Chapter 214: Airborne Plan
"No, I'm a Texan through and through, and I only drink Lone Star beer," Ron shook his head. "I know you'll have it ready for me, so why don't you just bring it out?"
"Well, you called it," Anonymous reached behind the barrel and pulled out a half-dozen small boxes containing Ron's favorite Lone Star beer. Ron cracked one open without hesitation and clinked it against Anonymous's glass. "Cheers, and here's hoping this is the last time we have to meet like this."
Anonymous feigned hurt. "Am I really that repulsive to you? I thought you might want to get to know me better."
"No, you've got the wrong idea about me," Ron said, keeping his distance while holding his beer. "If you're really looking for that kind of companionship, I'd be happy to introduce you to my cousin Mitchell. He got married to his partner a few years back, and they adopted a little girl from Vietnam."
"I'll keep that in mind if the need arises," Anonymous said with a sly smile that made Ron's skin crawl.
"Alright, I'm more than happy to play matchmaker anytime, but you know that's not why I'm here today," Ron tossed his empty bottle and cracked open another. "I'm here to solve a problem, and you know exactly which one."
"Right, you're here about Deckard Shaw," Anonymous said, walking deeper into the warehouse. "Shaw's strength lies in staying invisible, evading pursuit, and eliminating targets without a trace. He's a real British hard case, but honestly, I couldn't care less about him."
"What I really care about is you," Anonymous turned and pointed at Ron. "Because we can help each other get what we both want."
"No, we want different things," Ron shook his head. "I only want Deckard Shaw, but what you're really after is the God's Eye program, right?"
The God's Eye was Paige's creation, secretly embedded in other systems through a Trojan horse, making a hacker named Ramsey believe she had developed this miraculous program that could access any camera worldwide and track targets through algorithms.
"I'm not here for a lecture, and I have zero interest in any so-called cutting-edge technology," Ron said, his heart sinking. If he wanted that program, he could just ask Paige directly. Why go through all this trouble?
But to protect Paige's safety, he had to play along. "Just tell me where it is, and I'll get it for you. Then you tell me where Shaw is. Deal?"
"Deal," Anonymous extended his hand to Ron. "Hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of calling everyone who might be useful here in your name. I figured you wouldn't object to having them hear this together, right?"
The warehouse doors reopened, and a line of sports cars rolled in. Out stepped Toretto and his crew, along with Ron's remaining team members.
"Our intelligence says Ramsey will be transported by convoy through the Caucasus Mountains. If they make it through that pass and reach their destination, Ramsey's as good as dead. And for certain political reasons that make me sick, the U.S. military can't launch any official rescue operations..."
"Let me break it down," Ron said, pushing past Anonymous and approaching the tactical map. "Look here—there's only one way through, with sheer cliffs on both sides. The convoy's heavily protected, surrounded by hostile forces."
"That sounds like a suicide mission. Dumbest thing I've ever heard," Roman muttered. Having tangled with Ron before, he didn't dare voice his objections too loudly.
"Exactly," Ron suddenly fixed him with a stare, making Roman jump into a defensive stance. But Ron had bigger concerns.
"So, after talking it over with our anonymous friend here, I've come up with an audacious plan. We hit them here." Ron pointed to the defensive position, immediately drawing strong protests from Anonymous's military advisors.
"Negative! You can't assault that position! It's the most heavily fortified point in their entire defensive perimeter!"
"That's right. There are at least three military installations in the immediate area," Roman objected, his fear of death outweighing his fear of Ron's fists.
"Listen up, soldier—stick to your job. We don't need tactical advice from you," Ron snapped at the interrupting advisor, then glared at Roman. "And here's the thing—I'm running this operation now. I don't run a democracy like Toretto. You follow my orders, understood?"
Ron raised his fist, and Roman immediately shut his mouth.
"So how exactly do you plan to reach that position? Genius!" the military advisor said sarcastically.
"Airborne insertion, naturally," Ron said, thinking of the cinematic sequence, a grin spreading across his face.
"What?!" Roman's jaw dropped, and the questioning advisor looked equally stunned. "You're all completely insane!"
Toretto clapped approvingly—he and Ron were thinking along the same lines. Ron clapped his hands together. "Alright, let's get to work. I know you're all masters of your craft. Pick any ride you want from this warehouse! Strip them down, upgrade the suspension systems, and most importantly, install parachutes rated for their weight. Turn these babies into sky-diving machines."
Everyone immediately turned their attention to the collection of cars in the warehouse. The prospect of modifying these classic machines was genuinely exciting for the mechanics, while Ron turned back to Anonymous.
"I'm also going to need some air support—an AC-130 gunship, or maybe an A-10 Warthog."
"Absolutely not. I already told you—certain treaties restrict our options. You won't get any official U.S. military support. I'm not sending fighter aircraft to back you up. If those restrictions didn't exist, I'd just send in the 82nd Airborne instead of you guys."
Anonymous angrily rejected Ron's request, though Ron hadn't expected much anyway. "Then can you find me a large cargo glider? I'll modify it myself, and you can just have your transport tow it into position."
...
Three days later, over the Caucasus Mountains, under clear blue skies, two massive C-17 Globemaster transport aircraft flew over the peaks, each towing modified cargo gliders. On the ground below, a convoy consisting of multiple vehicles and two armored personnel carriers advanced along the only available road.
"Weather conditions are green, and we have clearance for airborne operations," the lead pilot reported over the comm.
"Then let's light this candle."
(End of chapter)
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