How Did You Find Us?

Smith left alone. Though they had known each other only briefly, Russell recognized him as a real man. He had reached out to help a baby unrelated to him by blood and would brave fire and water for the woman he loved. You couldn't ask more of a man.

Russell swore to himself that, no matter what, he would return Quintana and the baby to Smith unharmed.

Russell drove around the outskirts of the city. He first filled up the tank, then went to a supermarket to buy some baby essentials. Smith was so broke he didn't even have money for diapers, and even his weapons and ammunition had been taken off corpses.

Was this poor bastard really a hitman?

"Where are we going next?" Quintana asked uneasily, worried about Smith.

Russell reassured her, "Anywhere. If you're tired, get some sleep. Maybe by the time you wake up, Smith will be back."

"But if we're just wandering around without a destination, will Smith be able to find us?" Quintana changed the baby's diaper, picked the child up, and gave him a kiss.

"Of course. He's a professional, after all..." Russell trailed off. Thinking of the unreliable Cross, he found himself at a loss for words.

Quintana noticed his hesitation and asked doubtfully, "Are you sure?"

Russell shrugged. "I was kidding. I left him my number earlier. He'll call me."

Smith's situation was far from good. Things had become much more serious than he had expected.

Soon after parting ways with Russell, he was hunted down by Hammerson Arms Company. The Short Leader was obsessively determined to kill him. After suffering repeated setbacks, he refused to rest until he had personally killed Smith.

Those people caused Smith plenty of trouble, but only trouble. He successfully shook them off and got in touch with Senator Lattridge.

The senator agreed to meet Smith in person. They met aboard a plane, and the senator was in terrible condition. Ravaged by a serious illness and on the verge of death, the baby in Smith's hands was his only lifeline.

If things had ended there, Smith would have had nothing left to do. Hand the baby over to the senator, and everyone would be happy.

Unfortunately, Senator Lattridge was a politician—and the leading Democratic candidate in the presidential election. Would a man like that gamble his promising future on Smith?

The answer was obviously no!

Senator Lattridge trusted his own political skills more. After learning that the safe house had been destroyed and all the surrogate mothers had died, he immediately contacted the Major Shareholder of Hammerson Arms Company to discuss a truce. As long as they could recover the surviving baby and support his bid for president, he would use his power to give Hammerson Arms Company certain conveniences.

For example, he could loosen gun control restrictions so ordinary people could buy Submachine Guns for hunting!

As for his own gun-ban bill and the promises he had made to the public during his speaking tours, they meant nothing compared to power and survival. He cast them all aside.

Of course, he still had to give speeches and continue calling for gun control. Otherwise, how was he supposed to win votes?

Senator Lattridge had never paid much attention to Smith. He saw him as a lucky nobody, perhaps one with a little cleverness. He had the CIA trick Smith into boarding the plane.

Unlucky Smith encountered the Major Shareholder of Hammerson Arms Company aboard the plane, along with the stubbornly persistent Short Leader. Smith struck first, took the senator hostage, and successfully retreated into the plane's cargo hold.

"It's useless. We're seven thousand meters in the air, and there are more than a dozen bodyguards outside. You have nowhere to run!" Senator Lattridge said, tied up by Smith at the door as he tried to reason with him.

He wasn't worried about being killed. If he died, Smith wouldn't survive either.

"Even for your own sake, you should think this through. You seem pretty capable. The future president still needs a personal bodyguard..."

"Shut up!"

Smith glared viciously at the senator. "It's not for my own sake. It's for that woman and child. If I kill you, no one will keep hunting them."

"What? Are you insane?!"

The senator froze. He could tell Smith wasn't joking, but how could two lowly commoners, like stray dogs, be worth the same as his life? It was absurd!

"I'm not insane!" Smith raised his gun at the senator's head. "Your death will cause public outrage, and your gun-control proposal will gain the support of the enraged public. Congress will pass your bill too. Your final wish will come true."

After hearing that, Senator Lattridge felt terrible. Smith clearly had some serious misunderstandings about America.

Gun control was just a slogan, something presidential candidates used to fool the public into voting for them. Too many capitalists in this country made money from weapons, so banning guns was impossible. Everyone just laughed it off.

Staring at the black muzzle, the senator felt that if he didn't say something soon, he might never speak again.

As an excellent politician, Senator Lattridge trusted his eloquence. The CIA had also trained him on how to respond to a kidnapping. He analyzed Smith's way of thinking and put on the official expression he wore during speeches.

"Go ahead, shoot! I hope my death can restore a little dignity to this country. The public needs a safe living environment, and my death will be the stepping stone that overturns the rampant scourge of guns..."

Senator Lattridge straightened up, his face filled with an air of fearless resolve. He looked rather heroic. In truth, he was secretly pleased with himself. Smith was just a hoodlum from the bottom rung of society. He would surely be impressed by his integrity. Considering that he was a presidential candidate, Smith might even bow his head and pledge allegiance, becoming his utterly loyal lackey.

With that thought, Senator Lattridge nodded deeply. "Come on, shoot! I'm fully prepa—"

Bang!

Smith blew Senator Lattridge's head apart with one shot. "Idiot. Do you take me for a fool?"

The gunshot alerted everyone on the plane. Realizing that the senator had met with disaster, they began frantically battering the cargo door. But the senator's body was wedged in the doorway, and without damaging the corpse, they simply couldn't get in.

After killing the future president, Smith began his escape. He found a parachute and jumped from an altitude of seven thousand meters.

The furious bodyguards strapped on parachutes and followed him out of the plane. The senator was dead, and their futures were finished. They wanted to kill Smith to make up for their failure.

More than ten people began an intense gunfight in midair...

Screech!

The sound of tires grinding against the ground rang out as Russell stopped the Ford and looked at the abandoned factory ahead. The surrounding area was wide open, with no skyscrapers, bushes, or other hiding places. There was no need to worry about snipers, making it much easier to protect Quintana and the baby.

"We'll wait here for news from Smith. I have a feeling he'll call very soon."

Russell said it as reassurance. He didn't have a damn feeling. He only dared to guarantee it because he knew Smith was the protagonist. Based on his years of movie-watching experience, endings were usually happy ones. Even in tragedies, the protagonist died in the heroine's arms.

Russell parked the car inside the warehouse and found a concealed spot for Quintana to hide in. He crouched elsewhere and watched for suspicious people approaching.

Before long, Russell heard the whistling sound of something falling from the sky. He looked up and froze. There were no suspicious people on the ground, but there were plenty in the sky.

One after another, Men in Black wearing parachutes fell from the sky like dumplings. None of them opened their parachutes. They landed in all kinds of stylish poses, then splattered into flat patties. The nearest one landed less than ten meters from Russell, and the impact made his heart pound.

"Buddy, look at my hand. How many fingers is this?"

"Say it with me. Two!"

There was no reply. He was probably dead. Russell quickly ran through a nearby metal door. It would be ridiculous if he got crushed to death by a falling body.

Five minutes later, a white parachute slowly drifted down. It landed about five hundred meters from Russell. The person spotted the abandoned factory and staggered toward it.

Russell gripped his M9 tightly. Only when the person drew close did he suddenly raise it to fire... but he didn't shoot. The newcomer was Smith.

The moment Smith saw Russell, he gave a miserable smile, clutched his injured shoulder, and fell straight down. He had been hit during the aerial battle and was already at the end of his strength.

Russell sprinted over and helped him up. "Holy shit, how the hell did you find us?"

"Heh. Want to learn? It'll cost you!"

Russell: "..."

Money wasn't the issue, but this made Cross look pretty damn bad!

Blood seeped through Smith's fingers. His face was almost completely drained of color, and he was extremely weak as Russell supported him into the factory.

By the time Russell set Smith down, he had already fallen unconscious. Russell examined him and found that Smith had been shot in the right arm. Fortunately, the bullet hadn't struck the bone. It had merely grazed him and torn away a chunk of flesh.

Still, if the bleeding wasn't stopped soon, Smith would die.

Russell only had the Blood Sucking Bandage, and it was useless here. He took some clean water from the car, roughly cleaned the wound, then tore off a sleeve and wrapped Smith's injured arm.

Hearing the commotion outside, Quintana discovered that Smith had arrived and hurried over with the baby in her arms. The moment she saw that Smith was injured, tears streamed down her face. After confirming that Smith's life was not in immediate danger, Russell placed him in the passenger seat and drove off.

The engine roared again. Russell slammed down on the accelerator, and the Ford shot toward the factory exit—only to return thirty seconds later at an even faster speed.

They were surrounded. Four riot-control armored vehicles blocked their way.

S.W.A.T!!!

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