Chapter 9: Racing Against Time

Milton sat in the driver’s seat of his new car, hands gripping the steering wheel as he headed toward the checkpoint, his expression shadowed and inscrutable.

“Wooo—”

A police car, sirens blaring, sped past him at an astonishing speed.

“That's the sixth police car…” Milton murmured to himself as he watched the officers disappear ahead. “And that’s just what I’ve seen. Half the police force in this town—no, more than half—must have been dispatched over there.”

In broad daylight, on the highway, a gang of ruthless criminals had brazenly shot a police officer and detonated his vehicle with a bomb!

Any police department anywhere would have gone mad over this.

Staring at the thick black smoke billowing closer and closer, Milton felt a surreal sense of having narrowly escaped death.

He was almost certain these “bandits” were coming after him.

They had attacked the target vehicle immediately upon spotting it, unaware that the person inside was not the true target.

If Milton hadn’t decided on a whim to test the two officers, or if he hadn’t chosen to get the car fixed first, it would have been his own vehicle blown to smithereens!

He had truly brushed past the edge of death.

“I didn’t underestimate their resolve, but I did underestimate their speed,” Milton said, eyes fixed on the creeping smoke as he solemnly analyzed his mistake. “I thought they’d wait for my next patrol to ambush me. But I never imagined...”

Never imagined that the answer from the Van Kang gang wouldn’t be “in three days,” or “in one day,” or even “in three hours”—but “right now”!

Indeed, one must never take the enemy for fools, nor assume one can calmly and methodically prepare everything to face them at peak condition.

It was a harsh lesson, but fortunately, through a twist of fate, no grave consequences had arisen. Instead, the situation took a significant turn.

The Van Kang gang’s intentions were exposed; their assassins fled in panic, and the local police forces were thoroughly enraged.

This operation also left the road back to the checkpoint crawling with police, inadvertently securing Milton’s safety and cutting off any chance of a counterattack by the assassins.

But that didn’t mean Milton was truly safe—the killers, armed to the teeth, were still scheming within the town, plotting his life.

A second attack was inevitable.

Luck would not favor him twice.

Milton drove his pickup a bit further and finally reached the “accident site,” where the car lay in blackened ruins.

Near the charred wreckage, several grim-faced officers stood in a circle, occasionally speaking into their radios.

Next to them were several border inspection officials who looked clearly neglected.

Among them stood Horn, the checkpoint patrol officer and owner of the destroyed car. His hands trembled in pain as he looked at the remains of his beloved vehicle.

A car he had lent out had come back shattered to pieces!

Milton silently apologized to his colleague in his heart, then parked nearby.

An officer nearby had intended to stop him but paused upon recognizing Milton’s uniform. Still, his face showed clear displeasure.

Wasn’t it the checkpoint’s lax supervision that allowed these thugs to infiltrate?

With such a commotion, the border inspection station could not shirk responsibility!

Milton ignored the officers, turned off the engine, and walked straight toward the wreckage.

Horn’s face first relaxed a little when he saw Milton approaching, but soon tightened again with blame.

In the end, he sighed and patted Milton’s shoulder. “Forget it… as long as you’re alive, I won’t blame you this time.”

He knew that Milton was also a victim here; the car’s destruction wasn’t his fault.

Milton glanced at the officers, said nothing unnecessary, and lowered his voice: “Horn, do you want justice?”

Horn was taken aback; he hadn’t expected such a question from his colleague. He gave a bitter smile and shook his head. “I can only think about it.”

Who didn’t know the Van Kang gang planned this attack, or that they had deep ties with the checkpoint?

Justice?

From whom?

Milton scanned the surroundings to ensure no one was eavesdropping, then continued rapidly, “Whether it’s Maynard or Walter, they’re all colluding with the Van Kang gang. They won’t help you get justice.”

“Few at the checkpoint would dare oppose them.”

“Except me. Only me. You understand what I mean?”

Milton fixed his gaze on Horn—based on their time together, the changes in his expression, his clear recognition of the enemy, and the absence of self-blame, Horn was a timid man who played both sides but still maintained a minimum line of integrity.

Such a seasoned insider was usually hard to sway.

But after suffering such a heavy loss, with nearly all his savings gone, fueled by anger and hatred, perhaps he could be temporarily won over.

Though Horn appeared calm now—who wouldn’t be furious and despairing after seeing the car they’d just bought with a huge loan destroyed?

The car was gone, but the loan still had to be paid!

A flicker of hesitation passed through Horn’s eyes, but one glance at the wreckage drowned it quickly in fear. Shaking his head, he said, “Forget it... I don’t dare cross them. I have a family…”

Milton hadn’t expected Horn to make a firm decision—changing someone isn’t like a melodramatic movie or anime, solved with a few words.

“I don’t need you to declare war on the Van Kang gang. I just need you to gather rough smuggling intel whenever you’re out on patrol. Isn’t that your forte? And it won’t be dangerous.”

Time was tight; Milton only sought minimum cooperation, just to bring Horn into his “informant” network temporarily.

Any intel gathered by “teammates” would be instantly shared on Milton’s panel, even when he wasn’t at the checkpoint.

If they spotted anyone smuggling weapons—especially submachine guns—it would likely mean the next attack was imminent.

With the station chief’s tacit approval, Milton believed the assassins wouldn’t go out of their way; they would take the checkpoint route from Mexico to Guatemala.

Hearing Milton’s words, Horn hesitated deeply.

Just gather a little rough intel…

It really didn’t sound dangerous.

Thinking of his beloved car, the upcoming monthly payments, and the prospect of having to smile and make peace with the culprits, Horn’s expression twisted. Summoning courage, he said, “Alright, I’ll do it! But I want to make it clear—I won’t get directly involved in your conflicts.”

When the shootout comes, you won’t be able to stay neutral for long…

Milton looked at his panel, confirmed Horn was now an “informant,” and nodded. “Good.”

Horn exhaled and said, “Give me a lift. We don’t need to deal with anything here anymore. Let’s head back to the checkpoint.”

Milton almost agreed instinctively—he had planned to return to the checkpoint first, to rest in a relatively safe place and devise a strategy.

But as his gaze swept the wreckage again, Milton suddenly recalled the recent lesson—

Never assume you can calmly and methodically prepare everything to face the enemy in perfect condition!

Running back to the checkpoint seemed the safest choice—the station chief Walter wanted to maintain his image and morale, so he had no intention of taking direct action.

No patrols meant a high chance of no attacks for three days inside the station.

But on reflection, what good would that do?

Every move inside the station was monitored by Walter; no amount of preparation could be hidden!

Moreover, delaying three days inside would only give the enemy a precise lock on the time and place of the attack.

What seemed safe, what seemed like buying time, was actually walking into a slow death trap.

To survive against the odds, he could not return!

“I still have some business in town,” Milton said calmly, his voice steady without a hint of tremor. “I won’t go back to the station just yet.”

He had an audacious and wild plan in mind.

The Van Kang gang is fast, right?

They love surprise attacks, right?

Then I’ll be faster than them!

They think I’ll hide in the checkpoint for three days and get kicked to death by prepared killers?

No! Milton would strike tonight, wiping out all those Van Kang assassins!

He would take the fight to the Van Kang gang!

The plan and goal seemed crazy, but Milton was far from acting on impulse.

The entire town’s police deployment would inevitably slacken over time; the Van Kang gang would regroup and prepare a more thorough assassination attempt.

Now was the rare moment when the town’s police were on high alert, and the assassins were scrambling to reorganize.

Milton could move freely in the streets—an opportunity where the enemy was in the light and he was in the shadows!

This chance might last only half a day, maybe a day—one of the few advantages Milton could hope to leverage for a turnaround.

He was unprepared, but so were his enemies!

No low-level, ridiculous probes, no childish games, and no slow buildup from some clichéd movie.

Come then, battle to the death!