Counterterrorism in America

Bryan and Ken had never seen eye to eye. Their relationship was tenuous at best. Bryan had hoped that Ken might help him out of past camaraderie, but by the time Bryan's plane landed, he hadn't received a single call. It was clear where Ken stood.

Now, with Internal Security agents waiting for them at the airport, Ken's stance was obvious: he wasn't going to make things easy.

Meanwhile, chaos reigned on the street below the overpass. The truck driver who had hit Peter was frantic, trying to explain what had happened to the growing crowd of onlookers. On the bridge above, drivers who had witnessed Peter's desperate leap were already calling the police.

Traffic on the overpass, which had already been heavy, came to a standstill. Owen and Bryan didn't wait around. They quickly made their exit before the police could arrive.

Paradise Street

When the taxi dropped Owen and Bryan off, the driver sped away without a word, clearly eager to leave the area. The street sign read Paradise Street, but the place looked anything but heavenly.

The neighborhood was clearly a slum. The atmosphere was hostile. The few pedestrians they passed glared at them with suspicion, many of them sporting gang tattoos. Aging, decrepit buildings lined the street, most of which seemed abandoned or repurposed as storage facilities.

The two walked the length of the street, pretending to be ordinary passersby. They soon spotted the red door that marked the gang's hideout. It was located roughly in the middle of the street, with no other residential buildings nearby. Both sides of the structure appeared locked down and deserted.

As luck would have it, the red door opened while they were observing. A fully enclosed van pulled out of the compound and drove off in the opposite direction. The door quickly shut behind it.

However, the brief glimpse was enough for Bryan to gather crucial intel. He noted two guards in the courtyard, one armed with an automatic weapon, and likely more stationed inside. The distance from the gate to the main building was about eight meters—a difficult distance to cover in an open assault.

After completing their surveillance, Bryan and Owen moved on without doubling back. They had seen enough.

Bryan purchased some supplies from a nearby stationery store. Ten minutes later, they were seated at a small café, where Bryan tinkered with the materials. By the time he was done, the photograph on the Internal Security ID card had been replaced with his own. It wasn't a flawless forgery, but it would pass a cursory inspection.

"Take this," Owen said, handing Bryan the stolen handgun.

Bryan shook his head. "I won't need it. You keep it. Avoid shooting if you can—focus on finding Amanda and Kim. I'll distract them downstairs. If things go south, these guys are all armed. I'll grab a weapon if necessary. Once either of us starts shooting, it's all in. The girls' safety is the priority."

"Got it."

Owen couldn't help but remember the grim scene from the movie: Amanda had died from a drug overdose by the time Bryan reached this place. Thankfully, they were at least ten hours ahead of that timeline. He prayed they were still in time to save her.

At the alleyway entrance, Owen checked the Beretta 92F one last time before tucking it into the waistband of his pants. He had taken the gun from the Internal Security agent at the airport. It wasn't unfamiliar to him.

Owen scaled a nearby wall and sprinted across the rooftop. With a running start, he leapt across to the opposite building, grabbing hold of a second-story window ledge. With a swift pull, he swung himself inside, landing quietly on the floor.

Meanwhile, Bryan approached the red door and pounded on it forcefully.

BANG BANG BANG!

A moment later, the door creaked open. A scrawny, suspicious-looking man peered out, sizing Bryan up.

"Who the hell are you looking for?" the man asked gruffly.

"I'm here to see your boss," Bryan replied coolly, flashing his forged credentials. Without waiting for an invitation, he shoved past the man and strode into the compound as if he owned the place.

Inside the courtyard, a bald, bearded man sat in a wicker chair, an AK-47 resting by his side. As soon as he saw Bryan, his hand instinctively moved toward the weapon.

Bryan acted as if he hadn't noticed, his gaze sweeping arrogantly over the area. The scrawny man followed him in, visibly irritated but cautious. He hadn't gotten a good look at Bryan's ID earlier, and Bryan's confidence was making him second-guess himself.

Now that the ID was clipped to Bryan's chest, the man finally got a clear view: Internal Security Bureau, Agent Jess.

"Internal Security? What do you want with our boss?" the man asked, suspicion lacing his voice. "He's not here right now."

"Bad luck for him," Bryan sneered. "Once I leave this compound, the GIPN will be storming in behind me. You won't even have time to run. Want to rethink your answer?"

The man hesitated, clearly rattled. After a moment, he signaled to the bald guard. "Stay here. I'll go check."

Bryan observed the interaction without concern. His role as a government operative carried weight—these gangsters wouldn't risk making a move unless they were incredibly stupid.

The scrawny man soon returned, his posture uncertain. He crossed his arms and asked, "Are you carrying any weapons?"

"Of course." Bryan pointed to the badge on his chest. "This."

"Fine. Follow me."

The man led Bryan inside the building, past a foyer and up a flight of stairs. Along the way, numerous gang members glared at Bryan suspiciously. Most were armed, and there wasn't a single woman in sight.

Meanwhile, Owen moved with practiced stealth through the upper levels of the compound. Years of parkour training gave him an edge. He navigated across rooftops, vaulted over ledges, and swung through open windows with ease.

Inside, he found himself in a network of corridors. He chose a direction and began methodically searching the rooms. Most were empty.

At one point, a door suddenly opened, and a man stepped out. Owen froze, hiding behind the door. The man didn't notice him and walked away. Owen waited until the footsteps faded before continuing his search.

He soon reached a large central courtyard, surrounded by rooms on three levels. Again, every room he checked was empty.

From below, he heard Bryan's voice echoing through the compound. The plan was proceeding smoothly so far. Keeping his focus, Owen pressed deeper into the building. Time was running out.

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