Counterterrorism in America

Bryan followed the scrawny man into a room that appeared to be a small dining area. A few men sat around a table drinking coffee. Their eyes narrowed suspiciously as Bryan entered, clearly not welcoming the intrusion.

Bryan, however, acted as if he didn't notice their hostility. He gave a casual order to the man who had brought him in: "Black coffee, one sugar."

His calm and commanding attitude seemed to confuse the men. They exchanged curious glances but remained silent as Bryan nonchalantly picked up a creamer jug and added a splash of milk to his coffee.

One of the men, a bearded figure, finally broke the silence. "What do you want?" he asked after the scrawny man whispered something in his ear.

Bryan took a slow sip of his coffee and answered at his own pace. "I'm here to renegotiate the price."

Another man with a thick stubble responded immediately, "We've already made a deal with Mr. Maken."

"Maken's been reassigned. I'm in charge now. So the terms are changing," Bryan replied firmly. He paused to gauge their reactions before continuing. The room remained tense but quiet, so he proceeded.

"You see," Bryan said, pointing upward, "you might not know this, but our satellites watch you 24 hours a day. Everything you do and say—we know it all."

The men exchanged wary glances, unsure whether to take him seriously.

"Do you have any idea how much it costs to adjust the satellite cameras in Earth's orbit?" Bryan added, raising his voice slightly for effect. "Every minute, the price goes up. And since our costs have increased, your fees are going up too. Fair enough, right?"

Meanwhile, Owen moved stealthily through a different part of the building. He had just killed a guard who had unexpectedly crossed his path. He dragged the body into a room and closed the door quietly. There was no other choice—if the man had raised an alarm, their entire mission would have been compromised.

The hallway stretched before him, lined with doors on both sides. He had already searched more than a dozen rooms, all of them empty. Undeterred, Owen opened another door and finally found someone.

A young woman lay motionless on a bed, her limbs bound to the frame.

"Not Amanda…" Owen muttered under his breath, his heart sinking. He gently turned the girl's face toward him. Her expression was twisted in agony, and foam had dried at the corners of her mouth. He checked her pulse and breathing—both were weak but still present.

The puncture marks on her arm told Owen everything. She had been injected with drugs, just like the tragic scene from his memories.

His mind raced in panic. If this girl was in such a critical condition, what if Amanda was next?

Owen resumed his search, opening room after room. Some held captives, others were empty, but none contained Amanda or Kim. His anxiety deepened with each door he opened. They had acted faster than the timeline in the movie, but it still wasn't enough.

Finally, he came upon a familiar face—Cynthia. She was tied to a bed like the others, her arm marked with needle scars.

"Cynthia!" Owen hurried to her side, checking her pulse. She was unconscious but alive.

"Cynthia, wake up! It's me—Owen, Amanda's brother. Come on, wake up! Where are Amanda and Kim?"

Cynthia stirred slightly but didn't respond. Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused and glazed. Owen tried shaking her gently but got no reaction.

He resorted to splashing water from a nearby glass onto her face. The cold shock finally brought her around.

"Cynthia, can you hear me? It's Owen. Where are Amanda and Kim? Where did they take them?"

Cynthia blinked, disoriented. Her voice was hoarse and barely audible. "Help… please… help me…"

Owen could tell she was still in a fragile state. "I will. I promise. But you need to tell me where Amanda and Kim are."

"They… separated us… I've been here the whole time… I don't know…" Cynthia's words were broken and weak.

Owen's heart sank further. They were running out of time.

"Listen to me. Stay here and stay quiet. I'll come back for you. I have to find Amanda and Kim first."

He untied her restraints while reassuring her. Cynthia clung to him desperately, sobbing in fear, but she was too weak to hold him back as he slipped away.

Back in the dining room, Bryan's "satellite surveillance" speech was met with a brief, stunned silence. Then, the men's expressions hardened—they weren't buying it.

One of them, the scrawny man, stepped forward and said, "Don't think you can just extort us. We know the law."

Bryan chuckled coldly. "The law?" He leaned forward, his voice dripping with mockery. "You want to talk about the law? Fine. Let's list your crimes, shall we? Extortion? Human trafficking? Drug smuggling? Assault? Illegal possession of firearms?"

The room fell into tense silence again. The gang members exchanged uneasy glances, realizing how absurd it was for criminals like them to invoke legal rights.

"Let me be clear," Bryan continued. "I can have this entire operation dismantled with a single phone call. Or…" He paused, letting the implication hang in the air.

"Now," he said, shifting gears, "which one of you is Mark?"

The gang members bristled at the mention of the name. One of them asked defensively, "Why do you want to know?"

"I heard Mark's the man in charge around here."

"We're all Mark," one of them said defiantly.

"No, no, no," Bryan corrected, "I mean Mark from Tropoja."

"We all come from Tropoja," another man sneered.

The atmosphere grew icy.

Bryan grinned. "Fine. If you want to play games, how about this—I raise your fee by 10%."

Anger flashed across their faces. The scrawny man stepped forward again and said, "We won't let you rob us blind. We know our rights."

Bryan laughed outright. "Your rights? You're a bunch of thugs running a human trafficking ring, and you think you have rights?" He shook his head in disbelief, enjoying their discomfort.

_________________________

[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! Only $5 per novel or $15 for all!!] [[email protected]/Mutter]