American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 142 A good routine can be used twice

Beta walked to the worn whiteboard and picked up a marker. He quickly sketched several intersecting road lines on the board, the ink bleeding slightly on the old whiteboard surface.

"Five days later, on the intercontinental highway." He drew a red circle at the intersection with his pen: "You only need to remember this face to identify the target."

He attached a photo, its edges secured with magnets, which trembled slightly in the air conditioning blast: "Go ask Sterling for the specific file information."

The marker made a sharp sound as it scratched across the whiteboard. Beta drew a simple truck on the road map: "Same old rules, bumper cars. Only this time the stage is a highway, ten times more exciting than last time."

Fulton suddenly jumped up from his chair and let out an excited shout: "Whoa!"

The mute woman's cat-like eyes were fixed on the route map on the whiteboard. Her long legs, beneath her pencil skirt, shifted their position, and the leather sofa creaked softly.

McCree stubbed out his third cigarette, his brow furrowing deeply: "You already used the car crash tactic last time, are you going to do it again this time?"

The cigarette butts piled up in the ashtray swayed slightly: "Isn't the risk too great?"

Beta tapped the edge of the whiteboard lightly with his fingers, making a rhythmic tapping sound: "Using a car is the safest way."

His gaze swept over everyone: "On the highway, tell me how to stop a fully armed escort convoy? The only way to force them to stop is by bumping them together with other vehicles."

“Our goal is to eliminate witnesses, not to save lives,” Beta said. “We’ll do whatever it takes. Besides, who says a good strategy can’t be used twice?”

Beta raised his hand and tapped the whiteboard, the metal bracket making a crisp, resonant sound.

“However,” his voice suddenly turned serious, “there’s something I need to make clear beforehand.”

The room fell silent, and even Fulton stopped yelling.

Beta's gaze slowly swept across everyone's faces: "The real employer is not me, but someone else."

He paused deliberately to make sure everyone heard what he was about to say: "On the day of the operation, no matter how badly you run Don Louis over, as long as he has a breath left, the last shot must be reserved for my employer."

“This is a hard and fast rule. Anyone who gets itchy fingers will be sent on their way early.” His gaze finally landed on Fulton: “They’ll bear the consequences.”

Fulton stood up and gave a standard Canadian Air Force salute: "Sir yeah sir!"
-
Beta and the mute walked side by side down the rusty metal stairs, their footsteps echoing in the empty factory.

The faint scent of perfume emanating from the mute man lingered around Beta's nose, like the scent of datura blooming at midnight mixed with a hint of gunpowder.

His gaze inadvertently swept over her low-cut neckline, where an exquisite tattoo was faintly visible: a ferocious dragon entwined around a cross, its tail disappearing just below the edge of the fabric.

"The last operation," the mute voice said with admiration, her high heels clicking crisply on the iron steps, "they all told me the details. You are indeed ruthless and decisive, I like that."

She turned her head, her platinum blonde hair brushing against Beta's shoulder: "It's a pity I was on Peric Island at the time, 'borrowing' some trinkets from the blonde boss. I wasn't here, otherwise I would definitely have come to join the fun with you guys."

Beta raised an eyebrow slightly: "'Take'?"

He deliberately emphasized the pronunciation of the word: "The blond boss you're talking about, is that the drug lord who sells chemicals to three continents?"

The emergency light at the corner of the stairs cast the two men's shadows on the mottled wall: "Peric Island is his private fortress. What can you 'get'? You'd be better off robbing him."

The mute woman stopped, a wild smile playing on her lips: "That's right, we went to rob someone."

Her tongue slowly licked her canine teeth: "Otherwise, how do you think you got that Rolls-Royce? Did you win it in a lottery? Hahaha!"

Beta stopped at the corner of the stairs: "What do you want to say?" The mute leaned against the mottled concrete wall, his platinum hair shining in the dim light.

“Sterling is planning a special operation.” She lowered her voice, her fingertips tracing the dragon tattoo on her collarbone. “If it succeeds, we can all retire.”

Beta suddenly burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the empty stairwell.

"A particularly big plan?" He shook his head, a hint of mockery in his eyes. "You few think you can retire? Unless you empty the vaults on the third basement floor of the United Savings Bank, you can forget about retiring for the rest of your lives."

“You lot,” Beta said, pointing in all directions up and down the stairs. “From the loud and boisterous Fulton to the mysterious you, you all have the same restlessness etched into your bones.”

The factory light bulbs flickered, casting dancing shadows on the mute man's face.

Beta continued, "Like a wild beast locked in a cage, always restless, always looking for the next thrill. You can smell that quality from three blocks away."

The mute chuckled softly, raising her hand to tuck her platinum blonde hair behind her ear, revealing a tiger head tattoo: "So? Join?"

Beta shook his head: "No. You're all crazy, I'm not."
-
When Beta pushed open the apartment door, the motion-sensor light in the entryway turned on automatically.

He took off his coat and hung it on the coat rack.

In the master bedroom, Katalia had shed all her disguise. She sat in front of the dressing mirror with her back to the door, wearing only a black lace bra, the wound on her left shoulder glowing an unnatural pink under the warm light.

She carefully applied the ointment to the still-healing scars with a cotton swab, her brow furrowing slightly in pain.

Beta's figure suddenly appeared in the mirror, and Katalia paused for a moment. Their eyes met in the mirror.

"Why don't you try contacting your boyfriend?" Beta leaned against the doorframe. "Maybe he's still waiting for you."

Katalia laughed out loud, a laugh that caused a little more blood to seep from her wound.

"Really?" She tossed away the blood-stained cotton swab, turned to face Beta, her black lace bra cinching her chest. "Why would you contact someone who almost made me an FBI target?"

The Los Angeles skyline outside the window is dazzling, but inside the apartment, only the scraping sound of plastic as medicine bottle caps are tightened remains.

Beta cleared her throat awkwardly, her gaze shifting from her bare shoulders: "Put on a jacket, the air conditioning is set too low."

He turned and walked toward the bathroom; the camouflage material on his face was starting to itch.

Katalia's voice, like a soft hook, chased after me from behind: "What?"

She deliberately slowed her speech: "Such a sexy outfit, it got our Mr. Salong aroused? So you like this kind of mood."

Beta turned around at the bathroom door.

“I’m a normal man.” He frankly spread his hands and admitted, “At the same time, I have to say, you really are infuriating. But, you should still put on a jacket.”

Katalia did not respond immediately.

She stood up, supporting herself on the vanity with one hand, and watched Beta turn and disappear into the bathroom. A smile appeared on her lips, and her eyes were as soft as melting honey.

(End of this chapter)