Police in America

A burst of blood erupted from Henry Foster's side, and almost simultaneously, a 7.62mm bullet pierced his temple, taking part of his brain matter with it as it exited.

The corpse stood rigid for a moment before collapsing onto the girl on the ground, causing her to scream in terror.

Almost at the same time as the gunshot, three people, hiding behind a rock less than 20 meters away, rushed forward.

"Good shot!" Harris exclaimed in admiration. He had aimed for the torso, which was a safer target, but it was not as effective as Jack's headshot.

A torso shot wouldn't be immediately fatal; the victim might still reflexively pull the trigger, posing a threat to both the hostage below and Hodge beneath the cliff.

Harris packed up his Remington M700, slinging it over his shoulder. "See you at the bar tonight. I'll have the best beer and bourbon ready."

With that, he headed down the slope on his own.

Rossi picked up the spent shell casing from Jack's shot, playing with it in his hand as he stared silently at the distant scenery.

"Still thinking about what Harris said?" Jack put away his HK417, sat down beside Rossi, and hugged his knees.

"It's not just Ruby Ridge; it's also Waco in six months, and Oklahoma City."

"Everyone remembers that it was an FBI sniper who killed a mother holding her baby. And six months later, in Waco, without firing a shot, 76 people died, including women and children."

"These scenes still haunt me. Why do so many people distrust us?"

"After that, many of my old friends left the FBI. I was shaken too."

Rossi was referring to the Waco siege, a tragedy in Waco, Texas, that began on February 28, 1993.

After the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms (ATF) failed to take action, the FBI took over, deploying tanks and armored vehicles from the National Guard to besiege the Branch Davidian compound at Mount Carmel Center.

After more than 40 days of stalemate, the FBI decided to use tear gas to launch an assault. During the raid, the cult members poured liquid fuel inside the building.

In the end, 76 people died, including more than 20 children and two pregnant women.

Two years later, on April 19, 1994, the second anniversary of the Waco siege, a truck loaded with over 2 tons of ammonium nitrate fertilizer, nitromethane, and diesel fuel mixture exploded on the north side of the nine-story Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City.

168 people were killed, and nearly 700 were injured, making it the deadliest terrorist attack on American soil before 9/11.

The perpetrator, Timothy McVeigh, was a supporter of the militia movement and a sympathizer of the Branch Davidians. According to his testimony, he carried out the bombing to prevent the government from committing "crimes" like the Waco siege and Ruby Ridge.

To Jack, all this was baffling. When he delved into politics back in the day, he had researched some related materials and watched documentaries.

But Jack could never fully understand the logic behind these events. In fact, even Americans had countless explanations.

A doomsday cult founded by a deranged control freak who aimed to sleep with all the female followers led to a tragedy, which then became the catalyst for a horrific bombing two years later.

The perpetrator believed that the federal law enforcement's strong-arm tactics were to blame for the tragedy, completely ignoring the cult leader's heinous acts against women, from those in their fifties to girls just over ten.

In his view, these women were "willing." It was only later, when the country started pushing for the normalization of gender transition for children, that Jack began to understand.

"So, what brought you back to the FBI?" Jack asked.

"Unfinished business." Rossi was cryptic.

Jack wasn't about to let him off the hook, pointing to the bracelet in Rossi's other hand.

"You know, we may not be as experienced as you, but being in the BAU, it's hard to keep secrets."

Rossi shook his head, still firm. "It's not time yet. This matter has been buried for too long. I need time to sort out my thoughts, but I promise, when I need you, I won't hesitate to ask for help."

"Remember that. You put this team together for a reason. We should use it to its fullest, and we're all excellent, so you won't be disappointed."

Jack shamelessly praised himself.

As they talked, the three on the other side were waving at them. The kidnapped girl was unharmed, though a bit scared, and was being escorted away by two local officers.

The arriving coroner had also completed his work, and his assistants were struggling to carry the body down the mountain on a stretcher.

From their vantage point, the figures of JJ, Reid, and Emily were bathed in a golden halo by the setting sun.

---

"Do you trust me too much?" Jack packed his rifle into the trunk and smiled at Hotchner.

"That was nearly 300 yards. This isn't a specialized sniper rifle."

Hotchner shrugged. "I didn't have much choice. At least I was farther from his gun than that girl."

Jack was momentarily speechless. He just wanted to make small talk and maybe get Hotchner to hook him up with some gear, but the righteous response left him at a loss.

"I'll request a dedicated sniper rifle for you," Hotchner said, a slight smile at the corner of his mouth.

Jack clicked his tongue. Even Hotchner, the poker face, had learned to joke.

Harris wasn't boasting. His bar not only had great beer, but the homemade whiskey packed a punch. The BAU team rarely enjoyed such camaraderie.

It was also likely one of the rare occasions where FBI agents and militia members drank together. The local sheriff and several officers also joined, and they raised funds for the family of the fallen officer.

Jack shamelessly took a large bag of fresh beets onto the Gulfstream jet.

Beets were a specialty of Montana. As a Southerner, he hadn't encountered this northern crop much.

The local pickled beets had pleasantly surprised him, finding them tastier than pickled radishes.

When Jack finally got home to Los Angeles, it was late at night. Opening the door, he saw an unexpected guest on the sofa. Hannah had a book covering her face and was fast asleep.

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