They all had to admit Carles was right—they were patrol officers, not SEB. None of them had CQB training, and they weren't paid to play heroes. This was just a job; there was no need to throw their lives away.
After a quick discussion with the surveillance team, Carles settled on a plan: have community police call the suspect, tell him there was paperwork that needed his signature, and draw him out. Once he stepped outside, they would rush him. If he stayed put, they would regroup and prepare to hit the house directly. Crude, but simple.
Felix kept his thoughts to himself. There was no point playing the hero in a team op, and besides—trying the soft approach first wasn't a bad idea.
The community officer made the call. Christian Chen agreed over the phone to step out immediately.
"Target is exiting the residence. All units, stand by."
Christian didn't think twice at first. He strapped on his pistol out of habit, grabbed his car keys, and stepped outside. Locking the door, he gave the street a casual scan before sliding into his car.
The engine turned over—but something didn't feel right. He sat there for a beat, searching for the reason, and realized the street was oddly empty. At this hour, there was usually traffic and footfall, never this kind of quiet.
Trouble.
That was his first thought. The phone call suddenly seemed suspicious. He wasn't some fresh immigrant—he knew full well how rare it was for paperwork to be urgent in America.
Back to the house—no, that was worse. If community police had lured him out, cops were involved, and cops never came with only one plan. If he went back inside, they'd surround the house, and then he'd be trapped. He was already in the car; better to gun it and try to lose them in the suburbs.
Decision made.
He pulled the pistol from his waistband, racked it, flicked off the safety, and set it in the console. The wheel turned, and he eased out onto the street.
"All units, suspect vehicle is on the move. Intercept team, be ready to box him in."
Felix started his engine and rolled out of the alley, ready to cut the suspect off.
The plan was unfolding step by step—until Christian, somehow sensing the trap, suddenly floored it. The cars waiting ahead couldn't close the gap in time, and he slipped through.
"All units, suspect has broken through. Pursue!" Carles's voice barked over the radio, sharp with frustration.
Felix gunned it, but being a step late meant staying a step behind. The suspect's car broke through three more roadblocks in quick succession.
There was nothing for it but to form a line and run the streets behind him.
Christian's panic mounted. What had begun as a hunch was now confirmed—there were cops, and plenty of them. He pressed the accelerator harder, ignoring traffic lights altogether.
But lights didn't ignore him.
He roared toward an intersection on red, only to see a blue sedan crossing ahead. No time to brake. The crash came hard, steel against steel.
Both vehicles crumpled. Christian's Elantra shuddered forward a few more yards before dying in place.
The trailing cruisers seized the opening, fanning in to surround him.
Felix was out first, weapon up. A quick glance inside—Christian was slumped in the driver's seat, face covered in blood, unconscious.
"Clear. Suspect's out cold."
Officers moved in to cover him as Felix yanked the door open, patted him down fast.
"No gun."
Others stepped in, cuffed the suspect, and dragged him clear. An eagle-eyed colleague spotted the pistol on the floorboard—thrown from the console by the force of the crash.
Christian was loaded into a patrol car, headed for the hospital.
The driver of the blue sedan—a Chinese-American woman—was limping and shaken. She clutched Carles's arm. "Officer, my car's wrecked! I was driving for UberEats, now the car and the order are both ruined! You saw it—I was following every law!"
"I'm sorry for what happened," Carles said evenly. "But this was a lawful police operation. We can't take responsibility for damages. You can sue him, file a claim with your insurance, or speak to Uber."
Her face fell. After taking Carles's name and the station's number, she hesitated, then went back to finish the delivery.
Felix let the scene drift from his mind and turned to watch the searches. From Christian's car and home, they pulled nearly two kilos of fentanyl, close to 2,000 grams of methamphetamine, 18,000 counterfeit M30 pills laced with fentanyl, 734 Adderall tablets, over 140 pounds of marijuana, psilocybin mushrooms, butane hash oil, two unmarked pistols, and a shotgun.
News came in from other teams: the ringleader, Zhen Da Ho, had been taken with two unmarked pistols and $400,000 in drug cash, along with multiple drives packed with data—gold for the analysts.
The small grow sites had gone down quietly: seven growers arrested, 1,500 hydroponic cannabis plants seized, plus over 70 pounds of fresh product.
The CHP had stopped Jin Kai Chen's Mercedes van on the freeway, finding 268 pounds of marijuana and $100,000 in cash. All occupants were in custody.
Word filtered back that Zhen Da Ho was already trying to cut a deal—naming laundering channels, contacts, even a food-processing plant used to make cannabis edibles, in exchange for reduced charges.
When it comes apart, everyone runs for themselves. Criminal loyalty never lasts; under heat, confessions come fast.
None of it concerned Felix. Interrogations and follow-up ops weren't his to handle.
With nothing else to do, he opened the system to check the missing-person case he'd filed the day before. To his surprise, it was already marked closed.
The report showed that someone had spotted a parked car in a narrow alley. Inside was the body of Colin Zhang.
The coroner hadn't filed the report yet; cause of death was still unknown.