Chapter 478 - 220: Surging Undercurrents
Pittsburgh. Rosa’s apartment.
The curtains were drawn tight, shutting out the midday sun.
A thick smell of tobacco smoke filled the dim room.
Barney Ross paced back and forth in the cramped living room.
Every few steps, he would stop and look at Frank, who was sitting on the sofa.
Frank Kovalsky clutched his extinguished pipe, not saying a word.
"Frank."
Barney couldn’t take it anymore.
He stopped in front of Frank, his eyes bloodshot.
"What the hell is Leo playing at?"
"It’s been twelve hours, and we still haven’t heard anything from the precinct."
"What’s the point of dragging this out? He might be able to hide it for a day, but can he hide it for a month? The FBI and the state police will come knocking sooner or later."
"This silence is scaring me."
Frank held up a hand, gesturing to Barney.
"Sit down."
Barney hesitated for a moment before plopping down onto a nearby chair.
"Trust him, Barney."
Frank put the pipe back in his mouth.
"Leo said he has a plan."
"What plan?"
Barney shot back immediately.
"Is it to get him out of here? Or to have him take the fall?"
"If we’re smuggling him out, why not use our channels? We even have the coyotes lined up! If he’s taking the fall, why isn’t there a public trial?"
"This kind of secretive detention can only mean one thing—he’s waiting for the highest bidder!"
Frank fell silent.
The truth was, he had no idea what Leo was planning either, because Leo hadn’t told him a thing.
He was just barely holding things together.
He knew that Barney and his men were like a pile of dry kindling soaked in gasoline. A single spark could set all of Pittsburgh ablaze.
If he let them lose control now, rush into the streets for some so-called "rescue protest," it would all be over.
He had to keep them in check.
"Because he’s Leo Wallace."
Frank offered a reason that wasn’t really a reason.
He stared into Barney’s eyes, his tone hardening.
"Because he fixed the roads, and because he got your brothers paid."
"That’s why."
"So shut your mouth and wait."
"Barney, you listen to me. Even if we’re going to protest, even if we’re going to riot, it will only be on Leo’s order. Without his signal, nobody moves!"
Barney opened his mouth to argue, but ultimately swallowed his words.
He angrily slammed a fist on his thigh and turned his head away from Frank.
Frank gripped his pipe again.
Even though Barney’s doubts cut like a knife, he didn’t feel any panic.
He knew Leo was a gambler, a politician, a man who would sell his soul to the Demon.
But he believed Leo was playing for bigger stakes, not just a few gold coins.
A greater ambition lay hidden in his heart.
So he was betting.
He was betting his decades of prestige, the trust of the entire Union, on Leo Wallace’s conscience.
If he lost.
If Leo truly betrayed them.
The workers’ alliance in Pittsburgh would collapse in an instant.
...
Washington D.C., Reagan Building.
FBI Headquarters, Cybercrime Division.
"Sir."
A senior agent sitting in the corner raised his hand.
The supervisor strode over.
"What did you find?"
"There’s an anomaly in the data from Pittsburgh."
The agent pointed to the screen in front of him.
On the screen was a network topology map of the traffic surveillance system in Pittsburgh City.
"We were tracking Luigi Randall’s possible escape routes, but we found a data black hole in the stream from Pittsburgh."
"A black hole?" the supervisor frowned.
"Yes." The agent’s hands flew across the keyboard. "For ten minutes yesterday, none of the traffic cameras in this area uploaded any data."
"It wasn’t just the traffic cameras. Even the networked surveillance from several nearby convenience stores was offline during that ten-minute window."
"This couldn’t be an equipment malfunction," the agent concluded. "It was a deliberate physical cutoff. Someone pulled the network cables or cut the power."
The supervisor’s eyes narrowed.
"What are the local police covering up?"
A routine criminal case wouldn’t require such measures.
This level of professional physical blocking usually meant only one thing.
There was something there that someone didn’t want to be seen.
"Can you recover anything?" the supervisor asked.
"The cloud data is gone, but I managed to recover a locally cached frame from one of the cameras from the last second before it went offline."
The agent hit the Enter key.
A blurry image popped up on the screen.
In the picture, a Pittsburgh Police Department patrol car was stopped on the side of the road.
The rear door was open, and a figure was getting out of the car.
The figure was wearing a hoodie, the hood obscuring their head and face.
"Enhance the image," the supervisor ordered.
The agent launched the image processing software.
The blurry pixels began to reassemble and sharpen.
The figure’s silhouette gradually became clearer.
"The facial recognition system can’t get a lock. The angle is too wide."
the agent said.
"But we ran a comparison on physical characteristics and gait analysis."
A red dialog box appeared on the screen.
Match Probability: 87%.
Suspected Target: Luigi Randall.
The supervisor stared at the number.
87%.
In the intelligence world, that was as good as a confirmation.
"Interesting."
"He’s in the hands of the Pittsburgh police."
"They caught the number one most wanted man, but they didn’t report it, didn’t enter it into the Federation’s system, and even cut the surveillance feeds to cover their tracks."
The supervisor picked up the phone on his desk.
"Notify the field team."
"The target is in Pittsburgh."
"Someone is hiding him."
The supervisor’s gaze turned icy.
"And it’s an official cover-up."
...
K Street. Inside a top-floor conference room of an unmarked, gray office building.
A heavy, soundproof door blocked out all noise from the outside. Seven or eight men in sharp suits sat around a long table.
They were the chief lobbyists for America’s largest health insurance giants, along with the chiefs of staff for several heavyweight Congressmen.
There was no tense, confrontational atmosphere here. Instead, the mood was relaxed, almost leisurely.
A lobbyist with graying hair and gold-rimmed glasses stood up.
He was the convener of this meeting and a core figure in the medical Lobbying Group.
He held a freshly printed document, which he distributed to everyone present.
The document’s title was written in bold:
_The Critical Infrastructure and Healthcare Worker Safety Protection Act_
"Gentlemen."
The lobbyist’s voice was smooth and elegant.
"That madman, Luigi, has done us a great service."
The men at the table all laughed.
They didn’t care that a CEO was dead.
To a massive capital group, a CEO was just a high-level employee. If one died, another could be replaced at any time.
What they cared about was how to exploit this corpse to extract even greater surplus value.
"Although we have indeed revised some terms in the health insurance contracts."
The lobbyist pointed to the newspapers on the table, which were filled with discussions of "medical justice."
"That’s because we have to let those angry poor people blow off some steam first."
"If we continue to play hardball at a time like this, it will only rile them up more and encourage more Luigis to appear."
The lobbyist sneered.
"So, we’ll give them a little something sweet first. We revise the terms, pay out a few claims, and adopt a posture of ’we are reflecting, we are improving.’"
"We need to let the passions that Luigi stirred up cool down a bit, let them think there’s still hope as long as they play by the rules."
"But, gentlemen."
The lobbyist’s eyes turned vicious.
"This is just a delaying tactic."
"We cannot allow this ’squeaky wheel gets the grease’ logic to become the norm."
"Therefore, we need a bigger lock."
The lobbyist pointed to the draft bill in his hand.
"This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."
"We are going to define this assassination as an act of domestic terrorism."
"We must turn it into a terrorist attack against the nation’s critical infrastructure—that is, the healthcare system."
The lobbyist turned to the third page of the bill.
"Look at this clause."
"Any violent threats, cyberattacks, or inflammatory rhetoric targeting medical institutions, insurance companies, or their employees will be considered terrorist activities that endanger national security."
One of the chiefs of staff pushed up his glasses and pointed to a line of text.
"’Inflammatory rhetoric?’ Isn’t that definition a bit too broad?"
"It’s meant to be broad."
The lobbyist gave a meaningful smile.
"Once the bill passes, what constitutes ’inflammatory’?"
"Does exposing our claim-denial algorithms online count as inciting hatred?"
"Does organizing patients to protest outside an insurance company count as threatening security?"
"As long as we control the power of interpretation, all of these can be considered terrorist activities."
The lobbyist’s eyes grew sharp.
"We will use this opportunity to brand everyone who tries to reform healthcare as an accomplice of this demon."
"We will use this act to shut their mouths for good."
"Agreed."
Another lobbyist raised his hand.
"I’ll have a word with the people on the Judiciary Committee. This is a perfect entry point."
"I agree as well."
A chief of staff nodded.
"My boss has been looking for ammunition to attack the Progressives. This bill comes at the perfect time."
All eyes returned to the lead lobbyist.
"Then it’s settled."
The lobbyist gathered the documents on the table and placed the draft bill back into his briefcase.
"I will take this draft back and have the legal team polish it further. We must ensure every single word is ironclad, leaving no loopholes for those liberal lawyers to find."
"Gentlemen, expect good news from me."
"Meeting adjourned."
...
A black sedan sped through the rain on a Pennsylvania interstate.
Leo Wallace sat alone in the driver’s seat, the scenery outside the window blurring into a swath of gray as it rushed past.
The windshield wipers swung back and forth, their rhythm monotonous.
"You’re taking a risk, Leo."
Roosevelt’s voice broke the silence in the car.
"I know."
"No, you don’t," Roosevelt’s voice carried a hint of severity. "Going to Philadelphia now is a huge gamble in itself. Have you really thought about what you’re going to say to her? How are you going to get her on your side at such a sensitive time?"
"I have no other choice, Mr. President."
Leo pressed the accelerator, the car picking up speed on the slick road.
"This is a golden opportunity. If we don’t charge through the opening Luigi has torn for us, we might never get another chance to meddle in healthcare reform in our lifetime."
"That system is too closed off, too solid. Normally, we can’t even find the door."
Roosevelt was silent for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh.
"Of course, I know how hard it is."
"Back when I was pushing for the New Deal, I also wanted to include health insurance in the Social Security Act."
"But those people at the American Medical Association, they attacked me like mad dogs. They called it socialized medicine, the destruction of American freedom."
"In order to save the pension system, I had to compromise with them, had to cut the healthcare component."
"That is a fortress that even I couldn’t breach, Leo."
Roosevelt’s voice turned grave.
"You’re just a Mayor. If you want to attack it now, Evelyn Saint Cloud alone won’t be enough."
"She’s an opportunist, not a revolutionary. She might help you for a profit, but when faced with real pressure, when the entire medical-industrial complex starts to fight back, she will sell you out without a second thought."
"You need more help. You need a more solid backing."
"I know."
Leo looked at the gloomy sky ahead, the silhouette of Philadelphia faintly visible through the rain and mist.
"I know she’s unreliable, and I know she’s not enough on her own."
"But I have to get her first."
Leo’s expression was calm.
’I’m ready.’
’It’s not the first time, anyway.’
’As long as I can blow this fortress open, I don’t mind being the Demon’s partner again.’
The car drove into the shadow of Philadelphia.
The storm was about to break.
As for what the future held, only heaven knew.