Chapter 142: Dragons Soaring and Phoenixes Dancing

11:45 PM, Brooklyn. The "Mrs. Mitt Inn," a street-side motel.

Even when out for a night of indulgence with two white sex workers, Garcia remained incredibly cautious. He had chosen the Mrs. Mitt Inn specifically for its corner location, which offered a wide field of vision and, should any emergency arise, an easy route for escape.

Just then, several pitch-black SUVs glided in from the distance. To avoid alerting their target, Roan had instructed the SWAT team not to park directly in front of the motel, but instead at a street corner some distance away—a position that kept them hidden in the motel’s blind spot.

The heavily armed agents stepped out of their vehicles. Roan, who had carefully scouted the motel’s surroundings beforehand, turned to Ryder with a solemn expression.

"If things go sideways, there are two main routes for a quick and safe exit: the alleyway on the east side of the building and the balconies of each room. Sanchez from the ATF mentioned that several cases in South America are tied to Garcia. I need you and your SWAT team to secure these two exits. When we move, Garcia must not be allowed to escape."

"Copy that." Despite the gravity of the situation, Ryder nodded decisively. He signaled to his team, and two squads of SWAT officers moved out toward the designated positions to seal the routes.

Watching them move, Roan nodded and turned to Mona, who remained in the passenger seat of the SUV, her fingers flying across her laptop keyboard. "Which room is Garcia in?"

"The center room on the second floor!" Mona replied immediately.

"Got it."

Moments later, after confirming that Ryder’s team had reached their positions, Roan flashed a grin. He pulled on his tactical helmet, disengaged the safety on his Glock 18, and led the remaining two SWAT squads in a swift sprint toward the motel.

A SWAT officer with a ballistic shield silently pushed open the main door. Roan gestured for the white woman at the front desk to stay quiet and had Mona stay behind to handle her, then led the team up to the second floor.

Outside the center room, Roan and the SWAT officers took their positions on either side of the door. They exchanged a look, and Roan began a silent countdown with his fingers.

As he reached zero, the officer with the shield kicked the door open.

*BANG!*

Roan and the SWAT team surged in, shouting in unison: "FBI! Don't move! Hands up!"

Before the team burst in, Garcia had been flushed with excitement, tangled up with the two women. The deafening crash of the door being kicked open caused him to flinch violently, nearly ruining the moment entirely. However, years of surviving on the razor's edge allowed him to recover in a split second.

He lunged for the handgun resting on the bed, grabbed the woman who had been beneath him, and hauled her up as a human shield.

"Ahhh—!" The two women shrieked in terror, the one held by Garcia screaming the loudest.

"Shut up!" *SMACK!*

Seeing the SWAT team pouring into the room, Garcia struck the woman he was holding to silence her. He pressed his head firmly behind her shoulder and jammed the muzzle of his pistol against her temple, bellowing, "Get out of this room now! Or I'll kill her!"

Roan quickly grabbed the other woman, who was still naked and trembling on the bed, and ordered his team to escort her to safety.

The SWAT officer with the shield and rifle shouted back: "Let her go, Garcia! You know this isn't going to end the way you want it to!"

"Bullshit!" The naked Garcia roared, his face dark. "Either I walk out, or she dies!"

The hostage trembled violently, her face pale with terror.

"Garcia, look at her. She’s terrified," Roan said, stepping forward with his Glock 18 held steady. "You need a more valuable hostage. How about me? Take me instead!"

"No, no, no!" Garcia shook his head frantically, screaming, "Not a chance! Don't even think about it!"

Roan narrowed his eyes and took a slow step forward. "Trust me, Garcia. If you switch to me, you'll have a much better chance of getting out of here alive."

"No!" Seeing Roan advancing, Garcia’s face flushed an even deeper red. "Don't come any closer! One more step and I'll—"

*BANG! BANG! BANG!*

Before Garcia could finish, a flash of intensity crossed Roan’s eyes. In a blur of movement that no one could track, he shifted to the side of the room and squeezed the trigger of his Glock 18, aiming precisely at Garcia’s gun-wielding hand.

Three bullets struck Garcia’s hand and arm with surgical precision. Deprived of its support, the pistol clattered to the floor.

As the pain surged through his arm, Garcia stared at Roan in utter disbelief, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. *F—k! Is this guy even human?*

The nearby SWAT officers were equally stunned. To them, Roan had been standing in front of them one second, and in the next, he had "teleported" to their flank. And his marksmanship was impeccable. They looked at Roan with newfound awe.

But there was no time to ponder if Roan was human. Garcia shoved the screaming hostage toward Roan and bolted for the balcony.

Roan caught the woman as she stumbled toward him. The moment Garcia reached the balcony, Ryder—who had been waiting outside—and the SWAT team inside opened fire simultaneously.

*RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!*

Under a hail of gunfire, Garcia collapsed to the ground, blood spurting from his body. Whether by intent or sheer misfortune, one of the bullets struck Garcia’s "pride and joy," severing it clean in two.

"Hiss—" Roan felt a phantom chill run down his own spine.

He quickly averted his gaze and gestured to the SWAT team. "Call an ambulance, now!"

Whether Garcia would survive was unknown, but the protocol had to be followed. After all, this was the procedural justice of the United States.

***

Meanwhile, at a hospital far away, Corbett sat in a wheelchair, bandages wrapped around him, while Verenice lay in a nearby bed. Though they were in different rooms, both were silently staring at the mindless television programs playing before them.

Neither of them was truly watching the screen; they were both waiting for word on the night’s operation.