Outside a barbershop, they quickly spotted the same Ford SUV from before.
When he saw four middle-aged Asian men coming out, Ethan quickly called out their position.
—Remember, they're police too, so be extra careful. Everyone, take turns tailing them.
Hank's voice came through the comms.
—Ethan first, go!
Then the four cars rotated; every couple of blocks, another vehicle would take over.
After following them for a while, Ethan turned the wheel and drove onto a side road.
Erin, who was farther back, stepped on the gas, took his place, and continued the tail.
More than ten minutes later, they reached a remote industrial area by the lake.
Ethan was the last to arrive. He stopped the car at the base of a small hill and looked around. The slope was covered with withered yellow reeds and other dry vegetation swaying in the cold wind coming off the lake. Up there, only Erin was present.
—Where are the others? —Ethan asked as he shut the car door.
Erin shrugged slightly and gave a small hop to keep warm.
—They're still on surveillance —she replied—. We'll take over later.
The wind blew hard through the reeds. Erin rubbed her hands, and suddenly, she remembered something.
—Hey… do you have anything to eat?
Ethan pulled back his jacket sleeve and checked his watch. It was nearly noon, and with that cold by the lake, going without food would be pretty uncomfortable.
He walked to the car, opened the back door, and started going through a bag.
—There's gotta be something…
A moment later, he pulled out several packs.
—Jerky —he said, lifting them slightly—. Not a feast, but better than nothing.
Erin smiled in relief.
—Perfect, I knew you'd have something.
—I'll head up and take a look.
The crunching sound caught the attention of the few people lying up there.
—Slow!
Olinsky whispered a warning.
—Crawl.
Looking at the snow on the ground, Ethan obediently lay down and crawled forward slowly.
Four people were lying in a line behind grass that reached up to their waists.
Not far away was an abandoned building. To Ethan, it felt a bit cliché—bad guys always seemed to use places like this—, but in a city like Chicago, where nearly half the factory buildings were abandoned, it was normal.
Several cars were parked inside, and one person was walking around the yard.
—Here!
Ethan casually tossed a handful of beef jerky packs onto the grass.
—Thank God.
Antonio didn't waste a second. He reached out, grabbed two packs, tore them open quickly, and stuffed pieces into his mouth.
There was a faint salty smell of the meat mixed with the cold air coming off the lake. Atwater noticed it immediately and swallowed.
Because of his size, he needed a lot of energy, and by now, hunger was hitting hard.
Even so, he didn't move. He stayed in position and glanced at Olinsky. Right now, all he wanted was to make a good impression on the Unit—if they told him not to eat or sleep for a week, he'd do it.
—Eat —Olinsky whispered without taking his eyes off the road— But keep the wrappers in your pocket. Don't let the wind carry them away.
Atwater nodded immediately.
—Mm!
He carefully tore open the pack and started chewing the jerky, making as little noise as possible while keeping his eyes on the surveillance.
Ethan grabbed the binoculars and looked toward the factory building.
He hadn't noticed it clearly before, but now, with the equipment, he saw a faint wisp of white smoke coming from a window in one corner.
The person walking in the yard quickly opened the door and went inside.
—Atwater, did you swap shifts with Ruzek today?
Antonio turned carefully; he was lying flat on the ground, looking up at the blue sky and white clouds.
—Yes, Detective!
It was a rare chance to work with the Intelligence Unit, and Atwater didn't want to miss anything.
Even without binoculars, he kept staring with his naked eye.
—How do you feel so far?
Antonio asked casually while eating.
—Very good, Detective.
Atwater looked at Antonio with a serious expression.
Olinsky's hand, holding the binoculars, remained steady, a faint smile on his lips.
—Relax!
Ethan rubbed his shoulder.
—You've done well so far.
Elsewhere, at the Chicago Police District 49 station, the precinct was quiet at that hour of the morning. The murmur of phones and keyboards filled the air as officers moved between desks.
Hank and Jay crossed the lobby toward the detective area. Near the coffee machine, Jimmy Shi was reviewing some documents.
When he saw them approach, he looked up and gave a tired smile.
—Look what the devil dragged in… Hank Voight. I knew you'd show up eventually.
Hank returned the smile and gave him a brief hug.
—We need to talk. You got time?
Jimmy picked up on the tone immediately. He set the papers down on the desk.
—Of course. I always have time for an old friend.
Jay leaned lightly against a nearby table while Hank stepped closer.
—There was a robbery last night —Hank said calmly—. An underground casino in Chinatown. I'm guessing you've heard.
Jimmy's expression shifted slightly—just enough for Hank to notice.
Jimmy exhaled slowly.
—Yeah… I heard something on the radio. It's a shame what happened to the kid.
Hank watched him closely.
—Got any information that could help us?
Jimmy frowned.
—Information about what?
Hank held his gaze.
—Who could've done it… who's got issues with the Triads, or if there's a war starting and we don't know it yet. You know that area better than anyone. We figured you might give us a clearer picture.
Jimmy shook his head.
—I don't know anything about that, Hank.
Jay stepped in with a softer tone.
—Detective Shi… if someone's messing with Chinatown casinos, we thought you might've heard something.
Jimmy ran a hand over the back of his neck.
—I'll try talking to some of my contacts. If there's anything, you'll be the first to know, I promise.
Hank held his gaze a few seconds longer, as if reading every small gesture.
Finally, Hank relaxed a bit.
—Do it. It'll help. We've got nothing right now.
Jimmy picked up the papers again.
—If I hear anything, I'll call you.
Hank looked at him one last moment before turning toward the exit.
—I hope so.
Jay followed Hank out of the station. As they walked to the car, Jay spoke quietly.
—Did you believe him?
Hank opened the vehicle door and answered without hesitation.
—Yeah.
Jay looked slightly surprised.
Hank sat behind the wheel and added as he started the engine:
—But we're still going to check.
The area quickly fell silent again, until more than ten minutes later, several people came out of the abandoned building one after another.
They had all changed clothes; they were now dressed uniformly in combat boots, tactical pants, and black jackets. Aside from not wearing hoods, they looked exactly like the people in the surveillance video.
—Sergeant.
Antonio, beside him, pressed the walkie-talkie.
—Looks like them, and they're getting ready to move.
There was a moment of silence on the other end, then Hank's rough voice came through:
—Good. Follow them! Halstead and I will keep tracking Jimmy.
The four of them quickly gathered their things and began to pull back calmly, moving through the dry vegetation without making noise. For several meters, they advanced crouched, making sure not to leave traces or draw attention.
Once they were far enough from the hill, they stood and ran full speed toward where their cars were parked.
Within seconds, engines started one after another.
The pursuit continued at a safe distance. They kept formation, switching vehicles every so often to avoid suspicion, while the Ford SUV moved through several streets and headed into the heart of Chinatown.
Finally, near the edge of the neighborhood, the vehicle slowed and stopped in front of a discreet three-story building. The windows were covered with thick curtains, and a faint reddish light filtered from inside.
It didn't take a genius to realize it was a front for another underground casino.
Hank clenched his jaw behind the wheel. Part of him still hoped he was wrong. He genuinely hoped his former partner wasn't involved—but now that he had followed him closely, there was no doubt.
And even if he was… he shouldn't be this blatant.
The SUV doors burst open.
In less than a second, four figures in black hoodies jumped out. Each carried a weapon. They moved quickly in formation, as if they had rehearsed the operation many times.
Without stopping, they ran straight toward the building's stairs.
One of them kicked the front door open.
Hank grabbed the radio tightly, closing his eyes as he ordered:
—Robbery in progress, we're moving in now!
Several cars accelerated, and the screech of brakes filled the air.
Ethan flung the car door open and jumped onto the asphalt. He ran to the trunk and yanked it open. He grabbed his bulletproof vest, slipped it on quickly, then picked up the Remington M870, checking its weight in his hands.
Along the sidewalk, several pedestrians who had been walking casually stopped when they saw the officers gearing up. It only took a second for them to realize something serious was happening; some backed away immediately, others simply ran off to get clear.
Hank was already getting out of the vehicle, studying the building as he assessed the entrances.
—Ethan, Erin, Halstead… back door —he ordered quickly.
Then he looked at the rest of the team and pointed forward.
—The rest with me. Move.
There was no time to slowly plan a strategy; the people upstairs could open fire and kill at any moment. Ethan ran down the narrow alley toward the back, footsteps quickly following behind him.
When they reached the rear of the building, next to a dark alley, there was a fire escape.
Two security guards were leaning against the wall, smoking. When they saw several people in bulletproof vests rushing toward them, they panicked so badly their fingers trembled, and their cigarettes slipped from their hands.
—What floor is the casino on?
Ethan stepped forward with a deadly aura, the dark muzzle of his gun pressed directly against one of their faces.
—Third floor! —The man said in a trembling voice.
Ethan quickly patted them down, confiscating the firearms tucked into their waistbands, then kicked both guards aside and moved rapidly up the fire escape.
When he reached the third floor, Ethan slowly pushed open the half-closed back door with the barrel of his gun.
Inside, three light sources are at a normal distance.
There was the clatter of dishes and the noise of pots and pans. It was a kitchen.
—Whoa!
As soon as the door opened, a burst of flames shot up.
The sudden flare startled Erin and Halstead.
The stove roared like a jet engine, flames surging violently upward.
—Clang~
The chef's spoon flew from his hand as he stared at the three fully armed, very unwelcome guests.
—Police! —Ethan said, pointing to the badge at his waist. Where's the gaming room?
The chef didn't speak. Trembling, he pointed toward a passage.
—Thanks!
Ethan nodded and quickly turned left.
As he pushed through the partition door, he immediately saw Hank crouched ahead of him, along with the rest of the team.
Next to them was the gaming room, where shouting could be heard.
—Shut up!
—On the ground!
—Don't move if you don't want to die!
Ethan crouched and slowly entered the gaming room.
Most of the gamblers had been cornered and forced to squat, controlled by a man in a black hood holding a pistol.
At one of the gaming tables, several people were seated.
There was a large amount of cash piled on it, and three other men in black hoods stood nearby; one of them was interrogating someone.
All of them carried both long guns and handguns.
When Hank waved his arm, the Intelligence Unit moved in quickly.
—Chicago PD!
Ethan roared the command and lunged forward like a leopard.
One of the hooded men turned his head on instinct—but it was already too late. A boot slammed into his chest and sent him flying backward.
—Drop your weapons!