Chapter 599: Robbery!

Bruce swung open the passage door of the Mercedes-Benz bus, stepping out of the cockpit. The abrupt noise shattered the vibrant atmosphere within the vehicle. Everyone, including Marina, Natalia, and the others, turned their attention toward Bruce.

Martin rose from his seat, making his way over to Bruce.

Bruce shot a discreet look at the women and murmured, "We've got a tail behind us. They've been following us since the hotel. Doesn't seem like paparazzi or reporters."

Leonardo and Nicholson joined them, curiosity piqued.

Nicholson, always eager for excitement, perked up upon hearing Bruce's words and inquired quietly, "There really aren't any spies on board, right?"

Leonardo furrowed his brow, "I had someone conduct background checks, and they all have over five years of experience as actors or models. They aren't high-profile figures in their respective circles."

Martin pondered the situation, then asked, "Details about the tail?"

Bruce provided information, "It's a silver-gray Citroën with the license plate..."

"Let's give this a try and leave it to me," Martin whispered. He gazed outside, "If there truly is a spy on board, what's her purpose here? She must be attending the party and attempting to get close to us. My guess is they'll allow the party to proceed as planned."

Leonardo and Nicholson both nodded in agreement.

Martin whispered a few instructions.

Leonardo complied, "Alright, I'm on board with your plan, you rogue with the wildest ideas."

Nicholson, eager to act, found himself yielding to Martin's idea since it was his. "If your plan doesn't work out, then it's my turn."

Martin nodded, "Okay."

Bruce returned to the cockpit and secured the access door.

Martin gripped the armrest, turning to address everyone.

Realizing this might take a while, some passengers began to idly fiddle with their phones.

Natalia powered off her phone and inquired, "Any updates on the situation?"

Martin addressed them directly, "We might need to remain on the bus for a while. There's a tail behind us—a Citroën that's been trailing us since the hotel. They're just following us, but I suspect they have ulterior motives."

"Is it paparazzi?" Elena inquired.

"I hope it's just entertainment reporters or paparazzi," Martin responded cautiously. "I've encountered some less-than-pleasant situations, and I'm sure you've all heard about them. These experiences have made me develop a habit of expecting the worst in every scenario."

Sasha Ruth chimed in with a grin, "You're the Coca-Cola God of War!"

Laughter and playful shouts echoed through the bus.

Martin clapped his hands, signaling for silence. "Let's observe the situation and see if we can shake off this tail. If things take a turn for the worse, tonight's party may have to be postponed to another day."

The atmosphere inside the bus turned anxious, particularly among the passengers who had journeyed from Russia and Ukraine. Even a woman would understandably feel frustrated if she had traveled thousands of miles with a purpose in mind and couldn't fulfill it.

Martin sighed in response to their agitation.

Leonardo took a step forward and reassured them, "Even if our party can't proceed as planned, all the promises I made to you still stand."

A hush fell over the bus.

Their purpose for being here was far from seeking love, and everyone was well aware of it. While Leonardo spoke, Marina skillfully held her phone with one hand, subtly shielding her actions as she typed a text message with remarkable speed, sending it to her uncle. She had accepted this mission, and her determination to see it through was unrivaled.

Inside the bus, no one wished for the party to proceed smoothly more than Marina. Once her message was dispatched, she effortlessly returned to her game, immersed in the mini-game's challenges.

Martin's voice broke the tension, "Ladies and gentlemen, please bear with us a little longer. Our skilled driver will make every effort to shake off our pursuer."

The three of them had discussed the possibility of being pursued by French paparazzi reporters days earlier and devised several strategies to evade them.

The Mercedes-Benz bus continued its journey toward a sprawling parking lot with multiple exits.

In the black business car, Marina's uncle received her message and promptly consulted the schedule of the "Inception" crew. The crew of Martin Davis would depart France the following afternoon, embarking on a promotional tour in Spain and then worldwide. Organizing a gathering of this magnitude on short notice would be impossible.

Considering Martin's Hollywood status and allure, he would soon be lured to other events around the world, leaving behind the Russian side.

The uncle made a swift decision and instructed, "In case of emergency, there's a silver-gray Citroën tailing the target bus. Keep a close eye on it!"

"The target vehicle is located, and we're monitoring it closely," came the swift response.

Turning a corner after an intersection, someone else in a car reported, "I've confirmed that the beige Citroën is indeed tailing the target bus. The Citroën's license plate is..."

Displeased with these unforeseen developments, the uncle inquired, "Can you verify the vehicle details?"

A technician promptly retrieved the vehicle information based on the license plate. The information arrived, "The Citroën is a rented vehicle, and the lessor is a British man."

Upon hearing it was a British man, the uncle displayed a hint of disdain. After brief contemplation, he instructed, "Find an appropriate location to intercept them, preventing them from interfering with our objective."

"Understood!"

"Copy!"

A curious individual pressed further, "Are we going to stuff the British guy's head up your rear end?"

The uncle quipped, "Drop him off in District 93; he can fend for himself."

His priority was to ensure the success of the party. He further ordered, "The bus is highly vigilant. Everyone, immediately abandon the pursuit and use all available resources to halt the Citroën. It must be stopped!"

Night had fallen as the bus entered an underground parking lot. Vehicles that had been prearranged for this situation stood by. An orchestrated accident blocked the entrance to the parking lot, while multiple vehicles obstructed the one-way street leading to it.

Inside the parking lot, the bus parked alongside three commercial vehicles. As its front and rear doors opened, Martin and his entourage swiftly exited, boarding the commercial vehicles. They selected a suitable exit and departed the parking lot.

Meanwhile, the Mercedes-Benz bus simply remained stationary within the lot. At the entrance, the previously malfunctioning car had been repaired and was now making its way in.

Finally, the silver-gray Citroën caught up, entering the parking lot, only to find its target had vanished.

"Damn it!" Tom Hardy watched helplessly as the Mercedes-Benz bus disappeared from sight. Frustration gnawed at him, having meticulously planned for days, only to come away empty-handed. However, he was not one to give up easily and suggested, "Hold on, they might not have left yet."

Rogers decelerated and scrutinized the surroundings in search of the bus.

Citroën roamed the parking lot for a while, and in the dim light, Tom Hardy faintly discerned the bus lurking in the darkest corner, like an elusive specter.

He pointed urgently, "There, over there!"

Rogers started to turn the vehicle around when, on the opposite side, a German Volkswagen approached, its headlights piercing the encroaching darkness.

The glaring lights prompted Rogers to instinctively hit the brakes. Just as he was about to unleash a barrage of expletives at the "high-beam culprit," the Volkswagen screeched to a halt, obstructing the path ahead.

The bus was now directly in front of them, and Tom Hardy's anxiety surged. He rolled down the window and hollered, "Move it! Get out of the way! Hurry!"

However, the Volkswagen remained silent, its blinding headlights persevering.

Tom Hardy's unease deepened. Before he could react, two more cars appeared from behind. One positioned itself to block the rear of the Citroën, and the other cut off any potential U-turn route.

Several men, concealed beneath black cotton hats, emerged from the cars. Only their mouths and noses were visible, and they brandished pistols, all trained on the front seats of the Citroën.

One of them barked in French, "Exit the vehicle immediately, hand over all your money and valuables, or I'll shoot!"

"Damn French, terrible security!" Tom Hardy cursed inwardly, realizing he was being held up at gunpoint. Faced with the menacing barrels, he dared not utter a word or make a move, swiftly exiting the car.

Rogers followed suit.

The four men outnumbered them, wielding pistols pointed squarely at Tom Hardy's head. They forced his arms behind his back, binding them with zip ties and sealing his mouth with duct tape. A thick, black cloth sack was placed over his head.

Then, one of the men conducted a thorough search, confiscating Tom Hardy's wallet, watch, cellphone, necklace, and more.

The searcher was particularly invasive, even going as far as searching his crotch. This man resembled an eccentric uncle tormenting a child, subjecting Tom Hardy to an uncomfortable and intrusive ordeal.

"F*ck!" Tom Hardy winced in pain, but his muffled cries were the only sound he could produce.

The peculiar uncle chuckled, "See, he's enjoying it!"

Tom Hardy fumed silently.

The man continued his invasive search, prompting Tom Hardy to wriggle uncomfortably. However, the gun pointed at his head kept him paralyzed with fear.

"Stay still!" the peculiar uncle chortled, delivering a few rough punches to Tom Hardy's head for good measure.

As the blows left Tom Hardy disoriented and disconnected from his senses, he was hoisted up and unceremoniously tossed into the trunk of a car. Rogers fared no better, being similarly deposited like a sack of potatoes.

The four vehicles departed the parking lot separately.

Tom Hardy lay confined in the trunk, his extremities restrained. A growing dread consumed him as he wondered, "Are these bastards not content with robbery and molestation? Are they after our lives?"

For a moment, he recalled the numerous tales of chaos that had enveloped Paris.

After an indeterminate amount of time, the car's movement grew erratic, inducing dizziness in Tom Hardy. Faint sounds reached his ears, but before he could make sense of them, he was abruptly yanked from the vehicle and deposited onto the ground.

As Tom Hardy heard the car's engine fade into the distance, he realized that his life had been spared. Struggling to his feet, he soon realized that his hands and feet remained bound. His frantic shouts were reduced to muted whimpers through the stifling tape.

He could do little more than squirm helplessly.

"Someone's here," a voice declared suddenly.

Subsequently, Tom Hardy perceived the sound of numerous footsteps drawing near.

The black hood that had obscured his vision was roughly ripped away, and as he blinked against the dim light, all he could discern was darkness.

The hands extended towards him were black, the faces were black, even the hair was black.

Black and weathered, like a legion of demons.

For Tom Hardy, these denizens of District 93 were akin to devils.

The devils ravaged Tom Hardy's clothing with wild abandon.

"His coat is quite nice, I want it!"

"Don't fight me for the belt!"

"This underwear suits me best!"

"Alright, I don't want the clothes anymore. This white guy has such tender skin..."

One after another, the dark hands led Tom Hardy into further humiliation.