"According to informed sources, the gunfight in Juárez City continued late into the night. Numerous civilians were killed, and several vehicles were set ablaze. Reports indicate the violence was triggered by Mexican authorities arresting a key member of the Sánchez cartel, Mario Sánchez..."
"...We've captured incredibly rare footage—this video shows last night's firefight. Near the end of the clip, what appears to be U.S. military personnel can be seen, including Apache helicopters and a Humvee convoy. So far, the U.S. government has not issued any official statement..."
"...As you can see, the DEA building has been nearly reduced to rubble. Casualty figures are still unconfirmed. Mexican Marine forces are currently transporting the wounded to hospitals. Sources from the Marine Corps revealed they also clashed with the Sánchez cartel en route..."
"...Undersecretary Carson, responsible for domestic security, stated that the decision to release the captured suspect was based on prioritizing the safety of the many over apprehending a single criminal..."
Early the next morning, the television was filled with non-stop coverage of the previous day's battle. Owen and the rest of the Omega team sat in the tactical room at the U.S. military base in El Paso, drinking coffee while watching the broadcasts.
The U.S. government had clearly done some damage control—reports mentioned the American role only briefly—but complete media suppression was impossible. The press might offer the government some leeway, but not every network could be controlled.
Fortunately, Owen's gamble to lead the cartel forces away had worked. The enemy did not attack the DEA again afterward. Both news reports and intelligence from other sources confirmed this, which made Owen feel slightly better.
As for the Mexican government's official statement—it was nothing short of self-deception. Everyone knew what really happened. Public confidence in the Mexican authorities had hit yet another all-time low.
Owen considered calling Patrick, but ultimately decided against it. Apologies wouldn't change anything, and Owen wasn't exactly in a good place himself. His final decision to release Mario at the border had stirred up considerable backlash. Word was that the White House had a furious argument with Jack Bauer about it, and even President Palmer was displeased.
Well, let them be displeased—Owen sure as hell was. That entire episode had been the greatest disgrace of his life. If Patrick and the DEA agents ended up slaughtered after Omega's withdrawal, Owen would carry that guilt for the rest of his life.
For a brief moment, Owen even contemplated quitting. He was tired—tired of risking life and limb only to be shackled by politics, forced to swallow endless indignities. Maybe this job just wasn't worth it anymore.
Omega had been ordered to remain at the military base in El Paso for the time being. They weren't allowed to return to D.C., nor given any new assignments. The entire team was frustrated, venting their emotions in the gym, where punching bags echoed with the sound of fists and fury.
Owen's actions had definitely created problems for the U.S. government. While President Palmer didn't formally discipline Omega, his disapproval was unmistakable. Phantom Team, being military and playing a supporting role, escaped unscathed.
The only one who took the fall was Ela.
Poor Ela had become the scapegoat. She was demoted and ordered to write a detailed incident report for the White House. She was, understandably, infuriated.
Two days later, new orders finally arrived: Omega was to return to Washington.
Owen began organizing the team's departure, saying goodbye to Ela and the Phantom Team members.
"Brother, hope we get to work together again sometime."
Shepherd gave Owen a bear hug. Nearby, the rest of Omega exchanged farewells with the Phantom Team. Nothing bonds people like combat. During their time together, Swagg and Weaver had formed a mutual respect as snipers, and chatterboxes Holt and Ferred had become unlikely best friends.
"I'm sorry for everything that happened. If things don't work out for you here—what I mean is, you know—you can always look me up. Omega has a spot waiting for you."
Owen shook hands with the Phantom Team members one by one. When he got to Ela, he hesitated briefly before speaking.
Ela's flaws were obvious—too rigid, too by-the-book. But after the education she'd received from Mexican cartels, that flaw was starting to fade. Her strengths were also undeniable: solid tactics, sharpshooting skills, strong situational awareness, and nerves of steel. If she could let go of her inflexibility, Owen had no problem recruiting her into Omega.
Ela was clearly demoralized these past few days. She offered no response to Owen's offer—just shook his hand quietly. Owen didn't take it personally.
After saying their goodbyes, Omega loaded into vehicles and left for the military airfield in El Paso. From there, they boarded a direct flight back to Washington.
By midday the next day, the plane touched down at Washington National. The team dispersed at the terminal, heading home. Their orders weren't urgent, and they agreed to regroup at Omega HQ the following day. Owen knew what awaited them—more bureaucratic nonsense. Politicians always had their own warped perspective.
In the taxi, Owen called Monica to let her know he was safe. She was still in Los Angeles with the ASH group. After a brief reminder to take care of herself, he hung up.
The cab driver, a young Black guy, immediately cranked up the radio volume once Owen ended the call. Rap music filled the car. After the track ended, the broadcast switched to current affairs.
"According to our Mexico correspondent, the conflict between drug traffickers and the DEA has taken a new turn. About an hour ago, the DEA officer who led the operation to arrest Mario Sánchez was gunned down in front of a supermarket. Surveillance footage captured the entire scene. Police confirmed that the shooters fired 155 rounds in 60 seconds. The victim was pronounced dead on the spot…"
The words hit Owen like a thunderbolt. He thought he'd misheard—but the news segment ended abruptly, just another tragic incident in distant Mexico.
Frantic, Owen began flipping through channels until he found another station reporting the same story.
The driver, clearly annoyed, started complaining about Owen ruining his musical vibe. Owen shoved ten dollars into his hand, instantly silencing him. Owen didn't care about the guy's greedy attitude. All he wanted now was to get home and turn on the TV.
Fueled by the mighty power of the dollar, the driver sped through the streets of D.C. in a blur of sharp turns and screeching tires.
As the car rolled to a stop, Owen flung the door open before it had even fully parked. The driver watched him sprint away, grinning. Double the fare for a ten-minute ride—he'd gladly take more passengers like this any day.
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