Chapter Eighteen: Turning the Drainage Channel

A custom-made S-Class Mercedes glided slowly out of the villa, following the lane until it merged onto the main road.

At this hour, there were few vehicles left on the roads of the Upper City.

After only a few minutes of driving, “Jack” turned directly into a drive-in restaurant — the very destination Mr. Duflin had specified before they left.

Jack knew exactly what this place was, but he never let it show. He kept his face as honest and guileless as ever, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead.

The car came to a halt in front of the menu board. The window slid down, and Duflin said, “Jimmy, is there anything you’d like to eat? My treat.”

“Anything’s fine!”

Duflin nodded. “Alright, then give me two double-decker Mega Burgers, two onion ring and fries combos, and drinks.”

The speaker instantly responded, “Your meals are ready. Please proceed to the next window to collect them!”

Jack nudged the car forward a little.

At the window, a white woman with a high nose bridge and a red cap greeted them with a smile, “Welcome! Enjoy your meal!” As she spoke, she handed Jack a large paper bag.

“Is there anything else you’d like?” Duflin asked casually, “Give me a pizza. Suddenly got a craving.”

Jack chuckled, “He’s joking. Everyone knows this place doesn’t serve pizza…”

He hadn’t finished his sentence when a small pizza box was handed over.

Jack blinked in surprise and passed it to Duflin, “Huh?”

The woman smiled, “New item!”

“Alright, then do you have chicken chow mein?” Jack asked, probing, but only received a polite yet awkward smile in response.

After swiping the credit card, the Mercedes set off once more.

Just as they turned out of the parking lot, a young black man on a skateboard shot out of nowhere on the previously empty street, slamming into the front hood and tumbling far away.

Jack was startled.

But the man seemed unhurt — he sprang to his feet, kicked the tire, cursed twice, and walked off.

The incident put Duflin on alert. He sharpened his gaze, scanning the surroundings for any suspicious vehicles, but found none. He offered a few words to calm the shaken Jack, then urged him to drive on quickly.

Jack nodded, steering the car toward the main thoroughfare.

No sooner had they merged into traffic than Duflin spotted a skateboard in pursuit behind them.

“Jimmy, speed up!”

“What?”

“See that skateboard? It’s probably a bomb. If you don’t step on it, the two of us are going to be blown to pieces!”

Duflin’s words were half-joking, expecting Jimmy to slam the accelerator and dash away in panic.

But to his astonishment, the ever-honest Jack suddenly grinned, baring his sharp white teeth, “So they’ve finally come? I’ve been waiting for them!”

With that, he stomped on the brake. The car skidded sideways in an instant, the massive inertia pinning Duflin against the seat.

Jack unbuckled his seatbelt, threw open the door, and leapt out.

Duflin was stunned.

With sheer willpower, he steadied himself, his hand scrambling for the door handle — it wouldn’t open! He tried again, only to discover that the driver’s door, left ajar, had automatically closed and locked itself.

“Damn it!”

Even a fool could see now that Jack had been an undercover agent all along.

But at this point, it was too late to do anything else.

Duflin watched helplessly as the skateboard shot under the car and exploded.

“No—”

His scream was swallowed up by the deafening blast.

The entire car was hurled into the air, somersaulting a thousand degrees before crashing down nose-first.

Boom!

Every window shattered.

It was only thanks to the car’s reinforced frame that the passengers weren’t crushed into pulp. Even so, with the deformation and the enormous impact, Mr. Duflin, despite some cushioning, was left battered and bleeding.

The car scraped and skidded for four or five meters, coming to a halt only after smashing into a lamppost.

Onlookers and nearby drivers were shocked, scattering to a safe distance.

Jack dashed over, shouting for Mr. Duflin, grabbing him by the foot and dragging him out of the mangled window without a shred of gentleness.

At that moment, a black government vehicle screeched to a halt by Jack’s side. The side door flew open. With a swift heave, Jack tossed Mr. Duflin into the back, then leapt in himself.

The car surged forward, the engine howling, and in the blink of an eye they vanished down a side street.

The bystanders stared in disbelief, unable to react for a long moment.

Only the upended Mercedes remained, leaning against the lamppost, tendrils of white smoke curling from its chassis.

Gao Ning was dumbfounded.

He had never expected that what began as an impromptu attack would take such a wild turn, nearly throwing out his back with its twists.

What was going on now? Had Jack just kidnapped a top agent? Judging from the scene, was it Jack who had orchestrated the attack all along?

Could it be that, in this world, Jackie Chan was actually the mastermind behind the curtain?

The plotline that had once seemed so clear was now a muddled mess, thrown into chaos by Jack’s sudden maneuver.

Fortunately, the gray dot representing Jack remained on the map, now converging with the dots for Duflin and another unknown figure, speeding towards Brooklyn.

Clearly, the other party knew New York’s streets well. At first, they seemed intent on shaking off any possible tail, darting through back alleys, making sharp turns, stopping abruptly, and even detouring through underground parking garages.

After employing five or six anti-surveillance tactics and confirming no pursuers, they finally merged onto the main road and blended into traffic.

By now, Gao Ning had recovered his wits and ordered all troops to give chase.

Six green dots set off from different locations, rapidly converging on the center.

----

Inside the black sedan, Duflin’s head was bleeding from the crash, his mind swimming on the verge of unconsciousness.

Jack, still not at ease, produced a sedative and injected it straight into Duflin’s carotid artery.

As Duflin finally quieted, Jack let out a heavy sigh, his whole body relaxing.

He pulled a crumpled cigarette pack from his pocket, flicked his finger on the bottom, and a cigarette leapt into his mouth.

With a deft turn of his hand, a lit match appeared at his fingertips.

He lit the cigarette, inhaled deeply, and exhaled a slow stream of smoke.

“Damn, that was exhausting,” Jack’s voice had suddenly grown hoarse, like that of a man weathered by the years.

“Don’t speak to me with that face — I might not be able to resist killing you!” came a woman’s voice from the driver’s seat, soft and gentle, yet chilling in its words.

“Tch! As if anyone would want a nose this big!”

Jack blew out a thick cloud of smoke, revealing a scarred face, worn by the trials of life.