Forest Club

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Meva no longer paid attention to Bianca and boarded the Land Rover with her entourage.

Her deputy handed her a list. "This is the list from the training base's archives, detailing all personnel with long-range sniping capabilities."

He then took out another identical list. "This one is for the base's 'Orangutan.' I intercepted it."

Meva took both lists and crumpled one before tossing it out the window.

"Depart," she ordered curtly.

Three Land Rovers drove out of the parking lot in succession.

Meva's phone rang. She pressed the answer button, and the voice of her department head came through. "The Chief Superintendent of Scotland Yard's son is dead. They've suppressed the news for a day, wanting to solve it themselves. Now, go to the Forest Club and investigate the scene."

Meva's gaze deepened slightly, and she responded briefly, "Understood."

The three Land Rovers abruptly changed direction and sped towards the Forest Club.

Inside the car, Meva unfolded the list provided by the training base, her fingertip slowly tracing the pages as she examined each name of those with long-range sniping capabilities who had records at the training base.

Meva's gaze moved slowly across the list: Gianluca Fox, Josh Spencer, Alexander Duggan.

Her fingertip suddenly stopped on the name "Alexander Duggan." The name inexplicably stirred a memory, but it was as hazy as if it were covered by a thin mist.

"Contact the office," she said to her deputy. "Find out Alexander Duggan's complete file."

"Understood." The deputy immediately took out an encrypted phone and quickly dialed the department's dedicated line for the on-duty team.

The convoy of Land Rovers entered the dark forest road and was soon stopped by flashing police lights.

Three police officers stood in the middle of the road. The officer in charge raised his hand to signal them to stop. "The road ahead is closed. The Forest Club is temporarily shut down. Please turn back immediately."

The deputy rolled down the window and flashed his ID bearing the royal crest. "MI6 Special Operations Division, on assignment to investigate the scene."

The police officers exchanged glances. One of them picked up his radio to request instructions from his superior. After a brief conversation, they moved the police car blocking the road.

With a low growl of engines, the three Land Rovers passed through the cordon one after another, disappearing into the deepening fog in the woods.

The crime scene had been cordoned off by the police, the tape fluttering slightly in the night wind.

The news of the Chief Superintendent of Scotland Yard's son's murder was like a slap in the face to the entire British police system. This was no longer a simple assassination; it was a blatant disregard and provocation of the entire law enforcement system.

Its negative political impact was almost comparable to the Downing Street incident. The nature of the case had long since escalated from a criminal offense to a crisis of image concerning the nation's law enforcement authority.

The crime scene was tightly sealed by the police, from uniformed officers to forensic experts, covering almost all investigative departments.

Meva's gaze swept across the crowd, finally settling on the shadow of an Oak tree in the distance.

A man stood there, out of place among the surrounding police uniforms. He wore a trench coat and exuded a calm, focused aura, like a character from a classic detective novel. Several police officers were clustered around him.

His voice was not loud but exceptionally clear. "The degree and shape of the soil depression here are absolutely not due to short-term trampling or accidental events. Combined with the humidity records for the core forest area over the past two days, the soil type, and the effect of daytime temperature changes on the surface evaporation rate."

He spoke at a steady pace. "It can be precisely inferred that the killer remained in this position, completely still, for at least 30 minutes. Considering that rainwater runoff may have weakened some traces, the actual time could be longer."

He paused briefly, allowing the officers to digest the information, and his gaze shifted to the luxury car outside the cordon in the distance.

"There are no signs of weight transfer, no dragging from posture adjustments. This indicates extreme focus, superhuman endurance, and almost ruthless patience." He emphasized these characteristics reflecting the killer's qualities.

"As for the distance," he raised his hand and pointed to the target vehicle. "After measurement by a rangefinder, with dual verification using a measuring tape, the straight-line distance is 223.3 meters."

"The tail fragment of the bullet found at the scene, its deformation pattern, fracture lines, and preliminary trace comparison indicate that the murder weapon was an old bolt-action rifle using a 7.92x57mm Mauser caliber. This type of rifle has extremely high accuracy but very low tolerance for error, requiring exquisite shooting skills and deep knowledge of ballistics to achieve a fatal shot at this distance."

"This is not just murder; it's a demonstration of professional deterrence. Only two types of people can perform this kind of shot: either a top-tier military sniper with special training."

Meva interjected, "Or an extremely professional assassin."

The man looked at Meva and extended his hand. "Walter Hansen, Scotland Yard's forensic expert. This title was given to me by them, not self-proclaimed."

Meva flashed her ID. "Meva Lake, MI6 Special Operations Division."

"Can you infer the killer's height and weight?" she asked directly.

"Of course," Walter said, pointing to the footprints under the Oak tree. "Based on the depth and shape of the depression, combined with soil humidity analysis, the killer's height is between 180 and 190 centimeters. As for the weight..."

He paused. "If he was carrying a standard Mauser rifle, deducting the weapon's weight, his body weight would be around 80 to 90 kilograms."

Meva quickly jotted down these key data points.

MI6's file on "Beta" was blank, and this man's analysis might fill in those missing pieces.

"What about the killer's nationality? Can you infer it?" Meva pressed.

Walter shook his head slightly. "The killer's actions here were extremely clean, with no superfluous movements. It's impossible to determine from behavioral habits."

"What about the shoe sole pattern then?" Meva changed tack.

"Very ordinary 511 tactical boots," Walter replied. "You can buy them at any military surplus store in Britain."

Meva nodded slightly, her gaze shifting to under the Oak tree, where several officers were carefully using plaster to cast the clear shoe prints.

Walter hesitated slightly and then added, "There's actually another approach, but the success rate is uncertain."

Meva said, "Tell me."

"This forest is dense with mosquitoes," Walter explained. "And the range of blood-sucking insects is relatively fixed. If we can capture mosquitoes in this area and test the residual blood in their bodies, then compare it with blood samples from personnel at the scene, we might be able to extract the killer's DNA."

He paused. "Of course, this would require large-scale sample collection and genetic analysis. The workload would be enormous."