Meanwhile, the level of security around the IRS building reached an alarming level.
Dark SUVs are parked on every street corner; Secret Service men in black, wearing bulletproof vests and headsets, stand guard every three steps and every five steps; heavy explosion-proof inspection facilities have been added to the entrance of the building, and cameras with flashing red lights cover almost every inch of the exterior wall and the unobstructed glass curtain wall.
This airtight defense is just like a lighthouse in reverse - it silently announces that the most important people are inside.
The corners of Ribbs' mouth, hidden under the greasy brim of his hat, curled up in a cold arc.
Sterling, the old dog who had caused all the destructive storms, was there! In the heart of that absolute fortress of steel and concrete!
Opportunities and risks, like the two sides of a knife, are cruelly intertwined at this moment.
Break in, as long as you can step on the floor inside the IRS, use the deadly tools in the [Quick Item Bar] (maybe the last M134, maybe the silent precision rifle) to put an end to it all!
But... if I go in... I can kill him. If I rush out... can I survive?
The answer, almost as heavy and certain as steel, is no.
This is not Morgan's official residence with security, nor is it Eberhardt's resort where he can be confident with missiles, nor is it Harold's temporary base that needs to be lured out.
This is the IRS! It's a symbol of the entire United States federal taxation and law enforcement power! At this moment, it's the ultimate fortress, heavily armed with layers of defense, including the Secret Service, the highest level of federal power!
The sewers would allow him to sneak in silently, which might be the only miraculous entrance. But once he started, the huge gunshots and alarms would turn the entire building into a boiling killing jar.
Internal security forces will surge in from all directions like a tide, and the Secret Service's elite action team will seal all exits within minutes.
There is no retreat plan.
Because, from the moment you step into the IRS, it's a one-way street - a one-way street that leads directly to hell.
Under the brim of his hat, the fire in Ribbs' eyes burned fiercely, as if to burn up the entire cold night sky of New York.
He took a deep breath of the cold air mixed with stench and freedom, and quietly reached deep into his pocket with one hand.
Done.
He reached out, grabbed the cold, oily edge of the iron gate, pulled hard... and walked into the dark sewer.
Darkness instantly swallowed up his figure.
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