North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws Chapter 191 142: The Flexible Identity and Law Enforcement P

January 13, 2001, New York Airport.

Frenzied journalists, lugging all sorts of high-powered caras, photographed the bodies being carried off the distant plane through the separating iron fence, sending the images to their respective news desks at the first opportunity. Whether intentional or not, certain individuals with clear NSA and FBI insignias, along with so high-ranking officials from the New York Police Departnt's Detective Bureau and various other departnts often seen in the news, were all captured in the fra, each with their own close-ups. This made the journalists, who had already been tipped off, as ecstatic as if they were on drugs.

In the United States, a few deaths were not considered a major event. Even a dozen fatalities on a plane would only be a short-lived topic of conversation. But the simultaneous presence of so many high-level departnts and personnel here ant that what they were capturing on cara was definitely major news, the kind rarely seen.

「On the other side.」

Passengers, after being interrogated separately, signed non-disclosure agreents and left, their hearts filled with the complex emotions of having survived a disaster.

Dean and Amon, anwhile, sat with their legs crossed in the airport VIP lounge, watching the news on television. A spokesperson from the city governnt was currently cornered at the entrance of City Hall by a throng of journalists, being interviewed about the news that had just been broadcast.

He was a middle-aged blond man with an appealing appearance.

"Mr. Defoe, can you tell us what exactly happened at New York Airport?"

"Was Flight K768 subjected to a terrorist attack?"

"Why were the NSA, FBI, and so many high-ranking officials there, Mr. Defoe? The public has a right to know the truth!"

Defoe, feigning reluctance, extended his hands and gestured to quiet the clamor. "Please stay tuned to the official governnt report for specific details. At present, all I can reveal is that New York's various police departnts, coordinating with the NSA and FBI, have thwarted a catastrophic event in New York. We have killed more than ten terrorists and apprehended several other mbers."

"What about casualties among the passengers and crew of the flight?" an attractive female reporter, clearly part of a pre-arranged setup, shouted loudly.

A sorrowful expression touched Defoe's lips. "All passengers are safe and sound. However, in the process of protecting them, we tragically lost a dedicated air marshal, and a kind flight attendant sustained minor injuries." He gently wiped the corner of his eye, his voice and tone growing more impassioned. "It is because of these great individuals that the great United States Federation and New York stand as a beacon to the world and as guardians of order. We will always be worthy of your trust..."

Setting aside the question of why this group of terrorists had appeared there, Defoe wasn't wrong.

CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.

Whether it was the charged atmosphere or because paynts had been duly made, the crowd erupted in cheers. This also piqued the curiosity of the many viewers watching on television, who resolved to follow the official report as soon as it was released.

Dean turned off the TV, exhaled a puff of smoke, and chuckled, "Amon, your efficiency is truly sothing."

"Not as good as yours," Amon's usually unsmiling face rarely showed a sly grin. "Who would have guessed that Detective Dean, the one who stopped this terrorist attack, was also the sole person responsible for that flight attendant's injuries?"

At those words, Dean's face flushed slightly.

Indeed, the only injured crew mber ntioned in the news was Catherine. When she was brought out, dical staff were carrying her on a stretcher; she no longer had the strength to walk...

Ultimately, she was simply overwheld. It was a painful lesson.

When Dean bid her farewell, Catherine hadn't even dared to exchange contact information. She was afraid of dying.

And so, a legendary romance that, with a few tweaks, could have been adapted by Hollywood into a film based on a true story, ended before it even began, for such absurd and irresponsible reasons.

「With the 'news' segnt concluded.」

It was ti for real business.

Amon placed the black case he was carrying on the table between them, opened it, took out three docunts, and pushed them toward Dean. "This is the reward they've prepared for you!"

Dean picked up one of the docunts, his expression a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. He had relinquished the credit for this significant achievent, even erasing his own involvent in the incident. This ant he couldn't leverage the event for any overt personal gain. Amon had promised to secure him benefits beyond his imagination, and now he was delivering on that promise.

Dean examined it closely. It was an offer letter for a specially appointed consultant position with the NSA. According to the information, by signing the docunt, Dean would gain law enforcent authority equivalent to that of an NSA agent. The position level and salary corresponded to his current rank as a detective. Furthermore, unlike Amon, he wouldn't be subject to KPI assessnts. This essentially gave Dean an NSA affiliation without the usual corresponding obligations under normal circumstances.

Actually, Amon's other DHS identity was even more formidable. But Dean, being of mixed heritage, was essentially ineligible for a direct role in a core security departnt like DHS; he could only be affiliated with the NSA, an intelligence organization within the broader security apparatus. So, he understood.

"In addition to what's stated in these docunts, your and your family's files at the intelligence bureau will also have their clearance level raised, and they will be specially flagged," Amon added.

Dean nodded. That's certainly good.

Just imagine: one day, a suspect gets on his nerves, but his official detective status prevents him from dealing with it directly. He could then switch identities: 'Sir, I suspect you pose a threat to the security of this nation. Please accompany to a private room for a chat...'

The re thought was thrilling.

Dean put down the docunt and looked at the other two. They were largely similar to the first one. One was an offer letter for a special appointnt with the FBI. The other was an offer letter for a special appointnt with the New York Detective Bureau. If Dean signed, he would not only be able to draw multiple salaries but would also, legally, no longer be restricted to Los Angeles; he would have legitimate law enforcent authority throughout the entire United States.

Absolutely fantastic!

Seeing Dean's satisfied expression, Amon smiled and said, "These primarily offer you more options. However, the most significant benefit for you is the change to your identity information in your official records."

With that, he took out another stack of docunts from his briefcase.

Dean opened it to find two blank identity files: one Italian-Arican, one Irish-Arican. Both identities were nad Dean, but the surnas were still blank.

Dean looked puzzled. "Does this an I can operate under three different identities in the future?"

Amon nodded, then shook his head. "Your Italian-Arican identity information will be recorded in the FBI's files. This will help prevent you from being antagonized by certain prejudiced individuals in the future. Your Irish-Arican identity information will be recorded in the NSA's files. However, these two identities are only valid when you are using the credentials of the corresponding departnt. This will also legitimize your status and remove the promotion restrictions typically faced by ordinary immigrants."

The United States, though a nation of immigrants, had unspoken rules that, while not openly discussed, served as de facto guidelines regarding industries, advancent ceilings, and levels of acceptance.

Take Dean, for example. His great-grandfather's generation consisted of Chinese laborers who had been deceived into coming to this land over a hundred years ago. They were fortunate to have survived and not ended up as forgotten bones buried beneath the soil, allowing their lineage to continue.

For the sake of better survival, starting from Dean's grandfather's generation, their descendants consciously sought unions with people of other nationalities, producing mixed-heritage offspring to better integrate into this foreign land. It was a shaful thing to admit, perhaps, but it had been a move born of desperation. In that era, those who were purely Chinese were not only bullied by White people and Black people but also oppressed by more powerful and morally compromised compatriots.

Yet, even so, at this point in ti in this parallel world, no matter how capable Dean was, he could at most beco a gatekeeper for the ruling class, never one of the reapers. Otherwise, 'accidents' would happen.

Now, he no longer needed to worry. Amon's connections had sohow furnished him with two additional, officially verified identities! One Italian-Arican, one Irish-Arican.

A peculiar look appeared in Dean's eyes. Well, now. My identity is about as flexible as my morals.

However, he guessed that Anthony must have played a role in this; otherwise, such an exceptional arrangent wouldn't have fallen into his lap. His ntor might not have taught him a great deal, but he had always treated Dean exceptionally well.

Dean picked up a pen and signed the docunts one by one. These docunts, all in triplicate, would eventually be filed and stored in a secure room. They would also be encrypted and flagged across various online intelligence channels.

Dean's gaze lingered for a mont on his FBI identity file. Under this identity, he was Italian-Arican and used his mother's surna: Dean Lucchese. The Lucchese surna, despite its Mafia connotations and its association with one of the Mafia Families suppressed by the FBI back in the fifties, was a special case. It was only his FBI identity, after all, and he had no intention of climbing the FBI's ranks.

Dean thought about the upcoming Lucchese Family gathering in New York he was due to attend, and a smile unwittingly touched his lips.

This will be interesting.

We're all family, after all.

Your connections and resources are now my connections and resources. Any problem with that?

No problem at all!

After stowing all the docunts back in the briefcase, Amon reminded him again, "Dean, your other two identities are solely for record-checking purposes, and each departnt corresponds to a specific identity. It will be the sa once your credentials are issued. This is different from the new identities provided to informants. They are starting their lives over. You are essentially using a cover; your true identity remains your current one. So, when you need to use a specific identity, make absolutely sure you don't pull out the wrong credentials! Otherwise, if you get killed by our own people due to a misunderstanding, I'll have a very hard ti explaining it to Mr. Anthony."

Dean was speechless. Do I look that stupid?

Amon had many other matters to attend to, so he didn't linger.

"It will take at least a day to prepare your credentials. I'll have soone deliver them to you then. However, your new identity statuses are effective imdiately. By tomorrow morning at the latest, your corresponding identity information for each departnt will be searchable through official channels, with the appropriate security clearance. If you have no other questions, I'll take my leave."

Dean gazed at the night sky outside the VIP lounge and asked hesitantly, "What's the situation with the air marshal's family?"

Amon looked at Dean in surprise. "Feeling guilty?" He had been involved, so he naturally knew the truth of the matter.

Dean shook his head. "I never feel guilty for things I've done. If I had to do it again, I'd make the sa choice!" On the plane, he had been prepared for the possibility of accidentally killing passengers, let alone that inept air marshal.

Amon nodded. "That's the right attitude. The mont people in our line of work go soft, it ans it's ti to retire. Besides, you don't need to dwell on it. That guy was scum. Not only was he an alcoholic, but he also frequently abused his wife and children, threatening them not to tell anyone. So, his wife and children were quite pleased when they learned of his 'death in the line of duty.' After all, the subsequent compensation was substantial, and there was also a payout from the airline."

Dean understood. No wonder the man had behaved so incompetently, drawing his gun foolishly after Catherine's broadcast warning instead of first observing the situation or identifying himself.

Out of a sense of humanitarianism, Dean took out his checkbook, wrote a check for 100,000 US dollars, and handed it to Amon. "Find so pretext to give this to his family. And have soone send a white chrysanthemum to his funeral on my behalf."

One hundred thousand US dollars was a paltry sum. Compared to his current assets, it was rely a trifle.

Amon took the check, waved his hand, and disappeared from Dean's sight along with the group of people waiting outside the door.

It was foreseeable. This ti, Amon was poised to enter the leadership ranks of the NSA.

Unknowingly, the caliber of his own social circle was steadily rising.

Dean dropped the cigarette butt he was holding, stamped it out, picked up his suit jacket, and draped it over his shoulders. Looking sowhat like a vagrant with his tattered pants, he leisurely followed them out of the lounge.

The night had deepened. Ti to rest.

He hoped the Lucchese Family gathering the day after tomorrow wouldn't disappoint him...