The Wolf of Los Angeles

[Chapter 313: The Genius]

In an SUV, four gunmen exited the vehicle. On the roadside, two other cars also had two gunmen getting out of each. Before they could raise their weapons, gunfire erupted from the rooftops on either side of the road. Assault rifles fired in rapid succession, and two light machine guns provided crossfire, cutting down the gunmen below like a scythe of death.

The gunmen from the Tequila Gang attempted to rely on their cars for cover, but against the armor-piercing rounds from the M249 machine gun, a civilian vehicle offered about as much protection as cardboard. Two snipers took careful aim, picking them off one by one. A round grenade fell from the sky, landing behind the SUV, and the last gunman collapsed.

Meanwhile, the SWAT team's vehicle encountered gunfire as well. The officers, distracted by the opening of the truck's door, barely had time to comprehend what was happening before a rocket propelled grenade shot into the back compartment. With a thunderous explosion, none of the five people within survived.

The passenger in the front seat tried to feign an inquiry with the garbage truck driver but was quickly cut down by a hail of bullets. The only survivor was the armored vehicle's driver, who, sensing the grim situation, immediately ducked down in his seat.

...

"Retreat!" Bosque issued the withdrawal order less than two minutes into the ambush. Around the rooftops, five or six people from either side sprang into action, racing along pre-planned escape routes until they reached another road and jumped into vehicles before speeding away.

...

The shootout was swift, concluding even faster. Sitting in the vehicle was Maria, who blinked as she surveyed the chaos around her. Her expression was one of confusion, as if she could hardly believe what transpired. Was this divine intervention?

The gunmen who had aimed to kill her lay dead in the street, blood pouring from their wounds. The sounds of gunfire and explosions reached the plaza where the powerless precinct chief showed his despair, shouting for a few aides as he dashed toward the chaos.

...

Panic swept through the plaza, but it was controlled, not frantic. This was Mexico, after all, in a city near the very borders of hell. The crowd was somewhat accustomed to such scenarios. People scattered as shadows moved past, while Deputy Chief Saunders gazed at the rising smoke and sighed softly.

Suddenly, a gloved hand clamped over Saunders' mouth, stifling his cries. Before Saunders could struggle, Campos plunged a dagger into his kidney. In and out the blade went, again and again! Two nearby bodyguards noticed and rushed to help. But bang, bang, bang -- the bullets fired by Juan and Fiona silenced them swiftly.

As Campos drove the knife in deeper, he whispered in Saunders' ear: "For my teacher, for my wife, for my father..." Then, holding the knife across Saunders' throat, he declared, "This one's for myself!"

With a swift motion, the dagger slashed through the trachea and carotid artery. Campos released his grip, watching Saunders collapse to the ground before dashing toward the edge of the plaza, with Fiona and Juan close behind him.

Saunders lay on the ground, succumbing to an abyss of darkness.

...

As Mayor Maria concluded her speech, Garcia received a notification from Campos. With a command, a truck disguised as a delivery vehicle sped towards the bar's entrance. Nearby, a dilapidated garbage truck parked at the back entrance of the bar.

The cargo truck's side door swung open as Garcia brandished a shotgun, firing repeatedly at the bar's glass doors. The buckshot shattered the tempered glass into countless shards. Two mercenaries rushed to the front entrance, tossing in stun grenades simultaneously.

After the deafening explosion, they pulled out hand grenades, tossing them inside the bar. Explosions also echoed from the back entrance.

This wasn't America; it was chaotic northern Mexico. After the grenades detonated, three well-coordinated mercenaries charged through the bar's main doors in tactical formation. Garcia followed closely behind.

As they neared the bar, one mercenary threw a grenade behind the counter. With a deafening blast, the bartender, who had just started to reach for a weapon, found his time cut short.

Javier, the leader of the Tequila Gang, had already been disoriented by the stun grenade, hunched over on the ground, cradling his head. Garcia aimed his weapon and pulled the trigger, blowing apart his head.

They swept through the bar without mercy, delivering a final bullet to the dealers sprawled on the ground. Gunfire rang out as the two teams converged, blasting their way through to the underground entrance via the wine cellar.

Once inside, they burst through the door with a shotgun, using stun grenades to clear the way, and mercilessly swept through the rest of the building, leaving no survivors.

This violent gunfire in northern Mexico indicated fierce clashes between rival gangs. Even if someone called the police, the experienced officers would take their time before responding.

...

Garcia shouted, "Retreat!"

They fled out of the bar's front and back exits, jumped into their vehicles, and took off. Prior to the operation, Campos and Bosque had laid out their escape strategies. The mayor's luck had kept her alive, and her influence slowed the pursuit.

While accomplishing her goal was difficult, destruction was always easier than construction. Bosque's team left for Mexicali that same day, dispersing back to Tijuana and temporarily vacating Mexico. Campos and his crew also broke apart, making their way back to North America through various means.

...

In Los Angeles, at the Twitter headquarters, Hawke was reviewing an operational plan drafted by Caroline when a knock on the door caught his attention. Edward entered.

He placed a newspaper on Hawke's desk and said, "A Mexican newspaper! I bought it with great difficulty."

Hawke nodded, not looking at it immediately. He finished going over the plan before picking up the paper. "I just spoke with Campos. He's on his way back from Canada. The operation went smoothly; everyone will be returning to Los Angeles," Edward informed him.

Hawke acknowledged this while examining the paper's article about an attack in St. Louis. Such incidents were not uncommon in Mexico, where the media and government characterized the violence as rival gang confrontations. One deputy chief from the St. Louis police had died during the clash.

Hawke remembered Campos mentioning this individual before; he was likely the one who had betrayed Campos years ago, leading to his own attack. The Tequila Gang's leadership had effectively been wiped out in the confrontation.

In Mexico's environment, this gang was essentially destroyed, and it wouldn't be long before another smuggling organization filled the void. Campos and his crew acted decisively, mercenaries hired were also capable.

...

Hawke knew he had to settle a final payment. He put down the newspaper and took an invitation and the exhibition's appendix from his drawer, telling Edward, "Book me a first-class ticket to New York for the weekend."

Edward asked, "Boss, are you still looking to acquire art? I've heard mixed reviews about buying and selling such items."

Hawke replied, "Many things are simply used for money laundering. This time, I'm looking to purchase an antique."

Edward's eyes brightened comically, "So those tricky debts can be dealt with through that route?"

The last time, Hawke had bought gemstones at a Sotheby's auction in Port City. Antiques and gemstones were both rife with possibilities for misconduct. He intended to set up an art company overseas, showcasing an artist to help legitimize fund transfers. Many modern artists had wealthy patrons behind them or institutions sponsoring them.

...

Just then, Edward's phone rang. He glanced at the number, answered, and exchanged a few words before hanging up. "Betty's here; she wants to report something."

Hawke pointed toward the entrance, "Go bring her in."

Edward exited the office, heading downstairs to the side entrance of the building, where he brought Betty back upstairs into Hawke's office.

Betty spoke directly, "Boss, I've just received some urgent news from Harvard. It's a bit time-sensitive, and I had to come myself since Campos hasn't returned."

"That's fine," Hawke gestured towards a chair. "Sit down and explain."

Edward placed a cup of coffee in front of Betty, who continued, "Last fall, you had Campos hire two people to go to Cambridge, Massachusetts, to locate a Jewish student named Mark Zuckerberg at Harvard."

Hawke certainly remembered this endeavor. He recalled Mark Zuckerberg had dropped out of Harvard after founding Facebook, but he didn't remember the exact timing.

Edward pulled up the freshman enrollment list on Harvard's official website and located Mark Zuckerberg's name, noting that he was studying psychology and computer science.

Hawke had hired two young men skilled in socializing to befriend Zuckerberg, as high-end business warfare was a last resort. Their task was simple: become friends with Zuckerberg and indulge him in food, drinks, and parties. This was something the two young men excelled at, as it was what many young craved.

Every fortnight, they compiled relevant information and sent it back to Los Angeles. Over the past few months, they had not only befriended Zuckerberg but had taken him partying, drinking, and chasing women. The passions of young Americans easily drew people in, especially young men in their twenties.

The last time Hawke reviewed the compiled information, Zuckerberg was still lost in the party scene.

"Has anything changed?" Hawke asked.

Betty quickly responded, "Messages from Cambridge indicate that Zuckerberg had been enjoying himself and getting caught up in the fun, but recently there's been a shift. He confided to two friends that he's developed a computer program to help people select the best-looking individuals from a set of photos."

Hawke immediately thought of Facebook.

Betty continued, "He first used this program for casual encounters, asking modeling agencies to provide a bunch of headshots, which he then inputted into the computer to select the lucky ones for rendezvous."

Hawke could only remark, "A genius at dealing with women."

*****

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