A nation's industrial development begins with junior engineers.

Chapter 1091 Whether you live or die is none of my business, but don't get in the way of me mak

The wards at Walter Reed Army Medical Center were filled with the monotonous smell of disinfectant and painkillers mixed together.

Uncle Jin leaned against the headboard. After the anesthesia wore off, his wound began to throb continuously, but this pain actually lessened the drowsiness caused by the anesthesia.

Damn it, no wonder everyone says anesthesia damages the brain. I hope I don't say anything I shouldn't while I'm unconscious...

Uncle Jin, gathering his thoughts, cursed under his breath and resolved never to go to places that could cost him his life again.

This is not fear,

I'm just worried about not being able to complete the task.

Uncle Jin's gaze swept across the bedside table and landed on a copy of The Washington Post that the nurse had just left behind. The newspaper was neatly folded, and the ink was still fresh.

He turned his head to look at the newspaper, slowly reached out his uninjured hand, and took it.

Having worked in intelligence all his life, gathering information had become an instinct ingrained in his bones. Even if he were only seriously injured and bedridden, or even if he were on his last breath, he would feel uneasy if he didn't come into contact with information from the outside world for a day.

He spent a full five dollars on this newspaper.

In the Bald Eagle's homeland, the most expensive newspaper costs no more than 10 cents. The extra amount is naturally a tip for the helpful nurse and a "channel maintenance fee" to ensure that the newspaper is delivered to his special patient in a timely and complete manner.

In a military hospital with strict information control, especially around a patient with a sensitive identity like him, Uncle Jin was willing to pay the price to get a copy of the day's comprehensive newspaper.

He slowly unfolded the newspaper, his eyes scanning the political news on the front page, from the budget wrangling in Congress to the latest developments in the missile crisis, and then to the turmoil of the domestic civil rights movement. He quickly skimmed through the pages, filtering out valuable information in his mind.

Most of it is just old, tired clichés, nothing worth paying attention to.

Until his fingertip stopped on the campaign bulletin board at the bottom of the page.

That was the White Palace's announcement of the leader's campaign schedule for the second half of the year.

Below is a map showing the route the lead convoy will take from Dallas Love Field Airport, through main roads into the city, and finally to the Trade Show.

Attached to the message was a warm welcome address, urging Dallas residents to "take to the streets and catch a glimpse of the nation's leader."

Dallas...

The place name brought Uncle Kim's thoughts back to the safe house in Phnom Penh.

Evans's voice, slurred and stubborn with the smell of bourbon and palm wine, suddenly rushed back into his mind:

“Former Marine…Oswald…”, “The Cuban who hates Kennedy to the bone…”, “Dallas…those gun-wielding lunatics…”, “A small sum of money, gone cleanly…who knows where it came from…”, “Unconventional signals…mentioned ‘textbook warehouse’, ‘parade route’…”

Throughout the conversation, Uncle Jin smiled and nodded, occasionally raising his glass to clink with him, responding with "Oh? Is that so?" and "That's outrageous," but his mind was filled with thoughts of his hometown's mountains and rivers, and he didn't take these drunken words to heart at all.

In the magical homeland of the bald eagle, there are lunatics every day shouting that they want to kill the leader, but out of millions of people, not one would actually dare to take action.

Besides, the more you know, the faster you die. This saying is no joke in the CIA. As the Far East intelligence chief, he has no reason to get involved in the muddy waters of the homeland.

But now, these fragments that Uncle Jin had thrown to the winds are like vines that have taken root, wildly twining and growing in his mind.

Uncle Jin suddenly opened his eyes, and a layer of cold sweat instantly seeped out from his back. Even the wound on his chest throbbed with pain.

wrong.

Not right.

Of the three cities Evans mentioned that Cuban exiles traveled to and from, Dallas was one of them. Oswald, the city where they settled, was Dallas. The newspaper he heard at the Phnom Penh party that published a full-page article denouncing the ringleader as a traitor was a far-right local Dallas newspaper.

The most important stop on the leader's campaign itinerary in the second half of the year is Dallas, Texas.

Countless seemingly unrelated points, at this moment, are connected to form a complete line.

Uncle Jin gritted his teeth, enduring the tearing pain all over his body, and forced himself to throw off the blanket, using the bedside table as leverage to slowly slide off the hospital bed.

He couldn't wait any longer; he had to verify this information.

The ward was equipped with a supposedly secure internal telephone, intended for important injured individuals to handle urgent matters. But Uncle Jin didn't even glance at it.

She simply leaned against the wall, enduring the excruciating pain in her ribs, and slowly made her way to the public telephone at the end of the corridor outside the ward.

Having worked undercover for twenty years, he knew better than anyone that the so-called "secret informant" was always a two-way street. The time, the person, and the content of every call were all recorded and documented by headquarters, making it easy to trace the source.

As a Far East intelligence chief, seriously injured and bedridden, his sudden and intensive inquiries about sensitive information from Dallas and Miami, the home of the United States, would inevitably leave an unusual record at headquarters, needlessly arousing suspicion and possibly even exposing his true intentions.

Pick up the receiver and insert a coin.

First, I called a familiar face in the CIA headquarters logistics support department:

"Hey, it's me, Kim...yes, just got back from the brink of death...thanks for your concern. Listen, there's something I wanted to ask. I remember we had a batch of 'special office supplies' that we sourced from the Far East. How's the feedback from the distribution channels in the southern states? Especially in Texas, is the Dallas distributor still stable? Have there been any unusual complaints or...unfriendly competition lately?"

The "special office supplies" he mentioned were a tacit code between the two, referring to the air fryer that had been shipped from China.

He built this network himself, and with the CIA facing budget cuts and financial hardship, it became a source of illicit income for many, so the other side was naturally well aware of it.

"Hey, you mean that batch of goods? It's selling like hotcakes! The distributors in Dallas are chasing me for more every day, there haven't been any complaints!" The person on the other end laughed and casually spilled the beans, "It's just that things have been a bit unsettled in Dallas lately. There are far-right lunatics taking to the streets every day, and there's also a group of Cuban exiles who ran over from Miami, shouting and threatening violence in the bars every day. The distributors said they're a bit scared and asked if we could delay the delivery by a few days."

I told him it was nothing, that the bald eagles always shout about taking down their leader. I told him not to worry about it.

Uncle Jin's pupils contracted slightly, but his expression remained unchanged. He smiled and followed up on Jin's words, saying, "That's true. The south has never been peaceful. Okay, be careful, you'll get your share."

After a brief chat about funding and logistical matters at the Far East station, Uncle Jin let the other end of the line hang up first.

The instant the other party hung up, Uncle Jin used his right index finger to tap the fork spring of the telephone receiver twice quickly and lightly, while his other hand steadily held the receiver to prevent the line from being completely disconnected.

This is a "trick" known only to some insiders from the era of old-fashioned mechanical pulse telephone networks—by utilizing the switch reset interval and specific operations, one can simulate a hung-up and redial signal without hanging up or re-inserting coins, thereby stealing a free continuation call time.

More importantly, this operation will not leave multiple call records in the switch's backend; it will only be marked as an exceptionally long ordinary call. Of course, this requires precise timing and technique, and success cannot be guaranteed every time, but in special circumstances, it is undoubtedly a covert means of communication.

Uncle Jin leaned against the cold wall, enduring the sharp pain in his ribs, and pressed a number again—the person in charge of the Mexico City station.

They started by discussing the profit sharing from the smuggling channels and the personnel turnover at the Far East stations. After the other party was all smiles, he casually brought up Oswald's matter among a bunch of inquiries about cross-border personnel changes.

The other party was completely unprepared and spoke without reservation, taking it as a routine operation for the Far East station to investigate transnational infiltration lines. They casually recounted all the details of Oswald's contact with the Soviet embassy.

Even after hanging up, it was still a precise snap of the fork spring.

The dial tone sounded again.

The third number belonged to an old acquaintance at the Miami office. The fourth number belonged to an old friend at the Dallas office. The fifth number belonged to a former colleague at headquarters who was in charge of intelligence liaison for presidential security.

In every call, he meticulously veered his core inquiries into topics that the other party was most concerned about and least guarded about, such as official business in the Asian region, smuggling profits, and funding applications.

At a time when the CIA is filled with complaints about budget cuts by its leaders, his smuggling route, which consistently brings in real money, is everyone's cash cow. No one will disrespect him, and no one will doubt that this Far East supervisor lying in the hospital is not really concerned about his share of the profits, but about the event that is about to happen in Dallas that will change the world order.

The information he truly sought was revealed in these casual, everyday conversations, which he inadvertently asked about, and the person opposite him, completely unsuspecting, revealed everything.

The security plan for the leader's Dallas trip was greatly simplified. He insisted on traveling in a convertible and did not make any bulletproof modifications. The entire route was made public.

Far-right activity in Dallas is unusually frequent, and the FBI and local police are passing the buck, with no one willing to take the lead in investigating the risks.

The CIA headquarters had received multiple warnings about the risk of assassination, but all of them were suppressed on the grounds of "insufficient evidence" and no follow-up was carried out.

Those Cuban exiles who fled from Miami to Dallas are still missing; no one is looking for them, and no one wants to.

After the last fork spring snapped, he didn't dial a new number.

He slowly pressed the receiver back onto the fork spring, making a soft click.

Uncle Jin leaned slowly against the wall. Whether it was from pain or something else, the cold sweat made his hospital gown cling tightly to his body.

A retired Marine with exceptional marksmanship, a politically fanatical madman, a lone wolf who can be manipulated by all sides. He doesn't need to know the whole plan, nor does he need to contact anyone directly. He just needs someone... intentionally or unintentionally, to place him in the right position.

What exactly were those "humanitarian supplies" being transported in that New Orleans warehouse?

What exactly is the "revenge plan" being discussed by those Cuban exiles in Miami who are constantly meeting?

Why are there people in the State Administration of Radio, Film and Television who "don't allow management"?

Why did the FBI investigate for so long, only to ultimately let it go unresolved?

The intelligence intercepted by the CIA was not even discussed internally.

Uncle Jin suddenly opened his eyes.

This is not an assassination.

This is tacit approval.

Some people chose not to see, chose not to act, chose to let a madman remain a madman, and then waited for him to do what a madman would do.

This time, the ringleader might really be in deep trouble.

But what does this have to do with me?

That's great! It's good to have one less person who wants to plant mushrooms in my beautiful hometown all day long. That's something to be happy about.

wrong……

What am I going to do with my money!