sovbooks Chapter 131 The Hunt Begins
Chapter 131 The Hunt Begins
Chapter 131 The Hunt Begins
"Boss, we've got the results. That Japanese guy confessed everything."
As the voice came through the headset, a chilling killing intent surged within Qin Han's chest.
"Gentlemen, tonight's conversation has been very pleasant, but please forgive me for having to leave early." He controlled his facial expression and sincerely apologized to the three Hollywood moguls.
Ronald glanced at him with slight surprise: "Qin, the governor's dinner has just entered its most exciting social phase. This is a perfect opportunity to expand your network. Are you sure you want to leave now?"
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Ronald." Qin Han pulled out his earpiece from under his collar and shook it. "Just now, my assistant told me that there is an extremely urgent international business deal that requires me to conduct a risk assessment immediately."
He proactively extended a helping hand to Ronald: "Regarding that little problem Disney is facing," he said, "I'll have someone contact Director Martin as soon as possible. Rest assured, Hans Brothers Studios is known for its problem-solving abilities."
Ronald gripped Qin Han's hand tightly: "Qin, I take back all my previous prejudices against the new generation of filmmakers. You are a dedicated and collaborative person, and I look forward to the good news you bring."
Sidney raised his whiskey glass: "Go, Qin. Best of luck. If you need any assistance from Universal's legal department, just let me know."
In his view, the so-called "urgent business" that Qin Han mentioned was mostly about making empty promises to that independent director named Martin Scorsese, and then taking the opportunity to kidnap Disney's child stars.
After all, having worked together for so long, he believed he understood Qin Han's style of doing things quite well.
"Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Sidney. I will certainly not hesitate to ask if I need anything."
Qin Han nodded slightly in acknowledgment, then turned and walked towards the gilded doors of the banquet hall.
The melodious sound of a saxophone lingered behind him, and the lights in the hall cast a long shadow of him.
Several bigwigs who control the global pop culture scene watched this Hollywood upstart leave, completely unable to imagine what he was going to do next.
As I left the banquet hall, the cool night breeze of Los Angeles hit me.
Qin Han refused the doorman's offer to call a taxi and walked straight through the parking lot full of luxury cars to the modified bread truck in the shadows at the street corner.
"Splash!"
I ducked down and crawled into the carriage. The doors slammed shut behind me, completely shutting me out of that world of extravagance and debauchery.
Veteran Sam was sitting in front of the equipment when he saw Qin Han get into the car. He immediately turned around and pushed a heavy, military-green explosion-proof box to the middle of the car, with a stack of photos on top of it.
"Boss, these are all the things that were taken from the theater, they're all here."
Qin Han picked up the top stack of photos.
In the image, several large chunks of C4 plastic explosive, resembling gray putty, are bound to the load-bearing columns of the Dorothy Chandler Theater by thick industrial tape.
If this amount of C4 were detonated at the bottom of the theater, the magnificent building housing more than two thousand Hollywood elites, politicians, and celebrities would collapse within seconds, turning into a giant tomb.
This was no longer an assassination attempt targeting Bruce Lee alone.
These right-wing lunatics hiding in the gutter, in order to vent their pent-up extreme emotions, chose to carry out indiscriminate terrorist attacks in the heart of Los Angeles, targeting one of the most influential groups in American society!
"Sam, call the old general and have him contact Bill." Qin Han slammed the photo onto the explosion-proof box. "Tell him that a gift big enough to shake the entire U.S. Congress is about to be delivered to him."
The reason why those "old zombies" who shelter Japanese zaibatsu inside the Pentagon and CIA are able to wield such power is because they are involved in the massive transfer of benefits.
But now it's different.
The physical evidence before us is absolutely a powerful weapon.
Japanese right-wing forces planted high explosives on US soil in an attempt to destroy the Oscars venue—a blatant violation of the national security of the United States and a naked provocation against the country!
Once General Bill obtains this irrefutable evidence, it will be enough to launch a political purge in Washington under the guise of "counterterrorism and national security." Politicians and intelligence officials who have taken money from Japanese zaibatsu and provided protection for the "Seirankai" will be labeled "traitors" in this storm and subjected to the most thorough reckoning.
Even if we can't completely eliminate them, it'll be enough to give those old geezers a hard time.
After giving his cold instructions, Qin Han patted the iron wall of the carriage: "Drive, to the command center."
The van's engine emitted a deep roar, like a ferocious beast lurking in the night, as it sped off towards the outskirts of the city.
An abandoned cannery in the suburbs of Los Angeles.
The once empty factory area was now surrounded by a row of black modified vehicles, and a suffocating sense of dread filled the air.
As soon as Qin Han stepped out of the car, he smelled an extremely pungent chemical odor wafting from the cargo container not far away.
He strode over, and Davis, who was standing to the side, opened the heavy iron door for him with a blank expression.
The Japanese observer, Yamagami, whose wrist had been shattered on the rooftop of the office building, was now suspended in mid-air by four thick iron chains.
He had completely lost his human form, resembling a tattered rag.
His left arm had turned a strange purplish-black color. The wound had been hastily branded with a red-hot iron, and the skin and flesh were rolled up and stuck to the charcoal, in order to prevent him from bleeding too much and dying prematurely.
His eyes, which were once full of fervor, now appeared empty due to the dilation of his pupils, and his eyeballs trembled violently and irregularly within their sockets.
A trickle of saliva flowed down the corner of his drooping mouth, and a gurgling sound came from his throat, as if a million red-hot steel needles were frantically piercing his cerebral cortex.
Upon seeing Qin Han enter, the former sergeant major of the 1st Marine Division casually tossed a syringe into the tray.
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"General Bill provided a complete range of supplies, including this kind of nerve interrogation drug. This stuff was originally an experimental product used by the CIA in Saigon."
He pointed to the rotten flesh hanging in mid-air, "With a few common physical methods, this bastard's psychological defenses didn't even last ten minutes."
"Where is he?" Qin Han didn't look at the prisoner who was wishing for death, and went straight to the point.
"Long Beach Port." Bruno picked up a hand-drawn sketch. "Near Berth 47 in the West Wing. There's a smuggling warehouse there, owned by a Japanese trading company, right next to an abandoned ocean liner."
"After losing the consulate's protection, Onizuka Jiro and the other four assassins have been hiding there like rats."
The sergeant tapped his thick fingers twice on the sketch: "According to their original plan, if detonating the theater fails, they will immediately sneak back into this warehouse and use the remaining weapons and explosives stored there to plan the next attack."
Qin Han looked at the sketch and sneered, "Another attack? They won't have a next time."
"Yes, boss, but a surprise attack is risky," Bruno warned. "Some of them have fallen into our hands, and Onijiro will realize that the plan is at risk of being completely exposed."
"Logically speaking, they are very likely to abandon that hiding place and flee. If we rush there now, we may only find nothing."
"No, they will go back. At least they will go back to get their things." Qin Han raised his wrist and looked at his watch.
"The time is too short. From the time the theater detonation failed until now, only two hours have passed. Even if it's just to retrieve the supplies left at the base, they have to go back."
"Moreover, given the distorted Bushido spirit of the Japanese right wing, Onizuka Jiro would never choose to flee like a stray dog. He would lay a trap there, waiting for us to come to him, and then take us down with him."
Bruno stared at the young man radiating an astonishing killing intent, paused for half a second, then nodded vigorously: "Understood, boss. I'll go get the men ready with their weapons."
"Tell everyone we're leaving in five minutes."
Inside the armory, incandescent bulbs emitted a faint hum of electricity.
Qin Han stood in front of a full-length mirror and took off the black Zhongshan suit that was tinged with the opulent atmosphere of Beverly Hills.
He changed into a pure black tactical bulletproof vest, the combat uniform clinging to his muscles and outlining his explosive physique like a cheetah.
Pick up a pair of half-finger boxing gloves and tighten the Velcro straps around your wrists.
When he looked up at himself in the mirror again, the once shrewd and capable Hollywood producer had completely vanished.
Instead, there is the Jeet Kune Do master who shattered the bones of a Japanese karate expert with a single kick on Santa Monica beach.
He walked out of the armory and onto the open ground outside the factory.
The twenty-odd Chinese youths in Joey's gang stood in neat rows, their former street thug-like behavior completely gone.
Everyone's eyes were bloodshot, like those of a wild beast, and their teeth had bitten their lips until they bled.
"Click"
"Click—"
A series of crisp metallic clanging sounds rose and fell as bullets were loaded one by one into the pistol's magazine and then forcefully pushed into the chamber.
Standing behind them were the six veterans led by Bruno.
Compared to the grief and indignation of the Huaqing youth, they were much more silent, expressionlessly inspecting the Remington 870 pump-action shotgun in their hands, skillfully loading buckshot into the tubular magazine, and adjusting the night vision goggles hanging on their chests.
Zhou Ruofei stepped out from the crowd, held out her hands, and handed over a Smith & Wesson M29 revolver. The blued barrel gleamed with a chilling light under the moonlight.
He took the pistol, pulled the slide, checked the bullets, and then backhanded it into the quick-draw holster on his right thigh.
The cold wind of the Los Angeles night swept through the factory. Qin Han's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an extreme chilling intensity that pierced the soul, clearly striking everyone's eardrums: "Remember, we're going to Long Beach Port tonight not for any security mission, nor to arrest criminals. This is a cleanup operation."
"No matter how many people are hiding in that warehouse, no matter what weapons they are carrying, and no matter whether they are kneeling on the ground surrendering"
"I only want one result—all Japanese people, die!"
"Fight to the death!!!" The roar shattered the tin roof of the cannery and pierced the starless night sky of Los Angeles.
2 a.m., Long Beach Port.
Thick sea fog rolled in from the Pacific Ocean, completely enveloping the port.
Two blocks from parking space number 47 in the West Zone, the black convoy silently turned off their headlights.
"Get off the vehicle. Proceed on foot."
Led by the veterans, everyone opened the car doors, lowered their center of gravity, and moved quickly along the edge of the huge steel container.
Two hundred meters ahead, a rusty ocean-going cargo ship lay sprawled beside its berth like a dead beast.
Inside the warehouse next to the giant ship, the atmosphere was extremely tense.
"Hurry! Stuff all that US dollars and fake passports into your bag! Only bring grenades and light weapons!"
The detonator failed to detonate the moment it was pressed. To make matters worse, the lookout on the mountain also lost all contact. Onizuka Jiro knew better than anyone what this meant: the plan had not only failed, but he himself was also at risk of being exposed at any moment.
We must leave this temporary base before the other side realizes what's happening.
"Team leader, the supplies are almost packed," a soldier reported, panting heavily.
"Very good." Onizuka Jiro took out a few more bombs, walked to the main entrance of the warehouse, skillfully attached them to the edge of the slide rail, and then pulled out a thin, transparent fishing line, spanning the entire entrance and fixing it to the iron nails on the wall.
After setting up the main entrance, he hung two Claymore landmines on the side of the back entrance.
"Retreat! Get in the car!" After doing all this, Oniji grabbed the canvas bag full of cash and strode towards the passenger side of the pickup truck.
The outer edge of the dense fog.
Davis knelt on one knee atop a shipping container and pulled the night vision goggles close to his eyes.
He clearly saw several figures frantically throwing things onto a pickup truck near the back door of the warehouse.
"Boss, target confirmed. Four people in a Chevrolet pickup truck, loading supplies into the vehicle, preparing to evacuate through the back door," Davis reported in a low voice, pressing his earpiece.
Qin Han was currently approaching the warehouse's main gate with the vanguard squad.
Sam, who was walking at the front, crouched down, just about to get close to the metal door to listen to what was happening inside.
In the air, besides the salty smell of the sea, there seemed to be a hint of something like bitter almonds.
His pupils contracted sharply, and he abruptly raised his left hand and clenched his fist—stop!
He slowly pulled a black tactical flashlight from his waist, adjusted the aperture to the smallest and darkest mode, and swept it horizontally along the ground.
A faint, almost invisible reflection flickered in the air less than ten centimeters from the bottom of the roller shutter.
"There's a trip mine at the main entrance," Sam said in a low voice. "It's connected to the explosive charge behind the door hinge; it's a very professional operation."
Qin Han's eyes were cold, and his mind was racing.
They couldn't get in through the main gate, and there was likely a trap at the side gate as well. Meanwhile, the Japanese had already loaded the truck and were ready to make their escape.
"Bruno, your team circle around to the scrap heap on the right side of the warehouse and find firing angles from there." Qin Han drew his M29 from his thigh.
With his thumb deflecting the hammer of his revolver, he said, "If not, you guys shouldn't hide. Just smash that pickup truck and seal them off at the warehouse back door."
Don't let a single one escape!
The back door of the warehouse.
The last Japanese suicide soldier pushed a heavy wooden crate onto the back of the pickup truck and turned to open the door.
"Boom!" A deafening gunshot ripped through the deathly silence of Long Beach Harbor.