Night, 10:03 PM, outskirt of White Beach Town.
In the third-floor corridor of the "Blue Star Motel," old neon lights sizzled and crackled.
Maurice in Room 4 lifted the venetian blinds, the poor-quality plastic slats chattering under his fingers.
Through the greasy window glass, he could see three 18-wheeler trucks parked crookedly under the parking lot’s streetlight.
Truck drivers in work pants were bargaining with prostitutes, while vagrants searched for coins in the vending machine.
Under the cloak of night, the blue glow from the neon sign cast everyone’s shadow into ghostly, elongated figures.
The motel room was small, just a single room with a bathroom. A small-sized LCD TV hung on the wall, broadcasting meaningless news reports.
As the electronic clock on the nightstand jumped from 22:04 to 22:05, Maurice grew increasingly restless. He pulled open the canvas bag’s zipper to check the goods for the trade.
Seven lab journals bundled with rubber bands, twelve frozen tubes marked with biohazard signs, and three discs labeled with the "Apocalypse Creatures" logo.
These items, flagged in red on the government’s restricted list, were now gleaming with cold light under the cheap energy-saving bulb.
Anyone selling or acquiring these would have to be under the supervision of the US Department of Commerce, otherwise, it would be illegal.
Maurice was a researcher at Apocalypse Creatures. Three days ago, someone contacted him, offering one million US Dollars to purchase his company secrets.
Short on cash, Maurice’s interest was piqued immediately. He appeared at the motel to complete the deal.
But doing this came with significant risks; nobody could say for sure whether this was an FBI sting operation targeting suspicious individuals. Who knew who the contact person would be?
As the atmosphere grew tense, hysterical laughter suddenly erupted from the room next door, shaking the thin wooden walls.
The restless Maurice jumped up as if electrocuted, the canvas bag toppled over, and the frozen tubes containing hazardous pathogens almost shattered.
He stared intently at the shadow flickering under the door crack until he confirmed it was just a drunkard stumbling past.
The bathroom exhaust fan hummed, tires crunched over gravel in the parking lot, and there were shouts of "ah ah ah" from the next room.
In the parking lot, a black Chevrolet without a license plate slowly drove in. The man in the driver’s seat wore a baseball cap pulled down low, scanning his surroundings constantly.
The drunk on the third-floor corridor came back, carrying a bottle of liquor and knocking on every door, seemingly unable to find his room.
Downstairs, a scantily clad prostitute smoked a cigarette. Several johns approached her, but she ignored them and instead drove them away.
Who... who would be the contact person for tonight’s transaction?
At an intersection two hundred meters from the parking lot, a Chevrolet SUV was parked. The car wasn’t new or old, just a nondescript model commonly seen on the street.
Yet inside the spacious cabin, there was an entire set of remote monitoring equipment. Various data and images flickered on the screens, emitting a cold and professional vibe.
Zhou Qingfeng lounged lazily in the car seat, legs crossed, casually pulling a bottle of frozen yogurt from a small fridge and sipping it slowly.
Selena sat next to him, curiously watching Lux, the forty-something white middle-aged man operating the surveillance equipment. Once a seasoned CIA agent, he was now Zhou Qingfeng’s "temporary employee."
In the driver’s seat, Yeager sat erect, his gaze as sharp as an eagle’s.
This fifty-something Black man was once an elite member of the White House Special Service Bureau and now, dressed in plain clothes, was intensely scanning every passing car and face on the road.
After watching for a long time, Selena was still puzzled and couldn’t resist whispering to Zhou Qingfeng, "Victor, what exactly are your two bodyguards doing?"
Finishing the last sip of yogurt, Zhou Qingfeng already felt a slight discomfort in his stomach. He shrugged and answered in a low voice:
"We’re here for an illegal transaction. The target is inside that motel across the street. But we need to confirm if it’s a trap using some technical means.
An ordinary method is using drones to monitor the surroundings of the motel, looking for suspicious people or cars.
A more complex method involves setting up a fake wireless base station to see if we can connect to nearby phones and intercept calls.
Additionally, we could monitor the frequency bands used by walkie-talkies and filter them for sensitive words using AI. If there’s an encrypted walkie-talkie channel, that’s even more important to monitor and decrypt."
At first glance, Zhou Qingfeng seemed like an expert. But Lux, who was operating the equipment, couldn’t help but turn his head; the real situation was evidently much more complicated.
"Oh..." Selena nodded seemingly in comprehension, though still confused, she didn’t press further, becoming even more curious about everything in front of her.
Two days ago, a "friend" from the Department of Homeland Security named Diego contacted Zhou Qingfeng, saying he wanted to give him a gift.
Two days later, the gift arrived—two cars, one Cadillac, and one Chevrolet.
The Cadillac was a luxury bulletproof model from the Special Service Bureau, made with high-strength steel, titanium alloy, and ceramic materials, while the windows were multilayer bulletproof glass.
The car came equipped with an independent oxygen supply system and advanced communication devices, though a minister-level secure phone had been removed.
This car was extremely luxurious, providing a top-tier riding experience, perfect for making an impression. Its market price would definitely not be less than one million US dollars.