4: Chapter 4 The Mysterious Woman, Strictly Ordered to Keep Silent

The middle-aged woman did not hesitate.

She took a step, the sound of her high heels echoing in the empty parking garage, step by step, drawing closer.

She walked straight toward the silver-grey Porsche Cayenne, reached the passenger side, opened the door, and sat inside.

The passenger door closed.

In the sealed cabin, there was the breath of another person.

The woman had a faint scent on her, not perfume, but a smell like a mixture of disinfectant and metal, like a hospital operating room, or perhaps some classified laboratory that no one was allowed to enter.

She unclipped her ID badge from her chest and handed it to him.

Link Warren stiffened and lowered his gaze.

The words on the badge were simple: "Federal Urban Pipeline Maintenance Department".

He read the line three times.

Federal Urban Pipeline Maintenance Department.

He had never heard of this agency name; it sounded like some Federal Government department specifically for repairing sewers and ventilation systems.

But Link Warren knew very well that no field personnel from a pipeline maintenance department would carry two armed Men in Black and stuff a Grey Alien into a bag.

The woman flipped the ID badge over.

On the back was an emblem.

Link had never seen the pattern of that emblem before.

It was not the shield of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, not the eagle of the Central Intelligence Agency, not the circular badge of the Department of Homeland Security, nor any Federal Government logo he recognized.

The design of the pattern was minimalist to the extreme: an equilateral triangle with an eye in the center, but that eye was pierced by a vertical stripe, evenly divided into two parts.

He couldn't explain why, but the moment he saw that emblem, his instinct told him one thing: the weight of this emblem was heavier than the official seal of his father, Edward Warren, the State Senator.

It was even more powerful than the badge of the Governor of Nevada.

It was something from a higher level.

From some unknown agency, hidden deep beneath the vast bureaucratic system of the Federal Government, that truly held the secrets.

"Mr. Warren." The middle-aged woman spoke.

Her voice was calm and her tone polite, like greeting a child from the neighborhood, "Your father, Senator Edward, should still have half an hour left in his meeting. You've been waiting here quite hard."

She knew who he was.

She knew who his father was.

She knew why he was here.

Link's lips moved; he wanted to say something, but his throat was too dry to make a sound.

The middle-aged woman did not wait for his answer.

She took back the ID badge, hung it back on her chest, and then continued in the same calm tone as before: "Mr. Warren, you should have noticed that the area where you are currently parked is the highest-level reserved parking area in the City Hall underground parking lot."

"Theoretically, only high-level state government officials are qualified to park here."

She paused, her gaze looking through her rimless glasses, watching Link calmly.

"Of course, using this parking space by leveraging your father the Senator's privilege is not much of a problem in itself. But..."

Her voice did not get louder, but that calmness suddenly contained something that made a chill run down Link's spine.

"Everything you saw here just now, I hope you had better not mention it to anyone."

"Including your father. Especially do not tell your father."

She tilted her head slightly; there was no threatening meaning in her gaze, but the calmer her eyes were, the more difficult Link found it to breathe.

"You wouldn't want your father to get involved in these matters. Your father wouldn't want you to do that either."

Then, the middle-aged woman withdrew her gaze.

Without waiting for any response from Link, she reached out, pushed open the passenger door, stepped out, stood straight, and adjusted the hem of her suit skirt.

Her movements were the same as any government employee after finishing a meeting: decent, restrained, and without any unnecessary motion.

Then she left.

The sound of high heels echoed in the parking lot, getting further and further away, lighter and lighter, finally disappearing at the end of the parking lot exit ramp.

Meanwhile, those two Men in Black had already taken the bag containing the Grey Alien and, using some unknown method, silently climbed back into the ventilation duct.

Then, the iron grate cover of the ventilation duct was reinstalled from the inside, seamless and tight, as if no one had ever touched it.

The dark red light did not turn on again.

The Men in Black left no traces.

The middle-aged woman left no traces.

The Grey Alien left no traces either.

The entire underground parking lot returned to its original state: dim lights, damp air, buzzing old fluorescent tubes, and Link Warren all alone.

And in his car, on the passenger seat, the spot where the middle-aged woman had sat.

The leather surface of the seat even retained a trace of temperature that had not yet dissipated, a temperature that did not belong in the car.

Link sat alone in the driver's seat.

His hands were still gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles still white.

His back was drenched in cold sweat, his shirt sticking to his skin, the icy sensation creeping all the way up his spine.

His lips were trembling, his teeth were gently chattering, and in his brain, it felt like a thousand voices were screaming at the same time, yet not a single voice could shout out a meaningful word.

His worldview.

The complete, solid worldview he had built over twenty-six years, extending from elementary school science class all the way to his Ivy League educational background.

In those less than five minutes, it had shattered into dust.

Aliens were real.

The government knew about this.

There was an unknown, immensely powerful secret agency in charge of handling this matter.

His father, that father of his who was about to announce his campaign for Governor of Nevada, was nothing in the face of that emblem.

Link Warren's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

He opened his mouth and squeezed out a hoarse sound from deep in his throat, one that he could barely even hear himself: "Fu... ck..."