Unlike Winston, Brooklyn was quick to notice the seafarer. Coming home from work, Brooklyn walked to the other side and took a look, but Michael hadn't come back yet.

When I got to the parking lot, the motorcycle was gone. Brooklyn drove slowly, greeted his colleagues, and slowly merged into the familiar Hoover Avenue, moving inch by inch with the traffic home.

It was as if he had forgotten about Ray. When I got home, I cooked my meal, and after waiting for a while, I was sure that Ray would not come back early, so I ate alone, cleaned up and returned to the study.

He turned on the computer and carefully collected all the information about Mr. Seafarer's online. Social Accounts, News Interviews, TV Shows...... Brooklyn sorted them out and categorized them by different time nodes, and soon, his thinking became clear.

This 'out of nowhere' seafarer gentleman was actually not sudden at all. Mr. Seafarer is a real New York Hong Kong native, and indeed his ancestors have been seafarers for three generations.

Mr. Seaman's father and grandfather even worked in the Navy, and only after retiring from the Navy did they become seafarers for a steamship cargo company.

Mr. Seaman inherited his father's business and did not join the navy, but followed his father on a ship in high school.

This information is all voluntarily published on Mr. Seaman's social account. The seafarer's social account is not a zombie number specially made for the election, and the earliest news can be traced back to nearly ten years ago.

At that time, the social platform had just been established. The updates posted on the account are uneven each year, sometimes several posts in a row, sometimes not a single post for months.

The dynamic content is also diverse, sometimes it is a record of interesting things about the voyage, sometimes it is a local customs, sometimes it is a photo with women, and sometimes it is also involved in the discussion of social topics.

It was in this discussion that Brooklyn discovered Mr. Seafarer's secret by sorting out the changes in the content of the discussion.

The seafarer's social media accounts are indeed real, but he was already preparing to run for election more than a year ago.

Four years ago, Mr. Seafarer's social media account began to discuss and speak differently about social hot issues, no longer superficially 'headache and foot pain', he began to speak and comment on some essential issues, although sometimes the donkey's lips are not the horse's mouth, but this is an improvement.

More than a year ago, discussions on social issues on his social media accounts began to become frequent, and the core of his thoughts began to steadily improve.

It's so stable! Brooklyn has only seen such a solid improvement in two situations. One is the student under the systematic education system, and the other is the fake.

Regardless of whether Mr. Seafarer was a forger or a steady increase in training, he started preparing more than a year ago.

In addition to this, Brooklyn also downloaded photos of Mr. Seafarer in public appearances from the Internet. Several of the handshakes caught Brooklyn's attention.

After categorizing and analysing, Brooklyn was certain that Mr. Seafarer was familiar with most of the people like union representatives, factory workers' representatives, and the like, and was 'strange' to most school boards, etc.

Mr. Seafarer's expression when he met these two types of people was completely different. Especially when he met with the workers, whether it was the amplitude of the corners of his mouth or the inclination of his eyebrows, the love and enthusiasm from the heart were about to float out of the screen.

At this point, Brooklyn basically came to the conclusion that this seafarer gentleman was someone who had been planning for a long time to run for governor of New York.

Brooklyn thought of Lenie Crewe. Then there is an explanation for the 'wave of indictments' that has been set off this week, which is paving the way for Mr. Seafarer.

But now he's a little confused about what's the point of Lyley Crewe doing this. Even Brooklyn could see the danger, and he didn't believe Lyry Crewe wouldn't be able to see it.

They're trapped in the city of New York! They have already lost and there is no possibility of a comeback!

So, what did they want to do when they suddenly brought in a seafarer? Brooklyn was puzzled. He flipped through the map, and then confirmed that the geographical location of New York City is indeed very good, with harbors, developed water systems, landmark buildings, its own urban characteristics, and a mass base.

But what's the use of that? The rednecks of Texas were so reluctant at the beginning, didn't they still have to be obediently incorporated into the Union?

It's more like the unwilling roar of the loser at the end of the road, the last cry of despair, a senseless revolt that is useless except to increase casualties.

This idea only swirled in his mind for a moment before it was vetoed by Brooklyn. Lyrie Crewe wouldn't do such a pointless thing, especially at a time like this.

………………………… He was also mentioned in an eight-story building on West 23rd Street in Manhattan during his painstaking research in Brooklyn.

Because it was night, the lights in the conference room were not very bright, and the evening breeze blew in through the open window, making the lamp head creak and shake.

The flickering lights add a touch of mystery to the atmosphere in the meeting room. The flag in the corner was hiding in the shadows, covered in dust.

The smell of decay in the conference room seemed to be stronger, and even with the windows open, it didn't dissipate for a long time.

Lyleigh Crewe coughed and looked up at Ray.

"Comrade Ray Leonard, this is your stall." He reached for a file bag and threw it on the table.

The file bag glided over the antique-like table for some distance, and because the table top was rough and the resistance was too great, the opening was pulled open, and the documents inside were exposed.

Basic identity information, application form, letter of introduction, mission experience...... This non-bulging document bag filled all of Ray's past thirty years.

"You're not in this operation." Lylee Crewe didn't look at Ray with a stunned face, and said directly

"Burn it, then go back to Brooklyn Lee and keep lurking." Ray opened his mouth, and the soldier's vocation engraved in his bones made him not say anything to refute.

Lyrie Crewe picked out a number of document bags and handed them over. After selection, most of the already small stalls have been reduced.

Lyleigh Crewe touched the remaining pouches, ran his fingers over the names, and after a moment of silence, said categorically

"Comrades, the current situation is very serious, and the time has come to test us." His demeanor and tone at this time were completely different from usual, and that kind of confidence and determination made it easy to ignore that this was an old man in his eighties.

His eyes shone in the flickering light, like two bright stars, and from these two stars burst out of the longing and longing for beauty.

This is a radiant spirit that can only be seen in young people. The people in this room were all very old, and Ray turned out to be the youngest.

And the second-to-last person behind Ray turned out to be nearly twenty years older than Lei. The eyes of this group of people became brighter and brighter as Lyleigh Crewe spoke, as if they were about to shine light, and they had a different kind of charm.

"Ray Leonard." Lyrie Crewe's voice rang out.

"I've got a task for you." Ray's face straightened.

"Make sure you're safe." Lyrie Crewe said earnestly.

"How dare these jackals move!" The loud old man who answered the phone shouted

"Their Ministry of Foreign Affairs can spray these jackals to slag."

"They are not the same people they were more than a decade ago." Lyleigh Crewe glared at the old fellow and shook his head

"Fang was invited by me to come to exchange and learn. I didn't expect them to act so quickly. The loud voice was a little unhappy, squeaked, pulled out the chair, sat down, and whispered to himself.

It's just that his voice is a little louder.

"What's the use, people don't care about us."

"The gap with the Soviet Union is too big, and they only take care of themselves, regardless of whether other comrades live or die."

"People are rich, they have become rich, and they don't look down on our poor relatives anymore."

"You can't say that." Lyrie Crewe said calmly

"They're in a difficult situation too."

"They are in the cracks, they grow up from weakness little by little, and they are terrified at every step they take, and being careful is the right choice." Saying this, Lyrie Crewe's eyes were full of strange brilliance when he looked out the window.

He went there a long, long time ago, and later learned about it only from the Internet. Even though the pictures on the Internet are completely different from when he went there, he still remembers the visit vividly.

Poor but trying to put on a 'I'm rich'. When I see everything, I look like a 'magical' bun.

There are also warm and simple people, full of confident spirit, longing and divine eyes, and full of red.

It's a great place to grow red. …………………… Late at night, one o'clock in the morning.

Brooklyn stood inside a pitch-black bedroom overlooking the outside. Ray is back. There was a slight sound of the door opening downstairs.

Ray limped in from the doorway, leaning against the wall all the way, his left leg and ankle showing an obviously abnormal posture.

He stood in the doorway and looked up at the second floor, and despite the darkness there, he uncomfortably withdrew his hand holding on to the wall, and his body shook so much that he could barely stand.

He was wearing a tattered black jacket that smelled of stinking and burning, the jacket was noticeably undersized, and the short hairs on the lapels were dirty and shone.

I don't know which homeless man had ripped off his clothes, and there were two bugs crawling in and out of Ray's collar.

Ray's other hand hung limply, blood dripping down his fingertips, and as he went, it ticked all the way to the floor.

Confirming that Brooklyn was not alarmed, Ray simply sat down on the floor. After a moment's pause, he propped his hands on the floor to get up, but the action seemed to affect the injury, causing his expression to twist for a while.

He gritted his teeth and stood up, took off his jacket, pinched a bug and looked at it, his thumb and index finger straining slightly, making a subtle popping sound.

He rubbed his fingers against his jacket and fumbled in the darkness for a few more moments before a second popping sound was heard.

The tingling sensation from the insects crawling through it disappeared, and Ray leaned against the wall into the utility room and pulled out the medical kit from inside—thanks to his previous PTSD, they had enough medical supplies to open a clinic.

Hiding in the cramped utility room and cutting his shirt with scissors, Lei's muscular figure was exposed to the faint light.

On the upper right arm, a piece of wood is stuck in it. Take out the large bottle of alcohol, unscrew the lid and splash it directly.

"Hiss......" Lei just spit out a syllable, and the next moment, the whole person trembled violently. He gritted his teeth, his facial features were in a lump, his face was hideous, the muscles on his injured arm were bulging, his palms were clenched into fists, and his muscles were bursting out.

Ray pulled out a roll of gauze from the medical kit and stuffed it into his mouth, biting it hard, fine sweat oozing from his forehead.

After pulling the wood chips out with tweezers, Ray began to carefully pick at the wooden thorns in the wound. After picking out the thorns, rinsing them with alcohol again, and spitting out the gauze, Ray inhaled heavily as he wrapped the gauze on it.

He moved skillfully, as if he had done it many times. Finally tying a dead knot of gauze, Ray sat down on the ground, took off his pants, heels, shoes and socks, and began to check his ankles.

After rubbing his hand around the red and swollen ankle for a while to make sure there was nothing serious, Ray took out alcohol and poured it on the gauze and wiped it on the ankle.

After disposing of his ankles, Ray gathered his shredded shirt, pants, and jacket together, took out disinfectant and gloves, carefully cleaned up the blood dripping on the floor, and then took them to the kitchen and began to burn.

When his clothes were fully burned, he smashed the remaining charcoal and rushed it down the drain. After doing this, Ray stood in the dark and thought about it carefully, and after confirming that nothing was missed, he limped into the gun room on the third floor.

When the switch was pressed, a warm light spilled on the guns in the room, giving off a cold, hard metallic sheen.

Looking at the time, it was already past two o'clock in the morning. Ray yawned wearily, took out a cardboard box from the drawer, opened it, took out the small parts inside, placed them on the table one by one, moved his fingers, and began to assemble.

He told Bob that he wasn't talking nonsense when he went to pick up the modified firearm. The gun was modified by himself.

On the second floor, in the bedroom, Brooklyn sat on the floor leaning against the bed, thinking in silence. The situation is a bit delicate.

Brooklyn had already guessed what Ray was doing, and knew the danger of what Ray was doing, and that Ray would be injured or even killed, and he was mentally prepared.

This afternoon Bob said that when Ray went to pick up a modified firearm, he suddenly realized that his so-called 'mental preparation' did not seem sufficient.

Ray did modify guns at a gun club over there, but that was a few months ago.

When he went to pick up the modified firearm, Brooklyn accompanied him. They had just returned from Decker Street that time and were on the way to pick it up.

Ray was able to come back today, which shows that the chips he gave him were enough. Brooklyn thought to herself. He was sure that something was going to happen in New York tonight.

Because by the afternoon the FBI agents had already obtained a warrant for the judge's arrest. They won't waste time and will definitely close the net as soon as possible.

In fact, the reason why Brooklyn didn't sleep so late was because he was waiting for Ray to come back. He was ready for Ray to be killed or captured tonight.

If Ray is killed, he will call Winston as soon as he confirms the news to revisit the cooperation.

He was prepared to accept Winston's terms and resign as a federal judge to become a justice of the state Supreme Court.

The power of the state Supreme Court justice is far greater than the power he now wields. He needs the status of a state court justice to avenge Ray.

If Ray is captured, he will resign from his post to help Ray defend himself. In addition to this, he has prepared a sum of money to hire a team of lawyers from the law firm Pearson Spector.

Himself, along with the team of lawyers at Pearson Spector & Associates, should be enough to pull Ray out of the maelstrom.

After rescuing Ray, he and Ray will have the right to support David.