arms crossed in front of her, her fingers gently pinching the edge of her cuffs, but she did not raise any further objections.

Sawyer swallowed the rebuttal that had surged to his lips back deep into his throat, lowered his head, and retreated to Chief of Staff Madeleine Rasmussen's side. There was still a breath in his throat that had not completely smoothed out, but it was suppressed by Biden's words and could no longer escape.

Harris and Graves stood there, exchanged a glance, silently let go of the complaints they had not voiced, and simultaneously turned their attention to the center of the courtyard, to the heat haze that was shimmering slightly in the sun.

Mark Milley pulled his thick hands from behind his belt and subconsciously tapped them lightly against the edge of his trouser legs.

The entire stone-paved courtyard fell silent for a moment in this quietude, and then the first clap of thunder suddenly exploded from the clear sky above.

Dense dark clouds swarmed from all directions to directly above the courtyard at an incredible speed, completely swallowing the sun that had been shining directly onto the walls just seconds ago.

Deep within the clouds, the muffled rumble of thunder rolled in, and branches of lightning extended and exploded from the dense clouds, illuminating the entire courtyard in flickering light and shadow.

The first bolt of thunder struck vertically from the center of the clouds, crashing into the stone floor in the middle of the courtyard. After the lightning dissipated, gravel and dust revealed two black figures standing straight.

The two Men in Black stood on the scorched, cracked stone slabs, expressionless, each wearing one black glove and one blue glove on their hands.

Immediately following, a second, thicker, and fiercer bolt of thunder struck right between the two Men in Black, sending several outward-spreading cracks through the stone floor of the entire courtyard.

As the lightning faded, Zhang Long stood in the very center of the two Men in Black, wearing dark casual clothes, his face handsome and cold. He wore a black glove on his left hand and a blue glove on his right. The residual electric arcs on the fingertips of the blue glove crackled in the air a few times before dissipating on their own.

Diana and Augustus bowed their heads in unison at the very instant the lightning dissipated, respectfully bowing in the direction of Zhang Long, greeting Lord Zhang Long in unison.

Biden's lips parted, the mouth of the water bottle pausing at his lips.

Chief of Staff Madeleine Rasmussen's wrists, which had been crossed in front of her, loosened involuntarily.

Harris took a quick half-step back, almost bumping into her assistant's palm behind her.

Graves gripped the military cap tucked under his arm again, his grip almost leaving shallow indentations on the brim.

Mark Milley stared at the bolt of lightning that had struck the center of the courtyard from the clouds, and the person who had walked out of the lightning, his jaw clenched tight, but his voice remained steady.

He whispered to a Secret Service agent beside him, who was also frozen in place:

"...This is the level of the enemy that the two-hundred-thousand-strong fleet is facing."

The Secret Service squad leader, almost as a conditioned reflex, pushed all his team members half a step forward from the defensive formation, forming a tighter shield screen at the high vantage point against the enemy. Every Secret Service agent on the scene had their fingers on their weapons in the ready position, but not a single one dared to truly raise their guns before the President gave the order.

Biden stood there, gently placed the mineral water bottle on the stone table, turned around, and faced Zhang Long, who was walking toward him from the center of the scorched stone floor of the courtyard.

He gave his dark blue suit a gentle tug from the collar down and straightened his cuffs.

Zhang Long strode forward, walking toward Biden at an unhurried pace.

His leather shoes stepped on the fragments of the stone slabs shattered by the lightning strike just moments before. With every step, extremely faint residual electric arcs slid from the fingertips of his blue glove, leaving brief trails of light in the air.

The Secret Service squad leader raised his hand and warned him in a clear, cold, and hard tone:

"Stop! Do not approach the President. You must maintain a safe distance, or we will open fire immediately!"

Zhang Long did not stop.

His pace did not speed up or slow down. Only, at every moment a Secret Service agent attempted to rush toward him, a visible, transparent repulsive wave in the air would spread out from the direction of his black glove, like an invisible, thick wall of air slamming outward, pushing all those who had just taken their first step back to their original positions, forcing even their breathing to slow down as it was compressed by this invisible force.

He continued to walk forward.

The Secret Service squad leader no longer had any hesitation; his right hand was already raised to give the order to kill.

Biden raised his left hand, palm outward, and pressed it down gently toward the Secret Service.

"No one is to open fire."

"Put all guns down."

After lowering his hand, he did not look at anyone else around him, stepped forward calmly from the stone table, and when Zhang Long was one step away, he took the initiative to extend his right hand, making a standard handshake gesture.

His voice was unhurried, as if he were nodding in greeting to a foreign ambassador he was meeting for the first time in the Oval Office.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, official from the Longevity Faction of the Deep State."

Zhang Long did not take his hand, but simply lowered his gaze, looked at the aged palm suspended in mid-air, and then lifted his gaze back to Biden's weathered, unflappable face, scrutinizing him for a moment, his tone calm with a hint of faint appreciation.

"You are quite good."

"To remain calm and composed in such a situation is worthy of appreciation."

Biden withdrew his hand, not rushing to explain anything, nor showing any awkward expression for being refused a handshake. He simply naturally slid his hand into the side pocket of his suit trousers, his posture relaxed but not slumped, as composed as if he were silently greeting an old friend he had known for many years across the corridor after finishing his paperwork for the day in his own office.

He smiled slightly at Zhang Long, who was standing in front of him, his tone flat and filled with impeccable respect.

"To be appreciated by the Deep State can be considered my honor."

Zhang Long looked at this old politician who was neither humble nor pushy, who had set aside all power and dignity, and faced him with only reason. The appreciation in his eyes rose another level after the faint residual light of the electric arcs on his cold blue glove.