In the end, Guzmán was returned ahead of schedule. After repeated urging from Patrick, Owen finally decided to hand him over to the Mexican DEA that same afternoon.
Guzmán, now a barely recognizable figure from the relentless torture, was shoved into the Humvee with a black hood over his head. A convoy of several Humvees roared out of the military base and headed toward the border checkpoint.
The trip went smoothly, utilizing the fast lane to cross between countries. Soon, they pulled up outside the DEA headquarters.
At the front vehicle, Owen rolled down the window and handed over his credentials. The gate guard glanced at Owen, then at Ela behind the wheel. He recognized them—these two had been coming and going from the DEA often over the past few days.
After returning the IDs, the guard waved them through. The barrier was raised, and the convoy rolled in. As soon as they passed, the gate was sealed again.
The Humvees stopped in the plaza, attracting some attention.
The doors opened, and fully armed personnel exited one by one. Shepherd and his team scanned the surroundings. Owen and the other Omega members escorted Guzmán inside the DEA building.
Ela led the way. As they entered the lobby, they noticed all the DEA officers were suited up and forming ranks—but not heading out. Instead, they remained in formation in the lobby, clearly waiting for orders.
Something was clearly going on. Still escorting Guzmán, Owen followed Patrick's secretary upstairs.
Knock knock knock~
The secretary knocked and, after receiving permission, opened the door. Inside, Patrick was already in tactical gear—minus the hood—standing by a second-floor window with binoculars, scanning the area outside the gate.
Owen followed his gaze and saw several thuggish-looking men loitering outside—some squatting, others idly working. They were spread out around the building.
"Move in!" Patrick barked into his radio. Immediately, several plainclothes men rushed toward the thugs and took them down one by one, dragging them back toward the DEA building.
Owen knew exactly who they were—spotters posted by various cartels to monitor DEA activity. Anytime there was movement, they would send out alerts. Regardless of whether the operation targeted their own group, the cartels would go into hiding.
That's why the DEA had to eliminate these "eyes" before every mission.
With the sweep successfully completed, Patrick turned his attention back to the room. He gave a brief look at the disheveled Guzmán, then addressed Owen and his team. "Yesterday, we received intel and raided one of the Sánchez Group's drug labs. We seized twelve kilos of cocaine..."
In recent days, the DEA had been targeting a wide range of cartel operations. Once the Sánchez Group was confirmed responsible for the ambush, the focus narrowed to them. What began with small fry escalated to major busts. It was obvious who was feeding the DEA this intel: the Lofta Group. Only they had the resources to know so much about the Sánchez Group's hidden infrastructure.
Everyone could see that the Lofta Group was using the DEA to strike their rival—killing with a borrowed knife. But the arrangement was mutually beneficial. The DEA needed Lofta's intelligence to deal real damage, and Lofta needed the DEA to weaken the Sánchez family.
With both sides cooperating, the DEA had raided numerous sites, dealing major losses to the Sánchez Group. Yet the latter had made no moves. They knew that if they struck back—whether against the DEA or the Lofta Group—the other side would retaliate immediately, potentially sparking a chain reaction involving the remaining major cartels. That was a cost the Sánchez Group could not afford, so they remained dormant.
"What's today's target?" Owen asked.
"Lofta provided a lead. One of Mario Sánchez's mistresses owns a property. He might be there..."
"We're coming too," Owen replied.
If the operation targeted Mario, they would absolutely join. Owen's team sprinted back to their vehicles. Patrick didn't object, only reminding them to follow commands. Both Omega and Phantom squads were elite units—far more capable than the average DEA agents. Having them on the ground would increase the chances of success if things went south.
"This guy?" Ela asked as they descended the stairs, nodding at Guzmán.
Owen hesitated only briefly before making a decision. "Take him with us."
He didn't trust leaving Guzmán behind at a moment like this. If the Sánchez Group struck after they left, the DEA's remaining forces might not be enough to hold them off.
The convoy of pickups and Humvees started up. As usual, Owen and his team didn't know the destination. Only Patrick, giving directions through radio, knew the target location.
"Finally! Something to do—I was getting rusty..." Holt said excitedly in the vehicle. Weaver stayed silent. On base, Weaver only ever talked to Swagg—probably because they were both snipers.
The convoy sped through streets and alleys, eventually screeching to a halt in front of a villa.
DEA agents disembarked, quickly forming assault formations and surrounding the building. Without explicit orders from Patrick, Owen's team remained in outer perimeter positions. The three snipers each found their vantage points, while the rest of the squad used the Humvees for cover.
Crash... RATATATA...
As the officers approached, a window shattered and muzzle flashes erupted. Another window joined the firefight.
"Take cover," Patrick ordered over the radio. The fully armed DEA officers returned fire while seeking cover. With coordinated effort, they suppressed the shooters inside. Other agents quickly approached the villa and breached the door.
The battering ram broke the lock, then retreated. Ballistic shields went up. Bullets pinged uselessly off the shields. The human wall advanced, carving a safe path forward. The entry team followed close behind. Soon, a fierce gunfight erupted inside, interspersed with a woman's screams.
At the same time, the back door was breached. Gunfire intensified. Owen saw bullets tearing through walls. Moments later, everything fell silent. The two shooters had likely been neutralized.
"Clear."
"Clear."
Voices rang out as each room was secured. Once the house was declared safe, Patrick and Omega entered one after the other, with Shepherd and his men staying outside to guard Guzmán.
"Sir, Mario wasn't here. Only two of his men..." a DEA officer reported.
Owen looked at the two corpses on the floor—both in awkward, unnatural poses, riddled with bullets. Their weapons had already been kicked aside.
At the base of the staircase, two officers escorted a disheveled woman downstairs. Her long, wavy hair and curvaceous figure suggested she was attractive, but she looked thoroughly shaken now.
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