"Sorry, I don't understand English!"
Marcus Phoenix shouted back, also using English.
The Myanmar man was shot into pieces, and the infamous fierce general nicknamed "Shorty" was killed on the spot. Georgia sensed something was off, instantly sobered up, and, driven by an overwhelming survival instinct, bolted away.
The surviving bodyguards pulled out their guns and fired back.
To their credit, some of them were still loyal to him.
But how could a handgun possibly compete with submachine guns? Especially when wielded by the elite "Mexican DEA Anti-Terrorism Squad"?
They're practically equivalent to Special Forces…
Often training alongside the Special Police Company (SDU), their battle tactics and techniques were extraordinarily advanced. With seamless coordination, they wiped out all opposition in under two minutes. Georgia himself was shot in the leg and fell to the ground, screaming in pain, yet he still dragged himself forward, crawling into a narrow alleyway...
He heard footsteps behind him, panic rising in his chest, but there was nowhere to hide, except the filthy sewage drain.
Georgia felt a surge of despair...
"Heavens want me dead!!"
"Father, if your spirit is watching over me, protect me!!"
He cried out in anguish...
Suddenly, the wooden door beside him creaked open. He whipped his head around and saw a man and woman grabbing his clothes and pulling him into the house.
"Shh, don't make a sound! Don't make a sound!" The man, a Chinese, wearing glasses, spoke in awkward English.
Georgia froze for a moment, then burst into joy!!
He quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, enduring the pain from his wound without making a sound. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and a handkerchief reached over to wipe his face.
The Mexican turned his head abruptly and saw the woman smiling at him...
Wearing no makeup, in the simplest clothes—a style typical of Thailand—she seemed a bit shy when meeting Georgia's eyes?
In that moment, this woman was a goddess.
Footsteps echoed from outside. Georgia widened his eyes in alarm and nervously gripped his fingers. After two minutes passed, the killers outside clearly heard the police sirens and fled in a hurry.
"Are you okay? I'll take you to the hospital," the man said hurriedly.
"No… don't call the hospital, call… call this number." Georgia pulled out a business card from his pocket and handed it over, clutching the Chinese man's hand tightly. "Help me, and… I promise I'll repay you!"
The man and woman exchanged a hesitant glance, unsure of what to do.
"Ah Mei, you look after him, I'll make the call," the man said.
The young woman nodded and carefully attended to Georgia. Seeing his hands were cold, she massaged them firmly to warm them up.
Georgia's eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Before losing consciousness, he etched their faces deeply into his memory, saying faintly, "Don't… don't leave, stay… stay close."
Meanwhile, inside a black van.
Marcus Phoenix and his men were gathered inside.
"Boss, we were so close—Georgia didn't die. What do we do now?" the deputy team leader asked quietly, glancing at Marcus. But there wasn't the slightest trace of panic on the leader's face.
"??? Boss, our mission…"
"Thailand will undoubtedly launch a sweeping investigation. According to the plan, we leave now."
Mexican Anti-drug Agency Counter-terrorism Team members sat silently, their mood subdued.
But Marcus Phoenix's gaze was deep…
As a senior official in the task force, the deputy director of the Drug Enforcement Department, he had been tailing Georgia in Thailand for more than half a month, meticulously reporting every move back to Mexico.
But just two days before the operation was set to commence…
Suddenly, orders arrived from higher up, instructing him not to kill Georgia, to let him escape—but not without a scratch.
He wasn't sure why, but his instincts as a law enforcement officer told him that the higher-ups were playing a larger game.
When he failed to locate Georgia this time, he had a vague idea.
Perhaps the higher-ups had saved him—for what reason? Could it be to infiltrate the Southern drug traffickers' government?
He wasn't entirely certain, but he suspected this was the case.
They were notoriously cunning.
"I'm the only nobleman here." He muttered softly to himself, sitting in the front passenger seat.