"Good, it seems waiting outside the prison finally paid off," said the driver, thinking for a moment. "Once he comes out, Juan, confirm his identity again. Then follow him, and when the opportunity arises, take him out. The longer we drag this out, the harder it'll be to explain to the others when we return to Paris."
"Understood." Juan nodded, picking up his binoculars to scan the surroundings. As he adjusted his position, a tattoo of a leopard head on his wrist became visible.
If Clyde had seen it, he would have immediately recognized these two men as the assassins who had been hunting him.
If Clyde had left City Hall immediately after coming out, driving off without hesitation, he might have had a chance to escape. But his decision to stay in the car to confirm whether Nick Reese would follow his plan provided the assassins with the perfect opportunity.
After watching Clyde sit idly in the car for over ten minutes, the assassins grew impatient.
"Damn it, let's get him now," one of them said, pulling out a handgun and attaching a silencer. He exchanged a look with his companion, who was doing the same. "I'll go to the front for cover; you take the side and shoot him. Do it quickly—we don't want to alert the cops outside City Hall."
"Got it."
The two assassins exited their vehicle and, pretending to be passersby, slowly approached Clyde's car from opposite directions. The one in front glanced at Clyde through the windshield, noting his hands on the steering wheel and no visible weapons.
The assassin suddenly turned to face Clyde, drawing his attention. Meanwhile, the other assassin darted around the rear of the vehicle, pulling a gun and aiming directly at Clyde's head.
Fortunately, Clyde's vigilance saved him from a fatal headshot. Spotting the assassin in his side mirror, he instinctively threw himself toward the passenger seat. However, the close range left him no chance to evade the follow-up shots. The second assassin, now at the car door, fired three rounds into Clyde's back.
Pain surged through Clyde's body as he crawled toward the backseat, cursing in his mind, Damn it, isn't this bulletproof vest supposed to absorb the impact? Why does it hurt so much?
"Cough, cough." Clyde began to cough, his strength rapidly waning as he struggled to move. The pain in his back grew unbearable. Damn it...
"This... this isn't a bulletproof vest," Clyde realized, touching the wounds on his back and seeing his hand smeared with blood. Collapsing onto the car seat in regret, he cursed inwardly, God, how could I have trusted the word of a butcher trained from childhood as an assassin?
But his realization came too late. I never thought I'd die here, he lamented, a desperate thought flashing through his mind: blow up City Hall.
Ignoring the searing pain, Clyde reached for his phone, but before he could act, one of the assassins yanked open the car door. Grabbing Clyde by the collar, he punched him hard in the stomach while the other assassin slid into the driver's seat, started the engine, and drove away.
Seeing the face of the man who had grabbed him, Clyde froze in terror. He fumbled with his phone, forgetting even to press the dial button, and muttered in disbelief, "You... you didn't..." Before he could finish, the assassin ripped off his glasses and mustache.
In excited French, the passenger said, "Pierre, it's him."
"Is he alive?" Pierre replied, equally thrilled.
"Barely," the other man said, checking Clyde's pulse. "But not for long. He won't make it."
With that, the assassin snatched the phone from Clyde's hand. As the phone was taken away, Clyde, now at death's door, mumbled incoherently, "Give... it... back."
The assassin examined the phone and the number on its screen. Turning to Clyde, who was fading fast, he fired another shot to end his misery. Tossing the phone onto the seat, he climbed into the passenger side and told his companion, "Pierre, he clung to this phone like his life depended on it. It looks like he was trying to make this call."
"Want to try calling the number?" Pierre glanced at him briefly while driving.
The assassin thought for a moment, then looked back at Clyde's lifeless body. "Let's burn the car in the countryside first."
Pierre nodded. "Okay. I'll grab our car and follow you."
Meanwhile, Nick Reese and two marshals hurried into City Hall. After showing their IDs to security, they rushed to the surveillance room, quickly spotting Clyde's cleaning cart left conspicuously outside the fifth-floor conference room.
Armed and cautious, they headed to the fifth floor. Not finding Clyde, they began to search the area and soon located the bomb hidden under a table.
A marshal with bomb-disposal experience carefully opened the box and cursed at what he saw. "Damn it, this is a batch of solid fuel bombs. If these go off, the entire floor will be engulfed in flames and destroyed."
"Can you defuse it?" Nick asked urgently.
"Sorry, buddy, no guarantees," replied the marshal, Sean, shaking his head. "We need to evacuate everyone from upstairs immediately. Who knows when that lunatic Clyde might trigger this thing?"
"No, no!" the other marshal, Wilson, objected. "Sean, you don't understand. We saw in the tunnel that Clyde has been monitoring the sixth-floor conference room. If we evacuate the meeting now and he's watching with a portable device, he'll detonate the bomb immediately."
Wilson nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Instead of evacuating, we should move the bomb to an open area."
Nick hesitated, then nodded. "Do it."
"Okay," Sean said, carefully closing the box. As he picked it up and started walking, he suddenly had an idea. "Maybe we can give this bomb back to Clyde."
"What?" Wilson froze for a moment, then grinned. "Right! Let's let that bastard blow himself up."
"No!" Nick turned sharply to his colleagues, his face stern. "For God's sake, do you realize what you're suggesting?"
Before they could argue further, Nick's phone rang. Answering it, he spoke only briefly before his legs gave out, and he nearly collapsed.
Wilson grabbed him. "Nick, what's wrong?"
Nick, his face pale and eyes shut tight, murmured in terror, "S-Sarah... she's dead."
"What? That's impossible! Sarah was in the prison investigating Clyde's accomplices," Wilson said in disbelief.
Moments later, both Wilson and Sean received calls on their phones. After answering, they erupted into curses directed at Clyde.
Nick pushed Wilson away, gritting his teeth as he grabbed the bomb box from Sean. "We're going back to the prison."
"Damn right," Wilson growled. "I'll kill that lunatic myself."
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