Phone Threats and an "Accidental" Death
The underground parking garage, level B2, of the IRS Seattle office building.
The fluorescent lights emitted a steady but slightly pale glow, illuminating rows of neatly parked government vehicles and a few private cars belonging to the agents. The air was thick with the smells of gasoline, rubber tires, and the damp, dusty odor characteristic of underground spaces. It was nearing evening; most of the vehicles had left, leaving the parking spaces mostly empty and eerily quiet. Only the occasional low hum of a ventilation fan in a distant corner and the faint dripping of water from some pipe broke the deathly silence.
Richard Cohen dragged his exhausted body toward his dark gray Cadillac CT6 parked in his designated spot. He felt like his brain was a churned mess, his temples throbbing, and the muscles in the back of his neck stiff and aching from prolonged tension. He had barely slept since last night, anxiously waiting, thinking, making calls, and making arrangements in his office, trying to control the spiraling situation and weave a protective net for himself. The exhaustion from this intense mental strain was now washing over him like a tidal wave.
He walked to the car, but then stopped.
On the ground next to the car, near the driver's side door, there was a noticeable puddle of water, about the size of a washbasin, starkly visible on the dry cement. The puddle wasn't completely dry; the edges were still slowly seeping outwards. He looked up, following the source of the water, and saw that it was dripping slowly from a thick, insulated fire hose on the garage ceiling. "Drip... drip..." The rhythm was steady, each drop landing precisely in the center of the puddle, creating tiny ripples.
The water pipes looked quite old, with rusty metal clamps at the joints. The leak appeared to be coming from a small crack near the clamps.
"Damn property management..." Cohen muttered under his breath, his brow furrowed. Exhaustion, anxiety, and this seemingly trivial but annoying trouble only worsened his mood. He subconsciously looked around, trying to find something to stand on to block the way, or at least put up a warning sign, but there was nothing there.
He shook his head in frustration, deciding to ignore it. The most important thing now was to leave, go home, take a hot shower, get a good night's sleep, and then think about his next move. He was worried that Lin Feng's men might harm him, or even his family. Although he didn't think they would dare to attack a high-ranking IRS official so openly for the time being, the ambulance's disappearance last night proved that they had no bottom line. He had to go home to check on his family's safety.
He took out his car Key and unlocked the car. The door made a slight "click." He opened the door and got into the driver's seat. The familiar feel and smell of the leather seats made his tense nerves relax a little. He closed the door, tossed his briefcase onto the passenger seat, inserted the Key, and prepared to start the car.
Just then--
"Buzz... buzz... buzz..."
His personal cell phone, which was in the inside pocket of his suit, vibrated.
Cohen paused. Who could it be at this hour? Someone from the department? Daniel? Or...? His heart skipped a beat, a sense of foreboding rising within him. He hesitated for a moment, then pulled out his phone.
The screen displayed a completely unfamiliar number with no location information.
Cohen stared at the number, his brow furrowing even more. Was it a spam call? A sales call? Or...?
The vibrations continued, sounding particularly clear in the quiet, enclosed carriage, carrying a stubborn and unsettling quality.
Cohen hesitated, his finger hovering over the red "reject" button. But in the end, an inexplicable impulse, or rather, a vigilance driven by professional habit, made him press the green "answer" button and put the phone to his ear.
"Hello?" Cohen's voice was tired and tinged with barely perceptible tension.
There was no immediate human voice on the other end of the phone. Only a slight, steady background noise and a unique, inhuman, slightly metallic background sound processed by an electronic voice changer.
Cohen's heart sank.
"... Mr Cohen." A processed, genderless, and ageless electronic voice finally rang out, its tone flat and devoid of any inflection, like reading a text devoid of emotion.
"Who are you?" Cohen asked immediately, his voice unconsciously lowering and his body tensing slightly.
The synthesized voice didn't answer his question, but instead, in a flat, monotone tone, clearly and slowly recited a string of dates, times, and locations.
"September 15th last year, 3:20 PM, ' Old Oak ' Golf Club, rest pavilion next to the seventh green."
"November 8th, 9:40 PM, Lakeside Pavilion Restaurant, Bellevue, second floor, innermost private room, window seat."
"January 22nd of this year, 11:00 AM, Seattle Harbor Third Pier, inside the cabin of the private yacht ' Sea Breeze ', numbered C-7."
"March 5th, 6:15 PM, cash transaction in the study of your Medina residence, third floor of the safe."
Every date, time, and place struck Cohen like a hammer blow to his heart! His face turned deathly pale, his knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel, and the veins on the back of his hands bulged! His heart pounded wildly, as if it would leap out of his chest!
These... these are the specific times and locations of his secret transactions with several of his most important "clients," where he collected "advisory fees"! It's top secret, known only to him and the other parties! How did they find out?! Did Tony and Karl really fall into their hands and reveal all this? No, there were some transactions that even Tony and Karl didn't know the details of! Could there be a traitor on the other side? Or... are their abilities far beyond his imagination, and they've already been monitoring him relentlessly?!
A chilling coldness instantly spread from his spine throughout his body, making him feel as if he had fallen into an ice cave!
"Who... who are you? What do you want?!" Cohen's voice trembled slightly with extreme horror and forced composure; he practically spat out the words through clenched teeth.
The synthesized voice paused for about two seconds, as if savoring his fear, then continued in that unchanging, flat tone:
"Dear Mr. Cohen, I imagine you wouldn't want these... transaction records, along with related bank transfer receipts, audio recordings, and those interesting 'souvenirs' in your safe, to appear before a federal jury, or... on the desk of the Treasury Inspector General for Tax Administration (TIGTA), would you?"
Cohen felt his blood freeze! The other party not only knew the time and place, but also had evidence?! Recordings? Evidence? Souvenirs?! This couldn't be! He was always extremely careful! But the other party's confident tone made him unable to disbelieve.
"Did you arrest Tony and Karl?" Cohen, barely suppressing his immense fear, tried to glean information from the conversation while his mind raced, considering a course of action. "What do you want? Money? Or are you trying to use this to blackmail me into stopping my investigation of Lin Feng?"
He tried to steer the conversation toward "negotiation" and the other party's potential "needs." As long as the other party had something to ask for, there was still room for maneuver.
The synthesized voice paused for a few seconds, then spoke slowly, its pace still very slow, as if deliberately torturing his nerves:
"If you want to keep your current position, your comfortable life, your son's future at the private school, and... the head that's still relatively intact on your neck..."
Cohen held his breath, every muscle in his body tense, waiting for the other party to offer their terms. Let Lin Feng go? Cease the investigation? Or demand a huge sum of money?
The synthesized voice paused, as if brewing something, or waiting for the right moment.
"All you need to do is..."
Cohen's heart was in his throat, his ear pressed tightly against the receiver, afraid of missing a single word. He needed to know their price!
But the synthesized voice stopped there. Only the background noise of the current crackled.
"What do you need?!" Cohen waited a few seconds, but the other party still didn't say anything. His unease and frustration reached their peak, and he couldn't help but raise his voice, pressing urgently with a hint of anger at being mocked. "What exactly do you want?! Tell me!"
His voice echoed in the enclosed carriage, carrying a hint of hysteria.
Just as he finished speaking, in that instant when his emotions wavered slightly due to waiting and fear—
"Bang--!!!!!!"
A deafening, yet incredibly violent, explosion suddenly erupted outside his car window, on the driver's side, without warning!
That wasn't an explosion; it sounded more like the instantaneous collapse of some kind of metal structure under extremely high pressure, followed by an unimaginable force propelling it outwards! The sound was so loud that it even drowned out the faint electrical hum from the phone, making Cohen's eardrums buzz!
He turned his head in shock and looked out the car window!
The thick fire hose that had been dripping water moments before, near the rusted clamp, had an inconspicuous crack that had now been ripped open by an invisible behemoth, leaving a terrifying gap the size of a bowl! The fire-fighting water accumulated in the pipe, driven by the high-pressure pump, was now freed from its restraints, like a white python breaking free of its cage, spraying with tremendous force, mixed with shattered metal fragments and rubber gaskets, towards the car window that was inches away!
No! It wasn't just water spray! At the very tip of the high-pressure water jet, a fragment of a cast iron valve, deformed from cracking and with razor-sharp edges, about the size of an adult man's fist, was propelled by the water pressure like a cannonball, tearing through the air with a deathly whistle. In the instant Cohen's pupils contracted sharply, before he could react—
"Crash--Bang!!!"
The driver's side window shattered instantly like paper under the bombardment of this high-pressure "water cannon" projectile! It turned into countless crystalline fragments, which poured into the car like a torrential rain, hitting Cohen's face and body! The glass shards cut his skin, bringing a fine stinging pain.
But this is just the beginning.
The cast iron valve fragment, still carrying terrifying power and speed after shattering the glass and consuming some of its kinetic energy, traced a deadly trajectory amidst the rain of glass and high-pressure water mist, striking Richard Cohen squarely in the left temple!
"Pfft!"
A chilling thud, the sound of a blunt object shattering a skull!
Cohen's body jolted violently, as if struck head-on by an invisible giant hammer! He didn't even have time to let out a scream before his head, propelled by the immense impact, was violently flung to the right and rear, slamming heavily against the headrest of the passenger seat with a dull thud.
Time seemed to freeze at that moment.
The deafening crash of the shattered car window still echoed in the garage. The high-pressure water jet, having lost its target, relentlessly pounded the broken window frames, seats, and dashboard, splashing water everywhere and instantly turning the interior of the car into a mess. The alarm, piercingly blaring from the impact, sounded particularly harsh in the empty garage.
Cohen slumped in the driver's seat, his head tilted to one side at an odd angle. A horrifying, deep, sunken wound was clearly visible on his left temple, the skin torn open, revealing even white bone fragments and... something deeper, darker red. Blood gushed out like a fountain, mixing with the splashed tap water, flowing down his pale, stiff cheeks and neck, quickly staining his expensive suit shirt and soaking the leather seats.
His eyes were wide open, pupils dilated, devoid of any light, frozen with the horror, disbelief, and bewilderment of death of his final moments. His mouth was slightly open, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, only a faint breath mixed with blood and foam escaped silently.
The phone was still loosely held in his weak hand, pressed against his ear.
After a brief, perfectly timed silence on the other end of the phone, the synthesized voice, as if it had just "heard" the loud noise, then clearly uttered the last three words in that still flat, emotionless tone:
"... your life."
Then, with a "beep," the call was disconnected.
The monotonous whirring echoed in the silent carriage (except for the sounds of alarms and running water).
Cohen's body lay slumped amidst the shattered car windows, overflowing floodwaters, and piercing sirens, slowly growing cold.
In the distance, it seemed that some drivers or security guards who were returning home late, startled by the alarm, were looking in this direction with a puzzled expression, and the sound of footsteps could be faintly heard.
But everything is beyond change.
In the B2 level of the underground parking garage, a high-pressure water pipe "accidentally" burst, and flying valve fragments "accidentally" shattered a car window, "accidentally" striking Richard Cohen, a senior IRS official, in the temple while he was inside the car on the phone, causing his "instant death."
A seemingly flawless, tragic, and purely "accidental" event.
The fatal phone call, and the deadly secrets contained within it, will be buried along with Cohen's death and the phone, which may soon be damaged by the "water flow at the scene," or perhaps led in some predetermined, insignificant direction.
The water flow gradually diminished, eventually fading into a mere dripping sound. The alarm continued its tireless wailing. More and more footsteps and cries of alarm converged upon the scene.
But Cohen could no longer hear anything.