In the distance, members of Omega and Phantom watched Owen and Ela standing outside the interrogation room. Fred felt something strange stirring inside him. Ela didn't recognize him, but he certainly recognized her—she was the daughter of his former commanding officer. But given her words and behavior, Fred found it difficult to feel any warmth toward her.
Beside him, Holter kept ranting about everything Ela had said or done, but Fred no longer had the mood to keep the conversation going.
"Boss, Guzmán talked."
The interrogation room door opened, and Heartbeat stepped out, smiling. He hadn't seen what had happened just before, and when he noticed Ela there, he frowned in irritation. He leaned in and whispered to Owen, "Guzmán confirmed it—Mario was the one who helped those Yemenis a few days ago. He doesn't know why, but he did. As for Mario's whereabouts, he's not sure. But he gave up a few places Mario frequents. I think he's telling the truth."
Owen nodded. Previously, they had intel pointing to Mario Sánchez's involvement with the Yemenis, but they couldn't confirm the source's accuracy. Now that Guzmán had said it himself, they could be a hundred percent sure.
"You bastard!"
Ela suddenly stormed into the interrogation room. Sounds of Guzmán being beaten followed. Ghost quickly pulled her away. Owen glanced at her and signaled for Ghost to take her out of the room.
To be honest, the efficiency of the Sánchez Group was astonishing. Their operation had been conducted covertly, and the arrest itself went off without a hitch, yet by the time they reached the border, Guzmán's men were already there.
And the afternoon's retaliation had come even faster. The DEA officer had only had his mask pulled off for a second—just enough time for someone to possibly remember his face. Even police facial recognition wouldn't have been that fast. How did the Sánchez Group pull this off? For the first time, Owen felt the true reach and power of the organization.
"Mark those locations for Becky and have her arrange surveillance."
Heartbeat went to contact Becky. The places Guzmán mentioned included a nightclub, a Sánchez Group drug lab, and the home of one of Mario's mistresses—all spots where Mario was highly likely to appear.
Long-term satellite surveillance wasn't cost-effective—those resources were extremely limited and not exclusively controlled by CTU—but short-term was feasible.
Owen looked at Ela. She had calmed down by now.
"Tomorrow we're going to Juárez. We need to visit the DEA officer who died—and we'll need the Mexican side's cooperation for the next operation."
Owen wasn't even sure why he wanted to go—was it out of sympathy for the officer's tragic fate, or simply because they needed DEA support going forward?
Probably the latter weighed heavier. At some point, Owen had stopped feeling reverence for life. Aside from the people he cared about, others didn't seem so important anymore.
The next day, Omega and Ela set out for Ciudad Juárez in two military Humvees. For safety reasons, they avoided using the black Suburbans. Those cars had already shown up too much—there was no telling if the Sánchez family had someone watching them.
Suburbans weren't safe anymore. The Humvees, on the other hand, were unmistakably military. Only the U.S. Armed Forces had them. The hope was that the bold declaration of their identity would make their enemies think twice.
They crossed the U.S.-Mexico border and entered Juárez without incident. No signs of being followed.
This trip wasn't for combat—just to coordinate. That's why only Omega and Ela had come. Owen had left Phantom behind to guard Guzmán.
They arrived at the DEA station. The building looked more like a small fortress than a police office. Barbed wire topped the perimeter walls, machine guns were mounted above, and the concrete bore pockmarks from bullets and scorch marks from past fires.
Ela handed their credentials to the gate guards. Security was extremely tight. Fully armed soldiers accompanied them the entire way—without such precautions, the station would've been wiped off the map by now.
Everyone wore masks. Owen remembered Ela telling him that cartel lookouts were posted 24/7 outside every police and DEA station, reporting any movement. DEA agents had to secretly capture those lookouts before conducting any raids—otherwise it was all for nothing.
After passing multiple security checkpoints, they were finally allowed inside. Inside, no one wore masks. For the first time, Owen and the others saw Patrick face to face.
Though they'd carried out an operation together just the day before, they hadn't actually spoken. Everyone had worn masks, so no one was recognizable. Now, meeting officially for the first time, Patrick looked to be in his forties, hair graying, but his eyes still sharp and clear.
"I'm very sorry, Captain Patrick. For what happened to your officer…" Owen and Ela offered their condolences as soon as they met. After all, this mission had been initiated by the U.S.—Mexico had merely cooperated, yet it was the Mexican DEA that bore the brunt of the cartel's wrath.
Patrick, surprisingly, didn't show the anger one might expect. Instead, his expression was calm, unreadable. He gestured for them to sit and said, "Revenge—this isn't our first time dealing with it. And sacrifice? We're not afraid of it. Every member of the DEA joined voluntarily. We all knew this day might come. If we want drugs gone from Mexican soil, sacrifices are a necessity. Follow me."
He led them to a memorial room. Inside were photos—dozens of framed portraits. Owen felt a sense of foreboding, and sure enough, Patrick explained, "Everyone here is a fallen DEA officer. They gave their lives trying to change Mexico. The results may be small—but we never gave up."
"Most of our agents joined because a family member was killed by the cartels. This man here is Iturriaga Isonó. He died last September…"
Patrick pointed to one of the photos and continued, "We were trying to arrest drug lord Beltrán Leyva. We got him. But during the withdrawal, something went wrong. Iturriaga was ambushed and captured. The cartel's firepower was overwhelming. If we hadn't retreated, the whole team would've been wiped out. We had no choice but to leave him behind."
Patrick's voice didn't waver. "They fed him stimulants to keep him wide awake. Then they tortured him for forty hours before dismembering him."
"And that wasn't the end. At his funeral, his family didn't wear masks. As soon as the service ended, a group of cartel gunmen showed up and opened fire. His entire family was killed on the spot. That's why all DEA agents in Mexico work masked now. If the cartels get any information, your family's as good as dead. What happened yesterday is just another example."
He moved to another photo and began telling another story.
One by one, he recounted the stories of the fallen. Each tale seemed etched into his memory. The members of Omega listened in silence.
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