After hanging up the phone, Owen immediately notified Chloe, instructing her to have someone track down the address of this "Bernie." Before the address came through, his phone rang again. He glanced at the caller ID, a bit puzzled, and answered—not because of the urgency, but because the caller was none other than the FBI's privileged heir, Benjamin Affleck.
Benjamin's voice on the other end was tinged with excitement. As soon as the call connected, he spoke eagerly, "Owen? Is that you, Owen?"
"Yes, Mr. Affleck. This is Owen."
"Call me Benjamin—or Ben, whatever you prefer. We're friends now, aren't we? I know you don't like being called Steve, so I'll stick with Owen, how's that?"
Owen was a bit confused and couldn't figure out why Benjamin was calling, but he wasn't foolish enough to refuse friendship with a privileged insider like him.
"Of course, Ben. What's this about?"
Hearing Owen address him that way made Benjamin clearly delighted. He said, "Well, it's like this. Anthony Berman has several fake identities in the U.S. We just tracked one of them—his credit card was used somewhere near Los Angeles. We checked surveillance footage and found where they're hiding..."
What?
Owen found it unbelievable.
Anthony Berman had been trained by MI5. How could someone like him make such a rookie mistake? Could this be a trap?
When Owen raised that concern, Benjamin suddenly went quiet. It was clear he was a rookie—it took Owen to point out such an obvious red flag.
But even after thinking it over, Owen couldn't figure out what kind of trick this could be. Were they planning something big again, like ambushing an FBI or CTU tactical team? A total wipeout?
Whatever. At least it was a lead. Owen decided to check it out.
"Wait for me. I'll be there soon."
Ten minutes later, Owen arrived by car. The temporary command post was set up in a residential house not far from the target building. The homeowner had already been politely confined to a room by the FBI.
This was a borderline ghetto area—poor security at night, mostly inhabited by Mexicans and Italians.
"Ben, what's the situation?"
Owen casually called him Ben, which made Benjamin happy.
"I've got people watching both the front and back doors. So far, nothing unusual. We're still not sure how many are inside, but the credit card wasn't used by Anthony Berman himself..."
As Benjamin briefed him, Owen nodded while casually glancing around the room—only to unexpectedly spot the entire A-Team.
Ash, Heat, Castle, Monica, and two unfamiliar faces, likely the new recruits brought in after the last operation. The sniper was also a familiar SWAT veteran.
Everyone gave Owen a brief nod of greeting. He withdrew his gaze, and his impression of the privileged Benjamin improved.
Maybe the guy lacked experience, but he seemed competent. In a situation like this, someone like Womack would've ditched CTU to go solo by now. If the intel was solid, the FBI could've taken full credit.
But Benjamin didn't do that. He said FBI and CTU were working together, and he meant it. He didn't try to take all the credit—he really called Owen over.
As long as someone from CTU was present—even if Owen never fired a shot—half the credit for the bust would still go to CTU. In that sense, Benjamin was a true ally.
Owen patted Benjamin's shoulder and began gearing up. A full set of equipment was laid out on a nearby table. He took off his jacket and put on a bulletproof vest.
Seeing this, Benjamin also started putting on gear.
"Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?"
"Joining the op! Don't underestimate me—I'm the New York IPSC 50-meter pistol fixed-target champion~"
Benjamin puffed up like a proud little rooster.
"No, no, no—you're the commanding officer. You stay back in case anyone tries to escape. Leave this kind of thing to SWAT—they're the professionals~~~"
Owen gave him a solid, reasonable excuse to stop him. It was obvious Benjamin had always worked in offices and never been on the front lines. He might be a good shot, but probably hadn't killed before—and putting someone like that into a hot zone could be a liability.
"But you—"
Benjamin tried to argue why Owen could go while he couldn't, but Owen interrupted him with a smile: "Before you joined the FBI, I spent months in SWAT, completed over thirty missions. Our coordination was forged through live combat..."
Seeing everyone else nod in agreement, Benjamin realized Owen wasn't bluffing and begrudgingly put his gear down.
Ash came over and tapped Owen on the shoulder with the butt of his rifle. "Still remember how to shoot?"
"Of course. I'm only better than I was before, never worse~~" Owen replied confidently.
Operation begin!
Once the rooftop sniper reported that everything looked normal, Ash gave the signal. The team split into two groups, moving swiftly and silently toward the target house in tactical formation.
Ash led Owen and Monica to the front door—the breach duo—while the remaining four covered the back.
On the way, one of the new guys couldn't hold back his curiosity and asked Heat, "Who is this guy? Why's Ash putting so much trust in him?"
Unfortunately, he forgot to cover his mic. His voice went through everyone's earpiece, including Owen's.
Before Heat could respond, Ash's voice came through the comms: "He and Monica once teamed up to kill thirteen fully armed mercenaries. Is that reason enough?"
Suppressed chuckles followed over the comms—Heat and Castle especially. The new guy looked embarrassed, and Monica also covered her mouth to laugh.
It was a brief comic relief. SWAT reached their positions quickly. Owen and the other two positioned themselves on either side of the front door. Faint music drifted from inside.
Three
Two
One
Bang~ Bang~~~
Breach rounds from the shotgun easily shattered the door lock. A flashbang was tossed in.
With a loud boom, both teams stormed the building. There wasn't even a single shot fired before it was over.
Owen was frustrated—the fight was over before it began. He'd wanted to show off some of the stuff he learned from the SEALs, but there was no opportunity.
Even worse was the outcome.
Inside were three Italian teenagers, around seventeen or eighteen, smoking weed. They didn't even react when SWAT burst in.
After a full sweep of the house, Owen casually turned off the music.
Heat showed up with a bucket of cold water and splashed each of them. The three quickly sobered up.
Seeing the heavily armed SWAT team around them, they trembled. Just weed—did it really warrant this kind of response?
Even Benjamin arrived. One look at the trio and even he, as inexperienced as he was, could tell they weren't terrorists.
Owen found the credit card and waved it in front of each of them. "Where'd you get this?"
"…"
Silence.
Owen didn't have time to play the human rights game.
Bang bang bang bang bang bang~~
He fired into the floor just inches from their feet. Splinters of wood shot up, stinging their legs. The pain made the teens scream like they'd been shot.
"Where. Did. You. Get. It?"
The threat worked.
"St-stolen…" one of them stammered nervously.
Owen and the others had imagined a thousand possibilities—but never this.
"Where did you steal it? From who?"
"Just… just at… the convenience store, two blocks away…"
"Take me there~~"
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