American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 65 Firefight
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Beta glanced down at the ground, his eyes searching through the mess for the bullet that might have ricocheted into a corner, the bullet that had grazed his ear, struck the floor, and bounced off into an unknown direction.

His boots trod across the pool of blood diluted by firefighting water, each step creating dark red ripples. The sprinkler system on the wall was still dripping, with several patches of flesh still clinging to the surface.

The gaze followed the charred marks on the floor, finally settling on the security door, warped and deformed by the thermite incendiary bomb. The charred traces around the door frame indicated that the flames that erupted from here ignited the rest of the floor. The air still reeked of acrid, burnt smells, a mixture of blood and the strange odor of chemical fire extinguishers.

Several police officers surrounded a mark on the ground, carefully placing a numbered sign, with flashes going off intermittently to secure the evidence at the scene.

One of the officers noticed Beta's approach; his black jacket and headset immediately led him to identify Beta as a National Security Agency agent.

"Who are you?" the officer asked, straightening up.

Beta flashed his badge: "National Security Bureau, Bertrand."

The officer nodded in acknowledgment: "Detective Bertrand, we have found a special warhead here."

He pointed to the markings on the ground: "Based on the ballistic reconstruction, this was a ricocheting bullet, with traces of blood remaining on the bullet. The preliminary judgment is that it was fired from this location, hit the ground at a very low angle, bounced, and eventually embedded itself in the plaster wall over there."

The officer, his expression serious, said, “Given that this was fired from a security guard’s service weapon, the target is very likely the attacker in this case. This bullet may contain crucial DNA evidence. We would like to ask whether we should keep it in the police evidence database, or have the National Security Bureau take direct control of it?”

Beta was taken aback, not expecting to find the warhead so easily. He took out a pair of white gloves from his pocket, put them on, and took the transparent evidence bag containing the warhead.

He examined it carefully against the light: "It's under the control of the National Security Bureau."

He gently stroked the evidence bag with his fingertips: "Can you deduce the physical characteristics of the person shot from the ballistic trajectory? Such as height and weight?"

The officer shook his head: "Unfortunately, it's not possible."

Beta folded the evidence bag in half and carefully put it into the inner pocket: "Then I don't need to ask that stupid question anymore. There's definitely no surveillance footage, right?"

The officer nodded: "Yes."

Beta removed his white gloves and casually stuffed them into his pocket. Just as he turned around, a cold, harsh voice came from behind him: "Stop! State your identity."

He slowly turned around and saw a man in a black jacket staring at him warily. The blue light from his headset flickered in the dim corridor—a typical National Security Bureau field agent's uniform.

"National Security Bureau, Bertrand." Berta calmly pulled out his badge.

The other person's gaze lingered briefly on the identification, but they didn't reach out to check it. This experienced agent opted for a more direct verification method: "Mobile communication channel code?"

This was a brilliant trap; the real insiders would naturally know, and the answer would never be leaked. Beta hadn't expected the other party to use such a simple yet effective method to verify his identity.

Beta paused for a few seconds, then uttered a phrase in Parisian-accented French: "Fils de pute." (son of a bitch) Beta's movements were lightning fast. Before the other could react, he drew his sidearm from his waist with his right hand, raised the muzzle, and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

The gunshot rang out like a thunderclap, and the atmosphere on the entire floor froze.

"boom!"

The bullet struck, and blood splattered along the trajectory of the bullet. The national security agent clutched his neck and staggered to the ground. Beta didn't hesitate; he turned and raised his gun, the dark muzzle instantly locking onto several officers behind him. They were just forensic investigators and medical examiners, unarmed, and hadn't even recovered from the sudden gunfire.

Beta's gaze swept over them, quickly assessing the situation. Ammunition was limited; there was no need to waste it on non-threatening targets. He decisively turned his gun, aiming at the other agents and officers who had rushed over upon hearing the commotion.

The next second, a violent firefight erupted.

The sounds of hurried footsteps echoed from all directions, accompanied by a cacophony of walkie-talkie calls. Beta leaned against a pillar, bullets whizzing past his clothes and leaving a series of bullet holes in the wall.

Police officers and detectives from all over the floor swarmed toward the point of fire like a startled bee. Bullets flew wildly through the corridors, shattering glass, tearing through walls, and whistling sharply through the air.

Beta seized a gap in the fire and peeked out, taking down an overly aggressive agent with three bursts of fire. He then dodged the incoming barrage and darted behind a concrete pillar on the other side. In the brief seconds that the enemy's vision was obscured, he moved to the outermost edge of the encirclement.

Beta grabbed the wrist of the officer behind the pillar, twisting his arm upwards. In a panic, the officer pulled the trigger, the bullet whizzing through the air. Beta swiftly turned the gun, striking the officer squarely in the chest. The officer shuddered violently and collapsed to the ground.

Beta crouched down, and the instant two fully armed officers rushed out from around the corner, he calmly fired two shots. The bullets pierced their foreheads, rendering their bulletproof vests useless. With two crisp gunshots, the two men fell heavily forward into pools of blood, their pistols slipping from their hands and splashing dark red liquid.

A faint struggle came from beside his feet. Beta lowered his eyes, pressed down on the gun, and fired another shot. The officer's hand, which had been gripping his clothes tightly, finally loosened, and he fell limply onto the broken glass with a final, crisp sound.

The officers urgently called for backup, and National Security Bureau agents took over command, sternly ordering the officers to disperse and block all exits.

Beta didn't give them a chance to deploy. He ripped off the bulletproof vest of a fallen officer, slinging it over his body with one hand while still gripping his pistol, and with the other hand, he pulled off another vest to shield himself.

He suddenly burst out from around the corner, bullets whistling in his face as they struck the bulletproof vest in his hand with a dull thud. Beta ducked low, using the cover to quickly advance, then raised his gun to return fire.

The three gunshots were almost in a row.

The first shot hit an agent in the face, causing him to fall backward; the second shot struck a police officer in his bulletproof vest, sending him staggering backward; the third shot followed closely, the bullet penetrating the top edge of the vest and ripping open the officer's skull. Blood mixed with brain matter splattered on the white wall behind him, resembling an ink painting.

Beta dodged to the corner of the wall, and two bullets whistled through the air. With a few crisp cracks, the remaining glass curtain wall shattered, and the bullets embedded themselves hard in the corner, kicking up two clouds of dust mixed with cement debris.

He positioned himself in a triangular firing position against the corner of the wall and fired two shots as the police officers rushed in.

(End of this chapter)