A few years later, the war on the Korean Peninsula gradually drew to a close.
Now, another man's "era" was dawning. For Liu Ren, however, it made no difference at all.
After all, presidents in the White House came and went, but the syndicates stood forever!
The first time Liu Ren saw the major syndicates quarreling tooth and nail over dividing the spoils of the next administration, he couldn't help but marvel at how ridiculous it all was, feeling like an outsider blundering into the halls of power.
It was far more absurd than fiction.
Still, it helped him understand why Old Tang could succeed—because in that seat, it truly didn't matter who sat there!
When it came to building momentum, Old Tang certainly had a trick or two up his sleeve. But two was all he had; he really couldn't pull out any more!
Take investigating expenditures, for example. Wasn't that just a trap?
Because no matter who looked into it, everyone ended up guilty!
A single bag of screws billed at five hundred dollars—did the higher-ups not know? They knew perfectly well. But the problem was, if you didn't take a cut, and I didn't take a cut, how was Commissioner Smith supposed to get his? If you didn't advance your career, and I didn't advance mine, how was Commissioner Smith supposed to get ahead?
Did anyone truly believe the war in South Asia dragged on because they were incompetent—that they couldn't swing a blade, couldn't fight, couldn't clear the streets? You could call them corrupt, but never mistake them for weak!
Was that damn thing even a war? That was the military-industrial complex raking in cold, hard cash!
Twenty years of war—how much money was burned? Anywhere from a hundred and ten billion to a hundred and sixty-five billion!
And that was merely the direct military spending. Factor in everything else, and the total reached at least two hundred billion!
The subsequent Middle Eastern wars that followed proved plenty of things!
Across the ocean, the people eager to start a war weren't necessarily the taxpayers or the politicians sitting at the top. But the Pentagon and the military-industrial complex would always hunt for fresh prey, because without war, there was no money...
Slender fingers tapped against the desk.
Liu Ren was sipping coffee, gazing out the window in relaxed contentment.
Just then, Han Hu walked in and announced, "Boss, the Federal Intelligence Service is here again. Director Allen is leading the team in person!"
Liu Ren didn't even lift an eyelid. With utter distaste, he muttered, "That unlucky bastard is back again?"
Even so, Liu Ren tapped the desk and said, "Send him in!"
Before long, Allen Welsh Dulles strode through the door and immediately offered a smile. "Long time no see, Liu!"
"'Long time no see' my ass! You were here just last week!"
Glaring at Allen with blatant disgust, Liu Ren snapped, "Out with it. What intelligence got leaked this time?"
Looking rather awkward, Allen replied sheepishly, "It seems... just about all of it."
"So what? You suspect me?"
Liu Ren pointed at his own chest in dramatic shock. He pulled open his suit jacket, exposing his old combat scars. "I bled for this country! I killed enemies on Guadalcanal, led heroic charges on Iwo Jima, and didn't give an inch on Ryukyu..."
"Enough, enough, Liu. It's just a routine check. You don't have to recite that speech every single time!"
Staring helplessly at Liu Ren, Allen rubbed his temples, a pounding headache coming on.
Everyone knew full well that Liu Ren was dirty, but the problem was that investigating him was like detonating a bomb!
And not some small explosive either, but a catastrophic blast capable of leveling everything!
After all, nobody knew the situation on the Korean Peninsula better than Liu Ren. Obtaining any piece of intelligence was child's play to him.
Yet even when intelligence breaches occurred, no one dared accuse him, because he was one of the United States military's primary defense contractors!
"Oh, my apologies. Force of habit!"
Smoothly buttoning his jacket, Liu Ren sat back down with a beaming smile and offered Allen a cigar.
Looking at the cigar, what else could Allen say? He took it and lit up.
After chatting for a while, Allen finally ventured, "Next time, could you try not to make things so awkward for the CIA? You're making life very difficult for us."
"Difficult? If it's too difficult, don't bloody do it! When your youngest daughter was critically ill and needed help from Presbyterian Hospital, who sorted it out? I did! When your wife racked up two million in gambling debts at the casino, who took care of it? Me again..."
Liu Ren poked his own chest, staring right at Allen.
Flustered, Allen could only spread his hands in resignation.
Facing his greatest creditor, what could he possibly do? He was helpless!
Seeing Allen's defeat, Liu Ren pulled open a drawer and tossed out an envelope. "Here. Don't say I never look out for you. A safe deposit box at New State Bank—there's enough inside for several lifetimes!"
Clutching the envelope, Allen fell silent for a long moment before letting out a laugh. "You're still far too generous, haha!"
"We're on the same side. If I don't look after you, who will?"
Liu Ren beamed at Allen, narrowing his eyes.
Had he leaked intelligence regarding the peninsula? Naturally he had. Forget plans drawn up at the front lines—the moment the Pentagon's Joint Chiefs concluded a meeting, Liu Ren received a full account of the proceedings.
Why? Because they were the core of the military-industrial complex!
Many assumed the major syndicates were bitter rivals locked in cutthroat competition, but that was completely wrong.
Precisely because they were syndicates, their ties were tighter than anyone imagined. The DuPont family had the gunpowder, Silver Rock Arms supplied the weapons, and Lockheed handled the aircraft...
Two hours later, Allen left with his team, ostensibly hauling away an assortment of files to prove Liu Ren's "innocence."
In truth, it was nothing more than burying their heads in the sand. When it came to certain matters, everyone understood the score—they just never said it out loud!
Deep in the heart of Chinatown, Mr. Jin stepped into a restaurant, greeting the owner with practiced familiarity.
Before long, a piping-hot bowl of wonton noodles was set before him.
After finishing his meal with great satisfaction, Mr. Jin walked outside.
As he passed a nearby street corner, he casually slipped a package of intelligence into a collection box with a flick of his wrist.
The courier waiting for the drop blinked in stunned disbelief, staring in silence for a long time.
This didn't look like any spy thriller he had ever watched.
Inside the Silver Rock Group Building, Liu Ren held the translated report, cocking his head in bewilderment. "Didn't we already send this back a few days ago?"
"I think so! But they went through so much trouble to get it out. What should we do, Senior Brother?"
Han Hu scratched his head, looking utterly perplexed.
Liu Ren stared at him quietly for a moment, then tilted his head. "What else can we do? Pretend we never saw it! And from now on, make sure the intelligence leaks are traced to the Pentagon! That old fox at the CIA is far too crafty!"
Han Hu tilted his head, asking in confusion, "Wait, isn't Allen one of ours?"
"Precisely because he's one of ours, we have to make the Pentagon take the fall!"
Without explaining that he was doing it to shield their intelligence operatives, Liu Ren sighed, shaking his head in exasperation.
Intelligence work was the most perilous game in the world. The slightest slip invited suspicion, or worse, complete exposure.
Liu Ren had to ensure that future leaks appeared to originate from the Pentagon or anywhere else—never the CIA!
Walk in the dark to serve the light.
Such was the hardship of covert operatives, and Liu Ren was determined never to let any harm come to them!
The Pentagon: *Do you even hear what you're saying right now?*
"Senior Brother, it's New Year's...!"
Catching sight of the dazzling fireworks outside the window, Han Hu couldn't help but shout.
"I can hear you!"
Shooting Han Hu an exasperated glance, Liu Ren walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over Chinatown's radiant display of fireworks.
Crossing his arms, Liu Ren watched the lights burst against the night sky, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips as he thought silently to himself:
*From this day forward, the great Chinese nation has stood up!*
Chapter 83