Chapter 1077: Dr. Stanley Gusbey (Patreon)

“Do you really think it’s necessary to warn him about Zhang Mingjun’s real target?” Anna’s slender fingers kneaded into the back of Jack’s neck as she spoke, the faint remnants of calluses from her trigger finger scraping against his skin, producing a strangely pleasant, almost burning sensation.

It wasn’t just people like Jack—self-taught in forensic anatomy—who had a deep understanding of the human body. Anyone skilled in close combat inevitably became intimately familiar with the location of vital organs and muscle groups.

Anna knew how to bring down a man twice her size in a matter of seconds, and she also knew precisely how to use massage techniques to relieve muscle fatigue in the most effective ways.

After parting ways with the others post-barbecue, the two returned to the hotel. Anna had offered to help Jack—who’d been driving all day—relax his nerves.

“Don’t you find it odd how determined Lin Zheling’s superiors seem to be about Zhang Mingjun?” Jack countered instead of answering directly.

In such a closed-off, feudal regime, even the CIA had to spend ages tailing a single diplomat. Yet Lin Zheling had crossed the DMZ multiple times under the pretense of chasing a fugitive. That, in itself, was suspicious.

“So you think there’s more to this than we’ve been told?” As a former FSB operative, Anna understood the subtext immediately. She had been the knife in those quiet shadow wars between states—sharp, silent, and disposable.

“Silencing someone? Or maybe... something else?” she muttered, frowning, then leaned down, pressing her body against Jack’s back.

She knew she could never truly have this man to herself. That only made her more desperate to savor the present.

“Most likely money,” Jack said, though his tone held a hint of uncertainty. “From the investigation into those secret accounts, it looks like there’s still at least a billion dollars unaccounted for.”

Anna wasn’t the type to obsess over money, but even she sucked in a breath at that figure.

When numbers get too large, people lose perspective. Sure, billionaires like the infamous "Open Source Saint" had personal wealth in the hundreds of billions, but globally, Forbes only listed about 2,600 individuals with net worths exceeding one billion.

That much money could drive anyone mad.

“I suspect the real mission Lin was given is to retrieve that money. And Zhang is dangling it in front of them like bait.”

Jack rolled onto his back, a smug look spreading across his face. He had the aura of someone who believed he’d already seen through the whole game.

Anna rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady, powerful beat of his heart. “So… you think the big fish will bite?”

“Guess we’ll find out Monday. It’s a billion dollars. Who could resist that kind of temptation?”

Jack scoffed. He had no interest in things that were out of reach. The woman curled against him, though—just the right amount of softness, the perfect handful—was another matter.

Lin Zheling didn’t seem to know much about Zhang Mingjun’s wife and daughter, only that the high-ranking official now attending the summit had once been Zhang’s direct superior, overseeing the secret lab that produced synthetic meth.

The actual director of the lab was someone named Kim Chulsoo, who had escaped alongside Zhang after they were both caught up in the same “political incident.” Their families had vanished, and Kim—likely the chemical expert Jack’s intel referred to—was now a ghost.

Jack suspected that this “incident” had been an attempt to tie up loose ends… and it had failed.

“Sleep now. We’ve got to pick someone up from the airport later.” Jack pulled the blanket over the both of them, his hand gently stroking her back.

“One last question,” Anna whispered into his ear. “Are you interested in that money? Maybe I can help you get it.”

“Do I look like someone short on cash?” Jack sighed, grabbing her wandering hand in warning.

“Comrade Anna Sergeyeva, let me make this clear. Don’t let American-style, profit-over-everything thinking cloud your judgment. Unless that money drops right at your feet and no one’s watching—don’t even touch it.”

Anna giggled. “You talk like you’re not American yourself.”
—
Three hours later, Jack carefully untangled her long legs from around his waist and got up to wash.

Rossi had texted: the FBI chemical weapons expert would be landing in an hour.

When Jack pulled into a restricted hangar at Osan Air Base, the battered Suburban still showing signs of its earlier misadventures, he spotted a middle-aged man stepping off the transport plane.

Wearing a cheap black suit and noticeably balding, the man gave Jack such a “middle-aged Nicolas Cage” vibe that he nearly turned the car around.

Jack had seen that face plenty—on screens, and also in real life, at Ivonne’s café (see Chapter 371: An Interesting Trade).

Charlie and the lovely Ivonne had lived happily ever after, the café thriving. Jack often visited with the eternally single Aubrey, sharing his "marriage is more than love" life lessons over coffee.

But that Charlie had been under 30—young, fresh-faced. The man walking toward him now looked more like the uncle version of Nicolas Cage, forehead shiny and hairline fleeing fast.

“Hey! You’re Agent Tavor, right?” the man said, scanning the area anxiously—until he spotted Jack. Then his whole posture relaxed.

“Hello. Dr. Stanley Gusbey. Call me Jack.” Jack extended a hand, then bent to pick up the man’s modest luggage.

“I prefer Special Agent Stanley Gusbey,” the man corrected with a sheepish grin. “But you can call me Stanley.”

He didn’t exactly look like a field operative, more like the lab type—yet his handshake was surprisingly firm.

Watching him curiously inspect the surrounding soldiers and equipment, Jack couldn’t help but laugh.

“First time flying on a military plane, Dr. Gusbey?”

“Oh, yes! Absolutely.” Stanley blinked, clearly still a bit overwhelmed. “Just call me Stanley. Otherwise, I’ll have to keep calling you Supervisory Special Agent Tavor all day. And by the way… you’re a lot younger than I expected.”

Jack chuckled. Stanley Gusbey might have looked like a burned-out bureaucrat, but it seemed this special agent had quite the personality after all.