Chapter 1160 - 1029: Interrogation

18 hours later.

Virginia, Langley, deep within CIA headquarters.

The air was filled with the scent of disinfectant mixed with some invisible pressure.

The specially designed interrogation room was bone-chilling cold, the glaring white light poured down from the ceiling, leaving no shadows, making Terry in the middle metal chair exposed with nowhere to hide.

His eyes were sunken, hair disheveled, and his rumpled shirt clung to his body, no longer exhibiting the dignity of the Deputy Chief of Kuwait Intelligence Station.

"I didn't!"

Terry's voice was hoarse and cracked, echoing with desperate anger against the walls, "I swear to God, I never leaked any information about the 'Marlin Fish'! Not a single word! It's top secret! I understand the discipline!"

Director Vincent stood in front of him, a shadow cast over most of his face, only the tight line of his jaw revealed an extreme cold hardness.

Beside him, Hanks was expressionless, like a cold stone statue.

"Discipline?"

Vincent's voice was deep and oppressive: "Terry, take a look at this."

Hanks presented a document to Terry, with shocking bank transactions clearly displayed.

"Offshore account, in the name of Terry Walters—"

Hanks' voice was calm yet sharp like a scalpel.

"In the early morning, two days ago, a huge sum of one million US Dollars was wired in. Within two hours, the money was split into twenty small transactions and dispersed into various ghost accounts, completely disappearing."

He paused and intensified his tone, "Every transfer required biometric verification—fingerprints and facial recognition. System records show it was operated by you personally."

"How is that possible!"

Terry's mind exploded with a buzz, his entire body felt like a strike of lightning, staring intensely at the document, bloodshot eyes: "Impossible! Absolutely impossible! That night... that night I was at the club! I drank too much! Someone must have..."

"Someone?"

Vincent interrupted him, voice laced with ice, "Someone took your finger to press the fingerprint? Someone wore your face to perform the recognition? Terry, do you believe this rhetoric? The money went into your pocket! Right at the most sensitive time of our operation!"

"No! It's not like that!"

Terry tried to stand up with excitement, the metal handcuffs clanged sharply against the armrests.

His mind raced, suddenly revealing a look of realization.

"It was that woman! That damn 'Emily'... no... 'Natasha'! At the club! She kept pouring me drinks... then... then I blacked out! I woke up on the hotel bed, my head felt like it was going to explode! It must be her! She must have used some method! Sedatives! Yes! Definitely sedatives! She got my words and tampered with my phone and biometric data!"

He rambled incoherently, sweat dripping from his forehead, "Director! Hanks! You have to investigate! Investigate that woman! She is the key! Also, it was a businessman named Aziz who invited me that night... he must have a problem too!"

Vincent's gaze was sharp as a hawk, capturing every subtle expression and gesture of Terry.

Fear, chaos, rage from being calculated against...

These emotions were intense and real, not like a facade.

A trace of doubt quietly grew in Vincent's heart—perhaps Terry was really just a pawn meticulously used and ruthlessly discarded?

But the account and the money were undisputable facts, enough to convict him.

Moreover, the overwhelming fury from the White House and Congress Hill needed a sufficiently weighty "explanation" to temporarily quell.

Just as Director Vincent was contemplating how to use Terry as leverage to explain to the White House, Hanks spoke up.

"Sedatives?"

His voice carried unabashed sarcasm.

"A seasoned intelligence officer, during a sensitive mission, gets drunk at a mixed-crowd club, and highest secrets are extracted by an unknown woman? Terry, did your professionalism and loyalty go down the drain with that drink?"

His voice suddenly elevated, filled with professional coldness, "Your story is full of holes! Account records are solid evidence! You are the mole! You betrayed the country for dirty US Dollars!"

"I am not!"

Terry shouted hysterically, his body trembling violently, the handcuffs clinking loudly, "I didn't! You are misled! Someone is framing me!"

Hanks turned to Vincent, tone firm: "Director, his resistance is meaningless. He's lying, trying to mislead. I strongly suggest using the truth serum while conducting standard lie detection procedures, along with some auxiliary interrogation methods. The truth must be extracted immediately! We have no time to waste!"

His gaze was sharp, carrying undeniable insistence.

This leak incident had disgraced the entire counter-espionage department, he needed a definite result to restore the situation.

Vincent was silent for a few seconds.

Terry's defense carried a sense of desperate hopelessness, not like falsification.

But Hanks' insistence also made sense; the account was ironclad, Terry's drunken incompetence was a fact. Under immense pressure, he needed a breakthrough, even if it might not be entirely correct.

He slowly nodded, voice low and weary: "Proceed with the protocol. Hanks, you supervise personally."

"Understood!"

A hint of icy decisiveness flashed in Hanks' eyes.

"No! Oh! For the love of God! Director... Hanks... you can't do this to me... I have been loyal to the agency..."

Terry trembled all over.

He knew well what Vincent's "proceed with the protocol" meant.

However, Vincent was not moved by his wails.

Two burly agents came over, unlocked his handcuffs, freed the restraints on his waist, and then carried him like a scarecrow out of the interrogation room and into another room.

Soon, agonizing wails like those of a hellish specter came from the adjacent room.

For the next few hours, for Terry it was like descending into Hell.

The forced physiological reactions brought by the truth serum made him suffer immensely, sweat soaked through his clothes, his consciousness struggled between chaos and clarity, forced to repeat fragmented memories and weak defenses from that night over and over.

The electrodes of the lie detector adhered to his skin, cold lines leaped on the screen, recording every heartbeat, every breath, every slight physiological fluctuation.

In the end, agents even subjected him to waterboarding.

Vincent stared at the surveillance screen the entire time.

When the final analysis report was delivered to him, he frowned deeply.

"Lie detector results..."

Hanks' voice carried a trace of barely noticeable hesitation, "...show physiological response to key questions...did not reach typical deception threshold. Combined with statements under truth serum...highly consistent. Technical conclusion leans towards...he did not proactively and premeditatedly disclose core intel."

"Leans towards?"

Vincent's voice was devoid of emotion.

"Yes." Hanks' expression was somewhat stiff, clearly unsatisfied with this result, "But technical means are not 100% absolute, especially considering Terry received anti-interrogation training, knowing how to combat lie detection. The possibility of him being incapacitated and drugged into leaking intel cannot be ruled out. Moreover, he can't explain the account; severe dereliction is a fact!"

Vincent leaned back in his chair, rubbing his aching temples.

This result confirmed part of his intuition, Terry might truly be a victim of a setup.

But this made the situation more troublesome.

Is Terry's weight as a "scapegoat" enough against those bloodthirsty sharks at Congress Hill and the White House?

He needed time, needed time to trace that mysterious "Emily" and the mastermind behind.

He waved tiredly: "Take him down, keep a tight watch. This report... temporarily sealed as top secret.

Externally... just say Terry Walters, due to seriously violating security protocols and suspected of leaking secrets, has been officially detained for a comprehensive investigation."

"Yes, Director."

Hanks stood at attention, though maintaining some reservations about this outcome, Director's orders had to be executed.

When Terry was dragged out of the interrogation room by two expressionless guards, still muttering "Injustice... that woman..." in a blurred voice, in the shadows of the corridor, a figure exhaled a murky breath with relief, extremely subtly.

Deputy Director Simon pushed up his gold wire, anti-blue light glasses on his nose, gaze behind the lenses calm and unruffled, only the deepest part fleetingly relaxed.

He straightened his neat suit sleeves and walked steadily toward his office.

Crisis, temporarily bypassed him.

He needed to urgently contact Libya, relay this "good news" to that "old friend," Terry's misstep was apparently arranged by that "old friend"...