With the support columns destroyed, the building began collapsing rapidly. There was no time to go back down the stairs. Owen lost his balance and fell backward—they were on the side of the building that was tipping.
"Jump!"
Seeing that the neighboring building was drawing closer, and its window directly opposite them, Owen and the others leaped one after another. Just after they jumped, another support column snapped under the stress, followed by the rest, causing the building to collapse even faster and finally sink completely.
On the canals, two speedboats tore through the narrow waterways at high speed, churning waves that capsized smaller vessels nearby.
In Venice, there are strict speed limits for watercraft. Ethan's reckless chase turned the waterways into chaos. Vendors' wares fell into the water; some boats even overturned. Cries of protest echoed everywhere, but the two speeding boats were long gone.
Owen's group had also commandeered a boat. The ferryman, terrified at the sight of their weapons and armor, immediately jumped overboard. Heartbeat took the helm, steering in the direction Makarov had fled.
"Nikki, give me a heading!"
"Turn right at the next junction—you're five canals away."
From her god's-eye view, Nikki had been tracking Makarov the entire time.
"Owen, heads up—you've got cops on your tail."
Owen glanced back to see several police boats with flashing lights chasing them. At this point, they looked like heavily armed speed demons—and that wasn't far from the truth.
"This is the Venice Police! Stop your boat immediately and pull over!"
The loudspeaker warnings blared from behind, but the Rapid Response Team didn't even flinch. If they weren't trying to avoid a conflict with local law enforcement, those boats would've been blown out of the water by now.
At a dock, Makarov's speedboat surged out of a side canal. Two other boats were transferring cargo nearby. Makarov made a sharp turn, veering into open sea. The two boats' workers, carrying sheets of glass, got completely soaked by his wake and cursed furiously.
Before they could shout further, another speedboat burst from the same canal—Ethan's. The sudden appearance and poor visibility left Ethan no time to react. He shoved Benji's head down, and they ducked. The boat shot under a low-hanging glass sheet, narrowly avoiding decapitation.
Alive and shaken, Ethan spotted the white streak on the water left by Makarov's boat and pursued without hesitation.
Out at sea, the chase continued—two speedboats slicing through the waves. Makarov occasionally turned back to fire shots, while Benji returned fire just as fiercely. But on the bumpy sea, accuracy was next to impossible.
"Found them…"
Guided by Nikki, Owen's boat finally caught up. Larger and more powerful than the others, it had more people and a much stronger engine.
Behind them, the number of police boats had grown. At first, they'd assumed this was a speeding incident, but now the full extent had become clear—gunfire, explosions, a collapsed building. This wasn't a chase, it was a terrorist manhunt. The Venice police had scrambled multiple armed boats and called for reinforcements from Maglaburg. No helicopters yet, but requests had been made.
Nikki had warned Owen of all this, but he wasn't fazed. His priority was capturing Makarov, who was now isolated—only one bodyguard remained with him.
The three boats converged. Makarov knew he couldn't outrun them. He had already called his elite squad for backup, but they needed time to arrive.
Rat-tat-tat!
Bullets rained down. Suddenly, Makarov's boat shuddered. Smoke poured from the rear—his engine had been hit during a volley. The speed dropped. Eventually, the propeller stopped spinning entirely. The boat bobbed helplessly on the waves.
Owen and Ethan flanked him from both sides, boxing him in.
Facing multiple barrels, Makarov raised his hands in surrender. Owen had planned to kill him—he'd even considered blowing up the gas tank—but now, a live capture was far more valuable. A terrorist of Makarov's caliber could yield a treasure trove of intel.
In the distance, the sound of helicopter blades grew louder. A police chopper from Maglaburg emerged over the horizon, its blue and white paint glinting harshly under the sun.
Owen pulled Makarov aboard. Ethan and Benji, running low on fuel, also transferred to Owen's boat.
The sounds of sirens and rotor blades intensified. A police officer was already shouting over a loudspeaker in broken English.
Owen gave the signal—full speed ahead. Their boat surged toward deeper waters. The police behind them were stunned—boats like Owen's weren't designed for the deep sea. This was suicide.
Thus began a high-seas game of cat and mouse. The helicopter closed in. Just as it was about to catch them, Owen's group saw what they'd been hoping for—a large aircraft waiting in the open water.
A seaplane hovered calmly on the ocean's surface, its cargo ramp wide open.
Heartbeat gunned the engine, ignoring the strain. The boat carved a white trail across the water, then rocketed into the plane's rear cargo hold, propelled by sheer inertia.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Owen jumped down and slapped the fuselage twice. Luther, waiting inside, shut the ramp.
The seaplane's engines spun to life. Within seconds, it accelerated across the waves. Then it lifted, higher and higher, until the police boats below were nothing more than dots on the sea.
"Tell me," Owen said, facing Makarov aboard the plane. "How did you end up working with White Mask?"
But Makarov said nothing—only smiled mockingly.
Thud! Owen punched him in the face. Makarov shook his head, trying to stay composed. Then he sneered, "I know who you are, Steve Owen, CTU. Everything you've done today—I'll pay it back tenfold."
Owen wasn't rattled. He was about to press further when Luther interrupted from the cockpit.
"Owen, we're almost there…"
They couldn't stay airborne for long—the plane was stolen. They needed a safe place to land and continue overland.
The plane touched down. The group transferred to vehicles, placing Makarov in the back of a cargo van. Split into three vehicles, they took off down the highway.
They hadn't been on the road ten minutes when a jet roared overhead. Owen looked up just in time to see two missiles dropping from under the wings, trailing white smoke toward them.
"Fuck! Look out!"
Before he could shout a warning, the missiles struck. Explosions erupted on both ends of the convoy. All three vehicles flipped violently.
The ambush had caught them completely off guard. Everyone inside was injured to varying degrees. Owen hung upside down in the front seat, dazed. As he regained consciousness, he saw a helicopter descending outside.
Heavily armed soldiers fanned out around the van, securing the perimeter. One approached the cargo hold and sprayed a strange foam onto the side. Moments later, the foam hardened. With a smash of his rifle butt, the wall shattered like glass. The team pulled Makarov out and loaded him into the chopper.
"No! We can't let him escape!"
Owen scrambled out of the wreckage to fight back, but was immediately forced into cover by suppressive fire. Ethan's situation was the same.
The helicopter lifted off, slowly at first, then climbing rapidly.
Owen watched helplessly as Makarov escaped—right under their noses.
(Author's note: The seaplane scene was inspired by Call of Duty. I didn't find technical details, so not sure how accurate it is.)
(End of Chapter)
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