The convoy moved quickly, rapidly approaching the Papato family's territory. As long as they remained within Sánchez Group's domain, danger lurked at every corner. Everyone stayed on high alert, eyes peeled, nerves taut.
Hostile stares were evident. Some locals, seeing the armed convoy, ducked into nearby stores without hesitation. Others pointed and cursed from the sidewalks. Inside the vehicles, everyone watched each person on the streets closely—especially those on rooftops, potential RPG launch points.
"Owen, there's a group heading toward you. They were originally ahead, but when you changed course, they adjusted and are now approaching from your flank. You're about to intersect," said Silly Sweet from Omega's operations center, her monitor showing a live satellite view of Owen's convoy. Two streets away, another vehicle group kicked up dust as it sped toward them.
Owen saw the photo Silly Sweet sent—his gut feeling had been spot-on. Those were definitely Sánchez Group operatives. They'd predicted the convoy would head straight for the border and had prepared an ambush. When the plan changed, they rushed to intercept.
"What about the other directions?" Owen asked. Against a cartel, their only real advantage was the satellite—a god's-eye view that allowed preemptive maneuvers.
"Not good..." Silly Sweet zoomed out the satellite image and grimaced. "You've got a large group forming up ahead. If you keep your current pace, you'll be caught in a pincer movement."
"Any way out?"
"Well... not really. Maybe if you push your speed even further, you might break through before they finish forming."
It wasn't much of a solution, but it was something.
"Got it. Keep watching. Any changes, notify me immediately."
Ending the call, Owen grabbed the radio. "Heads up, boys—we've got company. Patrick, how far to Papato territory?"
"Close. Less than a kilometer."
"Then punch it. We've got enemies front and rear. We need to break through before they close the gap."
"Copy that."
Patrick responded and immediately shouted into his own radio: "You heard the man! Floor it! Unless you want to get invited to a very special dinner party, haul ass!"
He trusted Owen's instincts completely. Omega had satellite intel—the only real advantage they had here. Without that oversight, they might already be in a deathtrap.
The convoy accelerated noticeably. Owen glanced out the side window—he could already see vehicles flanking them a street over, moving parallel, full of armed men. Tension crackled in the air.
"Prepare for contact."
Owen's command went out via internal comms. Members of Omega and Phantom raised their weapons to the windows, glass already rolled down to allow for immediate engagement.
Ahead, armed cartel fighters were beginning to appear along buildings and side streets. No one had fired yet—giving Owen's team a crucial window.
Seeing the enemy formation still scattered and the roads ahead still unblocked, Owen yelled into the radio, "Don't stop—PUSH THROUGH!"
His voice echoed through each vehicle. The lead DEA pickup roared ahead. Everyone understood: if they failed to break through, it would become a full-scale firefight. If they were trapped, reinforcements would keep coming, and they'd be slaughtered.
Hands soaked with sweat, eyes locked on the road, the convoy charged forward. The first groups of cartel fighters were poorly equipped—no heavy weapons yet.
The lead vehicle tore through the intersection, followed closely by the second, the third...
The Humvees followed tightly behind. Cartel vehicles finally appeared in parallel streets, but none dared get too close to the speeding Humvees.
Someone fired the first shot.
A rain of bullets followed, clanging off the armored vehicles, glass cracking, metal denting. But one by one, each vehicle made it through. In the last Humvee, Weaver looked back—cracks had formed in the rear bulletproof window. Outside, furious faces screamed and cursed as more vehicles blocked the road they had just passed through.
"We're through!" Weaver's voice came through the comms.
Only then did the tension break. Everyone let out the breath they'd been holding.
"Owen, the trailing convoy's been blocked. You're clear for now…" Silly Sweet reported again.
Owen nodded. That rear force had been Sánchez Group. But the forces they encountered ahead were likely Papato's men. Since there had been no shootout, both sides had exercised restraint. Thinking back, Owen pieced it together: the DEA had changed course at the last second, forcing the Sánchez group to pursue through Papato territory. Papato, catching wind of it, mobilized quickly—perhaps seeing it as an incursion.
Luckily, the DEA convoy had pushed through before being caught in the middle. Owen had spotted several RPGs among the cartel fighters—he knew how ugly things could've gotten.
Thanks to the satellite, they'd dodged disaster. But it wasn't time to celebrate—until they were across the border, nothing was certain.
The convoy pressed forward, now speeding through Papato-controlled territory. Armed men were still arriving at various points, but none fired. They understood that the convoy's objective wasn't them. No resistance meant the convoy gained speed.
Owen sat in the passenger seat, gun in hand, barrel pointed out the window. The others scanned alleyways, rooftops, and windows—any place an ambush could be waiting. Ela, at the wheel, was razor-focused. The Humvees followed closely behind one another, but this kind of high-speed tactical driving was nothing she couldn't handle.
The vehicle was dead silent. Everyone was locked in.
Ela suddenly squinted—something felt wrong. As the lead driver, she had to monitor everything. In the DEA pickup ahead, the gunner in the bed had picked up a phone. She watched him closely, and a sinking feeling took hold.
Owen noticed her change in demeanor and followed her gaze—he too saw the gunner on the phone.
Under the deafening roar of engines and tires, they couldn't hear what was said. But Ela, reading his lips, suddenly froze.
The gunner mouthed a single word: "Sorry."
No!
Realizing the betrayal in an instant, Ela jerked the steering wheel.
At that same moment, the gunner rotated his weapon—aiming directly at the lead Humvee's windshield.
And then came the storm of bullets.
______
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