Chapter 165: Weapon Upgrade
The Director certainly has the authority to grant Toretto a full pardon, but to receive it, Toretto must prove his worth and, more importantly, be willing to come out of hiding.
Ron believes Hobbs will find the right leverage to convince Toretto to resurface.
"Arthur, Hank, if you've got nothing else going on lately, you'd better hit the range," Ron said in the office. "Especially you, Hank. You've been putting on some weight recently."
"You know, on the battlefield, bigger guys are way more popular targets than skinnier ones—they're easier to hit without even aiming."
Hank could sense Ron's deep disdain for out-of-shape operatives. "What, am I eating your tax dollars just because I've gained a few pounds?"
"Boss, I think as a sniper, more mass helps absorb recoil, which actually improves shooting accuracy," Hank argued.
Even a kindergartener wouldn't buy that excuse. Ron rolled his eyes and said, "So, my dear marksman, what happens when you miss your target and your position gets compromised?"
"I don't miss!" Hank said with conviction. "Like the boss always says, there's only so much precision you can achieve with manual targeting! But if we change our approach and saturate the target area, we can guarantee success!"
Hank's eyes burned with zealous determination, like a televangelist preaching salvation. "As long as the target is anywhere within human range, nobody can survive a five-meter blast radius!"
Jesus Christ! Ron thought to himself.
Has Hank lost his mind? Even when Ron had been pushing his "bigger caliber" philosophy, he'd only dared to claim a two-meter blast radius! A five-meter blast radius! What are you trying to do? That's almost as powerful as a 155mm howitzer! Are you planning to start World War III, you maniac?
"Uh... so, are you getting tired of that XM25 grenade launcher?"
"No, the XM25 is a beautiful piece of equipment," Hank said, gently cleaning his weapon like he was caressing a lover's skin. "But men always evolve. There's nothing wrong with wanting something bigger and badder."
Listening to Hank's philosophical ramblings, Ron fell into deep thought. If he remembered correctly, this was probably around the time of that whole Shaw situation. If Ron's memory served him right, that psychopath Owen would actually drive a goddamn tank through city streets to chase down Toretto!
A tank! With their current firepower, they'd be seriously outgunned. And the anti-materiel rifle he'd gotten Hank earlier wouldn't cut it either.
Anti-materiel sniper rifles can only penetrate the lighter armor of older generation main battle tanks, while in reality, Owen would be rolling around in the latest German-engineered armor!
Arthur, who was field-stripping his weapon, scoffed. "That fat bastard's just daydreaming."
But just as that thought crossed Arthur's mind, Ron smacked him upside the head: "Actually, you make a good point. In the future, when you have insights like this, I want you to bring them to me more often. I'll figure out how to get us the hardware we need."
Ron said thoughtfully, and Arthur's world crumbled.
"Boss, I..." Arthur, who usually maintained his stoic badass image, didn't know where to begin.
Ron patted Arthur's shoulder: "Don't worry, you're getting an upgrade too. These improvements are for the whole team. Hey Andy, you want me to get you some gear as well?"
Andy put down his ledger and shook his head: "Nah, I'll pass. I'm better suited for administrative work. At most, I'm like Alfred to your Batman."
Ron was always a man of action—that was his greatest strength. After leaving the office, he immediately called Orlov.
"Listen, I need some new toys. Heavy-duty stuff, you know? The kind that can punch through tank armor."
"Taking out tanks? That depends on what you're facing. If we're talking about those old Soviet models the Middle Eastern militias use, the most common RPGs on the market will do the job, assuming you can get within ten meters of the target," Orlov, a seasoned arms dealer, explained professionally.
"No, if I wanted that kind of off-the-shelf stuff, I could handle it through my own channels. Listen, I want the premium merchandise—the real deal, understand? The kind that can reach out and touch someone from a safe distance," Ron spoke urgently into the phone.
"The problem is, what you're asking for is nearly impossible to acquire right now, you understand?" Orlov's tone revealed his frustration: "Because of ongoing U.S. military operations in Afghanistan and Iraq, this equipment is in extremely high demand."
"To minimize American casualties, this stuff is locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Your request is really pushing the limits of what's possible."
"Shit..." Ron hadn't expected this: "You can't even get me a Javelin?"
The FGM-148 Javelin is a fire-and-forget anti-tank missile currently deployed by the U.S. military. It's launched from a shoulder-fired system similar to an RPG and is effective against virtually every tank in active service.
"Hell no! Not a single unit!" Orlov shook his head vigorously. "Forget about any current military-issue equipment. If even one of these systems ends up in the hands of insurgents in the Middle East, we're all dead men."
"Alright then, from your professional perspective, do you have any reliable alternative equipment you can acquire that won't draw too much attention? Like that automatic grenade launcher you got me last time—it's solid, but it won't stop armor."
"Let me think about that..."
Meanwhile, after some enhanced interrogation techniques, Hobbs had finally confirmed from a captured terrorist that Owen Shaw was indeed the mastermind behind the Moscow operation.
Fortunately, he hadn't heard that Deckard Shaw was involved, otherwise Hobbs would have been even more stressed. But even with just one Shaw brother in play, it was enough to ruin his day.
He needed backup, and fortunately, the surveillance footage his team had recovered contained exactly what he needed.
"Hold up!" Hobbs stopped his technician who was reviewing the surveillance video: "Rewind that footage 15 seconds. Right there! Enhance that woman! Zoom in more!"
Immediately, under the tech's control, the originally grainy image of the woman on the large monitor became clearer and clearer. It was definitely Letty!
"Bingo! That's her!" Hobbs exclaimed with excitement.
"Yo, boss, you got the hots for her? Should I remind you she's a terrorist?" his African-American partner asked with concern.
"No, she's not a terrorist—she's one of our assets. Just wait and see."
(End of Chapter)