Inside the bus, passengers huddled in their seats, heads in their hands, screams echoing throughout. The idiot driver in the driver's cab howled and scrambled to open the driver's side door, crawling and rolling on all fours.
Jack suppressed the urge to shoot the moron, watching him being pinned to the ground by his colleagues, still struggling, when a stun gun was plunged into his waist, making him tremble like a Parkinson's patient. Jack's mood improved considerably.
He wasn't the only one annoyed by this guy; the surrounding patrol officers, including the stern-faced commander, were all seething with anger. They were almost done dealing with two terrorists, but because of this idiot, not only did one escape, but the entire busload of passengers were also dragged into the ss.
Jack peeked out again. A passenger, shot in the shoulder, lay groaning in pain on the seat in front of him. A Scorpion pistol lay empty in the aisle at the back of the bus, and a terrorist was hiding behind a seat, holding a spray canister high.
Jack bent down and ushered the wounded and several passengers sitting in the front seats off the bus, creating a firing line for Angela. He then straightened up, aid his gun at the opposite side, and spoke loudly to attract the terrorist's attention.
While Jack was consciously blocking the terrorist's view towards the front of the bus, Angela secretly set up her AR-15 on the railing at the front door entrance, securing the terrorist's head firmly in the scope.
"Hey, buddy, don't do anything stupid, let's talk."
Jack raised his right hand, holding the gun, and hid his left hand, holding a wet towel, behind his back.
"Let go, otherwise everyone on the bus will get infected with the virus."
The terrorist curled up as much as possible behind the seats, using the passengers in front as cover.
Jack glanced quickly at Angela behind him when he wasn't looking. Angela shook her head, indicating that the terrorist was well hidden and there was no firing window.
The outside world fell silent, save for the screams of the passengers inside. The normally blinding police lights were all switched off; Commander Grey was directing his colleagues to create a suitable sniping environnt for Angela.
Jack, helpless, could only continue his verbal sparring. The bus sloped from front to back, and his firing position wasn't much better than Angela's, but he dared not approach further. It was a near-sealed environnt; if the other side activated the spray, the high concentration of viral fluid could instantly contaminate the entire bus.
"Don't be foolish. You don't want to die, do you? Just put down what you're holding. Your operation has failed; why risk your life?"
"How about this? I'll put down my gun and guarantee your safety. You obediently let handcuff you, and I'll try my best to put in a good word for you with the judge, okay?"
As Jack spoke, he took two steps forward, his pupils constricting, trying to appear as if he hadn't noticed the other person was hiding a handgun.
In fact, his right hand, raised high with the gun seemingly pointing upwards, already had his index finger lightly on the trigger. His left hand, behind his back, was shaking out a damp towel, simultaneously signaling to Angela that he was ready to attack.
Under intense tension, a terrorist's thinking ability is limited. If he could make the other person see him as the only threat and choose to shoot him instead of releasing the virus, there would be a chance.
Sure enough, with a roar of "Ah!", the terrorist stood up and pointed his pistol at the policeman in front of him. Jack nimbly turned his body to the side, clearing Angela's firing line, while simultaneously lowering his Glock-wielding right hand and pulling the trigger.
One target, two bullets. The bullet from Jack's Glock struck the man squarely between the eyebrows, shattering his skull before lodging inside.
The bullet fired from Angela's AR-15 continued its trajectory, entering the terrorist's nose and exiting through the back of his head, embedding itself in the roof of the bus. Fragnts of bone and blood splattered onto a white woman in the back seat, who looked up blankly before letting out a heart-wrenching scream.
Ignoring the burning sensation on his left shoulder, Jack took two steps forward and tossed a wet towel onto the spray canister next to the body.
"Safe! Everyone get off! Hurry, hurry!!!"
Angela opened the rear door from the driver's side, urging passengers off as she walked towards Jack.
Jack holstered his Glock, wiped his left shoulder with his right hand — his hand was covered in blood — and turned to her, asking in confusion, "Did you just shoot at ?"
"Just a close call." Angela smiled wickedly, her crooked mouth reminiscent of a Cheshire cat.
"$160, on your tab."
Jack tugged at his uniform, which had a few more tears in it, looking sowhat distressed.
"7-L-20, mark my location, no need to follow, suspect killed."
Outside the car, Commander Grey breathed a sigh of relief, picked up the walkie-talkie to report to command center, and then asked, "Harper, have you and Nolan tracked down the escaped suspect?"
There was no reply from the walkie-talkie. After several seconds of silence, Nolan's deliberately lowered voice ca through.
"Command center, suspected contact with suspect, 5824 Elgin Road, checking the backyard."
A few minutes later, Zoe's voice also ca through the walkie-talkie.
"The FAA has approved police helicopters to enter the airspace over LA International Airport to assist with your search."
"We'll go help."
Jack casually wrapped a few bandages around his arm, then quickly put his uniform back on. He couldn't be bothered to comfort the shaken passengers. He tried to restart the police car; the engine seed undamaged.
Wesley silently climbed into the back seat, clearly determined to follow them to the end.
After two turns and less than two kiloters, Jack stopped at the location Nolan had reported, turning on the spotlight mounted on the left side of the windshield and pointing it at Nolan and Nyla Harper's location.
The two of them had cornered the suspect in a dilapidated wooden shed in soone's backyard — a common homade storage shed used by many Aricans for storing tools and supplies.
After instructing Wesley to stay in the car, Angela and Jack got out and found a sturdy-looking old washing machine as cover, mounting the AR-15 on it.
Nyla was calling out into the shed.
"Hey, you inside, did you hear the sirens? We have more and more reinforcents coming, and several hundred more are on their way. You're the only one left."
Before she could finish speaking, several gunshots rang out from inside, making her shrink back in fright.
Jack suppressed a laugh and turned to look at Nolan. This kind of thing should be handled by professionals. The other side was surrounded. If they could capture soone alive, it would be more advantageous for the LAPD when they wanted to claim credit.
DHS and the FBI had been remotely directing things all day. No matter who ended up with the suspect, if they wanted to take him away from the Wilshire Precinct, they would owe Zoe and her team a favor.
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