American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 109 Meet again
A fierce exchange of fire erupted from the direction where the monkey was located.

"boom!"

"Dududu-"

The explosive roar of standard-issue rifles clashed violently with the muffled thud of silenced rifles in the corridor.

Medvedeva gestured to Zebra, who understood and quickly moved towards the source of the sound. The navigator was holding the stairwell due to injury, and Medvedeva needed to maintain firepower on the first floor; only Zebra could provide support at this point.

The sound of silenced weapons firing became more frequent, completely suppressing the enemy's firepower.

"Dudududu——"

The gunfire stopped abruptly.

A moment later, Zebra reappeared in the living room. He made a confirmation gesture to Medvedeva, who understood and raised her gun, pointing it at the second-floor platform.

The monkey emerged from the shadows behind the zebra, leaned against the wall to change its magazine, and the click of the metal magazine going into its slot was particularly clear in the brief silence.

The three of them silently ascended the stairs, their suppressed breathing echoing through the entire villa.

On the second floor, Bianca was there, all alone. Medvedeva gripped her rifle tightly, with Zebra and Monkey flanking her on either side, their guns always pointed at any corner where danger might be lurking.

It's time to put an end to all this.
-
Beta put away the bloodstained butterfly knife and dialed the Continental Hotel's cleaning department hotline: "I need to arrange dinner for a guest. The venue is large, but there aren't many guests, so I need you to send a sufficient service team."

"It would be our pleasure, sir. May we ask where you would like to dine?"

"The warehouse park in Queens, New York, is in a very prominent location."

"Understood, sir. The service team will arrive in 50 minutes."

After hanging up the phone, Beta's gaze fell on the blood-stained driver's license on the floor. He bent down to pick it up, opened the page, and looked at the photo of Jason Bourne.

A memory surfaced: in an encrypted communication channel, an employer had offered a high price to kill a "professionally trained person." Jason Bourne looked like he was being hunted, extremely nervous. Beta felt that Jason was very likely the person the client wanted.

Beta closed the blood-stained driver's license and laid Jason Bourne's body on the ground.

Beta pulled out his phone, crouched down, and pointed the camera at the face. He pressed the shutter repeatedly, the flash going off constantly, capturing the precise knife wound on the neck and Jason Bourne's gradually freezing facial expression.

Looking at the dozen or so high-definition close-up photos in the album, Beta had a premonition that she had inexplicably completed an order.

Beta shoved his phone back into his pocket and walked back to where his car had been hit. No one was around; it was eerily quiet. He lifted the deformed trunk lid, the metal hinges groaning shrilly. Two specially made elbows were securely wedged into their shock-absorbing grooves.

Beta unscrewed the grip of one of the pistols, glimpsing the concealed sniper components. Good, the custom-made equipment escaped unscathed.

Beta detached the left rearview mirror from his car and checked his disguise. A piece of the mask on his forehead was missing. Beta took out a baseball cap and put it on, covering his forehead.

He couldn't stay here any longer; it was no longer safe after the fighting had broken out.

He needs a new safe house.
-
Nassau County, New York.

Beta staggered out of the car, leaning on his crutches. The door opened faster than he expected. Katalia unlatched the door and looked at Beta as he approached.

"It's you again." Katalia narrowed her eyes, her gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar mask on Beta's face. Her eyes locked onto the right elbow, and without warning, she raised her leg to kick.

Beta twisted his wrist sharply, his elbow striking just short of the attack, but the movement caused him to lose his balance and fall heavily to the ground. "You—" Katalia's expression changed instantly; she crouched down, "Are you really hurt?"

Beta let her help him up: "Could it be fake?"

Katalia tightened her grip, her knuckles turning pale: "Where exactly are you hurt?" Her voice was filled with worry.

Beta adjusted the angle of his elbow: "I hurt my tongue, so I have to use this thing to walk."

Katalia rolled her eyes and dragged him towards the living room: "Stop talking nonsense. Who did you mess with this time?"

The door had barely clicked shut when Beta casually leaned his elbows against the shoe cabinet, his movements as light as if nothing had happened. He strolled leisurely into the living room, brushing the dust off the bookshelves with his fingers, as if visiting a museum exhibit.

Katalia froze, her pupils dilating slightly in shock. The next second, fury blazed through her ears: "You fucking—" She lunged forward, her right leg sweeping towards Beta's lower back with a whoosh.

As if he had eyes in the back of his head, Beta turned around and grabbed her ankle. With a push, Katalia fell onto the sofa, the leather surface making a dull thud.

Beta's eyes deepened, and he slowly slipped his right hand inside his clothes, pressing it against his left chest: "I'm not lying to you, this time it's for real." Every word he spoke carried a heavy weight.

Katalia crossed her arms and sneered, "You're quite the actress, aren't you?" She deliberately avoided looking at Beta, but her gaze involuntarily drifted towards Beta's pale lips.

Until Beta froze in place like a sculpture, even the rise and fall of his breath became faint.

Katalia lunged forward, her nails almost digging into his arm: "Speak! Was it cyanide? Or was it shrapnel that hit your heart?"

Her voice began to tremble, her previous composure crumbling. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains, illuminating the fine beads of cold sweat on Beta's forehead; this time, it seemed no joke.

The moment Katalia's fingers touched Beta's collar, he suddenly tensed up and swiftly withdrew his right hand from his chest.

"Snapped!"

A perfectly straight middle finger appeared before Katalia's eyes.

"Fucking Salunwick!" Katalia roared, making the glasses on the coffee table tremble.

With a sideways whip kick, Beta fell headfirst onto the sofa.

"Ahem." Beta raised his hands: "Just kidding to lighten the mood, I surrender, I surrender."
-
In southern Spain, the faint morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the vineyard, casting diamond-shaped dappled patterns of light on the oak floors.

Bianca's body lay supine in a pool of blood, dark red liquid still seeping from the round bullet hole in her forehead, her unfocused pupils reflecting the crystal chandelier on the ceiling.

The navigator handed over a digital camera with his bandaged hand, the metal casing stained with undried blood.

Zebra took three close-up photos of Bianca's body from different angles, then handed the camera to Medvedeva, leaving a sticky feeling on her palm.

"Take it back and report," the navigator explained.

Medvedeva silently stuffed the camera into her backpack, but her gaze involuntarily drifted toward the dressing room in the corner.

Dozens of haute couture suits hung neatly, yet swayed slightly in the draft.

The deepest part of the Venetian mirror reflected light and shadow, its surface seemingly alive, making the hairs on Medvedeva's neck stand on end. Something was watching them from the other side of the mirror.

(End of this chapter)