American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 17 The Debt Collection Ends
Beta was hidden in the shadow of the oak trees by the roadside, like a frozen statue.

Five minutes later, Elliott, driven by a chauffeur, will return to his villa from the private club deep in the forest along this winding country road in a Maybach S600.

He chose an ambush point at the highest point of the road, where he could clearly capture the outline of every vehicle that appeared from the bend in the mountain through his scope.

That Maybach wasn't a bulletproof model. As the son of a high-ranking police official, riding in a bulletproof car would be too ostentatious and unnecessary.

Beta remained motionless, like a lifeless rock. Swarms of mosquitoes buzzed around his ears, and a few even landed on his eyelashes, but he didn't even blink.

At the end of the forest road in the distance, two beams of car headlights pierced the night, appearing and disappearing among the layers of tree shadows.

In the utterly silent forest, the sound of the speeding luxury car's tires rolling over the asphalt road grew clearer and clearer, the rustling tire noise mixed with the deep roar of the engine, approaching this direction at a steady frequency.

Beta slowly raised his Mauser rifle, the barrel startling the swarm of mosquitoes hovering around him.

The diamond-shaped aiming reticle in the scope gradually contracted like a shrinking pupil, following his even breathing rhythm.

The distant roar of engines grew closer, and the diamond-shaped frame in the mirror continued to shrink. When the black Maybach rounded the last bend, its headlights pierced the night sky, shrinking precisely to the size of a soybean.

Beta pulled the trigger between two breaths.

The gun muzzle, with the filter screwed on, emitted only a muffled "thud," like a fist hitting cotton. This faint sound was absorbed by the dense shadows of the trees before it could even travel through the woods.

The windshield of the speeding Maybach suddenly shattered, creating a perfectly round hole.

The bodyguard in the driver's seat jolted violently, a blood blooming between his eyebrows. As he leaned back, his right foot remained firmly on the accelerator, causing the out-of-control luxury car to swerve sharply to the left, its wheels screeching against the asphalt.

Before the car had completely left the road, it crashed into a century-old oak tree at a 45-degree angle.

With a muffled "boom," the entire front of the car twisted and deformed instantly, the hood wrinkled like a piece of paper, and white smoke of antifreeze mixed with gasoline hissed out from the gaps.

The deformed frame was stuck between the tree trunks, like a metal beetle pinned down.

Elliott, who was in the back seat, escaped with his life thanks to his caution.

Even in the back seat, this young man, who valued his life above all else, habitually fastened his seatbelt. Although he was dizzy from the impact of the deployed airbag, he was at least still intact inside the car. If he hadn't worn a seatbelt in the back like most people, Beta would probably be searching for the young man's flying limbs in the bushes with a flashlight.

Beta drew his dagger and deftly cut the seatbelt wrapped around Elliot. He grabbed the man by the back of his collar with his left hand and dragged the young master out of the deformed carriage like a sack of potatoes.

Elliott's unfocused pupils gradually focused, and when he saw the masked man with a gun in front of him, he gasped sharply.

He mechanically turned his head to look at the twisted and deformed Maybach behind him, then turned back as if electrocuted, his back pressed tightly against the rough tree trunk. His leather shoes kicked futilely in the pile of fallen leaves, as if that would make him sink into the tree trunk. Although there was nowhere to retreat, the instinct for survival still drove him to keep crawling backward.

Elliott, the son of a high-ranking official who had clearly received professional crisis negotiation training, immediately activated his emergency rhetoric.

Despite his teeth chattering uncontrollably, he forced a calm demeanor and tossed out the chips: "Cash! A million pounds in the car! I didn't see your face, I swear, you were wearing a hood, I don't know who you are, and I don't want to know!"

He swallowed hard: "A million pounds will be yours in no time."

His eyes darted around quickly: "We'll need to borrow money from all over the family, and it'll probably take about half a month."

A soft chuckle came from beneath the hood. One million dollars in cash, readily available, was a simple calculation compared to the enormous ransom that would alarm Scotland Yard and potentially trigger a nationwide manhunt.

If it were an ordinary robber, they would probably be happily carrying the money box and making their escape by now. Unfortunately, Elliott encountered Beta, and this masked man was not a robber.

Beta said in a altered voice, "You know who I am."

Elliott's trembling face showed a puzzled expression: "I don't know."

Beta prompted, "Final payment."

Elliott's facial muscles contorted instantly, like crumpled parchment. His feigned composure vanished, replaced by hysterical trembling: "Money! I'll pay right now!"

His fingers gripped the tree trunk spasmodically: "I swear! The remaining payment from my father is still in the account, transfer it now! Transfer it immediately!"

"Please, I'll transfer the money right now," Elliott's voice trembled with tears, her lips shaking uncontrollably. "Switzerland, Cayman Islands, whichever offshore account you choose."

Beta remained suffocatingly silent.

"Double it again! I'll pay double right here!" Elliott's voice suddenly rose, his fingernails digging deep into the tree bark.

Beta watched the young man's hysteria and subsequent breakdown with the quiet detachment of a lab rat.

For a full three minutes, when Elliott finally collapsed and began to sob intermittently, his face was contorted to one side, and he didn't even dare to glance at the pistol out of the corner of his eye.

Beta breathed a sigh of relief; he was in an extremely good mood.

Leaning slightly forward, Beta called softly in a gentle tone, "Hey, Elliott, look at me, Elliott."

Elliott bit his lower lip hard, suppressing a sob in his throat, and turned his head away, trembling.

Beta pronounced "F" slowly and deliberately, each letter savoring like a delicious treat: "UCK"

He finally raised his voice: "FUCK! YOU!"

"Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!" Three short, muffled sounds exploded in the forest, only to be quickly absorbed by the dense foliage.

A few wisps of smoke rose from the muzzle of the silenced pistol, quickly dissipating into the humid air.

Beta's shooting movements were clean and crisp, two shots to the chest and one to the forehead, the whole set of movements flowing smoothly without the slightest hesitation.

He walked toward the twisted and mangled Maybach, his leather shoes screeching as they crunched over the shattered glass. The trunk lid was flung open, the hinges groaning metallicly. A black leather suitcase lay silently in the spare tire well; if the rich kid hadn't lied before he died, it contained cash.

Beta lifted the heavy suitcase with one hand, its crocodile-embossed surface gleaming coldly in the moonlight. He walked to the edge of the cliff and let go without hesitation. The suitcase tumbled down the near-vertical rock face, its metal corners striking the rocks and sending sparks flying. Five seconds later, a pale white splash erupted from the dark river in the distance, the dull thud echoing through the canyon.

Beta turned and left.

　Beta: Unscrupulous customer. This matter has nothing to do with money.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)