Jimmy had booked a room in a nearby hotel and opened the two folders provided by Lambert. One contained the files of a murder case, and the other was a compilation of clues about the suspects.

Jimmy placed the files on the table, pondering what exactly Hughes had figured out on his end.

The recent attacks were unmistakably characteristic of an intelligence agency's style, a point on which there was no dispute. Both Hughes and Mahong had mentioned this before.

If these people were directly causing trouble for Jimmy without contacting the FBI, it meant there was either a personal vendetta or internal problems within the agency. Regardless of which it was, Jimmy must be—or must have been—from some agency.

However, Jimmy's file was quite clear: he had no record of previous employment with any special agency. Coupled with Jimmy's formidable marksmanship and combat skills, the ever-elusive agency materialized in Hughes's mind.

It was obvious that Jimmy had not trained as a mere office worker; it was very likely that he had been trained as a field agent, and his skills were proof of that. So why had he come to the FBI? What was his goal?

Hughes undoubtedly had his suspicions about Jimmy's intentions, but for now, he seemed not to intend to confront Jimmy directly. For reasons unknown, he sought out Lambert and found a suitable excuse to leave Manhattan for Texas.

Jimmy lay back on the bed. Everybody at the FBI was surely an expert in instinctual judgment, filing out their skill points. With so many doubts surfacing, Hughes's side was probably close to confirming their suspicions.

Lambert was also an interesting person. Jimmy wondered what relationship he had with Hughes that would lead Hughes to share his conjectures with Lambert. The old heads at the FBI were all intriguing, with meticulous minds and completely different personalities, yet they managed to be good friends.

Lambert had made thorough preparations for Jimmy. There was no mission assigned, just a case and some leads, ostensibly allowing Jimmy to bide his time on his own matters under the guise of investigating the case.

It seemed that neither Hughes nor Lambert intended to write Jimmy off; his earlier mention of "adjusting operations later" might mean assigning Jimmy to a dormant department for a break, though it was unclear how long that would last.

Never mind all that; since Lambert had prepared everything, it was time to take care of his own affairs.

Heading straight to New Mexico was definitely unrealistic, so the next best option here in Texas was to tackle Azte.

Jimmy got up and picked up his phone to call Torsten, inviting him to dinner after work to chat.

Torsten was decent enough. Although initially, they had only collaborated once, he had been enthusiastic about lending support, whether during his temporary assignment in Dallas or over phone calls, proving to be easy to get along with. Of course, this depended on the individual; someone with Jimmy's personality seemed to hit it off well with him.

During dinner, Jimmy casually inquired about Azte. The DEA had been watching them for a long time. Like the FBI, they weren't interested in small fish but lacked the evidence for the big catches.

It had been tough for Torsten and his team; raiding a few of their bases hadn't yielded much. Moreover, they lacked actionable intelligence on the whereabouts of the Azte gang's bosses.

They operated over a wide area, from Texas to New Mexico, Arizona, and California. Though their numbers in each place were not large, these people were ruthless. Federal and local agencies had to be very cautious when dealing with their cases, as casualties could easily occur.

However, there were some gains. Torsten didn't pry into Jimmy's affairs but mentioned that if Jimmy uncovered anything, he should sync up with them. If necessary, he could also call for backup.

Although the DEA's scope wasn't as broad as the FBI's, they were adept at dealing with drug-trafficking gangs. Plus, with their own support teams, Torsten was giving Jimmy a lot of respect.

Jimmy harbored similar thoughts, considering calling on Torsten for support when the time came, which would also allow him to share some credit. After all, everyone benefits when things go well.

All was going smoothly; Jimmy could finally return to the hotel for a good night's sleep, then prepare a bit, starting with a base the DEA had already located.

The next day, Jimmy first bought a second-hand car from a dealership, fixed a temporary license plate, and set off. Dallas, Texas's third-largest city and the ninth-largest in the United States, was not lacking in gang presence.

Jimmy drove to Winnetwood and circled the target area in his car before leaving to find a place to eat and pass time until it got dark.

That evening, Jimmy parked his car in a shopping center's vast parking lot and walked toward the residential area.

Winnetwood was a large residential district. Torsten had told Jimmy about a local boss who lived nearby—he was Jimmy's target this time.

"Knock, knock," Jimmy stood beside the door, knocking. There was only one person in the house, a woman by her build, clearly not Jimmy's target. With no other sign of anyone in the room, there was no need to sneak in.

"Who is it outside?"

"Is Sara there?"

Jimmy didn't even bother to mention the FBI; he didn't plan to use his FBI identity, including his current casual attire.

The person inside approached the door and opened it. An elderly woman looked at Jimmy and asked, "Who are you?"

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