American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 67 Kataria
Taking advantage of the chaos at the hospital, Beta managed to escape. Having thoroughly cleared the safe house before the operation, he now had nowhere to stay in Paris and would have to find another place to rest before trying to leave France.

The only option now is to find an old acquaintance. There, they can catch their breath and redeploy their evacuation plan.

Wearing his disguise, Beta added another layer of camouflage using simple materials to ensure he was completely safe. He then hailed a taxi and headed towards his destination. He got out two blocks away and cautiously walked the rest of the way.

Beta tapped the door panel lightly with a specific rhythm: three long taps and two short taps, a pause, and then a heavy tap.

The office building, situated on the edge of an abandoned industrial area, had a weathered exterior, and its iron fire escape cast shadows in the twilight. In the open space behind the building, a dust-covered gray van sat silently, a few withered leaves scattered beside its tires. A sense of timeless silence permeated the entire area; only the hollow echo of his knocking reverberated through the corridor.

The sound of chains sliding came from inside the door, and a gap about three fingers wide opened.

A wary female voice came from under the door: "Who is it?"

“It’s me, Miss Little Flower,” Beta replied.

The door chain was ripped off, and a tanned hand grabbed Beta by the collar and dragged him inside. The woman nimbly peered into the hallway before slamming the door shut.

This is a mixed-race woman with an exotic look. Her rounded nose reveals her African heritage, but her delicate facial features are more Latina-like.

She wore an oversized black shirt, the hem of which just covered the top of her thighs, and her bare legs gleamed like honey in the dim room.

With her slender shoulders, swan-like neck, and long, shapely legs, she exuded a feline, graceful beauty. Her slippers slapped against the floor, and as she turned, the hem of her shirt billowed in a dangerous arc.

Katalia sank into the sofa, her long legs crossed. She casually tapped the air with her toes, and the hem of her black shirt rode up slightly with her backward lean, revealing more of her honey-colored skin.

"What are you trying to do, walking around Paris with that stranger's face?" She tapped her cheek lightly with her fingertip, indicating, "Could you please get rid of that monstrous face?"

Beta subtly shifted his gaze from her bare legs to her face: "I suggest you put on some pants, Catalia. Parisian nights aren't as warm as you think, aren't you worried about getting a cold bottom?"

"Oh, so you've learned to care about people?" She snorted softly, stretched like a cat, and got up to walk towards the wardrobe.

Amidst the rustling of fabric, came her question: "So? What wind blew the famous Beta all the way to Paris? And why did you suddenly remember to contact me?"

The clanging of metal hangers came from behind the wardrobe. She peeked halfway out from the edge of the wardrobe and said, "I thought you were going to avoid me for the rest of your life."

Beta lay on his back with his legs casually propped up on the coffee table, looking as relaxed as if he were in his own living room.

"You haven't been following the news?" he said lazily. "Something big happened in Paris. An Indian businessman was taken down."

Catalia buttoned up her denim shorts and stepped out from behind the wardrobe. She lightly leaped onto the opposite sofa, crossing her legs like a cat.

"Did you do it?" she asked bluntly.

“It really wasn’t me this time.” Beta raised his hands in surrender. “I was handling another order.” Katalia raised an eyebrow, giving him a “keep making this up” look.

She reached for her phone on the coffee table and tapped the screen a few times. The clear, articulate voice of the French news anchor immediately filled the room.

Regarding the shooting death of an Indian businessman at Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport, the police and the National Public Security Bureau have launched an investigation. As of press time, the case remains under investigation, and officials have not yet released specific details. It is noteworthy that two hours after the shooting, another serious shooting occurred at the headquarters of AAA Private Security, the company responsible for the Indian businessman's security. It is understood that the casualties and specific details of that incident are currently being strictly controlled by the authorities, and no relevant information has been released to the public.

Catalia stood up from the sofa, phone in hand, and strode towards Beta. Without any hesitation, she squeezed into the seat next to his legs, shoving the phone screen almost in his face: "You're in a shootout with the French security services? Do you know you've stirred up a hornet's nest? Instead of running for your life, you dare come looking for me?"

Her voice was very low: "Are you deliberately trying to drag me down with you?"

Beta explained, "My safe house has already been cleared out; I can't reuse it, can I? The only person I can trust is you, who happens to be in Paris."

Katalia's hand landed heavily on his abdomen.

"You bastard!" she gritted her teeth, her voice low. "What if I weren't in Paris today?"

Beta grinned. "I called you for help, you'd definitely come, wouldn't you? I even know you have a mole on your butt, that's how we are."

Kataria raised her hand to slap him again, but Beta reacted quickly and grabbed her wrist: "Just kidding! But you'll come to save me, right?"

She shook off his hand: "Please don't say things that are easy to misunderstand. We just grew up together, there's nothing inappropriate between us. Besides, you've always been indecent, how come you still remember something like the mole on my butt?"

She suddenly reached out, pinched Beta's cheek, and stared at him intently: "Do you have feelings for me?"

Beta slapped her hand away: "I can't feel anything at all."

Beta nudged Katalia's back to signal her to get up. After she moved aside, Beta straightened up by propping himself up on the sofa. "I need to get rid of the smell of gunpowder on me, treat the injury to my ear, and restore my original appearance before I can leave France like an ordinary tourist."

Catalia frowned: "Can't we leave now? Before the French security services impose full martial law?"

“No.” Beta shook his head, holding up three fingers to explain point by point: “First, airport police dogs can smell the gunpowder on me from dozens of meters away. If they spot me, I’ll be in jail on the spot. Second, I can only use real documents now. The photos on all the fake passports don’t match my face, so I have to disguise myself to use them, but we lack the necessary documents and it will take time. Third, my face has an entry record, so I must have a corresponding exit record; otherwise, I’ll be flagged by customs the next time I enter the country.”

Katalia tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and pointed to the inner room: "There's a bathroom and a mirror inside. Hurry up."

She glanced at her phone: "I'll take you to the airport."

　Katalia, from the movie *Colombiana*.

　
(End of this chapter)