Owen remained silent, contemplating how to handle the situation. Regardless of whether it had been a misunderstanding, they had still killed members of the DEA. The machine gunner was dead, and several others had been wounded—though most injuries were non-fatal, it was inevitable someone might not survive.
"Glesta, collect everyone's phones and bring them to me in a bag," Patrick ordered. A masked DEA agent responded and began collecting all team members' phones one by one, placing them into a bag, which he handed to Patrick.
Patrick's intentions were now clear. Suddenly, Silly Sweet's voice crackled through Owen's comms, urgent and tense. "Owen, a team is moving toward your location—no, not just one team. You better move. Fast."
Her tone was rushed. Owen made his decision. "Fine, this was a misunderstanding. Get your men back in their vehicles—we need to leave now. There are enemies on the way. You lead the way, but don't do anything that might look like a threat."
Owen called his men to board the vehicles. Patrick turned and ran back to his team. The convoy roared to life again, heading toward the U.S.-Mexico border.
"Damn it, Owen! Your path is blocked. Take the next right—now!"
Back in Washington, Silly Sweet watched her screen in frustration. A few vehicles had stopped at the intersection ahead of Owen's convoy. Men were dismounting and taking positions—through the high-resolution satellite imagery, she clearly saw one of them holding an RPG.
With her warning, the convoy made a hard right, narrowly avoiding the ambush. Silly Sweet continued scanning the area—things looked grim. More enemy units were flooding in from every direction, forming multiple blockades at every major route leading to the border.
Gunshots filled Owen's earpiece. The team had already engaged with enemy forces. Silly Sweet, observing the chaotic movement on her screen, grew increasingly anxious.
"Owen, you've got no way out. All major routes to the border are blocked. With their firepower, you won't break through. I suggest a new direction—your current path is crawling with enemies, and more are coming."
"Shit…"
Owen cursed under his breath. The cartel had played this perfectly. Whether Jessman had been a mole or just a pawn, they'd succeeded in slowing the convoy. The brief skirmish with the DEA had caused distrust and tension. If it hadn't been for Patrick's reaction, it might've turned into a full-scale shootout, and the cartel would've picked off the survivors at their leisure.
Still, the delay had allowed the enemy to close in and cut off their path to the border.
Owen snapped back to reality. Gunfire echoed from all around. The convoy had already been intercepted several times—each time only by small groups, two or three vehicles with a few men. They were able to repel them quickly, but one encounter had nearly resulted in an RPG hitting a vehicle.
Bang bang bang bang!
Owen fired several rounds, forcing a group of cartel members back behind cover. The convoy raced past the checkpoint—bullets struck the Humvee's rear windshield, leaving new white scuffs.
An errant RPG exploded into a parked car, turning it into a fireball, but it didn't slow the convoy at all.
The situation deteriorated rapidly. Enemies were now coming from every direction. Owen knew these were all Sánchez Group operatives. Somehow, they had reached an agreement with the Papato family, because the latter no longer seemed to be resisting their passage.
Burning cars and makeshift barricades littered the roads. Every minute brought another ambush. It felt less like Mexico, and more like a warzone in some distant African conflict.
"Back to the DEA HQ! Damn it—we need a defensible position!"
Patrick's voice shouted over the radio. One of the DEA pickups had just been hit, killing all three occupants. They didn't even have time to retrieve the bodies—there was no choice but to press forward.
The DEA pickups lacked the armor of the Humvees and had taken much heavier losses. Now deep in hostile territory, returning to the DEA compound seemed like the only option.
Owen didn't object. He had nowhere better to go, and on Silly Sweet's satellite screen, more enemies were converging on them from all sides.
The convoy turned sharply at another corner. Ahead, a new barricade appeared. The lead DEA pickup made a hairpin turn onto a different road, narrowly avoiding the trap. At this point, if the convoy was ever forced to stop, they would be surrounded within seconds—and that would be the end.
"Becky, find us a route back to the DEA base!"
Owen shouted. At the same moment, a stray bullet hit his weapon, jolting it in his hands. Thankfully, the gun was still functional. After putting down a cartel gunman hiding behind cover with two shots, his earpiece buzzed again with Silly Sweet's latest update. He relayed it to the DEA team. Under satellite guidance, the convoy weaved through alleys and city streets. When there was no route, they made one—smashing through obstacles with brute force.
Seeing the worsening situation, Guzmán's eyes lit up with hope—only to be met by a vicious rifle butt from Ghost.
"You little shit, don't think Sánchez is gonna save you. If we die, I'll make damn sure you go first."
Blood ran from Guzmán's nose, his expression darkened—but he dared not voice a word of protest.
Screeching tires echoed as the convoy tore through another corner. They were charging through a danger zone now. Cartel gunmen popped out from both sides of the road, opening fire. Bullets pinged off the vehicle armor.
Ahead, DEA machine guns had already started roaring, spraying suppressive fire at every visible threat. Twenty meters behind, another convoy of cartel vehicles gave chase.
Because they didn't know which vehicle Mario was in, the cartel wasn't risking RPGs. Rather than destroy, they aimed to halt. That gave Owen's team precious opportunities to bulldoze through blockades.
"Hold on—we're almost there!"
Patrick's voice came through the radio. Spirits lifted. The DEA compound was finally in sight.
The front gate was fortified with barricades and machine guns. Only a narrow passage wide enough for a single vehicle had been left open. Machine gun nests were also stationed along the perimeter wall.
The moment the convoy came into view, gunfire erupted from the DEA base. Under their suppressive cover, Owen's convoy thundered through the entrance and into the compound—just as their pursuers were blocked at the gates.
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