Guzmán was placed in an interrogation room. Owen didn't need to concern himself with the process—Ghost and Heartbeat were professionals. There wasn't a mouth they couldn't pry open.
When Owen left the room, Guzmán was still putting on a tough act. His skin was dark, hair slicked and tied into a short ponytail—a stereotypical look for a Mexican drug lord. Maybe he thought he was a hard man. Maybe he believed Mario Sánchez would bust him out. Whatever he believed, Owen was certain he'd get what he needed.
Owen stepped out of the room and took a breath of fresh night air.
Searchlights had been set up all around the U.S. military base. Machine gunners and American soldiers stood watch in every post. Guzmán likely had no idea he was in Fort Bliss, El Paso. For a cartel to breach this place? Utter delusion.
Owen scanned the perimeter. A few U.S. soldiers smoked by the wall—Shepherd was among them. Owen walked over, feeling annoyed. Ela had been insisting on sitting in for the entire interrogation, demanding everything be recorded.
Given their current strained relationship, Omega couldn't afford to go too far during questioning. Any footage of aggressive methods could end up on her desk—and if Ela took it to the Justice Department, it would be a major problem. The DOJ had already been giving CTU grief under congressional orders.
"Got a spare?" Owen asked. He didn't usually smoke, so he didn't carry his own.
Shepherd handed him a cigarette and lit it, grinning. "Not having a great night, huh?"
Owen shot him a look. That smug expression was begging for a punch. Clearly, their past collaborations hadn't always gone smoothly. At least this time, Omega had the lead. Back when Phantom supported the DEA, the command was all in their hands.
"Come on, I'll show you something interesting," Shepherd said after they finished their smokes.
They climbed up to the rooftop. Shepherd pointed toward distant lights in the dark. "That's Ciudad Juárez. Take a look."
Owen peered into the night. Slowly, he noticed red streaks zipping through the darkness—sometimes a brighter flare arced across the sky, followed by a distant burst of light.
He recognized them immediately—tracer rounds and possibly RPGs. It was too far away to hear, but visually, it looked like a silent movie of war.
Shepherd explained, "We took Guzmán. No matter the reason, other factions won't pass up the chance. Juárez is a juicy piece of meat. By tomorrow, his territory will be carved up. Welcome to Mexico."
Owen nodded. Survival of the fittest. Jungle law.
He glanced sideways at Shepherd. Compared to Mexico, he was more curious about Phantom Squad.
He was familiar with most of the U.S. Tier 1 units—Delta (CAG), DEVGRU (SEAL Team Six), the 24th STS. Then there were the Tier 2s like the 75th Rangers, 160th SOAR, and Tier 3s like the Green Berets and regular SEALs. But Phantom? He'd never heard of them. It piqued his curiosity.
Tier 1 teams typically recruited from Tier 2 and Tier 3 units. Maybe Phantom did the same. Maybe Shepherd and his people came from one of those. Still, if they were Tier 1, that would be top secret. Even if Owen asked, he wouldn't get an answer.
He was just about to probe a little when his phone rang.
"Boss, you better come down here. With this woman watching, we can't get anything useful," Heartbeat's irritated voice crackled through.
Owen acknowledged, hung up, and waved goodbye to Shepherd. Sometimes you pick a fight you don't want—but you still have to show up.
Back in the interrogation room, Ghost was shining a spotlight straight into Guzmán's eyes, but the results weren't promising.
Owen glanced at the others. Ghost shook his head. Heartbeat looked visibly annoyed and kept glancing at the one-way mirror—Ela was definitely behind it.
Guzmán spotted Owen return and flashed a smug grin. Owen casually walked to the corner, switched off the camera, and then drove a fist straight into Guzmán's gut. The grin vanished instantly, replaced by agony.
Heartbeat caught on immediately—no more pretense. He strolled up with a stack of photos, smiling as he flipped the first one in front of Guzmán.
"Look who it is. If I'm not wrong, this pretty girl's name is Selma Toro—your daughter, right? You weren't much of a husband, but you tried to be a good father. Changed her name so she could live safely in the States. Adorable. A real family man…"
"You bastard—" Guzmán lunged like a wild animal. Ghost kicked him back into the chair.
"What do you think you're doing?" Ghost pinned him down as he thrashed, murder in his eyes.
Heartbeat ignored it and gently patted his cheek. "Be smart. Tell us what we want to know. Or tomorrow, your daughter gets picked up—drug trafficking, hit-and-run, whatever fits. She'll end up in a women's prison. Know what that means in the U.S.? Believe me, suicide will start looking like a luxury. God, I'm starting to sound like a movie villain."
"You can't do this! You're monsters! What about human rights?!" Guzmán yelled.
"Pathetic. A drug lord preaching about human rights?" Heartbeat scoffed. "That's for humans. You? You're a piece of shit. Or hey, maybe I don't even need to touch her—just leak her real identity. I'm sure your enemies will find her. Let's hope she knows how to dial 911."
"No!" Guzmán shouted in despair.
Owen didn't want to hear it. He turned and left the room. The door clicked shut behind him, muffling Guzmán's cries.
Outside, Ela stormed down the hallway in a fury. She tried to push past Owen, but he blocked the door.
"This is inhumane! What you're doing makes you no better than the cartel!" she shouted.
Owen looked her dead in the eyes, his tone deadly serious. "Inhumane? I'm only humane to the people I protect. Go ask Guzmán about the corpses he sealed in his walls. Ask what they went through. You think what we said in there compares to that? What we're doing is a damn bedtime story by comparison."
Ela fell silent, unable to argue.
From behind the door, Guzmán's howls continued, but her anger had clearly dulled.
"I'll report you! Everything you said and did—I'll take it to internal affairs! You're going to prison for this!" she snapped.
Owen said nothing. He didn't even bother to argue. He just kept standing there, blocking the door.
He'd already had Becky run a background check on Ela. Turned out she and Fred had served in the same unit. Her father had been a commander in GROM. No wonder her tactical skills were solid. At some point she'd ended up in the U.S. and joined the DEA. Maybe she'd been brainwashed by all that American "rule-of-law" idealism. Owen couldn't figure out why the DEA would send someone like her to Mexico.
Ela glared at him. Then her phone rang.
Still fuming, she shot him a dirty look before answering. It was Spanish. As she listened, her face fell. Her tone changed. Owen couldn't understand the words, but he could tell—something bad had happened.
The call lasted over a minute. When she hung up, she met Owen's eyes.
"It was Patrick from the DEA," she said, her voice heavy. "The officer Guzmán unmasked earlier today… he's dead."
Owen's brow furrowed. He knew what that meant—and even expected it. But how had Sánchez's people moved this fast?
"That officer was worried about his family. Wanted to check on them. Patrick wouldn't let him, said it was too dangerous. Then this afternoon, a truck pulled up outside the DEA station and dropped off a huge box. They thought it was a bomb. It wasn't. Inside were two dismembered bodies."
She paused.
"After reconstruction, they were identified as the officer's wife and child. Both tortured to death. The child was decapitated. The wife… worse. Hacked into over a dozen pieces. The officer couldn't take it. He killed himself on the spot."
Owen said nothing. He just listened.
Inside the interrogation room, Guzmán's screams still echoed.
Ela no longer looked like she wanted to storm in.
______
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