"Becky, notify the other five major cartels. Leta Sanchez has been executed. Also, send them the coordinates to this location..."
Owen's plan was simple—make sure the Sanchez Cartel had no chance to recover. He hadn't just killed their boss and stolen his money; he'd burned his house and his cash stash to ashes, and now he was calling in the vultures—alerting their enemies to strike while they were down.
"But... I don't have their contact info..."
The sweet and naive girl sounded flustered. She understood what Owen meant, but had no idea how to carry it out. Nobody had the personal numbers of the cartel bosses. Realistically, no one could. If those numbers were so easy to get, they'd have been wiretapped long ago.
"Then send it to everyone..."
Owen's words were like a slap of clarity. The girl instantly realized what to do—she had been stuck in the wrong mindset.
Immediately, she used her hacked access to Mexico Telecom's satellite network and sent a mass text message to every mobile phone in the Ciudad Juárez region, informing them of Leta Sanchez's death and the exact coordinates of the location.
A few minutes later, everyone in Juárez with a phone received a simple message: "Leta Sanchez is dead. The Sanchez Cartel is leaderless. Location: \*\*\*\*\*."
The message spread quickly through every layer of the city's criminal networks. Whether or not the top brass of the Five Majors received it directly, it would inevitably reach their ears.
Ten minutes later, armed enemies began pouring out of every corner of Juárez, racing toward the coordinates from the message. They were all ready to take a chance—what if it was true? The Sanchez Cartel had been a behemoth. In the wake of its leader's death, its territory, resources, money, and manpower were all prizes worth fighting for.
Dorok, who had been frantic with rage and eager to continue the chase, saw the message on his own phone and instantly understood—the Sanchez Cartel was finished.
...
"Let's go\~\~\~"
Dorok's pursuers were temporarily blocked, making this the perfect time to retreat.
The two Little Birds caught up with the van speeding along the mountain road, escorting it out of danger.
The three vehicles moved as one for more than ten minutes. With no signs of pursuit from behind, they finally relaxed a bit.
"Becky, what's the situation?"
"All clear. You've completely lost them. Wait... Guys, we might have a small problem..."
The sweet girl had been monitoring the retreat route through surveillance. When a new convoy suddenly popped up on the screen, she frowned. Then she zoomed in, clearly seeing a distinctive paint job—her frown deepened.
"What is it?"
Owen, now in the passenger seat and reorganizing his gear, immediately perked up at her tone.
"A group is heading toward your route. The vehicles look like police. Estimated time to contact: two minutes..."
Hearing the word "police" made not only Owen frown, but everyone else as well. Though this had been an off-the-books mission and no one would care about them killing drug lords, they still wanted to avoid unnecessary conflict with official forces.
"Little Bird One, keep escorting. Little Bird Two, intercept them..."
Within seconds, Sam's voice came through the comms. The Omega team in Little Bird One continued escorting the van forward, while Sam's Little Bird Two veered off toward the intercept coordinates.
At a fork in the road ahead, Little Bird Two arrived first. From a distance, they could see a convoy approaching. The vehicles were clearly police cruisers. Without intervention, they would reach the rendezvous point before Owen's team and cut them off.
Howling Wolf lowered the helicopter to block the road completely. The aircraft hovered sideways across the lane, leaving the lead car with a choice: either crash into it or stop—or veer into the rough desert terrain.
Rat-tat-tat\~\~\~
From one side of the helicopter, Sam and Freak opened fire on the convoy. Their shots were calculated—targeting only the engines. A few well-placed rounds later, the lead car's engine was disabled, stopping it in its tracks. The rest of the convoy piled up behind it.
With the goal achieved, the helicopter rose, circled once, and flew off. They didn't care what the cops had come for. Killing wasn't the goal—keeping them out of the way was.
Back on the road, Little Bird Two rejoined the group. No one asked for details, but everyone knew—the cops were dealt with. The trio continued toward their prearranged destination.
Twenty minutes later, the van abruptly veered off the main road and into the desert, kicking up a cloud of dust as it sped toward the interior. Before long, they arrived at an abandoned resupply station.
"We're here."
Bryan shouted as he slammed on the brakes.
The van screeched to a halt. The two helicopters began their landing sequence, their spinning rotors kicking up clouds of dust. Even before the blades stopped, the troops on the side benches jumped off in turn.
The retreat route had been prepared long in advance. When fighting drug lords in their own territory, it was essential to secure a solid escape plan.
They pulled back some camo tarps, revealing several hidden off-road vehicles. Some team members began starting engines, others covered the helicopters with tarps. These Little Birds had been loaned to Sam through his contacts, and someone would be coming later to recover them.
Owen and Bryan hauled out the money bags, transferring them from the van to the off-road vehicles. The others pitched in. After a few trips, all the bags were moved. Someone quickly covered the van with a tarp again.
"Let's hope we're not too late..."
Sam checked his watch, gave the signal, and the convoy rumbled back to life. Moments later, they were back on the road, heading toward the docks—where a cargo ship was waiting. The only catch was they were now running late due to the detour to grab the cash.
Half an hour later, four black Chevrolet off-road vehicles roared into the container port. A Mexican man was pacing nervously near a container. Upon seeing the vehicles, he finally relaxed with a deep breath of relief.
The cars stopped. The man stepped forward.
"You're late."
"Yeah. Traffic was a nightmare."
Sam replied with a deadpan face, handing the man a few U.S. bills. The Mexican's frown vanished instantly, replaced by a wide grin. He led them to a cargo container, looked around carefully, then slid the door open—but stood in the way, eyes on Sam.
Sam nodded at Freak, who pulled out several thick wads of cash from inside his coat and stuffed them into the man's hands.
"Half now. The rest when we arrive."
"No problem. Keep quiet on the way. My people will meet you at the destination. I've already packed food and water—those are on the house..."
The man stepped aside. Owen and Sam's teams filed into the container. Smuggling had long become the second-largest business for Mexican gangs after drugs. Every gang had their own methods. Some dug tunnels under the U.S.-Mexico border; others used alternative methods—sea routes, land crossings, all kinds. The border was simply too long to defend completely. Besides, not every Mexican wanted to go to the U.S.—many opted for other countries. This time, Sam's group had chosen Jamaica.
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