If earlier their suspicion was only tentative, it was now confirmed—the suspects were armed. Whether they intended to engage or not, they had to be deterred.
Both Omega and Phantom teams disembarked, forming a fanned-out approach toward the two vehicles.
"Damn it, you can't do this! You'll hit civilians—" Ela shouted, but no one paid her any attention. All focus was on the targets, weapons raised, scopes locked on the men inside.
Targets were divided logically—each of the four occupants had someone on them.
"Drop your weapons!"
Omega members advanced swiftly from the front and sides of the red Chevy. The moment the men inside attempted to exit, they were met with shouted commands and multiple rifles aimed at them. All four were visibly tense.
"Drop the weapons! Don't move!"
More warnings followed. Inside the car, each suspect was visibly armed—handguns, SMGs, an AK. But Omega had the drop on them. From their appearance alone, it was almost certain they were cartel.
And none of them even bothered to pretend otherwise. Not one tried to talk their way out of it, claim it was a misunderstanding, or raise their hands.
The situation on Phantom's side was slightly more stable. Approaching from three directions, they surrounded the green Honda. The four men inside stared through the windows at the gun barrels aimed at them, visibly shaken.
Shepherd stepped forward, speaking in Spanish: "Don't move! Do not move, or we will fire. Stay calm. Do not make any sudden moves that might be misinterpreted."
His Spanish helped a bit—the men hesitated, glancing at each other. They seemed unsure whether to fight or stand down.
Back on Omega's side, things were escalating. The front passenger door of the Chevy opened, and a tattooed man stepped out with a pistol in his hand. But with several rifles aimed at his head, he wasn't about to raise it.
Unfortunately, none of Omega's team spoke Spanish. The only one who could—Ela—was still in the car with Guzmán. The four suspects remained motionless, weapons in hand but not raised. That was all the confirmation Omega needed.
Snipers Swag and Fred had already switched to UMPs, their secondary weapons. They kept tight aim on the vehicle from a distance.
"Drop your weapons!" Owen barked again. Whether the suspects didn't understand English or simply didn't care was unclear, but they remained frozen.
The atmosphere was reaching a boiling point. The tattooed man hesitated, visibly conflicted, his eyes full of doubt. He was clearly weighing the odds. Owen hated these types—hotheads with no self-control, too stupid to evaluate the situation rationally.
Then the man made his choice. His hand started to rise, weapon in tow.
Before he could even aim, Omega opened fire. Rifles and submachine guns roared in unison. Within seconds, all four suspects were dead—three inside the vehicle and the one outside. Blood sprayed the interior. There was no need for follow-up shots.
Phantom heard the gunfire and instantly tightened their trigger discipline. But one man in the Honda flinched, raising his weapon reflexively. It was all the reason they needed.
Rounds punched into the green Honda, each one hitting vital points. Within two seconds, silence fell. Bearded Shepherd raised a hand—ceasefire. Not one inside the car had survived.
Both teams withdrew tactically, scanning the surrounding traffic for further threats.
"Road is clear," Becky's voice came through the earpiece. Owen gave the order to fall back.
The teams quickly re-boarded their Suburbans and sped away, leaving two blood-soaked vehicles and a stunned crowd of Mexican civilians behind.
"Shit! Do you realize what you've done?! You opened fire at the border!" Ela exploded.
"Shut up," Owen growled, ignoring her entirely.
The convoy accelerated, blasting through the U.S. checkpoint and racing toward the El Paso military base.
The Suburbans kicked up clouds of dust as they tore down the road. Watched by soldiers and mounted machine guns, they passed through the concrete barriers and finally entered the base.
"Goddamn it, the Mexican government is going to flip out tomorrow. You just gave them a huge problem!" Ela shouted the moment they stopped.
Owen jumped out of the front seat, face just as livid. "Screw the Mexican government. You want one of my men to get shot before we respond? I don't care what kind of rules the DEA has—in my unit, that doesn't fly."
They'd been arguing the entire drive. Ela believed Owen had crossed a line. But Owen didn't care—Omega was an assault unit. They weren't going to risk their lives for some theoretical international harmony. His job was to prove to President Palmer that Omega was worth it—but not at the cost of his team.
Their argument continued even as Phantom and Omega members escorted Guzmán into the base. For them, Owen's orders were what mattered. Politics weren't their concern.
"I'll be sure to write a full report about this incident," Ela snapped, refusing to back down.
"Be my guest," Owen replied coldly. "But first—do your job."
He wasn't bluffing. If the White House punished them over this, Owen was prepared to walk away from Omega.
They went their separate ways to gear down. Tactical operations meant wearing Level III body armor and hauling around dozens of kilos of equipment—not exactly comfortable.
Owen hadn't thrown that "do your job" line at Ela for nothing. Catching Guzmán wasn't the end—it was only the beginning. Now came the most delicate part: preventing Mario Sánchez from being alerted.
As Mario's right-hand man, Guzmán's capture would surely raise alarm. Ela's task, using her DEA resources, was to spin a narrative: Guzmán hadn't been captured as part of a major crackdown—he'd been arrested for foolishly kidnapping an American tourist.
After all, in the world's eyes, an American life was priceless. That's what the U.S. always preached.
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