Chapter 10 chapter Ten

The cloud zone, Fred Dellray thought. He recalled that Tucker McDaniel, the newly appointed FBI chief in charge of the New York branch, gathered his staff and delivered a speech in the form of a speech similar to what he had given at Rhyme's residence a few hours earlier.The conversation was about the new methods of communication criminals are using today, and how the acceleration of technology is making it easier for them to commit crimes and harder for us to catch them. cloud area... Dellray certainly understands the concept.You can't be in law enforcement these days and not know anything about McDaniel's high-tech methods of finding and apprehending criminals.But that doesn't mean he likes the concept.He didn't like it at all.Largely because of what the term signifies; it symbolizes radical, radical change in everyone's life.

It was also a change in his life. On this sunny afternoon, Delary took the subway to the city center, thinking of his father.His father was a professor at Marymount Manhattan College and the author of several books on African-American philosophers and cultural critics.My father entered academia at the age of thirty and never left.He died at the desk he had called home for decades, on the proofs of the journal he had created.My father created the journal while the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. was still fresh in the minds of people around the world. During my father's lifetime, politics changed dramatically—apartheid was decimated, non-state enemies were born, computers replaced typewriters and libraries, cars got air bags, TV channels went from four—and count UHF bands—multiplied to hundreds.But people's way of life has only rarely changed substantially.The old Delary lived in the closed academic world—especially the philosophical world—and how he wanted his son to also enter the academic circle to investigate the nature of existence and the human condition.He tried to fill his son with the same love.

In a way, the father hit it big.As a young man, Fred was a questioner, quick-witted, brilliant, and indeed fascinated by every incarnation of human nature: metaphysics, psychology, theology, epistemology, ethics, political science, he liked them all.But after only a month as a graduate teaching assistant, he realized he would go crazy if he didn't put his talents to practical use. Never one to back down, he found the most raw, extreme practical application of philosophy he could think of. He joined the FBI. Change…… His father understood his son's escape, and during their long walk over coffee in Prospect Park, father and son understood that while their labs and techniques were entirely different, their views and insights were not.

The human condition . . . observed and written about by the father and experienced first-hand by the son. In the unlikely undercover work, Fred's curiosity and insight into the nature of life made him a very natural ordinary person.Unlike most undercover cops with limited acting skills and single disguised roles, Dellray can realistically become the character he pretends to be. Once, Delary dressed as a homeless, walking in the streets of New York, not far from the Federal Building, when the agent in charge of the Manhattan office of the FBI - in fact Delary's boss - from his Passed by, dropped a quarter in his glass, never recognized him.

This is one of the best compliments Dellray has ever received. He is a chameleon.This week, he's a meth-hungry, brain-burned junkie.The next week, it was a South African diplomat peddling nuclear secrets.Then there's a Somali imam's deputy, with hatred for America and a hundred offers from a certain country. He owns dozens of outfits, some he bought and some he put together himself, that now occupy the basement of a Brooklyn house he and Serena bought years ago.He's progressed his career, as is inevitable for a man of his drive and skills, and he's never thought about stabbing a colleague in the back.Today, Dellray primarily oversees other undercover FBI agents and civilian informants — also known as whistleblowers — though he still sometimes goes undercover on the ground.He loved the job as much as ever.

But then there was a change. cloud area... Dellray doesn't deny that good guys and bad guys alike are getting smarter and more tech-savvy.The change was obvious: "renqing"—intelligence gleaned from human-to-human connections—give way to a "xinqing" system. But it's a phenomenon Dellray feels uncomfortable with.When Serena was young, she tried to become a diva who sang sentimental love songs.She's good at all types of dance, from ballet to jazz and modern, but she just doesn't have the skills to sing.Dellray is also unaware of the new trends in law enforcement's dealings with data, numbers and technology.

He continued to manage his informants, and he himself continued to perform undercover work, and he also achieved results.But with McDaniel and his T and A teams—oh, sorry, Tucker—his tech and communications squad, the old-fashioned Delray felt, well, like an old man.McDaniel was sophisticated, hard-working -- sixty-hour weeks -- and a bunt boxer; if need be, he would stand up to the President for his agents.His technique worked; last month, McDaniel's subordinates picked up enough details from an encrypted satellite phone to uncover a fundamentalist sleeper cell in suburban Milwaukee. The message to Delray and the other senior agents was clear: You're out of date.

He's still haunted by the sarcasm he received at Lyme's lab, though it may have been McDaniel's inadvertent remark. Well follow up Fred, you're doing great. What he means is, I don't even expect you to get any clues about "For Justice" and "Raman". Maybe McDaniel is right to criticize.But anyway, Dellray had one of the best informant networks you could hope for when it comes to tracking down terrorist activities.He meets regularly with informants.He diligently manipulated informants, offered protection to the fearful, handed tissues to the teary-eyed guilty, paid money to snitches for a living, and, as Grandma Delary called it, too big Physically and mentally exert pressure on a guy who is too big to fit in his breeches.

However, in all the information he had collected about terrorist plots, even embryonic plans, there was not a single reference to Raman's "for justice" or serious arc flash attacks. information. And McDaniel's men, sitting there, had made the cut, identifying a real threat. Like drones in the Middle East and Afghanistan.Did you guys know that the pilot is actually next door to some roadside strip mall in Colorado Springs or Omaha... Delray also had another concern, one that arose when the young McDaniel first came along: Maybe he just wasn't as capable as he used to be.

That Raman might be right under his nose. Members of For Justice's sleeper cell might be studying electrical engineering in Brooklyn or New Jersey, just as the 9/11 hijackers were learning to fly in America. Besides, there was something else: he had to admit that he had been a little out of his mind lately.His other life—that's how he called it, his life with Serena kept as far from the street as a flame from gasoline—had gone wrong.And something pretty important: Fred Dellray was a father now.Serena gave birth to a boy a year ago.They had talked about having a baby beforehand, and Serena insisted that even if their baby was born, Delray would not change jobs, even if that included dangerous undercover assignments.She could understand that his work defined him as dancing meant to her; for Delary, sitting behind a desk would be even more dangerous.

However, did becoming a father change his skills as a detective?Dellray hopes to take Preston to the park, shop, feed his son and tell him stories. (Selina once went to the nursery, smiled, and tenderly took Kierkegaard's existentialist manifesto Fear and Trembling out of Delray's hands and replaced it with Goodnight, Moon. Dale Ray didn’t realize that even at that young age, words can have an effect on babies.) The subway stopped at Nakamura Station at this moment, and passengers boarded the carriages one after another. With the undercover agent instinct in him, he immediately noticed four people: two people who were almost certainly pickpockets, a child with a pocket knife or box knife, and a sweaty young office worker, pressing his hands tightly. On one pocket, the force was so great that the bag of cocaine in his pocket would almost burst if he wasn't careful. The street... that's why Fred Delary liked the street. But those four have nothing to do with his mission, and he'll let them fade out of his consciousness, as he tells himself: Well, you're a loser.You left out Raman, you left out "for justice".But the victims and losses are trivial.McDaniel is being high-spirited on purpose, but he hasn't made you a scapegoat, not yet.Anyone else might have done that long ago. Delray can still find a lead to the unknown suspect and stop him before another horrific attack occurs.Dellray can still turn the tide. At the next subway station, he exited the station and started walking east.He ended up in grocery stores, tenements, dingy old bars, smelly restaurants, and taxi ranks with signs in Spanish, Arabic, or Persian.There are no rushing professionals of the West Village here; people here don't move very much at all, but sit—mostly male—on old rickety chairs or doorsteps, young men gaunt, old men potbellied.They all looked at passers-by with cautious eyes. It is here that serious street work is done.This is Fred Dellray's office. He strode over to the window of a café and looked in—not easy to see because the glass hadn't been wiped in months. Ah, yes, there it is.He saw the target, and it was either his savior or his eternal hell. His last chance. He tapped one ankle on the other to make sure the strapped pistol hadn't moved, opened the store door, and went inside.