Inside the dark container, the emergency lights clicked on—something they'd prepared in advance. As for the food and water the Mexican contact had provided, no one touched them. Whether or not they were given in good faith, caution had to come first when operating abroad.
The grating screech of metal made everyone grit their teeth. The container shuddered, swaying as it was lifted from the ground—a crane was loading it onto the ship.
These smuggling containers were specially modified, with various handholds installed. As long as Owen's people gripped them tightly, they wouldn't get hurt in the movement.
The container thudded down. Another was stacked on top. After a while, the loading stopped, and not long after, the ship's horn blared. The freighter left port. For the moment, they were safe.
…
They were gone, but Ciudad Juárez had become a boiling cauldron. The Five Majors were locked in a massive brawl at the Sanchez Cartel headquarters. At first, it was just advance teams arriving. Each group that made it there quickly realized the text message had been telling the truth. That much was easy to judge—Dorok's presence at the scene was proof enough.
Dorok's men were all Sanchez Cartel elites, and despite being outnumbered five to one, they fought the enemy to a standstill. His side was small but well-trained and on home turf, while the opposing groups—though greater in total numbers—belonged to different factions and didn't cooperate seamlessly.
Dorok's goal was simple: stabilize the chaos, survive the crisis, and then all but certainly take over the Sanchez Cartel. But things kept turning for the worse. The opposition's reinforcements just kept coming. The Five Majors sent fresh troops in waves, while Sanchez reinforcements, though en route, were too few to turn the tide.
Everything truly unraveled when Dorok was killed by a stray bullet. The battlefield was so chaotic that the round seemed to come from nowhere, striking him in the head and killing him instantly.
He had been the anchor of the Sanchez forces. With him gone, their morale collapsed—many were killed, many surrendered. The Five Majors, who moments before had been poised for victory, immediately turned on each other. The "prize" was simply too great. Whoever swallowed the Sanchez Cartel would instantly become the largest force in Mexico—a temptation no one could resist.
The Five Majors tore into each other like rabid dogs. It was a free-for-all; anyone not wearing your colors was an enemy. News spread quickly back to the United States. Mexico was already a primary focus for every major U.S. intelligence agency, and Ciudad Juárez was a hotspot. Nearly every kind of U.S. agency had assets in the city.
This kind of chaos was beyond the control of the Mexican government. Even deploying the entire Marine Corps might not have been enough to restore order. The same was true for the Five Majors—once the fighting started, it was too late to pull back unless all five leaders gave the order simultaneously, which was all but impossible. As for the U.S., they had long wanted Mexico destabilized—but once it actually happened, no one could predict how it would end.
…
At CTU, the sweet and naive girl quietly closed her interface and wiped every trace of her involvement. With U.S. agencies intently focused on Mexico, CTU included, she dared not continue using public resources to assist Owen's team. She wasn't the only hacker with skill—if the wrong person noticed, she could be implicated.
…
Inside the container, someone had opened the money bags. Seeing the piles of U.S. dollars brought smiles all around. Thanks to the good relationship between Owen and Sam, the two teams felt no urge to turn on each other over the cash—though Ela was a different story.
Ela had worried about this from the start. She had no history with Sam's team, and while she'd crossed paths with Owen's Omega squad, they weren't close. From any angle, she was the easiest to cut loose. With real cash in front of them, losing one person meant a bigger share for everyone else. She couldn't be sure of anyone's integrity.
So she had been hyper-vigilant all along, keeping her presence as low-key as possible. Even so, she still sensed faint hostility.
It wasn't just paranoia—Sam had actually raised the issue with Owen. But his reasoning wasn't greed; it was about security. They'd stirred up a hornet's nest, and any leak could bring retaliation they couldn't survive. Sam could vouch for his own people; Owen could vouch for Omega. But Ela was an unknown factor—a ticking time bomb. And the simplest way to deal with a bomb was to set it off early.
In the end, Owen vouched for her.
"Ela, can I trust you?"
"Of course. You saved my life. I owe you, and I have no reason to betray anyone..."
No one spoke. The silence in the container pressed on her until she nearly went mad. But she made no defensive move, didn't even unhook her gun's safety. She knew that if they wanted to kill her, she had no chance of fighting back. These were veterans—and Owen's shooting alone was faster than she could react. She'd seen him in action. If he wanted her dead, she'd be dead.
"Would you like to join Omega?"
The question caught her off guard, but she quickly understood—it was Owen throwing her a lifeline. Joining Omega made her one of them, and Owen would protect her.
"Of course. I'd be glad to."
The moment she agreed, she sensed the tension ease. Sam smiled. Bryan smiled. Owen's men smiled.
"Welcome aboard."
Fred stepped forward to hug her. He'd hated the thought of his former commander's daughter being killed here but had been powerless to stop it. Now, relief washed over him, and he gave Owen a grateful look.
"Alright, guys, I can't wait to know exactly how much money we have..."
Owen shifted the topic, instantly lightening the mood. Everyone wanted to know their share. It had been agreed from the start that the split would be equal, but no one knew the total yet.
They began sorting and counting the bags. Tedious work—but the smell of money made it a pleasure. Thankfully, Leta Sanchez had bundled the cash neatly in $10,000 stacks, but it was still a lot to handle.
After sorting, they had twenty-one bags in total, large and small, to be divided among thirteen people. Once counted, the total came to just over $150 million—so they rounded it to $150 million.
When they heard the number, they went wild. One hundred and fifty million...
"Wait, let me think. $150 million split twelve ways is—"
"No, thirteen. Don't forget Becky."
Owen corrected him. Freak apologized. "Right, thirteen people. So $150 million divided by—"
Freak fumbled with the math so badly that Owen had to step in. "About $11.53 million each."
Mental arithmetic wasn't exactly an American strength—Freak clearly wasn't the exception.
"Oh my God, $11.53 million! I'm a multi-millionaire! How am I going to spend it..."
Excited shouts filled the container. Sam smiled but cut in. "Actually, it's less. This is dirty money. It has to be laundered. I'm sure none of you want a fortune you can't spend. To use it freely, we have to clean it—and laundering fees are steep. Usually twenty-five percent."
"What? Twenty-five percent?"
"Those bloodsuckers..."
"Giving up a quarter just like that? I'll kill them..."
The outcry was immediate. Losing $37 million right off the top was painful—but there was no way around it. Money laundering was a specialist job, and amateurs couldn't pull it off.
"Alright, fine, twenty-five percent it is. So, after laundering, how much is each of us getting?"
"About eight million..."
"Eight million... so not quite a multi-millionaire. But close enough—oh yeah..."
One person shouted, then another, until the whole container was roaring with laughter. Owen grinned from ear to ear. Nearly six hundred chapters in, and the author had finally let him make some money. It had been a long time coming.
…
Border Killer is finished. Chapters 559–597 are from Border Killer. The Phantom Squad are the protagonists of Ghost Recon: Wildlands. Sam's team is from The A-Team. Ela is from Rainbow Six: Siege. The ending borrows from Triple Frontier. The cartel vs. anti-drug police plot points are inspired by real events—yes, Mexican drug lords really are this brazen. Scary, isn't it?
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