American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 63 Remaining Trace
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This book is still in the recommended period after the revision, so I would be very grateful for your monthly tickets, recommendations, and continued reading!

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The office door lock clicked softly.

Silence returned to the office, broken only by the faint hum of the air purifier. The sound was regular and monotonous, like a timer counting down.

The supervisor's gaze gradually shifted from the window to the tightly closed oak door.

The burning sincerity in his eyes, like a extinguished cigarette butt, cooled into a cold, deep sea. His pupils, devoid of any warmth, stared at the door, as if trying to pierce through the thick wood to see something.

Outside the window, London was gradually darkening with twilight.

The lights of the cruise ships on the Thames came on, and the glass facades of the City of London reflected the last rays of the setting sun. On the streets, double-decker buses continued their scheduled routes, pedestrians hurried across intersections, and faint laughter drifted from cafes.

The city continues to breathe at its own pace.

Medvedeva gently closed the door, the metal latch clicking as it engaged.

She paused at the door, head bowed, the lamplight casting a soft shadow on her cheeks. Three seconds, perhaps five seconds, were enough for the lingering scent of tobacco on her fingers to completely dissipate.

The security camera in the corridor silently rotated, capturing her final turn and departure.
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Beta stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the stainless steel frame reflecting his gloomy face. His fingertips lightly traced his right earlobe; dark red scabs had formed at the edges of the wound, looking particularly gruesome against his pale skin.

His fingertips lightly touched the wound, a sharp pain making him squint. Beta stared at his increasingly distorted face in the mirror; this abrasion meant that a bullet carrying his DNA had been left at the scene.

His breathing became heavy, his hands gripping the edge of the ceramic sink tightly. His reflection in the mirror showed a twitching, downward-pointing mouth, his eyes blazing with anger like the calm before a storm. Finally, all restraint crumbled with a deafening "Fuck!"

The roar echoed in the enclosed bathroom, causing the water droplets on the sink to tremble violently. He slammed his fist into the mirror, but stopped abruptly at the last moment, his fist hovering less than a centimeter from the mirror, trembling violently.

Beta grabbed a glass from the sink.

"boom!"

The glass shattered on the mirror.

The shattered glass reflected countless angry faces, the echoes striking the tiled wall and bouncing back. A few shards of glass fell from the edge of the frame, making a crisp sound in the sink.

Beta splashed cold water hard on his face, forcing himself to recover from his emotional turmoil. Icy water dripped down his tense jawline, splashing tiny droplets on the edge of the sink.

He must now return to the scene immediately and find the warhead.

Although the thought of fleeing France immediately flashed through his mind, reason told him he couldn't take that risk. All the bodies and bloodstains at the scene could be matched with personal information, and if a bullet with unfamiliar DNA were to suddenly appear, it would inevitably raise the investigators' suspicions.

Beta certainly hoped the warhead had either flown out of the building or landed somewhere in a pool of blood, contaminating his DNA. But these were just wishful thinking. In this recent sniping incident, exceeding 4000 meters, the intelligence department's first suspect was undoubtedly him, codenamed β, a legend in the assassin world renowned for his ultra-long-range sniping skills.

Beta's eyes grew increasingly gloomy.

In order to obtain his DNA, British intelligence went so far as to capture mosquitoes in the forest that might carry his biological information. Once his DNA is exposed, it means traceability, and traceability is equivalent to the exposure of his true identity.

At that time, he will have to face full-scale arrest warrants from Britain and France, and may even be pursued across borders by the judicial authorities of the countries involved in the case, not to mention the inevitable persecution by the powerful forces he has offended.

Beta wiped the water droplets from her face and turned to walk towards the open kitchen of the safe house.

He stopped in front of the built-in oven and turned the knob on the control panel with a digital timer. With a soft click, the wall tiles popped open, revealing a hidden built-in safe.

The combination was entered, and the safe slowly opened with a "beep" sound. Inside, neatly arranged were passports, francs, a gold necklace, an expensive watch, a Glock 43 pistol, and a stack of documents.

Beta selected two documents from the safe: one was a complete French citizen identity document, which included not only the physical ID card but also a complete and verifiable file; the other was a work ID of an agent from the French DGSI National Security Agency. Although this forged document could pass the initial inspection, it would immediately expose the forged identity under a deeper system check.

The photos on both documents are of the same unfamiliar man.

Time was of the essence, so Beta quickly went to the vanity mirror, placed her ID in front of it, compared it with the photo on the ID, and took out professional makeup tools to begin disguising her face.

There was no time to completely change his appearance; he could only try to deceive them by quickly altering key facial features. If he couldn't return to the scene in time, and the evidence was archived by the French security services, either Beta could use missiles to destroy the entire evidence archive, or he would be forced to live a life of anonymity, like a rat in the street.

His hands moved swiftly across his face: attaching a realistic nose bridge, adding lifelike forehead wrinkles, a thick beard, and then adding acne scars and freckles. After finishing with his fingerprints and palm prints, he changed into a brand-new jacket, trousers, and black sneakers, finally pulling down a black baseball cap.

Thirty minutes later, a middle-aged man with a baseball cap, a large nose, and a full beard appeared in the mirror. Beta stood in front of the full-length mirror, pacing back and forth, constantly adjusting his gait and demeanor, quickly developing a unique walking posture and behavioral characteristics for his new identity.

Beta took a Glock 43 pistol from the safe, tucked it into the outside of his left calf, and pulled down his trouser leg to cover it. Then, he inserted the pistol he had seized during the evacuation of AAA Company into his holster, and neatly clipped five spare magazines to his left lower back.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, he carefully examined every detail of his disguise. The fresh abrasion on his right earlobe had been perfectly concealed, leaving no trace of injury.

Beta is going to have to do some rough work again.

Since his last confrontation with John at the Red Circle Club, he hadn't expected to have to go through it again so soon. But the current situation forced him to take action.

Once I've sorted out this mess in France, I need to take a vacation and find somewhere to lay low and avoid the limelight.

It's ironic. Beta is always efficient and clean when it comes to work; he's never made a task this messy before. Now, he has to clean up his own mess.

(End of this chapter)