Law America, the Devil's Agent

Chapter 93 Manipulating the Fingers and Taking Direct Action

"Captain Bunch, our tactics have been broken."

"I see."

Bonzi Moreno sat in the passenger seat of the second pursuit team's command vehicle.

Holding a walkie-talkie and looking at the display screen, he oversaw the overall situation.

He is fifty years old and has worked at Flamingo Private Defense for ten years, where he is Hughes' right-hand man.

He was the on-site commander trusted by Hughes.

This man's hobby was to smoke a cigar before starting a mission, as if savoring the smoky and grilled flavor.

At that moment, the cigar he was biting was trembling slightly.

He was under a lot of pressure.

"Car number two, report your position."

"Car number two is two blocks behind the target after the collision and is passing through Eighth Street on the south side of the old town."

"Car number three."

"Car number three didn't crash, it's catching up with the target, it's running over from the side—Damn!"

He cheated again! He's such a slippery eel!

He turned onto a one-way street, but we're not skilled enough to get in; we have to go around!

"Go around."

Bunch took the cigar from his lips and tapped the rapidly moving red dot on the tracking screen with his finger.

It was Link.

The red dot wandered aimlessly through the maze of alleyways in the old town.

Under his command, the pursuit team has lost three vehicles and four wounded.

The other party was alone, and driving a sports car.

Those sports cars with low chassis, unsuitable for bumpy roads, and tires that slip on broken glass.

This car shouldn't have survived in the alley for so long, but the Chinese lawyer driving it made it look like a rally car.

This place is practically ready to be used as a hunting ground!

As Bang looked at the screen, the blue light from the screen made his eyes twitch slightly.

He chased car thieves, drug traffickers, and professional robbers who sped out of bank vaults after stealing safes.

Those car chasers follow a pattern: they panic, make mistakes, dart around in traffic, and then crash into the traffic barriers.

But this guy is different. He doesn't seem like the one being chased; he's more like the one leading everyone by the nose.

He brought the walkie-talkie back to his mouth.

"Cars number four and five, abandon the original route and detour to the industrial area on the north side to assemble."

Car number six crossed the railway bridge from the east and cut in front of him on his right, blocking his retreat to the river.

Keep your distance from all other vehicles and do not follow too closely.

This person is tempting you to make mistakes, do you hear me?

Shit! We're hunters!

Don't give him the opportunity to cause a car accident, don't let him separate you, and don't follow him into blind alleys.

If we can't catch up, we'll force him to the north, allowing the third encirclement to close in.

"Car number four has been received."

"Vehicle number five has been received and is currently circling around."

"Car number six is ​​already on the railway bridge, wait, I see him!"

Wait a minute! How did this person appear out from behind us? When did this happen?

"What?"

Bunch slammed the tracking screen onto his knee.

He took the cigar from his lips and smashed it on the dashboard, breaking it into several pieces.

"FUCK! Don't be a coward!"

He turned on the walkie-talkie and shouted, "Fight back! Fight back!"

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

"I—we—ahh ...

Gunshots came through the walkie-talkie, followed by the sounds of metal clashing, tires screeching, and the driver's screams from inside the vehicle.

Bangqi's expression was grave.

No one else dared to speak.

Finally, in the time that followed, many more pieces of bad news came through the walkie-talkie:

Almost all of their cars are totaled —

There was only one person on the other side.

a long time.

Bunch finally took the unlit cigar from his lips and said into the walkie-talkie, "All units, report status."

One voice after another came through the walkie-talkie, all the replies short and weary.

They were completely despairing, having been manipulated at will.

Bangqi listened to each of these replies without swearing or smashing anything.

He turned off the tracking screen, put the walkie-talkie back on the charging dock, and then reached into the storage compartment under the dashboard to take out a black gun case.

He opened the box, inside was an extremely well-maintained M1911 pistol, its body gleaming coldly, with several old scratches on the grip.

He took the pistol out of the box, checked the magazine, pulled the slide to confirm the chamber's condition, and then stuffed the two spare magazines into the pocket of his tactical vest.

Then he pushed open the car door, walked to the driver's side, opened the door, and said to the driver, "Get out of the car."

The driver paused for a moment.

"Mr. Bunch's actions are not in compliance with regulations."

"get off!"

"Yes, sir."

Punch sat in the driver's seat, adjusted it forward two notches, gripped the steering wheel, and felt the steering effort and throttle response of the modified Chevrolet Suburban.

He hadn't personally driven after anyone in a long time.

The command vehicle is equipped with a tracking screen, a communication station, and satellite navigation, which are far superior to the maps and walkie-talkies he used when he was young.

But today, these devices couldn't help them win.

The only way to solve the problem is to rely on the reactions and abilities that exist in the body's instincts!

So he personally took to the field.

He started the engine, jerked the steering wheel, and Suboban drew an arc on the road. While looking at the map and receiving information, he used his intuition and experience to speed towards Link's possible location.

at last!

He rediscovered Link's car near the abandoned railway shunting yard on the north side of the old town.

The taillights of the black sports car were faintly visible among a row of abandoned freight cars at the edge of the shunting yard. It wasn't going very fast, but it was taking a tricky route, weaving in and out of the gaps between the cars.

Instead of immediately accelerating to catch up, Bunch picked up the walkie-talkie and issued a final order to all remaining pursuing units: "Attention, all remaining vehicles."

The target is currently located at the abandoned railway shunting yard on the north side of the old city, and the coordinates have been synchronized.

There's no need for wolf pack harassment anymore; all vehicles advance simultaneously from three directions, directly forming an encirclement.

The remaining car number four flanked the railway line from the east, car number five passed through the warehouse area outside the shunting yard from the west, and I entered from the south front.

The remaining vehicles blocked the north exit of the shunting yard.

This is the last encirclement; there won't be another. Listen carefully, there won't be another.

A few short confirmations came through the walkie-talkie, and the remaining vehicles began to readjust their positions according to his instructions.

Punch stepped on the gas, and the Suburban crashed through the rusted barbed wire fence surrounding the shunting yard, the vehicle jolting as it drove into the yard, which was filled with gravel and abandoned rails.

He turned off the headlights and used only the dim afterglow of a few old mercury lamps at the edge of the shunting yard to determine his direction.

The car was moving slowly but steadily, like an old hunter slowly tightening his noose in the dark.

He didn't turn on the walkie-talkie or honk the horn.

He simply drove quietly, his eyes searching for any glimmer of light in the darkness that didn't belong to this ruin.

After a long while, Link finally saw the dark shadow with its lights off in the rearview mirror.

The car cut in from his right front, precisely blocking his only way out.

He lacked the impatience and forceful intent of his pursuers, appearing rather calm and methodical.

This surprised Link.

If the opponent is impatient and eager to catch up, he can take advantage of their impatience and speed to outmaneuver them.

But the other side only went slow, not fast.

Link had a plan in mind.

He jerked the steering wheel, and the car tilted sideways on the gravel road, turning into the gap between two abandoned freight cars, the roof almost scraping against the rusty steel beams overhead.

He rolled down the left window, stuck his gun out the window with his left hand, and fired two shots at the windshield of the Saabban.

Bunch did not dodge.

He didn't even turn the steering wheel. Two bullets struck the windshield, leaving two spiderweb-like bullet holes in the glass.

The bullet didn't penetrate—because of the bulletproof glass.

The Suboban was hit by two bullets, leaving only two white bullet marks on its windshield.

Seeing Link repeat his old trick, Bunch sneered and then picked up the M1911 from the passenger seat.

He rolled down the car window a crack, gripped the steering wheel with one hand, and stuck the gun out the window with the other, firing continuously in Link's direction.

His marksmanship wasn't as fast as Link's, but he could still maintain a high hit rate even on a bumpy vehicle!

This stems from his years of military service experience, which is fundamentally different from those random gunmen recruited from society.

At the same time, his tactical thinking was very clear: he wanted to use firepower to suppress the enemy and force them to change their route.

Faced with such a skilled marksman, Link was momentarily taken aback.

"Bang"

"Pfft!" Link's expression changed!

"FUCK!"

Bunch's gun hit his right tire precisely. To keep the car from going out of control, Link quickly slowed down and swayed from side to side.

Finally, slowly turn the steering wheel to the left!

The vehicle tilted to the side and turned into a narrow passage sandwiched between two rows of abandoned freight cars.

At the end of the narrow passage was a roadblock made of discarded sleepers and rusted rails, with only a narrow gap on the left side barely wide enough for one vehicle to pass through.

He floored the accelerator, the car scraping against the rusted metal of the side panels as it sped through the gap, the rearview mirror was knocked askew, and another long scratch appeared on the passenger side door.

He rushed out of the narrow passage, and the north exit of the shunting yard ahead was already faintly visible. Then a volley of bullets swept in from the flank, hitting the gravel road in front of him and kicking up a cloud of dust and stone chips.

Cars number four and five have already flanked him from the east and west sides and are advancing simultaneously in his direction.

Bunge's Suburban restarted its engine behind him and slowly approached from the other side of the narrow passage.

The three cars formed a triangle, effectively blocking his last escape route.

The futile pursuit has vanished, replaced by a direct encirclement and strangulation!