Chapter 61: Battle

Owen moved at a steady pace, showing no signs of hurry or distress. He had a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, which was actually a spying device disguised by Murphy before he left. However, it was clearly not the right time to use it, and Owen didn't want to be mistaken for someone with a visual impairment at this late hour.

But Owen had no trouble dealing with this situation. The tricks taught by Murphy were very useful. With stores everywhere, the shop windows and the rearview mirrors of roadside cars provided him with great convenience. Without looking back, he knew that the car following him had three people inside, two of whom followed him on foot after Owen parked.

Owen walked forward as if nothing was happening, making a sudden turn into the Dubao Shopping Center. It was just after work hours, so the mall was crowded, especially since there was a promotional event in the plaza on the first floor, attracting a sizable crowd.

Using the mall's layout to his advantage, Owen quickly identified the two followers by their distinctive Latin American appearance—one tall and one short.

To avoid alarming them, Owen did not look in their direction at all, pretending to be unaware of their presence. He took the elevator to the second floor, planning to find a less crowded area to confront the two men and interrogate them about their identities.

The second floor housed an IKEA store, sprawling and almost deserted, which was ideal for Owen's purposes.

As Owen walked towards the furniture section, the two Latin Americans also took the elevator to the second floor and followed him.

When they arrived, a few screams from women were heard from the furniture section, followed by several customers and salespeople running out in panic.

Owen had already spotted a few people lingering in the furniture area. To avoid injuring them in the upcoming confrontation, he revealed his handgun, which led them to believe he was a robber and they fled in terror.

The two Latin Americans realized something was wrong. At the entrance of the furniture section, they exchanged glances; the shorter one pulled out a submachine gun, while the taller one began fitting a silencer onto his pistol.

They cautiously moved inside, where the furniture arrangements created numerous blind spots.

The taller man covered the left, and the shorter one the right. It was clear to them that Owen had noticed their presence and was hiding somewhere.

Suddenly, the shorter man saw a movement in the corner of his eye. He turned and fired a burst, shattering a full-length mirror on a wardrobe.

The taller man, startled by the noise, showed an expression of disbelief at the mistake. The shorter man shrugged, about to make a joke to ease the tension, when suddenly the door of a wardrobe behind him silently opened, and a Glock was pressed against the back of his head.

"Freeze! Drop your gun to the floor, slowly…"

Following Owen's command, the two Latin Americans, as if under a spell, slowly dropped their guns to the floor.

"Who are you? Why are you trying to kill me?"

Owen moved to their side, kicking their guns away, when suddenly someone shouted from behind, "Don't move, LAPD, put down your gun…"

Owen froze, realizing that the new arrivals were police officers, but not the ones Carlos had likely called. It seemed that the customers who ran out had encountered a patrol car nearby.

"I'm a CTU agent, Steve Owen, formerly of the West Hollywood precinct homicide squad… Don't shoot, I'll show you my ID…"

Having been a police officer himself, Owen knew how to handle the situation. He made non-threatening movements, slowly turning around with his hands raised high, holding his gun with just two fingers, signaling that he was reaching for his ID.

The East Hollywood precinct, where this was happening, was familiar with Owen, even though he was from a different precinct. Most officers knew each other, and Owen was well-regarded.

Recognizing the officers, Owen hoped for a quick resolution. However, before anything could be sorted, a curly-haired man with an AK opened fire, hitting one of the officers.

Owen dodged the gunfire, while the two Latin Americans grabbed their guns and scrambled behind a large wardrobe.

"Idiot, kill him. We can't leave any witnesses."

The curly-haired man didn't pursue Owen immediately but finished off the wounded officer with several more shots before chasing after Owen.

Hiding behind a set of bookshelves, Owen listened to the approaching footsteps, constantly changing positions to lose the Latin Americans.

Positioned against a TV wall, Owen waited until he heard faint steps approaching. When a gun-holding hand appeared, Owen seized it and fired at the man's legs.

The shorter man fell, his submachine gun firing into the air. Owen stepped on his gun hand but didn't immediately shoot him. Instead, he fired towards the direction of incoming footsteps.

The taller man was hit in the chest and then in the head. Owen then confronted the wounded Latin American.

"Who sent you to kill me?"

Owen needed answers to sleep peacefully. If it was the Cruel Angels, it would be a matter between them and the CTU. But if it was a personal vendetta, Owen needed to know who was behind it.

However, the Latin American, in agony, did not answer, only screaming in pain.

Owen, running out of time, dealt with the man's gun hand before dodging an attack from the curly-haired man, who had modified an AK into a compact size, admiring the ingenuity despite the circumstances.