He instantly understood why Anthony had let him give away all the credit. In the face of a nation, an individual was too powerless. This matter turned out to be more troublesome than he had imagined.
While Dean was pondering, Anthony directly suggested, "Call Amon, he won't let you down!"
"Okay, Anthony, I look forward to your early return," Dean said.
Dean hung up the phone. Amon was the head of the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) who had shown up last time to handle the retirement homes belonging to old Mrs. Hass. He was also a former student of Anthony's and seemed to be doing quite well now.
The Department of Homeland Security was primarily responsible for the safety of the United States Federation's homeland, managing emergency affairs, and preventing terrorist activities. All things considered, this case was right in their jurisdiction. Dean just wondered what benefits Amon might offer him.
Dean suddenly felt a burning sensation on his fingertips; the cigarette had burned down to the end. He dropped the butt and looked at Charles, whose face was a storm of shifting, uncertain emotions. "It seems you don't love your daughter as much as you think you do."
Dean slowly raised his gun. The threat of death loomed. Charles, having personally witnessed Dean's sharp shooting and fighting skills, knew all too well he was no match. Raising his hands, he conceded, "Alright, I give up. Although I don't know how you figured out something was off about me, as long as you can ensure my daughter's safety, I'll tell you everything I know."
The moment he admitted it, a piece of information crossed Dean's mind: [Simulated Z-Killing Incident solved, Experience Points +1,200, L13 -> L14, Attribute Points +1, Skill Points +1].
Simulated Z-Killing Incident???
Dean was not pleased with these Experience Points. There were over a hundred people on the plane, and he had risked his life, killed ten, and captured four, yet he had earned only 1,200 Experience Points.
But then he saw the word 'simulated.' He felt numb.
Doesn't this mean that if it weren't for him, these terrorists wouldn't have acted at all???
Unbelievable. To think something so absurd could happen!
Dean, feeling a bit wistful, lit another cigarette, squatted down, and sighed, "Go on, then."
Charles was unsure why Dean reacted this way after he had yielded. Remembering Dean's earlier bloody rampage, his heart skipped a beat. This seemingly respectable detective couldn't be sighing because he can't kill me, could he?
Frightened, Charles swallowed hard and quickly said, "I'm not actually a wealthy person, but a firearms modifier who also knows a bit about explosives. I used to get by taking various jobs, until they found me."
Dean nodded, "Continue."
"Under threat, I caved. I helped them make revolvers and explosive packages that are hard for current machines to detect, and I was forced to act with them. I'm not clear on the specifics of the plan, but I know their targets were the World Trade Center and the Pentagon."
Dean choked. He thought he had misheard. "Where?"
Charles affirmed, "The World Trade Center and the Pentagon! I know this so well because I boarded this plane to help them run a test. The goal was to determine how to maximize the damage a civilian airliner could inflict on a building. So, actually, nothing was supposed to happen today."
At this point, he looked conflicted, uncertain whether to be happy or sad. Happy because this group had failed; unhappy because he would face even greater trouble. At least my daughter should be safe now!
Dean felt numb again. The World Trade Center in New York, located at the southwest tip of Manhattan Island, was a city landmark and home to numerous well-known international trade companies. If a Z-Killing-style crash were to happen there... TSK. It would certainly become a terrorist attack the world could never forget!
And the Pentagon... That was even more formidable; it's the headquarters of the highest military command in the United States—the Department of Defense! These people were playing for such high stakes. Could Amon handle this?
Dean shook his head, dropped his cigarette butt, stamped it out, then stood up. He looked at Charles, who was awaiting judgment, and patted his shoulder. "Buddy, you should be glad this hasn't happened yet. Just cooperate honestly from now on, and you might even get recruited."
Seeing that Dean made no move to act, Charles breathed a sigh of relief. He planned to spend more time with his daughter while he still could. As he walked to the aisle, he stopped again, curious, "I have one question, why did you suspect me?"
Dean shrugged. "Simple. These kinds of plastic revolvers look similar to regular firearms, but they're designed for concealment, which makes them very awkward to handle. An ordinary person couldn't seem so familiar with them on first contact."
Charles was stunned. So that was it. But he didn't know that this was only what had aroused Dean's suspicion; the panel was the real reason.
"Well, I have to admit, Detective Dean, you're the sharpest cop I've ever met. Just too bold—letting me handle a gun."
Charles chuckled and turned to leave, only to bump into the two individuals who had earlier tried to offer help.
They awkwardly avoided Charles's astonished gaze. "Buddy, sorry," one of them said, "Detective Dean quietly instructed us that if you showed any unusual behavior, we were to take you down."
Catherine, leading Charles's daughter, also walked over from behind, winking at him as she approached. Obviously, Dean had tipped her off as well.
Charles was speechless. I completely underestimated that pretty boy's ruthlessness!