As Owen and the team executed Plan B, Mikhail's men pulled up to the compound entrance. With this many people involved, secrecy was no longer possible. Sure enough, the moment they jumped out of the vehicles, someone shouted in Italian—they had discovered the corpse of the man Swagg had sniped while he was returning from the bathroom.
Through the scope, Swagg watched a crowd gather, yelling loudly around the body. That poor soul had dropped dead by the river just moments earlier.
"Target Eye reporting: they've discovered the body. You need to move faster. Also, I've got Mikhail in my sights—do I take the shot?"
Owen, still carrying Catherine, was being escorted by the Quick Response Team as they moved swiftly through unfamiliar territory. This path hadn't been cleared beforehand, so their pace couldn't be rushed.
He didn't hesitate, though his thoughts raced.
"Negative. Do not engage."
Owen ultimately decided not to kill Mikhail. While assassinating him would cause chaos and buy them time, Mikhail was still a valuable asset. He wasn't a terrorist himself, but a broker dealing with multiple terrorist groups. Both the CIA and CTU could still extract critical intel from him. Killing him now offered the least strategic value.
"Target Eye copies," Swagg responded, loosening his finger from the trigger.
"Tat-tat-tat-tat—"
Gunfire erupted outside—one of Mikhail's men fired warning shots into the air. Chaos quickly overtook the compound. Owen knew their escape was about to get a lot more difficult.
Soon, Mikhail's people stormed the building, racing toward the hostage room. On the way, they found the first body, and not long after, discovered the corpse in the torture room.
Surrounded by his men, Mikhail stood in the empty room, staring at the dead torturer, his fury barely contained. This was his domain—he ruled here. Even the Costa Rican government had to call before setting foot in his territory. Who dared do this? Who killed his people?
Americans.
Mikhail ground his teeth in rage.
"%…&￥（&"
He shouted in fury and immediately stormed off, leading his men in a new direction.
"Pfft-pfft~~"
At the front, Monica fired, her M4A1 dropping an enemy who had popped into view. The team pushed forward quickly but in tight formation.
"Pfft-pfft-pfft~~~~"
At the rear, Heartbeat opened fire too, taking down the first pursuer. But more were coming. The rest quickly took cover and returned fire.
The battle was on. Their silent infiltration was over.
Mikhail's men closed in fast. The Quick Response Team, unfamiliar with the terrain and forced to move cautiously, were at a disadvantage. Mikhail's crew knew every path, every corridor. They chased freely while the team fought defensively. One group was walking, the other sprinting. The gap closed quickly.
"IQ, help Heartbeat hold the rear—I'll take point."
With Catherine on his back, Ghost took temporary command. In the Quick Response Team, no matter how close they were off-duty, they used code names in combat. It was protocol—and a layer of protection against potential retaliation.
"Pfft-pfft"
Ghost fired a short burst, taking out another enemy ahead. His shots drew more enemies out of hiding. Behind him, Monica and Heartbeat laid down suppressing fire. In close quarters like this, direct kills were difficult. Their job wasn't to wipe the enemy—they just had to keep them at bay.
Fortunately, the narrow interior space limited how many of Mikhail's men could attack at once—three at most on the front line—so firepower remained relatively balanced.
"Pfft~~"
One gunman peeking from a corner was suddenly launched sideways, a massive hole in his chest.
Across the river, Swagg released the trigger and scanned for a new target. There wasn't much he could do from outside, but when someone showed in a window, he delivered instant judgment.
"Pfft~~"
A second enemy dropped. This time, Mikhail's men finally realized what was happening. The first death may have been unclear, but the second made it obvious—a sniper was picking them off.
Shouts erupted in Italian. While Swagg didn't understand the words, it was easy to guess they were yelling something like "Sniper! Stay away from the windows!"
No more heads appeared. Swagg shifted his scope away from the windows. Outside, a few gunmen ran from the building, firing blindly toward the opposite riverbank.
Mikhail had ordered them to find the sniper. But from their perspective, there was no one—just jungle. They fired wildly, hoping to flush him out.
Swagg, draped in his ghillie suit, lay motionless in the brush. Rounds sprayed the area aimlessly, some whizzing close and thudding into the ground with "pfft" sounds. But he didn't flinch. A sniper's mental fortitude was unmatched—this level of pressure wouldn't even make him blink.
Back in military training, one exercise involved snipers holding a mannequin in a distant window while teammates practiced headshots. A single miscalculation—wind speed, humidity—and the result wouldn't be a broken mannequin but a dead friend.
So no, random bullets meant nothing to him.
Still peeking through the scope, Swagg calmly switched targets, eliminating three more runners before they could react.
That was the difference between trained soldiers and rabble. A real army would never attempt to flush out a sniper like this. At the very least, they'd use grenades or mortars. These guys, with three rifles, were practically committing suicide.
While Swagg eliminated targets outside, the battle inside raged on.
"Reloading!"
Monica shouted and ducked behind cover. Heartbeat immediately shifted to provide suppressing fire. Monica swapped magazines quickly—she didn't discard the empty one, just stowed it in her recovery pouch and got back in the fight.
"Cover me!"
Now it was Heartbeat's turn. Monica responded with a controlled burst. Her marksmanship was ranked second in the team—only slightly behind Owen, and even better than Ghost's. A poorly concealed enemy caught a bullet between the eyes the moment he peeked out.
Using the cover fire, Heartbeat slung his rifle and reached into his bag for a Claymore anti-personnel mine—specifically, an M18A1. Dubbed the "infantry killer," it's one of the most feared landmines ever designed.
Why? Because it's devastating—packed with 700 steel balls, it has a 50-meter kill zone and a 60-degree arc of effect. Just a few people with these could hold down an entire field.
Knowing they were going deep behind enemy lines, each team member had come fully loaded—with nine magazines each and specific gear suited for any scenario.
Heartbeat had chosen an infrared-triggered Claymore—much easier to set up than tripwires and far more discreet.
Once in place, he aimed the "Front Toward Enemy" side at the door. The invisible infrared beam covered the entire entryway. Unless the enemy jumped through mid-air, any movement would break the beam—and the mine would detonate.
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I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
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