Baker's eyes shrank slightly.

On March 21, 1991, the subject Stark security convoy?

It can't be what I think it is.

Baker thought to himself.

Perhaps on the Earth of Origin, March 21 merely means an inconsequential and empty [International Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination].

But here, in addition to this International Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination, March 21 has happened.

The impact of this incident was far greater than the incident that took place on March 21, 1960, in Sharpeville, South Africa, where police shot and killed 69 people who had participated in a peaceful demonstration against the apartheid [pass] law.

The day when Stark Industries' chairman, Howard Stark, and his wife, Maria Stark, died in a car accident due to brake failure.

Of course.

This is the official version of the Federation, after all, on the same day, the security team that was supposed to protect Howard Stark and his wife encountered a rush on the road, and the Starks left the security team alone in order to leave as soon as possible.

And then......

People died in a car accident.

"There's a hint of a textile mill in this matter?"

Baker clicked on the document and frowned at the line about the client's information that was written (fake identity).

Could it be him?

Baker thought of the computer hack that had just been in the restaurant and was instantly hacked as soon as he connected to the Internet, and then thought of a person.

If that's the person, then his skills are indeed above that of the computer genius Kevin Mitnick.

The Internet is his backyard, and even, for him, the Internet is his home.

He was loyal to Hydra during World War II, and was recruited because of the Federation's "Paperclip Project", and then uploaded his consciousness online because of cancer, and obtained the alternative immortal Hydra Dr. Anim Zola.

But......

It doesn't make sense.

Baker touched his chin, if it was really Hydra, there was no reason to assassinate Howard Stark and still need to rely on the power of the textile factory, because in this way, it would definitely be a complication.

Is it to blame?

Baker thought of this possibility, and the more he thought about it, the more he felt that it seemed to be this, because, if with the help of the textile mill, even if anyone found out any clues in the future, then it would only lead the eyes to the textile mill.

No one would have doubted that on that day, at the same time, two different people would have taken the lives of the Howards Starks.

As for why Dr. Zola is erasing the data now?

I've always been afraid that he already knew about Sloan's death, after all, these years, the network information is very developed, so after he knew that Sloan was dead, he monitored the network throughout the whole process, once Sloan's notebook features appeared on the Internet, he could know it for the first time, and then, quickly clear the data inside.

And this trick is very high, because no one could have imagined that the hacker would be so fast to invade, even the notebook of the legendary hacker Kevin Mitnick could not stop Zola's invasion.

It's just that......

Zora probably didn't think about the fact that Gwen had a backup.

Ha ha.

The corners of Baker's mouth arced slightly, and then he found six copies of the information on his assassination operation, and he was slightly relieved after clicking delete.

The Hydra incident was a useless surprise, because even Baker didn't think it would bring much benefit to him when he knew about it.

But......

It's useless now, it doesn't mean it's useless in the future, there is a saying, even a piece of straw paper has its use.

So.

Instead of deleting the data, Baker unplugged the hard drive, then opened it with the tool in his hand and pointed it at the notebook.

The laptop instantly blurred the screen, and the kung fu screen that took less than three seconds instantly turned into a black screen, and then black smoke came out of the notebook.

……

Queens.

"Bang!"

"Bang bang!"

Three silenced gunshots rang out from the depths of a small alley in Queens, and a big Russian man stumbled backwards clutching his throat, whimpering and falling weakly after hitting the wall.

Boom!

Wesley, who had just been pinched by the Russian man with both hands, fell to the ground, his mouth wide open, his face swollen and bleeding, and he coughed profusely.

"Fake."

"Shet."

"Where did these people come from?"

Wesley rolled over and sat down on the ground, panting as he stared at the Russian man who was leaning against the wall with no breath and blood in his throat like a small fountain, with a wave of anger and mania in his heart.

After a while.

Wesley's ears moved slightly, listening to the sound of footsteps not far away, he stepped forward, took out a magazine and a wallet and a mobile phone from the arms of the Russian man, and then looked around, and then his eyes fell on a manhole cover not far away.

Ten minutes later.

"Whew."

"Whew, whew, whew!"

In the sewers of New York, where there are many connections and even human settlements, Wesley sat on the side, wiped the blood from his forehead with his palm, and lit up the mobile phone that he had just taken from the Russian man.

into the eyes.

[Three hours from the effective date of Wesley Gibson's wanted.] 】

This box is followed by a number that is counting down.

"Watfack."

Wesley's eyebrows jumped, he had just destroyed a textile mill, and where did he jump out of now?

Wesley wiped his sweat and exited the interface, thinking to see if he could find some useful clues from other sources.

Subsequently.

Wesley saw the icon that looked like the exterior of the hotel.

Intercontinental?

What is it?

Wesley clicked on it with some suspicion, only to find that the interface that had just released his bounty was the interface of the InterContinental Hotel APP.

Then Wesley noticed something else.

An hour later.

Wesley took a hundred dollars from the Russian man's wallet and handed it to the taxi driver, then got out of the car and looked up at the iron-shaped building in front of him.

Intercontinental Hotel.

Located at the intersection of Broadway and Fifth Avenue, the InterContinental is an upscale hotel, a hotel that doesn't accept backpackers, and is a hotel that you can't get in if you're not a hotel member.

The security guards on either side of the hotel door glanced at Wesley as he got out of the cab, and then his eyes fell on Wesley's right waist, which was covered by a leather jacket.

The next second.

The two security guards looked away, since the turn of the millennium, the number of assassins registered at the Intercontinental Hotel was enough to be remembered without a computer.

Yes.

The criteria for the two security guards to judge whether they are members are very simple, it seems that there is no robbery, although the one with a gun is not necessarily an assassin in these years, but the assassin must have a gun.

Besides.

If the person with the gun was not an assassin, he would have been turned away by the front desk management even if he entered the hotel.

Just as Wesley was about to lift his feet and step forward.

A black Honda stopped at the door, and a security guard standing on the right immediately took the black umbrella next to it and walked to the driver's door of the Honda.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Moulton."

“……”