The Wolf of Los Angeles

[Chapter 233: Failed]

With a sharp gunshot, the bearded man who was running fell to the ground, blood gushing from his leg where the bone had shattered.

Despite the pain, he remained lucid. Using the momentum of his fall, he rolled behind two stone flowerbeds. Beads of cold sweat poured from his forehead, and his face turned an alarming shade of pale. Through the gaps in the flowerbed, he saw four bodies lying on the stone-paved square.

Among the four subordinates who had come with him, none had survived. Grinding his teeth, the bearded man turned his gaze back. Their getaway car was parked less than thirty meters away. It was impossible to reach it now.

Before coming here, the intel had warned that Hawke Osment was a crack shot and had some combat skills, but he never expected his shooting to be this remarkable. And those three or four bodyguards weren't ordinary either; one of them even shot better than their sniper. If it hadn't been for the fact that the sun hat had been taken out early in the fight, they wouldn't have been in this dire situation.

But the bearded man felt no regret. These mercenaries made their living on the edge. They sold their lives for cash, and dying in the process was simply part of the business.

The sound of helicopters filled the air. The bearded man looked up in the direction of the sound and could faintly see two helicopters swiftly approaching. From the thrum of the rotors and their silhouettes, they were likely from the FBI.

Sensing movement from the other side, he quickly raised his gun and fired a few shots in that direction.

...

Hawke remained concealed behind a Mercedes, fully aware of his advantageous position. He certainly wouldn't rush out and take unnecessary risks, not when he'd just become a live target.

The FBI helicopters arrived, and the situation was already decided. Gunfire erupted again.

...

The bearded man emptied his rifle magazine, pulled out his phone, and smashed out the SIM card with his pistol. He then fired several shots at the phone itself.

The helicopters approached closer and lower, revealing the enormous "FBI" letters written across their bodies. The bearded man had no thoughts of making it out alive. He took a handgun and prepared to end it himself. If he died on a mission, his family would at least receive a substantial compensation.

Being captured by the FBI was unthinkable; if he couldn't hold out, the consequences would be dire. Those FBI agents would use every dirty trick in the book. With a finger poised on the trigger, he pulled it, and with the sound of a gunshot, blood erupted from his head as he fell lifelessly to the ground.

...

The FBI helicopter landed, and two fully equipped teams of agents swiftly took control of Citrus Square. A bomb disposal unit was also en route.

Hawke directly asked Brian to negotiate. For one, Brian was one of the involved parties. On the other hand, the FBI's lead investigator was Jennifer Huey. The charm of the charismatic man was just what they needed.

Five bodies lay on the ground of Citrus Square. Upon inquiring, Hawke learned that apart from the four killed earlier, there was also one who had shot himself after sustaining leg injuries. Counting the guy who had died in the car explosion, at least six people were dead.

The direct attackers didn't leave any survivors. As of now, nothing was found that could confirm their identities. This was a meticulously planned attack.

...

Once the ambulance arrived, Hawke instructed the medical staff to take Edward to the hospital. Edward stated, "Boss, I should be fine; it's just some superficial wounds."

Hawke pressed him onto the stretcher, saying, "Go to the hospital for a full check-up. Don't rush back; stay overnight for observation." Edward didn't argue further and boarded the ambulance.

...

Hawke called Austin, the director of Twitter security, ordering him to cancel all personnel leave, arm everyone with weapons, and raise the alert level to maximum.

...

Next, he contacted Campos, instructing him to send someone to the hospital to provide protection for Edward.

Since the attackers had even used a car bomb, who knew if they would launch another, even crazier assault? While still on the phone with Campos, Hawke mentioned the Burbank Hotel.

Campos promptly headed there, keeping an eye on Douglas Coster and his entourage. Currently, there was no evidence linking BlackRock's people to the incident, but such matters didn't require proof. In Hawke's eyes, anyone with significant conflicts of interest was a prime suspect.

Emma Batson was also under surveillance from Campos's side.

...

Finishing his phone call, Hawke saw that the FBI had initiated a preliminary examination of the scene. Jennifer Huey approached him, saying, "The scene is too horrific." She turned to Brian beside her, "Fortunately, you're okay."

Brian pointed to Hawke, "He protected me. Without Hawke, that explosive car would have rammed right into us."

Jennifer asked Hawke, "Are you injured?"

Hawke looked disheveled and covered in soot from the explosion. "I'm lucky this time; my friend crashed into the car to save me, and a few bodyguards fought hard..."

Jennifer patted his arm, "Should I notify Erica?"

Hawke gestured with his phone, "I'll call her."

"After your call, I'll need to take your statement," Jennifer informed him, ready to handle the documentation herself.

...

Hawke called Erica and lightly mentioned a few details. Erica had already heard about the explosion in Covina; upon realizing it involved Hawke, her tone immediately turned serious, "I'm heading over right now."

...

The scene was entirely cordoned off by the FBI, and journalists with inside information rushed to the perimeter, snapping pictures. Hawke, covered in debris and soot, didn't bother to clean up; he simply boarded an FBI vehicle to provide his statement to Jennifer.

In truth, aside from unprovable speculations, he was somewhat at a loss. Where did the shooters come from? Who had driven the car bomb? He had no answers. If he hadn't recruited Raul, Guti, and Morentes as bodyguards recently, things could have turned out very differently today.

The accounts matched; they wouldn't face too many issues. The only point was that Guti used a modified AR-15 with an illegal bump stock, but that wouldn't matter much under Jennifer's scrutiny.

...

Sitting in the FBI vehicle, Brian, looking just as dusty and worn, handed Hawke a bottle of water, "I didn't expect you to be so loyal."

Hawke twisted the cap off, took a sip, and replied, "I'm counting on you to get me into the Oval Office. I can't afford to have you die on me here."

Brian grabbed another bottle of water, "Starting today -- no, starting tomorrow, I'm going to hit the gym. If anything like this happens again, at least I can run..."

"Wait a second!" Hearing that, Hawke felt like grabbing the bottle and shoving it in Brian's mouth, "Can you please stop saying things like that?"

Brian opened his mouth and suddenly realized he might genuinely be a harbinger of doom; he quickly shut it.

Hawke said seriously, "Don't you see how severe this situation is? Let's put aside the far-off issues; in the last two incidents -- the one at St. Mary's Mental Rehabilitation Center and today -- you said some pretty ridiculous stuff that turned out to be spot-on!"

With that, Brian began to doubt himself, "Am I really a curse-god?"

Hawke responded earnestly, "No doubt about it; you definitely are."

Brian shook his head vigorously; he couldn't let that reputation stick. "Those people shouldn't be targeting me..."

Hawke couldn't argue. He couldn't turn a blind eye to the truth. So, he simply closed his eyes: "But they chose to strike when you were there; they launched the attack where you are the mayor."

Their debate didn't reach a conclusion before someone knocked on the car door.

...

Jennifer opened the door and said, "There are a few crucial matters I need to clarify with you to avoid misunderstandings."

Hawke nodded, "Go ahead."

Jennifer stated directly, "Currently, the situation is unclear, and the incident hasn't been classified. You guys, being involved, should not make any public appearances or accept any media interviews. Keep your lines of communication open; we'll contact you as needed."

"I can handle that," Brian stressed, "Find out who did this as soon as possible."

Jennifer let out a helpless smile, "We're already looking into it. The five shooters at the square, judging by certain physical features, are most likely mercenaries. As for the guy who died in the car, he was blown to pieces, and identifying him will take a lot of work."

Hawke glanced outside, lowering his voice, "Check into those people I mentioned with your insiders as quickly as possible."

Jennifer lowered her voice in return, "We're already working on it. But against public figures and business elites, without solid evidence, the FBI doesn't have many options."

She referred to a former deputy supervisor of the LA branch who had faced the heat for mishandling some matters and was pushed into early retirement by headquarters.

Jennifer stated outright, "Don't expect too much from the FBI."

Hawke knew very well that the perpetrators wouldn't hesitate to act with open investigations. Coincidentally, he wasn't someone who relied solely on official inquiries.

There was still plenty to deal with at the scene. Once Jennifer completed her briefing, she left promptly.

...

Erica soon arrived and, upon seeing her boyfriend and cousin in such bad shape, looked extremely worried.

She took out wipes and helped Hawke clean the soot off his face, saying, "This clearly isn't over!"

...

At Los Angeles International Airport, in the Besten Internet Cafe, private detective Coulson sat in front of a computer, sipped his cold coffee, and refreshed Twitter once again.

This time, after the refresh, several new messages appeared on Twitter. One message caught Coulson's attention.

"Explosion suspected at Covina, East Los Angeles!"

Coulson quickly clicked on the news headline, which led to user-edited tweets accompanied by several blurry photographs.

The street, not very wide, was in disarray with bullet casings scattered about. A black Mercedes had shattered windows and was stopped in the middle of the road. Trash smoked nearby, and car fragments littered the ground. A thin door half-inserted itself into a tree beside the road.

Upon seeing the chaos, Coulson realized that Miller Collins had made his move.

He pulled out his phone and made a call, "How's the plan going?"

"It failed," Tim said bluntly from the other end, "It's time for you to leave."

*****

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