activa-t Chapter 42 The Journey, A New Beginning
Chapter 42 The Journey, A New Beginning
"Listen, kid! Counterfeit money has been rampant these past few years. Banks in the West are almost bankrupted by it! You know that?" He waved his arms as if to scatter the invisible counterfeit bills. "Counterfeit money! Counterfeit money everywhere!"
"Land! The federal land is being devoured piece by piece by those swindlers using fake deeds! The officials at the Land Bureau are lining their pockets with dirty money!"
"And the railways! The stagecoach carriages! Robbed in broad daylight! Checks issued by the Ministry of Finance ended up in the pockets of bandits in the blink of an eye! Those bastards, murdering and arson, are completely lawless!"
He roared so loudly that his spittle almost landed on Tom's face, his chest heaving violently as he stared intently into Tom's eyes.
Tom smiled slightly. "Since you know so much... then tell me, why the hell doesn't the Secret Service increase its manpower!"
Frank fell silent.
Tom wasn't going to stop, his words continuing to tumble out like bullets: "Open your eyes, Frank, this is the West! Taking over territory and population is what matters, nobody cares about your counterfeit money!"
"The federal bigwigs only care about drawing more lines on the map to build railways. Security?"
Tom scoffed. "They can't even sort out their own mess, so in the end, aren't they just relying on those armed guys to hold things together?"
He stared at the flickering flames, his voice as cold as stone: "Tell me, can you really get rid of all that crap you're spouting? You can't, and nobody the hell wants to! So what's the point of your 'Secret Service'—" Tom deliberately dragged out his words, "no matter how many people you recruit?"
He finally turned to Frank, his eyes like knives: "Not to mention, those old men in the Treasury Department, they'll only give you a few coins? You're dirt poor, aren't you? Even if you become 'independent,' how many more greenbacks will you have in your pocket?"
"Sell yourself for that little bit of money?" Tom looked at Frank with a mocking expression. "No way!"
"If it absolutely has to be sold, it will definitely be for a high price!"
"Frank, can you afford it?"
Frank was stunned by the blatant mockery and questioning.
He was not unaware of what Tom was saying.
However, people are ambitious!
The Secret Service has become an independent department, and he is the newly appointed director; he has to achieve something.
Tom, a skilled marksman, became the first person Tom recruited to help him find the boy who had lost his weapons.
With such capable subordinates, there's no need to worry about not achieving results.
But he never expected that his intention to recruit people would be exposed by this kid in just a few words!
"If you ask me," Tom's voice wasn't loud, but it struck Frank's heart like a cold flint, "Director Frank, your new Secret Service... is no different from the old one."
Shila-
A pine branch brimming with resin burst open in the fire, the piercing sound standing out starkly in the sudden, deathly silence.
Frank's jawline was taut like a bowstring, and a strong sense of resentment and anger surged in his chest.
He came to tame this wild horse, but instead this hothead kicked him hard, leaving him speechless.
"I..." Frank's Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty, his voice dry and hoarse like a rusty door hinge, trying to regain some control. "I admit... you've hit a nerve. But Tom, you have to understand, in this land..."
"Do you need help, Frank?" Tom's clear voice cut him off cleanly and decisively, like a sharp knife severing a rein.
The boy's gaze was fixed on Frank.
Frank looked up abruptly, his pupils suddenly contracting.
He felt he was standing at a crossroads of fate.
No one knows what Tom and Frank White, the new director of the Secret Service, talked about by the campfire that night.
But later historians have always marked that crackling campfire as the starting point where the U.S. Secret Service tore open the iron curtain of power and truly stepped onto the core stage of power.
The scorching sun beat down on the boundless desert.
A fully loaded horse-drawn carriage was stopped next to a withered poplar tree.
On the rough tree trunk, a striking "T" mark is carved, with the horizontal line above pointing into the distance like an arrow. This is the mark that James left for Tom.
Since leaving Fort Worth, Tom has been speeding through the desert for seven days and seven nights.
After confirming that he was on the right track, he quickly ate a few mouthfuls of dry food and took a short break to catch his breath.
"Loach!" Tom growled, jerking the reins sharply.
"Hurry, hurry—!" A loud neighing of horses responded from afar.
The packhorses beside him immediately began to move with steady steps, pulling the heavy cart into the scorching sand and gravel.
The loach in the distance glanced at the wild mare beside it and immediately gave chase.
The wild mare flicked its mane, snorted, and its hooves flew, quickly transforming into a nimble shadow, closely following the dust raised by the carriage.
"Bang--!"
A sudden gunshot ripped through the silence of the desert, and Tom turned his head sharply.
At the edge of his scorching field of vision, two frightened horses were charging towards him like madmen!
On horseback, a man covered in blood lay almost limp on the horse's neck, his fate unknown.
The other woman was frantically whipping the reins, her hair disheveled, her face filled with terror—she had clearly encountered ruthless bandits!
really!
Three fierce figures, swirling with sand and dust, followed closely behind, their revolvers spitting flames, their savage howls carried on the wind to the ears:
"Stop right there!"
The desperate man and woman, as if grasping at a straw, rushed towards Tom's carriage without regard for their own safety.
When Tom saw the man's back, soaked with blood and still expanding in a glaring crimson light, a cold smile slowly curved his lips.
"Heh...interesting."
"Help! Please! Save us!!"
The woman's scream was choked with sobs, almost breaking her voice, and the dust kicked up by the horse's hooves covered Tom's face.
Tom's eyes narrowed, and he suddenly tightened the reins!
The heavy carriage screeched as it came to an abrupt stop on the scorching sand.
He reached under the car seat and pulled out the Winchester lever rifle, the brass bolt flashing coldly in the blazing sun.
Just as the man and woman, in a state of panic, swept past his car!
Tom's smile widened, becoming even colder.
Tom slammed his left leg forward half a step, the heel of his boot sinking into the scorching sand, his back taut like a drawn bow.
He gripped Winchester's brass lever with his right hand and swung it downwards!
"Snap!"
The lever traced a cold, sharp arc!
The brass cartridge case rang out from the ejection port, exploding with a dazzling metallic glint in the blazing sun.
The moment the new bullet was chambered, the butt of the rifle slammed into the shoulder socket!
His left arm, like a steel cable, locked the gun barrel horizontally, his five fingers, like iron pincers, gripped the handguard tightly, and his bulging muscles tensed instantly, forcefully supporting the heavy gun barrel.
His right eye was half-closed, his gaze sharp as a knife.
The scorching hot hemispherical sight at the front was firmly fixed on the speeding black shadow in the sandstorm a hundred meters away!
"Bang--!"
The recoil jolted his shoulder blade, and the blue smoke rising from the muzzle mixed with sand and dust, which was torn into wisps by the hot wind.
boom! boom! boom!
Three gunshots rang out almost simultaneously, and the three ruthless bandits all fell off their horses!
boom!
The fourth shot rang out without warning!
The woman, who was reining in her horse and looking back with a hint of elation at surviving a disaster, suddenly froze!
Her man slid limply off the saddle and crashed heavily to the ground.
A wisp of pale blue smoke rose from the muzzle of the revolver in Tom's hand!