Chapter 1070: Local Delicacies from the USA (Patreon)

"Long time no see. You've got a new girl with you again? No wonder they say the FBI is full of charmers."

As Jack and Anna descended the airstairs, Ma Xidao, his jowled face jiggling with every step, came forward to greet them. It had been over six months since they’d last met, and the infamous “Beast Cop” had visibly grown even bulkier.

Anna had shed her flight-attendant-style uniform and transformed into a professional secretary with a sleek look—gold-rimmed glasses, a fitted black blazer over a white blouse, a pencil skirt, and nude-colored stockings over her long, pale legs.

Handsome man, beautiful woman, and a luxury business jet in the background—this scene could’ve easily been the poster for a CEO romance drama.

“Sorry to trouble you again. This case is tricky—we’re up against stone-cold terrorists,” Jack said, gripping Ma Xidao’s bear paw of a hand and subtly matching his strength.

Ma’s rugged face flushed slightly, and he slapped Jack’s arm with a sigh. “What’s with all this ‘trouble’ talk between friends? Come on, ease up, ease up.”

The FBI had its own people at the U.S. embassy, and Jack’s current rank was modest but sufficient. The embassy sent a diplomatic-plated Audi S6 to pick them up—thankfully not another conspicuous Suburban.

The pilots helped unload two hefty black cases from the jet, prompting curiosity from Ma Xidao, especially since the last time they'd come they hadn’t brought nearly this much luggage.

"Are these some kind of local gifts from America?" he asked, a bit sheepishly.

“If you like them, I might give you one when this is all over,” Jack replied with a slight smile. He opened one of the cases just a crack, revealing its American “local delicacy.”

Inside was a partially disassembled Barrett MK22.

Alongside two full 10-round magazines, the foam insert cradled multiple .338 Lapua Magnum rounds, each as thick as a carrot, their tips painted red, green, and black.

"Magnum" comes from Latin, meaning "great" or "large," so most Western arms companies label their higher-power ammo variants as such. Simply put, it means “high-powered.”

The .338 Lapua sits between the .50 BMG and .300 Winchester Magnum in terms of power. It was developed specifically for long-range precision sniping.

The .50 BMG round, commonly used in anti-materiel rifles, has devastating power capable of piercing light armored vehicles—but the recoil is intense, far beyond what most people can handle easily.

This Barrett MK22, chambered in .338 Lapua, has nearly half the recoil of the traditional .50 BMG Barrett. Even someone like Anna, with her slender frame, could handle it with ease.

Of course, that’s after she’d put on some weight during her time in Tokyo. A normal woman with her frame could easily shatter her collarbone without perfect firing posture.

“You’re not planning to use this on the streets of Seoul just because someone opened fire with a machine gun in New York, are you?” Ma Xidao’s face twitched, clearly uneasy.

“I know you’re still pissed about that incident. Look, how about this—I’ll treat you to dog meat hot pot tonight and invite a K-pop girl group to join us?” Jack waved him off. It wasn’t the time for such conversations. Even traveling on a private jet, flying from New York to Seoul was exhausting.

The breakneck pace left him in a reflective, almost monk-like state—his mind focused entirely on the case. “Let’s find a place to settle down first. Then we’ll figure out how to track Zhang Mingjun and his crew.”

—

This time, Jack skipped the traditional hanok housing. Private residences lacked adequate security. He booked a luxury suite at the Four Seasons Hotel near Gyeongbokgung Palace in Gwanghwamun.

Anna didn’t stay with him. The moment they left the airport, she vanished—off to complete a task Jack had assigned.

For confidentiality, Jack’s visit was officially under the pretense of assisting the Seoul Metropolitan Police with a synthetic drug case.

The new type of drug produced by Zhang’s group wasn’t just cheap and high-quality—it also had a distinctive appearance. It had been intentionally dyed bright red, and the malicious symbolism of that really rubbed Jack the wrong way.

After nearly a day and a half in the hotel suite, Jack and Ma Xidao had finally sorted through the intel provided by the Seoul police and NIS. After discarding piles of unprofessional speculation and lazy reports, Jack gained a clearer picture of Zhang and his team.

NIS, the National Intelligence Service, formerly known as the KCIA, was modeled after the CIA. They hadn’t applied for UNESCO status just yet.

As the intelligence agency of a certain abstract nation, NIS was itself somewhat abstract.

It could be considered the stronghold of the ultra-right-wing pro-Japan faction in South Korea. Their greatest skill wasn’t intelligence or counterintelligence—it was funding and supporting domestic traitors in anti-Korean, pro-Japanese activities.

Still, when it came to their hostile northern neighbor, NIS’s intelligence held some credibility.

Zhang’s exact background was still murky, but NIS data cross-checked reasonably well with what the FBI already knew.

He first appeared in Southeast Asia around seven or eight years ago, during the North’s "Arduous March." He led a group involved in the drug trade.

NIS suspected Zhang was not a real defector but rather a puppet of the North, used to earn foreign currency under harsh sanctions.

But the group, selling a new synthetic drug, drew backlash from traditional cartels and had a rough start.

After a few scattered years of operation, the group mysteriously vanished.

Then, three years ago, the red-colored drug resurfaced in Southeast Asia and spread to Australia and Canada.

This time, Zhang’s group ditched their low profile and operated with ruthless efficiency and tight coordination. They specifically targeted local small gangs and quickly built a reputation.

Simultaneously, the supply of the red drug increased tenfold.

Rumor had it Zhang had genuinely defected this time—and had brought along a fellow defector, a chemical expert, which gave the group a powerful production capability.

Oddly, after Zhang escaped from New York, the red drug reappeared quickly—but only in South Korea.

He seemed to have abandoned his international sales network to focus solely on dumping product in South Korea. Within a month, the underground market was flooded with the red pills, causing a major surplus of rival products.

"Where are you planning to start?" asked Ma Xidao. A man of action, he wasn’t great with intelligence work. After nearly two days holed up in the hotel, he was itching to move.

Jack stroked the stubble on his chin and stared at the whiteboard now plastered with photos and sticky notes. “My task is to find Zhang Mingjun. Since he’s returned to his old trade, we might as well treat this like a standard narcotics investigation.”