The vehicle quickly arrived at the location. Owen drove straight into the tunnel without hesitation. It truly was an old underground passage, capable of accommodating both pedestrians and cars. At nearly 2 a.m., the streets were deserted.
Everyone knew what Parisian security was like—especially this late. No sane person would be strolling through a tunnel at this hour unless they had a death wish or too much money to burn.
As they neared the rendezvous point, Swagg's car killed its headlights, trailing Owen's vehicle by some distance before slowly easing into the tunnel behind.
Becky had already done a background check on this tunnel. Because it had been built a long time ago, no surveillance systems had ever been installed—clearly the reason their mysterious contact had chosen this spot.
Owen stopped the car. No one was in sight yet; it appeared the other party hadn't arrived.
Owen stepped out but left the engine running. He and Baryev stood at the front of the vehicle while Ghost and Heartbeat remained inside. With his tall and imposing frame, Baryev looked every inch the professional bodyguard.
"Sniper team in position…" came Swagg's voice over the earpiece, signaling he'd found a suitable vantage point.
Owen wore a dark blue high-end suit, while Baryev stood beside him in a sharp black suit and dark sunglasses—even in the dim light of the tunnel, he looked the part. The two stood quietly, speaking neither to each other nor anyone else.
Moments later, a blinding headlight beam rounded a corner. A car emerged from a side tunnel and drove straight toward them, eventually stopping about five meters away. The high beams blinded Owen.
He itched to draw his gun and shoot the lights out but restrained himself.
Finally, the driver dimmed the headlights, allowing Owen to regain his vision.
Two cars had arrived—both local French makes. One man in a suit stepped out, flanked by two bodyguards. From the second vehicle, four more emerged.
The man who approached was young, likely not even thirty, accompanied by one Black and one white subordinate.
Owen deliberately raised his voice. "Are we making this deal or not?"
The suited man stopped in front of Owen, studying him for several seconds before glancing at Baryev, and then at the vehicle behind them—clearly aware others were inside.
At the same time, Owen was closely analyzing the man and his entourage. The camera button on his jacket transmitted everything live back to Omega HQ, where facial recognition software was already at work.
Becky's voice soon crackled over the comms. "Owen, the guy in front of you is Hakwell Morton, formerly MI5—listed as missing…"
Owen's eyes narrowed. MI5? He'd expected a private broker or intelligence contractor—not an MI5 agent. Could this incident be connected to British intelligence?
It wasn't impossible. Though the UK and US were allies, espionage was still a solo game—everyone considered everyone else a potential threat.
Owen then aimed his button-cam toward the two bodyguards behind Morton.
Becky hesitated. "Left side—Black male—Dan White, CIA agent. Records say he died last year…"
What?
Owen was stunned. Two of them with suspicious identities. He then directed the camera toward the white bodyguard.
Seconds later, Becky continued. "Sasha Mashkov, Bosnian—former top lieutenant to General Bourbon of the Bosnian Serb paramilitary. The U.S. recently declared Bourbon a war criminal…"
What the hell kind of crew is this?
Owen maintained a neutral expression but silently scanned the trio. How were MI5, the CIA, and Bosnian war criminals all involved?
"How do you want to conduct the exchange?" the suited man finally asked.
Owen raised a small device. "Bank transfer. Ten million dollars will be in your account within seconds—assuming what you're selling is actually worth it."
His tone was firm and confident. On his PDA, the screen displayed a $10 million balance, and it was legitimate—the funds had already been preloaded.
The man seemed satisfied and pulled out a USB drive, offering it to Owen for inspection. Just then, the Black bodyguard leaned in to whisper something in his ear. The man's brow furrowed, and he looked at Owen again.
Owen felt his gut clench. Something had changed. But outwardly, he stayed calm.
A moment later, the man and his Black bodyguard exchanged quick words—then both stepped back and drew their guns.
Bang bang—bang bang bang!
Owen instantly activated bullet time. Exploiting his unique temporal ability, he fired with split-second precision.
The first two rounds slammed into the Black man's chest, followed by three more aimed at the suited leader.
Owen's aim was flawless. The first target took a chest shot and a headshot. The second's gun was shot clean out of his hand; the next two rounds struck his chest—clearly protected by body armor, as expected.
Then chaos erupted.
Sniper fire echoed in the confined tunnel. Swagg and Fred, posted in overwatch, each took down one of the four men from the second vehicle as they charged out.
The last two returned fire, engaging Ghost and Heartbeat in a short but brutal shootout—until the snipers cleaned them up with a second volley.
In seconds, nearly everyone on the enemy side was dead—except the MI5 agent and the war criminal, who'd survived by sheer luck.
"Take them alive!" Owen barked. They had no idea why the ambush had occurred. His preemptive strike was thanks to bullet time, but he needed answers—and fast.
MI5, the CIA, a war criminal—how did these people end up working together? Someone had to talk.
Skreeeeech—
Tires screeched. One of the enemy vehicles roared to life. Taking advantage of the confusion, the two survivors tried to flee.
Owen fired twice, blowing out the front tires—but not before the headlights were turned back to full beam.
The sudden glare blinded him.
"Go!" he shouted.
He dove into the car and peeled out, chasing after them at full throttle. Behind him, Swagg and Fred followed in the second vehicle, all in hot pursuit of their mysterious attackers.
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