American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 133 Planning
The black Audi A6 slowly drove into the depths of the industrial area, its tires making a whooshing sound as they rolled over the cracked asphalt.

This red-brick factory, built in the 1970s, lies sprawled in the shadow of an overpass, its mottled exterior walls covered in rust-colored water stains. Every few minutes, a heavy trailer truck fully loaded with goods roars past the gate, causing the rusty iron fence to tremble slightly.

The car turned into the gravel-strewn yard, where three very different vehicles appeared.

On the left is a Mercedes-Benz Sprinter van with dark tint to the windows and several scratches on the middle door; in the middle is a 1990s Suburban with its bumper secured with wire. On the right is a fluorescent green McLaren 720S, its bright paint reflecting sunlight in the dust and smog of the industrial area.

Its low-slung body contrasts sharply with the surrounding mottled concrete pavement. This $300,000 mechanical work of art shouldn't be in such a place, just like a crystal chandelier shouldn't be in a slaughterhouse.

As Beta followed McRae and his two companions past the McLaren, the rear of the hood was still radiating heat, and the exhaust pipe occasionally emitted a crackling metallic cooling sound, indicating that the car had just arrived.

McCree pushed open the dilapidated wooden-framed glass door of the factory, the rusty hinges making a harsh sound.

He noticed Beta's gaze still lingering on the fluorescent green supercar, so he offered to explain, "That's 'Dumb's' car. She's the tough one who works with us. That girl is incredibly strong, but she doesn't like to talk, so everyone calls her that."

Beta nodded slightly and stepped through the factory gate. Just then, footsteps echoed from the second floor, accompanied by a high-pitched, distinctive male voice: "I'll emphasize again, this operation must be carried out with utmost caution."

Sterling, leaning on his cane, was coming downstairs with the mute man. He stopped and squinted at the stranger standing in the lobby.

He raised his cane and pointed it at Beta from afar, a broad smile spreading across his face: "Let me guess! This is the legendary 'Mr. Hat'? Ha! We finally meet!"

Beta stood still, her gaze fixed on the man, who looked to be around fifty years old. He wore a loose green plaid shirt, had a large belly, and his blue jeans were faded from washing. He walked quickly despite using a cane.

Sterling strode swiftly down the stairs, his movements surprisingly agile. He approached Beta and extended his hand warmly: "Let me introduce myself, Sterling Crester, the most skilled hacker in North America, bar none!"

Beta grasped Sterling's hand: "You guys are interesting. Everyone is using real faces and real names."

Sterling adjusted his glasses: "It's all thanks to me. Even if the FBI wanted to issue a warrant, I could hack into their database and modify the information at any time. So we've always done things openly and aboveboard."

Beta's gaze shifted to the woman standing on the stairs. She had pink and gray highlighted bouncy hair, an off-the-shoulder T-shirt with the slogan "I love Los Angeles" printed on it, slim-fit jeans, and spotless white sneakers.

She walked slowly down the stairs, stretched out her hand, and said briefly, "Dumb."

Beta took her hand; her palm was warm and dry, with calluses from holding a gun for a long time on the web of her hand, and the fluorescent green wristband on her wrist bone matched the color of the supercar outside the door.

Beta said, "The hat, of course, is a pseudonym."

The mute man nodded: "Obviously."

Sterling took two steps back, leaning on his cane, and waved to the crowd: "Looks like you have important matters to discuss, so we won't disturb you any longer."

He winked at the mute man: "Let's have a drink sometime."

Beta nodded briefly: "Okay."

Sterling and the mute turned and left. A moment later, the high-pitched roar of McLaren engines echoed outside the factory, and the screeching of tires screeching against the ground gradually faded into the distance.

McCree pointed to the rusty iron staircase: "There's a planning room on the second floor. Let's talk there."

Climbing to the second floor, the spacious factory building contained several old-fashioned sewing machines covered in dust. Sunlight streamed through the dirty windows, casting dappled shadows on the floor. Fordy pushed open an iron door in the corner, revealing the planning room inside. A huge table stood in the center, with a computer and a large printer in the corner, and whiteboards on the walls covered in writing.

Fulton gave an exaggerated bow and pulled out a chair: "Please take a seat, sir."

Beta sat down expressionlessly, and the others followed suit.

McCree cut to the chase: "We all understand the action plan, now we just want to know, how exactly do we execute it?"

Beta took a file folder from his duffel bag and placed it face down on the table. Fuldi stood up, took the folder, and distributed the documents to everyone present.

Beta turned on the projector and projected the plan onto the whiteboard.

"The operation is scheduled for two days from now, at 8:00 AM on the 13th, on 7th Avenue. The target is a former senior member of the Sinaloa Cartel in Mexico, with at least 17 murders on his hands. Now, to save his life, he has become a tainted witness for the government. We need to shut him up before the trial."

麦克瑞拿起资料中的路线图，眉头紧锁：“警方护送车队采用标准配置。1、2号位两辆道奇战马警车开路，3、4号位两辆福特拦截者押后。目标在3号车？”

Beta nodded.

Fulton slammed his fists on the table, making a loud thud: "Damn it! Tell me the details! I can't wait to pull off something big!"

“McCry’s task is simple. Get a ten-ton flatbed truck and load it with a whole truckload of cast iron sewer pipes.”

Beta zoomed in on the intersection of 7th Street and Ellson Avenue: "When the police convoy arrived at this location, they scattered steel pipes all over the street. There was a 15-meter-deep sewer on the left side of 7th Street, and the police's only option was to turn onto Ellson Avenue."

“Fulton, get a heavy-duty truck.” Beta turned to Fulton: “Like causing trouble?”

"My favorite!" Fulton rubbed his hands together excitedly, a smile spreading across his face.

Beta nodded and continued the deployment: "Ellson Street is only two lanes long and narrow. Ram the convoy head-on with heavy trucks; they'll have nowhere to hide. Remember, go full throttle and ram cars number 1 and 2. Our objective is to deal with the witnesses, not to engage in a shootout with the police."

Fulton jumped to his feet and gave an exaggerated salute: "Understood, sir!"

Beta turned to Fuldi and continued to deploy the task: "Your task is also to get a vehicle, preferably a heavy truck, and to lie in ambush on the roadside. After Fulton crashes into the parking lot, you drive your car into cars number 3 and 4 behind him."

"Remember, the harder we crash, the less pressure we'll face during the firefight. Ideally, we should completely destroy the witness's car, number 3, turning it into a compressed biscuit."

Fordy responded briefly: "Understood."

“I’ll prepare the escape vehicle for the three of us. After McCree completes his roadblock mission, he can leave on his own. I’ll be responsible for picking up Fulton and Fowdy.”

Beta surveyed the group: "I will equip you with automatic weapons. Once the convoy has come to a complete stop, we will clear the area immediately. Leave no one alive, and then evacuate quickly."

He emphasized the final key point: "Remember, the action must be swift and ruthless; there must be no time for the police to react."

(End of this chapter)