The Wolf of Los Angeles

[Chapter 274: The Package Arrived]

In the Rosarito district, the police station.

Emergency calls redirected to the station, but the officers in charge of responding were dragging their feet. The captain, Robert, moved sluggishly, resembling a turtle in hibernation.

Several subordinates had synced up their pace; each one slower than the last, as if they were in a slow-motion competition.

Fresh into the station, the young officer Diaz, fully geared up, approached, saying, "Captain, it's urgent..."

"Right, I know," Robert replied leisurely, asking, "Are the vests and weapons adequately supplied?"

An old-timer answered, "Not enough ammo."

"Get it immediately," Robert instructed.

The old-timer transformed a single step into two and ambled toward the supply room slowly.

To make matters worse, two police cars required fueling.

Watching Robert drive to the station's designated gas station, Diaz was about to lose his mind.

The station only had one attendant at night, and they would have to queue.

Without gas, they couldn't venture far.

After filling up the gas, Robert specially called Diaz to his car. This man had some relationship with him, so he had to take care of him.

"I'll drive," Diaz insisted eagerly.

"Sit up front," Robert insisted, personally steering the car while adhering strictly to the city's speed limits.

As he drove, Robert pointed out, "What's the situation? What weapons were involved?"

Diaz reported, "The caller heard continuous gunfire and numerous violent explosions. Someone even claimed to have seen a rocket launcher."

Robert summarized, "Automatic rifles, grenades, RPGs! This is a gang war!" He questioned, "What will you use to stop it? Your flesh? Why are these gangs battling? For massive stakes! This has nothing to do with us! If we show up, aside from bullets and bombs, what else will we gain? The gratitude of gang members? Ha! When they see us during their shootout, they will only greet us with bullets and bombs!"

"But we are cops!" Diaz protested, straightening his neck.

"How much do you earn each month?" Robert interjected. "Your father is dead. If you die, what happens to your mother? Who feeds your sister? Don't tell me the survivor benefits; the department hasn't paid out the little money from three years ago when someone died -- his wife has to sell herself to make a living."

He intensified his tone, "Let me tell you, if you die, your mother will be bullied, and your family will lose its income! To support your sister, your mother will end up on the streets! Do you know how the gangs controlling those areas operate? They enforce a survival-of-the-fittest rule; the bottom performance will get eliminated each month! With your mother's age, what kind of performance can she have...?" РΆℕỘBΕś

Diaz's neck slumped as Robert's words struck him, a realization dawning as some things inside him faded away.

He reached for the tissue in the car door, his movements slow as a retiree.

Slow was just fine.

These police cars seemed to be engaged in a slow race, each one crawling more slowly than the last.

They needed to ensure one thing: by the time they reached the scene, the battle would have concluded, and everyone would be gone.

...

At the critical intersection between the city and the coastal villa area, Fiona waited, not receiving the promised police presence from Rosarito. Instead, she got Hawke's retreat call first.

She turned her car at the intersection, heading south toward another city, planning to catch a flight to the Bahamas before eventually returning to Los Angeles.

...

In a secluded wilderness valley, three vehicles approached, driving over uneven terrain before reaching an area draped in camouflage netting.

From a distance, these camouflage nets appeared as rocks; upon lifting them, there were the vehicles and barrels of gasoline, prepared in advance by Hierro and Fiona.

Hawke was the first to disembark. After Hierro confirmed the vehicles' safety, he reported, "All original vehicles, phones, and flammable items have been destroyed."

Juan and Carlos dragged Melissa from the car and tended to her wounds.

Everyone quickly changed clothes, dropping their discarded items into an empty metal drum. Campos doused them in gasoline.

Next, they poured gasoline into all three vehicles they drove over.

Fearing inadequate burning, Campos ensured all the prepared gasoline was utilized.

Hawke first disassembled the phones, removing his gloves and mask, tossing them into the empty metal barrel. He then retrieved new gloves and a hat, calling Campos over. "You think you can take her back?"

"Of course," Campos replied in a hushed tone. "I know an abandoned tunnel; that's how I got into California."

Hawke nodded. "Melissa is your responsibility. Find a suitable place to hold her, and don't let her die."

"Understood," Campos said. "We'll contact you once we're back."

Hawke shook hands with him, reiterating, "If things go south, it's fine to finish her off, but you all must return."

Campos firmly clasped Hawke's hand without a word.

Looking around at everyone, Hawke declared, "Split up immediately! Each of you has to come back safe; anyone who dies, I'll drag them back from hell, and the Savior will force feed them pastries!"

"That sounds terrifying!" lively Guti chimed in. "If anyone dies, I'll personally stuff their corpse with pastries."

Laughter erupted among the group.

...

Hawke was the first to board one of the SUVs, starting the engine and driving out of the valley, heading east.

As he slowed down on the road, he glanced back.

Flames erupted from the valley, vehicles and gasoline barrels ablaze.

The fierce fire obliterated most traces.

...

The two SUVs split up, each heading their separate ways.

Campos continued south until, before dawn, he arrived at a coastal cliff with deep waters, stopping intermittently to toss all used firearms into the sea.

...

At dawn, Hawke reached Mexicali, abandoning the SUV near a gang-infested area. He hopped on public transportation, wandering around the old town's complex regions until he located a bus service catering to American visitors to Mexicali. He purchased a ticket and boarded.

These chartered buses maintained connections at the border crossing, making regular trips between California and Mexico, enticing American men heading to Mexicali or Tijuana for illicit activities.

In California, this was termed illegal trade and was relatively expensive.

On a bad day, one might encounter undercover FBI operatives, which would spell disaster.

But in Mexico, the prices were much lower.

...

By afternoon, Hawke successfully returned to Los Angeles.

This trip to Mexico took just one day.

Hawke arrived at his safe house in Venice, discarding all disguises into the fireplace, incinerating everything in one go.

Before the workday ended, he made his way back to the Twitter office building.

...

In Maryland, Baltimore.

Stepping out from the bio-lab planning office, Barack Bernanke pulled out his phone, calling Melissa once again, finding no response.

Yesterday, he didn't think much of it when no one answered; such occurrences happened frequently.

As he got into his car, a nagging worry crept in, prompting him to call Melissa's assistant.

No answer.

The assistant's phone should be available twenty-four-seven.

Furrowing his brow, Bernanke dialed Melanie, the bodyguard, and got no response either.

Something was definitely amiss, so he opted to call Carroll, but the situation proved the same.

He turned to his assistant, Golding, sitting in the passenger seat, saying, "Call the security director at Rosarito Medical Center, Tierney. Have him check on what's happening at Melissa's rental villa."

Golding dialed in and exchanged a few words.

...

Not long after, security chief Tierney called back.

Golding answered and relayed, "Last night, a medical vehicle from Rosarito Medical Center and a testing team had an incident in the coastal villa area."

"What?" The assistant was confused, yet Bernanke understood all too well that Melissa must have summoned the medical team for a blood retest for Veronica and her daughter.

His urgency spiked, asking, "What happened in the incident?"

Golding hurriedly explained, "They encountered a gang attack at a villa, armed with heavy weaponry, using RPGs and grenades, resulting in 19 fatalities. Local police found the medical vehicle from the center in the villa's garage and notified the medical center. The center and Tierney has already reported this to Los Angeles headquarters this morning per protocol."

Bernanke's heart raced, feeling the tension rise: "Which villa? Have the identities of the deceased been confirmed?"

"The incident occurred at villa number 16 in the Rosarito beach villa area," Golding continued. "All IDs and communications of the individuals are missing; currently, only five from the medical center's identity confirmed, others remain unverified."

This villa was the exact one Melissa had rented. Bernanke wiped his face, gathering himself, saying, "Have Tierney go check on the deceased and see if he recognizes anyone."

Golding promptly dialed again.

...

The car arrived at the Ackerman Charitable Foundation's office in Baltimore. Barack immediately pushed the door open and got out of the car. He said to the receptionist who came over, "Notify Captain Manning to apply for a flight route immediately and fly directly to Rosario, Baja California, as fast as possible."

The receptionist scrambled to get the call through.

Golding exited the vehicle, rushing back inside. "Sir, Tierney is heading to the Rosarito police station. We'll have news shortly."

Bernanke was fidgety, making several more calls, including trying to reach the security chief Coleman, but connectivity was still an issue.

Before long, updates from the receptionist streamed in: the flight route was approved for a private jet, which could depart in an hour.

Without hesitation, Bernanke hopped into the car. "Take me to the airport."

...

As they approached the airport, Tierney called Bernanke directly. "Chairman, I've checked all the deceased and identified the chairman's assistant, Nina, and bodyguard, Melanie."

Bernanke's heart sank. "What about Melissa?"

"I didn't find the chairman." Tierney clarified, "I asked thoroughly; those were all the people present, and there were no others."

This indicated Melissa was still alive, providing Bernanke with a small sense of relief; as long as she lived, there would be a way forward.

The car rolled into the airport's executive tarmac, where he boarded the private plane heading straight for Rosarito.

*****

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