American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 8 "Predator"

The little girl glanced at Leon, as if confirming something, and then said softly, "My name is Matilda."

Beta smiled slightly and replied gently, "A good name."

"Leon, shall we set off now?" Beta asked.

Leon didn't say much, but simply raised his hand to put on his signature round sunglasses and replied briefly, "Let's go."

Matilda nimbly jumped off the chair, grabbed the unfinished sundae from the table, and subtly moved closer to Leon while deliberately keeping a distance from Beta.

-

An unremarkable black Land Rover Discovery was driving on a country road far from London.

This was rented by Beta. It has a spacious interior, excellent off-road performance, and most importantly, this kind of ordinary car that you see everywhere will not attract any attention.

Outside the car window, the endless farmland swept past in the twilight.

Beta pulled an exquisite cigarette case from his pocket and handed it to Leon: "This is a special Far East import, much better than those rotten leaves from England."

He shrugged: "Anyway, I don't smoke, so you can have it all."

Leon took the cigarette case, skillfully unpacked it, and lit a cigarette.

Then, Beta took a gleaming butterfly knife from the armrest storage box and handed it to Matilda in the back seat: "A little something for you. This knife has been with me for a long time; it's seen blood."

He paused meaningfully: "He's been involved in murder."

Matilda casually set the empty sundae box aside and took the gleaming butterfly knife.

Her slender fingers flipped the knife handle, the metal parts making a crisp "click" sound, and the blade drew a cold arc inside the carriage.

"Thank you," she said briefly, her tone revealing a composure beyond her years.

"How come your arms dealer is in this rural area?" Beta asked, his tone tinged with doubt.

Leon adjusted his sunglasses and calmly replied, "He's not exactly a professional arms dealer; he's just a farmer obsessed with firearms. He makes hunting rifles and rifles, and occasionally modifies some old World War II artifacts he finds."

The Land Rover slowly drove into the manor gate. In front of the main villa, three black Land Rover Discoveries of the same model were parked neatly in the parking lot.

Beta slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching on the gravel road.

"Is this a Land Rover owners' club?" Beta asked, looking at the three Land Rover Discoveries that looked odd.

Leon's hand slid subtly to his waist, his fingertips gently tracing the outline of the pistol hidden beneath his clothes. Meanwhile, Matilda, in the back seat, peered curiously through the car window at the several black SUVs that looked like carbon copies of each other.

Beta rolled down the car window a crack: "It's a cop's car, equipped with concealed police lights. Put your gun away, a Predator is coming this way with her human slaves."

Leon looked over and saw several figures walking out of the villa.

The leading Black woman was nearly 1.8 meters tall, with thick braids tied behind her head like steel cables. Her face, at first glance, reminded one of someone run over by a truck; at second glance, she looked like an alien hunter straight out of a science fiction movie. Even the usually expressionless Leon couldn't help but chuckle: "Damn. She really is a Predator."

Matilda burst out laughing, then quickly covered her mouth. Beta's metaphor was infuriatingly sarcastic, yet terrifyingly accurate.

Several men in black surrounded the Land Rover Discovery in a fan shape. The leader, a "Predator," strode forward and pounded on the car window with his knuckles.

She slammed her ID against the car window, the stamped seal gleaming coldly in the sunlight: "MI6 Special Operations Team. Turn off the engine, get out of the car, and show your identification, immediately."

The ugly face in front of me looks like a failed Predator cosplay.

Beta lowered his head, pretending to look for his ID, using this action to adjust his expression. When he looked up again, he had put on a sincere face.

“We heard that the owner of this house…” He deliberately dragged out his words, turning to look at Leon. Faced with the sudden questioning from MI6, this improvised excuse needed Leon's cooperation to perfect it.

After all, only Leon truly knew the arms dealer's background.

Leon handed over his identification, then replied fluently in English with an American accent: "I heard he specializes in collecting and modifying weapons from World War II. I own a gun shop in New York, and I came here specifically to find a few antique guns to take back to the United States."

His tone was as calm as if he were discussing today's weather.

The identification Beta presented was a meticulously prepared, specially made version—a near-perfect "clean identity."

This American citizen's background was impeccable; aside from a few insignificant British traffic violations, he could withstand any investigation. Ironically, the more ordinary and unremarkable one's identity, the safer they are under MI6's watchful eye.

Leon also displayed his specially made credentials, the information on which was equally airtight.

As for Matilda, she sat quietly in the back seat, perfectly embodying the image of a harmless little girl.

The "Predator" merely glanced at her, not even bothering to ask for identification. After all, in the eyes of military intelligence agents, what threat could a minor girl pose?
The Predator tapped the roof of the car with his knuckles, producing a dull metallic sound: "Identity verification takes time. The owner of this estate is suspected of a gun-related case."

She paused deliberately, her eyes scanning back and forth between the two of them: "You are not allowed to leave until everything is confirmed."

Beta immediately put on a wronged expression, looking like an innocent citizen who had been wronged: "What are you talking about? We're just ordinary people who run a small business!"

He waved his hands dramatically: "Good heavens, we came all this way just to get some goods that we can sell, and now we don't even have our personal freedom?"

Beta pulled out his phone and shouted indignantly, "I'll contact the US Embassy right now! We are legally entrants to the US, what right does MI6 have to detain foreigners without cause?"

His thumb was already hovering over the dial button, poised to trigger a diplomatic incident at any moment.

Perhaps their status as American citizens was indeed impeccable, or perhaps Beta's bluff had an effect.

After his subordinates verified the authenticity of the documents, the "Predator" took a step back with a grim face and reluctantly waved his hand: "You can go now."

Her eyes flashed with resentment, but she ultimately failed to find any flaws in the two "ordinary businessmen".

Beta immediately adopted the typical American arrogance, slamming the car door shut with an air of haughtiness. He deliberately floored the accelerator, and under the watchful eyes of the MI6 team, he drove off with Leon and Matilda, the tires kicking up a cloud of smoke on the gravel road.

(End of this chapter)