Chapter 395: Godson and Ron's Vacation
"Storm wind bells ring, all on alert! Griffins soar! Bronzebeard's lances! Flares illuminate the temple of the Moon Goddess ahead..."
In the church, as soon as the priest finished speaking, music suddenly blared from the speakers on both sides. Jay Pritchett's eye twitched, and he glanced around the audience, intending to see who had played such a joke on him.
But before he could look, Ron himself waved triumphantly at him.
The priest shook his head angrily. This was the first time he had been interrupted like this during a baptism; these people were so disrespectful to God!
But there was nothing he could do. God wouldn't pay him a salary, and He wouldn't even let him don a helmet and fight in Korea for His people. So he could only grit his teeth and continue with a friendly smile, saying, "What an interesting idea! Have you decided on a name for this child?"
Making money is business, after all, no shame in that!
Jay Pritchett: "Joe Pritchett."
Ron: "Arthas Menethil Pritchett."
Pritchett's mother-in-law: "François Joseph Pritchett."
The three of them, in unison, gave three completely different answers. The priest was stunned. In all his years of presiding over baptisms, this was the first time he had encountered such a situation.
The child's given name hadn't been agreed upon beforehand, and now they were arguing about it at the final naming ceremony. The priest didn't know how to handle it.
The mother-in-law's opinion was completely ignored. Ron and Jay stared at each other, their gazes almost sparking fiercely in the air.
"This is my child!" Jay declared his ownership with dissatisfaction.
But Ron wouldn't budge: "I thought you made me the child's godfather to name him. You know godfathers have the right to name their godchildren, Uncle Jay."
Jay now understood what it meant to shoot himself in the foot.
He had hesitated for a long time when choosing a godfather for his son because he knew he was too old and might not be able to watch his youngest son grow up healthy. He felt something was missing if Gloria raised his son alone.
He already had an overly-sensitive gay son (Mitchell), and Gloria's son, Manny, was the same (also overly-sensitive). He had lost hope in his family.
Thank goodness for Ron, otherwise he would have had to let his tomboyish daughter be the godfather.
"Okay, it's just a given name anyway. What's the significance of this name?" Jay, finally succumbing to his age, gave in first.
"Of course, it's a legendary name," Luke interjected, pushing to the front. It was obvious he was also a hardcore gamer.
Ron took the child from the priest, who was constantly looking around with curious eyes. He lifted the child up with deep emotion, almost like chanting: "My godson, from the day you were born, the entire forest of Lordaeron whispered this name: Arthas.
My godson, I proudly watch you grow day by day, becoming an embodiment of justice.
You will use your great power cautiously. One day, my life will come to an end. And you, you will be crowned king!"
"Alright, Arthas it is," Jay sighed helplessly. The name sounded alright, at least much better than his mother-in-law's deceased ex-husband's name, but he still whispered in his wife's ear, "Anyway, we won't call him that name. At home, he'll always be my Joe!"
"Sorry, Uncle Jay, I heard you!" Ron picked at his ear.
"Yes, I said it on purpose for you to hear, thanks for listening." Jay came over and patted Ron on the shoulder. "You haven't been to my family gatherings in a long time. I think you should come more often. I think Luke is much better with you than with Phil. With his dad, he's only becoming more and more like a circus performer, but with you, he's becoming more and more manly."
"I'd love to come and get together with my family more often, but I still think that sometimes you're really too eager to change things," Ron shook his head.
"I think it's best to let the children's lives unfold naturally. Take Luke, for example; if he wants, he can become a performer. We don't need to deliberately change anything. Of course, if he wants to learn anything from me, I'd love for him to come to my base and train with my little apprentice.
But a family gathering will probably have to wait until I get back from my vacation. I worked almost the entire Christmas holiday without a break, just finished a big case, and I need to give myself a proper break. I plan to go to Paris to relax."
Well, Ron simply didn't get to enjoy France enough while working on the CIA case, so he wanted to go again. After all, the French are known for their romance, and last time, having that annoying bald guy with him had inadvertently cost him many opportunities to "enjoy" himself.
As soon as Ron landed in Paris, he received a text message from Marcus.
"Ron, I've already notified my contact in Paris to pick you up at the airport. Have a great time." Marcus had already arranged for Ron to be picked up.
So, as soon as he stepped out of the airport, he saw a man holding a sign with his name on it, and he immediately waved.
"Good afternoon, Jack!" Ron extended his hand to the person picking him up.
"You must be the Ron my associate mentioned! Nice to meet you," Jack shook Ron's hand. "I didn't expect you to arrive so early."
"I'm sorry, I promised my contact I'd show you around Paris, but I have some business to attend to today. So, I'll have my friend take you sightseeing first, and I'll come pick you up after I'm done with my business, okay?"
Jack explained apologetically to Ron in the car. But instead of helping, his words piqued Ron's interest.
"Is it the antique business your associate mentioned?" Ron's eyes lit up. He had originally come to Paris just to relax, but the mention of antiques caught his attention.
If this involved something interesting, that would be even better.
Ron was certainly interested in recovering historical artifacts. After all, he believed in returning stolen property to its rightful owners, regardless of where it came from.
Besides, this trip wasn't entirely without benefits. If there was treasure involved, all the better.
Thinking of this, Ron was even more intrigued. Paris was nice, but nothing could attract him like a good adventure.
"Yes, that's right. One of my clients asked me to help him find a very valuable antique. I just received the message and am on my way to meet the seller," Jack said seriously.
"Are you sure that's the seller and not someone who stole it? Let me guess what it is? Sotheby's seems to be hyping up some stolen artifacts lately. Is what you're going to 'recover' exactly that?"
Ron said with a smile, but his words shocked Jack and his entourage. How did he know?
Ron said smugly, "Jack, didn't your contact tell you? I'm a secret agent, and a top-tier one at that. Do you think you can hide anything from a secret agent?"
Jack wanted to maintain his respectable persona: "Uh, Mr. Ron, I really am doing legitimate business..."
"And I'm sure Las Vegas has no casinos," Ron said seriously.
"How is that possible?" Before Jack could speak, his assistant in the back said incredulously.
"See, even your men know it's impossible." Ron spread his hands, pointing to a glimpse of black clothing peeking out from Jack's collar. "You're not going to tell me you're planning to wear that to meet the seller, are you? Don't worry, I'm an agent with a flexible moral compass. I'm not against this kind of thing. I'm just curious and want to see how you guys work."
"Alright, then promise to follow my instructions in everything, and I'll take you with me."
"Of course." Ron readily agreed.
Jack's car stopped near a large estate on the outskirts of Paris. Ron opened a map and glanced at the surrounding terrain. This was the lowest-lying area in the vicinity, perfect for concealment and rendezvous.
Then Jack had a male and female partner disguise themselves as antique dealers to sell antiques to the estate owner. While the owner's hand touched the photo album, they successfully collected his fingerprints to use for decryption.
Meanwhile, another information team, specifically responsible for hacking into the manor's security system, was rapidly cracking the manor's defense network. They were just waiting to replace the manor's surveillance footage with pre-prepared fixed footage before commencing their operation.
All these methods were old tricks that Ron's men had already mastered, but seeing them used by a group of antique dealers truly amazed Ron.
"Your capabilities are almost on par with the CIA," Ron exclaimed.
"Wow, thank you, thank you for comparing us to top agents," Jack said, flattered.
Ron waved his hand dismissively: "You're welcome. Anyway, the CIA is second to last in the agent world."
"Then can I know who's last?" Jack asked curiously.
"MI6, the whole world knows that now MI6 is just an IT department that fires randomly… Hey! They've got it sorted out!" Ron said happily, looking at the green light on Jack's communicator. "What do we do now?"
"Infiltrate, of course. You're an agent, haven't you ever infiltrated before?"
"Of course I have, but our infiltration method is a little different from yours. Tell me, how do we infiltrate?" Ron was eager to try.
"Follow me, we'll rush in." Jack looked up, observing the camera's status through the gaps in the leaves. When the red light went out, Jack slid down the tree like a nimble monkey, quickly rushed to the villa's window, and climbed in. Ron quickly followed.
This was the kitchen. Jack grabbed a piece of bread from the basket and took a bite, but couldn't bite it and almost broke his tooth. He cursed angrily, "FUCK! Damn baguette! I really don't know how these Frenchmen manage to eat this stuff."
"As everyone knows, baguettes are basically weapons, they have absolutely nothing to do with food. It's better to eat this." Ron took two sausages from the refrigerator as if he were at home, ate one himself, and tossed one to Jack.
They had been lurking in the trees of the manor for almost the entire morning and were starving. Ron vowed that he would never go through the trouble of infiltration again unless absolutely necessary.
Wouldn't it be better to just bombard the area with artillery shells and then retrieve what he wanted from the ruins? Anyway, bronze artifacts wouldn't break... maybe?
"Shh! We're not here to eat," Jack swallowed his food and made a quiet gesture to Ron.
Ron scoffed, "You'd be more convincing if you wiped the grease off your lips. Where are we going now?"
"Follow me." Jack pulled Ron along. He knew the villa's map by heart. Leading Ron from the kitchen to the hall, they nervously glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then rushed up the spiral staircase to the second floor. At the end of the corridor was their destination: the study.
"You went through all that trouble to sneak into this manor just to read in the library?" Ron was utterly disappointed when they arrived at the study.
"No, you don't understand," Jack explained to Ron as he rummaged through the study. "Rich people like this usually have a secret room in their house to store their most valuable possessions—a secret collection room. I've seen the architectural plans for this villa; this is the only place in the whole villa with enough space for such a secret room. It's probably around here."
"These rich people are really paranoid."
Jack went to a bookshelf in the study, examining the books and the wall behind them one by one. When he reached the second-to-last shelf, he casually pulled down a thick dictionary, revealing a small door with a keyboard on it.
"You were right! How do we get in now?" Having been infiltrating with Jack for so long, Ron had actually found a bit of fun in the treasure hunt and urged him on, eager to see the treasure inside.
However, Jack glanced at the keyboard and frowned: "This is bad. He used three sets of random combinations of forty-six characters. Even with eight computers, it would take two days to crack this kind of password."
(End of Chapter)
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