Ela was still speaking in front of the intel board when her phone rang. She answered in Spanish, exchanged a few words, and hung up. "Our insider just reported that Mat Guzmán has kidnapped an American tourist. He's hiding them in a house in the town of Magus and is currently contacting the victim's family for ransom. He gave them 48 hours, but he himself won't be leaving that location for at least the next two."
"Then what are we waiting for?"
This was an opportunity—Guzmán's whereabouts weren't something they could get on a whim. It was rare for intel to come in so quickly after their arrival, even if it was still unconfirmed.
On the Omega side, Owen had full command. He glanced at Ela and Shepherd. Shepherd shrugged indifferently. Ela considered for a moment before nodding. Her orders were clear: cooperate with the CTU team and provide necessary support. In other words, Omega called the shots.
No intel on terrain, numbers, or other details—but none of that mattered. Capturing Guzmán was the top priority. If they got him, they could extract intel on Mario Sanchez. Two hours would be enough.
Omega members began suiting up. Owen opened his gear bag, slipping on his ballistic vest, then added his long and short firearms, ammo, grenades, flashbangs...
"Guys, take these. Trust me, you'll need them here."
Shepherd handed out face masks. The members of Phantom Squad were already wearing theirs. The Omega crew looked toward Owen. Aside from Ghost, who always wore a skull mask, the rest typically only used camouflage paint during missions.
"Shepherd's right," Ela added from the side. "You'd better wear them. It's for your own good. I'll explain more on the way."
Owen nodded. Each member of Omega took a mask and pulled it on, then grabbed their weapons and joined Phantom Squad as they headed to the Suburbans outside.
The convoy roared to life, kicking up a cloud of dust. Inside each vehicle was a team of heavily armed elite operatives. The vehicles sped toward the border checkpoint.
"I have to warn you," Ela said, glancing in the rearview mirror as they drove, "In Mexico, it's best not to let anyone see your face. This isn't the U.S.—it's far more dangerous. Mexican cartel retaliation is extreme. Thousands are killed by traffickers each year, including over a hundred police chiefs, mayors, even state governors. Ordinary cops and civilians are nothing to them. Anyone who crosses them is as good as dead—even if your family's in the U.S."
Ela paused, as if afraid they wouldn't believe her. Then she emphasized again, "I'm not exaggerating. Mexican traffickers are different. Each of the six major cartels has a department dedicated to 'influence'—their job is to ensure the cartel's power is felt across the government and population. That's why they're so brutally public."
"Here, being in anti-narcotics is one of the most dangerous jobs. The death rate is incredibly high. Fewer and fewer people are willing to do it. On the streets, traffickers outnumber police ten to one.
Last year, in Tamaulipas State, they discovered a massive mass grave with 1,448 bodies—most of them anti-narcotics agents. The entire country was shocked."
The Omega team exchanged glances. Mexico was truly a lawless land. Killing mayors, governors—openly murdering officials. They had known it was chaotic, but this was beyond their expectations. They'd heard of it in the reports, but Ela's firsthand descriptions were far more jarring.
"We're working with Mexico's Federal Drug Enforcement Unit this time. They're considered clean. Local police? Either they've been bought off or they stay far away from these kinds of operations.
The Drug Enforcement Unit and parts of the military are the only agencies truly fighting the cartels. All DEU members have their identities classified. Only the president of Mexico knows their names.
Every single member is a victim of drug crime—either their family was killed by traffickers or destroyed by addiction. They all know the risks. They're ready to die. And they're the cartels' worst nightmare. If their identities are leaked, they and their families are guaranteed to be brutally killed."
"How would the traffickers even find out who they are?" someone asked.
Ela gave a bitter laugh. "Easy. There are bounties. Traffickers offer huge sums for identities. Plenty of people are willing to sell them out. And with how many government officials are on the cartel payroll, they can dig out anything. Every DEU agent's name is worth a mountain of Benjamins. Not many people can resist that kind of temptation."
"Fucking bastards," Bayev muttered angrily. The rest of the team frowned. This kind of indiscriminate, family-wiping violence was particularly disgusting.
As Owen listened, he recalled an old saying from his past life: The world's most dangerous jobs—being president in South Korea, a drug trafficker in China, and a cop in Mexico.
As the worst drug-trafficking hotspot on the planet, Mexican police had never stopped fighting the cartels—but they were often defeated. Because they were facing the most heavily armed criminals in the world.
The vehicles sped on, reaching the border in no time. The six-lane road had four open lanes and two emergency lanes, which were usually closed.
The open lanes were jammed with cars, as usual—roughly 80,000 people crossed between El Paso and Juárez daily. The Suburbans tore down the emergency lanes, kicking up dust as they went.
Sensing Owen's glance, Ela said without turning her head, "I already gave border control a heads-up. We'll pass straight through. The Mexican DEU is waiting just ahead."
It was clear this wasn't her first time doing this. The convoy raced past the U.S. border checkpoint under the gaze of drivers stuck in line. A hundred meters later, they blew past the Mexican checkpoint as well.
Just beyond, Owen saw a line of specially marked pickups parked about a hundred meters ahead. The words "Drug Enforcement Unit" were stenciled on the doors.
As the Suburbans approached, half of the pickups pulled ahead to lead the way, while the other half fell in behind like a rear guard.
Owen noted that each pickup carried four armed officers—two in the cab, and two standing in the open bed, fully geared and masked, but also wearing military-grade helmets.
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