Chekhov's Gun

  Chekhov quietly parked the unlicensed Audi in a small alley behind the hotel, as if it were a common problem in big cities, the more magnificent and resplendent the building, the darker and dirtier its alleys, often filled with stagnant water. Chekhov, wearing slippers, stepped into a puddle of stinky water.

  "Damn it, are you intentionally doing this here?... Those damned Japanese people, can't they even clean up?"

  Chekhov glanced at Strengen, seeing that although he had lost a bit of blood, at least the bleeding had stopped for now, and his physical condition was not bad, and his mind was still clear. Chekhov didn't forget to remind him: "You be careful yourself, I've seen Cain and the others interrogate people, and often when the guy passes out, that's it... You absolutely can't pass out, understand? I don't want to work hard to save a dead person."

  With two feet of muddy water, Chekhov swaggered into the golden hotel lobby. The several waiters in the lobby couldn't help but curl their lips and look at the shiny floor with black footprints. Chekhov was laughing all over the place, he was a bit nervous too! He walked to the reception desk in the lobby, before the waiter inside asked, Chekhov dialed the service number of his room's floor: "Hello? Are you that what's-his-name or so-and-so? Ha, I'm your Russian Mr., come down and help me out."

  Pointing at Schtreber, Chekhov said, as if pointing at a dead pig: "Look, how is this thing going to be taken to my room?"

  Xie Lang was stunned for a moment, and the blood on Shitelong's body seemed to have increased slightly. His clothes looked nothing like those of a good citizen... Chekhov pulled out a thick stack of green US dollars, lightly tossed them in the air, and muttered: "Ah, there's so much money that I don't know where to spend it, might as well burn it."

  Jirō snatched the dollars with one hand and said with a grin, "Sir, this way, please. There's a freight elevator in the back door, and those few people inside are my buddies. It's easy to send someone up. Our floor cleaning cart can fit a person on that lower level. But, sir, who is he?"

  "Look at him, the American Superman, Spiderman... what is he? I don't know what kind of person he is. For the sake of your precious God's face, get him out of here! If you keep bothering me, I'll report you to the hotel and have you fired. And then I'll go to the police station and accuse you of selling me drugs. Hurry up, idiot!"

  Jirō quickly snatched the cash, grinned and stopped talking nonsense, swiftly pulled out the Stradivarius from the car and slung it over his shoulder. Chekhov said in a low voice: "Take it to my room, tell your friends not to make any fuss... I don't have anything else, just money, and when the time comes, you won't be left out of the benefits."

  Chekhov rushed into the car, wildly reversing it, speeding onto the street, circling several times before jumping out and fleeing back to the hotel just as a police car arrived nearby. In his heart he was praying: "Dear Mother Mary, I'm not that bastard Jest, I've never cursed you, please persuade God to protect me from this predicament... God, why isn't the boss here? Dear boss, I really miss you so much... With you around, what can't be done?"

  Chekhov rushed upstairs with a confused mind, muttering to himself: "The boss is here, what will he do? What will he do? God, I don't have the boss's power... What will he do if he doesn't use violence?"

  Chekhov's mind was racing, but all he could think of were busty beauties and lines of code, unable to come up with a solution to the current situation. It was clear that Strudel was one of his own, as when he mentioned Cain's name, Strudel's expression changed to one of surprise, probably because Cain had somehow swindled him into being his subordinate. Since he was one of his own, he had to be rescued, but how could he guarantee his safety with police cars running wildly all over the streets just now, almost catching himself?

  Jiro brought two hotel cleaning staff wearing white uniforms to wait in the living room. Chekhov rushed in, wrote a check for $100,000 and handed it to them, whispering nervously: "Don't breathe a word... I'm telling you, this guy in black is an American agent, they came on a secret mission and got injured by terrorists... Got it?"

  Jiro stared at him in a daze, his head buzzing with confusion: "He's a special agent? Then why did you save him? Are you a special agent too? Oh my god, you look just like my brother, a total thug... What the heck is going on in this world?! But what does it have to do with me? I'm just here to make money."

  Chekhov pushed them away, locked the door tightly, and let out a long sigh. He blinked his small eyes, almost crying, and sat down weakly on the ground. When he saved that ninja, he thought it was fun and didn't take it seriously, or maybe because of the excitement, he didn't notice the possible danger. But Strugatsky was different, looking at his outfit, he was clearly here to kill people in Tokyo, but ended up being made a fool of.

  Chekhov knew the strength of Cain and his gang, so Stronach wouldn't be too far behind. Whoever could make Stronach like this must be a big shot with great power. Just look at the police cars running wildly on the street, Stronach is simply a time bomb!

  "Your target of attack will not let you go......Damn it, I saved you, but no matter how I explain, nobody would listen, and I'm the one who's in trouble."

  The ninja and the soldier sat on opposite sides of a coffee table, each lying on a sofa staring at each other.

  Chekhov rushed over, pointing at the two and cursing loudly: "Damn it, who did I provoke? I just like to ask God a few questions every day, why did I encounter such a damn thing after coming to Japan for less than two months? Damn it, saving a yellow-skinned monkey has already broken my heart, why aren't you a beauty? Now I've saved another German bastard...Damn it, why do I save you guys? A Japanese and a German, why does Chekhov have to save you?"

  "Chikov? The Chikov the boss was talking about, who is corrupt, takes bribes, invades people's privacy and does all sorts of evil?"

  Chekhov stared blankly and tilted his head, saying: "It's not me, can't you see? I'm a Chinese... I'm not some Chekhov."

  "Tell the boss, in the most obscure terms, right now... The mission has failed, thoroughly failed. Fifty people are done for, and only I managed to escape. Tell the boss that only Strasser escaped. Now, quickly, as soon as possible, or else it's very likely that the message won't get through and we'll be finished off."

  "Damn it, why should I help you? I'll throw you down from here and have nothing to do with you... And this ninja or warrior, I'll throw him down too, and I'll be safe... Damn it, why should I... Ah yes, inform the boss, gotta inform the boss... You wait, don't think you can use the boss to pressure me, my seniority is way higher than yours, watch out or I'll stab you with a knife next time... I can kill people too, even if I haven't killed anyone before."

  Chekhov suddenly dashed to his laptop and sent a long, smelly email: "Dear, how have you been lately? I'm doing well in Japan except for some trouble with my business. I bought a group of chickens to start a chicken farm, but they all got bird flu, except for one little rooster. The other 5,000 little hens are all gone. It's really heartbreaking..."

  "Tell the boss they used supernatural powers, they can appear directly from underground, water, air, they are not normal humans."

  The ninja's eyes immediately sharpened, and he scanned Strudel tightly, furrowing his brow in thought. Strudel noticed his gaze and recalled Chikov's earlier mention of a ninja warrior, his hand secretly reaching for the waistband where a single-shot high-powered handgun was hidden.

  Chekhov added a few words: "The neighbors nearby told me that these little hens had offended the gods, those in the land, water and air, they took away the souls of these little hens... My dear, what should I do with the remaining little rooster? Eat it or raise it well? If possible, you'd better send me a sum of money, I need one billion new little hens."

  Chekhov sent an email to Cain's free email account and then picked up the phone, dialing Phil's backup cell number.

  At this time, Phil was in contact with a secret manager. He pushed over a box of US dollars: "Yes, Arthur, the royal nobleman, take him down, that's our mission."

  That manager looked at Phil incomprehensibly: "Dear, you can do it yourself, why don't you take the initiative? It's not your usual style. Now the whole city of London, except for Old Wiggins' territory, is yours. Getting rid of one person, although he is a nobleman, is not something that takes more than an hour."

  The manager still had something to say: "You come straight to my door like this, how can I trust you? Who knows if China Yi has set another trap for me? What if that bastard has thousands of special agents protecting him, and he wants my people to go die?"

  Phil smiled and said, "Don't worry, there won't be thousands or tens of thousands of special agents protecting him, you can rest assured... You understand, we've set up a security company, we're preparing to move from the underworld to the legitimate world, we don't plan on getting involved in these businesses anymore... This is someone else's commission, after taking 15% as an intermediary fee, we'll pass it on to you."

  The manager looked at Phil with a suspicious gaze: "Alright, alright, the money isn't much, but it's enough to buy someone's life... these days, lives aren't worth much. Do you have any information about the target?"

  Phil shook his head: "They need to investigate themselves, we don't know anything, so we won't take this job... I have something to do, I'll leave first, remember, two weeks' time, get rid of him... The other party specifically requested to use a large-caliber sniper rifle to get rid of him at a distance, this is the client's special hobby."

  The manager nodded, smiled and stood up to see the guest off: "Mr. Phil, I mean, maybe we'll need your care in the future... We're all small businesses, we also need Mr. Yi's help as a big shot."

  "Alright, alright, our boss loves friends... Hmm?"

  The spare mobile phone in Phil's pocket, known only to insiders, rang. A smooth voice cooed and said: "Dear baby, I sent you an express package, dear, take a good look..."

  Phil's expression changed and he nodded at the manager: "I have an urgent matter... Remember, two weeks, the client requires a large-caliber sniper rifle."

  Phil drove towards the old nest, what happened to Chekhov? So urgent? God, the strike team... They acted so fast? What happened? Why didn't Strugatsky contact us? Did they fail? He had no way to contact us? Then how did Chekhov know?

  "Damn it, Struve has bumped into Chekhov... Oh God, you're a real bastard, Chekhov is going to mess everything up... Satan, I'll pray to you, you son of a bitch, let Chekhov get unlucky soon, don't let him ruin the assault team's things..."

  It seems that under Jester's influence, it won't be long before Yi Chen's subordinates become Satan's loyal followers.

  Seeing Phil running up panting, Yichun turned his head in surprise: "Phil? What's wrong? Have your little treasures been snatched away by the young white face? Oh, don't worry, there are still a few beauties in London... Look, my hand is really beautiful, it's extremely beautiful."

  Phil strode up to him, one hand knocking over the nearly completed Da San Yuan, and said tensely: "Boss, Chekhov has sent a message, it's urgent... I think he wouldn't be anxious for his own sake, so there must be another reason, the assault team."

  Yi Chen hooked his finger, and the two tall black men standing at the corner of the house quickly walked over. Yi Chen pointed to the table, indicating that they should put away the mahjong tiles, and then rushed into the computer room with Phil, Gole, Feli, and Jester.

  "Damn it, is Chekhov crazy? What the hell does that mean? He's gonna die of weakness with five million women on his own."

  Yi Chen said coldly, "The assault team was completely annihilated. Only Strutgron survived, but it seems he has also lost his ability to act... The gods of the land, water, and air? They killed those little chicks?"

  The four people behind him looked at each other in confusion, unsure of what it meant.

  Yi Chen slowly stood up, his joints crackling with a loud noise: "I understand now. Suddenly, people appeared from the land, water and air, and they killed 50 assault team members... Ha! The evasion technique of the Dunjia Sect, and possibly some of the Five Elements Sect's skill in absorbing the power of the five elements into their bodies. Ha! Japanese ninjas... Hahaha, so this is the strength of the Yamaguchi-gumi. No wonder they were willing to spend 400 million dollars to kill one person. Haha, we all underestimated each other, we're all idiots."

  Yi Chen was laughing non-stop, but there wasn't a hint of smile on his face. His whole body was as cold as ice, like a statue of a god.

  "What's going on, boss?" Jester's eyes widened in surprise.

  "Japan's ninja, the Yamaguchi-gumi's true nature is a ninja organization. They took out our strike team... Poor Chekhov, he managed to string together these sentences to describe what happened..."

  Yi Chen deleted the email and said in a low voice, "So, Chekhov is in danger... When that kid runs into big things, he's always hard to calm down. His brain is simply a madman's brain... I don't know what he'll do next. Inform Cain, I need him to know about this thing, yes, inform him."

  Fei Li looked at Yi Chen: "Boss, what to do? The raid team failed, and sending other soldiers over won't be effective either. What should we do? Take matters into our own hands?"

  "No, Fei Li, you don't know the horror of Japanese ninjas... I finally understand what those things recorded in the Tianxing Sect's classics mean. It says that someone stole the Dongjia Sect's classics and was pursued by the Dongjia Sect and Wuxing Sect for over a thousand years without any results... The Dongjia Sect is extremely powerful, able to survive their pursuit, they must have their own unique aspects. The Tianxing Sect's records don't mention who stole the classics, but looking at Chekhov's description now, I'm guessing it was..."

  Yi Chen was a bit worried, he himself might not be afraid of the strange techniques of the Yin Yang Sect and the Five Elements Sect, but Feili and the others didn't have any resistance at all. A sudden attack could often kill an opponent ten times stronger than themselves, let alone those Japanese people who wouldn't be weak either...

  Jester interrupted Yichen's thoughts: "Boss, don't worry about how to deal with them for now. Are you really sure you want to tell Cain about these things?"

  Yi Chen nodded: "Yes."

  "Phil snapped his forehead: "Boss, Cain will tear down the whole Paris."

  Yi Chen smiled: "Kain? No, I believe in his judgment. Kain's brain is not good for use, but when it comes to fighting, none of us are better than him. He is a born commander and will make the most beneficial decisions."

  "Perhaps, to kill with a borrowed knife is the best way... Hehe, to kill with a borrowed knife... I don't want those 400 million lovely dollars to fly lightly back into the client's pocket, and then 'they' will still be shrouded in the shadow of loss."

  Paris, the luxurious residence of Marquis de Blancq, a group of frivolous young men were toasting and drinking with him. These young men could be said to be the vanguard of Parisian society, and they would first get a general idea of whether Blancq was worth socializing with. As long as Blancq performed well enough, these young men would naturally go all out to promote him.

  A soldier from a 'Black Magic' unit walked up to Cain and muttered a few words in his ear.

  Cain immediately became a different person, if he was just a stone statue earlier, then at this moment he had become an angry giant, with the veins on his forehead bursting and his fists clenched and crackling non-stop. Cain strode out of the luxurious living room.

  Bai Jiatu saw the change in Kain and saw him walk out, still puzzled about what had happened. Suddenly, a loud noise came from outside. The young masters exclaimed and looked at Bai Jiatu...

  Whitey furrowed his brow, a thought occurring to him: "This guy wouldn't have planted a bomb in the courtyard, would he? God, please don't let him do that, or all my efforts will be for nothing... A hundred million dollars, and beautiful Ellen... Oh, damn those German soldiers."

  A crowd rushed out of the living room and saw that several jade stone carvings in the large fountain in the courtyard had collapsed into the water.

  Cain walked towards Bajiquan with a smile all over his face: "Sir, as you instructed, we demolished these statues to make way for new ones... The aesthetic view of French construction workers is really not worthy of admiration."

  Bai Jiatu's expression changed slightly: "When did I ever instruct you to smash these statues?"

  But he soon came to his senses: "Yes, of course, but we can't blame our construction workers, they're not wrong, the problem is these statues, ordinary jade? Too lowly, I need materials that are more elegant and noble, Siroc, select the best statues, I require them to have gemstones inlaid in their eyes, only then will it match our status."

  "Ah, as you wish, sir... These statues are indeed too crude. It was my mistake. I apologize, sir. In two days, you will see the statues that will satisfy you."

  A young noble lightly clapped his hands: "Heavens, only those princes of ancient times would do such a thing. Dear Mr. Bai Jia De, do you understand? You have let us experience the elegance of ancient nobility... The new statue, what kind are you planning to replace it with?"

  Bai Jia De smiled slightly: "Made of pure silver, with lapis lazuli inlaid in the eyes... Ah, of course, all are statues of beautiful women, the goddess of hunting, the goddess of love, the goddess of youth, the goddess of harvest. It looks luxurious this way, doesn't it?"

  The young masters applauded lightly and secretly made up their minds that they must be the first to post this news in the club. This marquis from Central Europe was indeed a genuine noble, but he was the kind of highest nobility and richest.

  Cain smiled to himself, thinking: "I mustn't be impulsive, they were able to take out Stron's squad, they're very powerful... Mustn't be impulsive, the other soldiers who went before are sure to have died... Let the boss decide, the boss will decide what to do. The boss won't make a mistake, he never makes mistakes."

  "Take good care of the remaining chicks, we can't send you money quickly, our hands are tight and the market is unstable, it will soon swallow up our money."

  I just hope Chekhov doesn't do anything too crazy. If Strax and I can get back to London safely, that's all that matters. Jest whispered: "Strax would have a better chance of surviving in the wilderness on his own than he does now with that idiot Chekhov."

  That ninja was staring at Strudel, and Strudel was staring back at him.

  Chekhov received a reply from Yidian, almost despairingly sighed, and sat on the ground with a thud, wailing: "My vacation, my beauty, my Japanese little girl, my female body... Oh God, damn you, why are you treating me like this? No wonder Zhest wants to worship Satan, damn it, I'll follow him in worshipping Satan too."

  "The ninja asked in a low voice: 'Them'?"

  Chekhov flinched slightly, but the ninja's gaze wasn't directed this way, so he didn't notice his abnormality.

  Sternchen looked at him a bit strangely: " 'They'? What do you mean?"

  The ninja paused for a moment and said in a low tone: "You've come to Tokyo, who's your target? Perhaps we can be collaborators."

  Schtroumpf looked at him, speechless for half a day, his left hand tightly grasping the single-shot small pistol, with an ever-changing expression in his eyes.

  Chekhov stealthily pulled out a fruit knife, crept over, and swiftly placed the blade on the ninja's neck. His hand holding the knife trembled violently, causing a small cut to appear on the ninja's Adam's apple, from which blood slowly trickled down.

  "Listen, yellow monkey, do you understand? The people I hate the most are first Japanese, second myself, and third Germans... Hmm, be careful or I'll get rid of you anytime... What the hell, why did you ask him what his mission is?"

  The ninja said in a low voice, "We have been entrusted with a mission, the target is..." His hand suddenly flipped over, and Chikov flew out without any effort. The fruit knife slashed fiercely on the ninja's face, leaving a bloody mark, but he seemed to ignore it and continued to ask Schtreng: "Your mission is..."

  "Schtroungen raised his gun: 'Mountain mouth group's dragon head Lao Da Shan Kou Mu... Mr., sorry, this Chikov Mr. is our boss's subordinate, although I have not seen him, but he saved me, you should not treat him like that.'"

  Chekhov nearly fell to his death, gasping for a few mouthfuls of air, he dizzily got up, picked up the TV in the living room and was about to smash it on the ninja's head, roaring: "Damn it, I saved a dog, I can still kill him and eat meat, you Japanese people are unreliable, damn it, I'll get rid of you first." It seemed he had forgotten that it was he who put the knife to someone else's throat.

  "Alright then, we're friends... We've commissioned 'them' to take out Yamaguchi-gumi."

  Chekhov's eyes widened, his hand went limp, and the TV he was holding above his head almost smashed into his own skull. He hastily put it down on the floor, not even noticing that all the plugs had been pulled out.

  Chekhov picked up the small knife again and cautiously approached the ninja, whispering: "Did you entrust it to 'them'?"

  Shtrengren looked at Chekhov uncomprehendingly: "'They'? What are you talking about?"

  The ninja said, "The world's most mysterious and formidable killer organization has completed many unbelievable tasks, including retrieving three stolen intercontinental missiles. This is something that everyone in the underground world knows about. You must have a connection with 'them', otherwise why would you come to deal with Yamaguchi-gumi? We also have intelligence that no one in the underground world wants to make a move on Yamaguchi-gumi for now, except us."

  Chekhov crouched down carefully about a meter and a half away from him, speaking in a low voice: "'They' have some connection with us, business cooperation, some easy simple tasks, they rescue the entrusted ones we handle, our boss is also a big figure on the black road."

  The ninja burst out laughing, and the wound on his face jumped up and down, bleeding profusely. Chekhov curled up his lip, pulled out a rapid healing agent, and sprayed it on his face several times, sealing the wound.

  The ninja said: "So, 'they' made a mistake. Yamaguchi-gumi is not easy to kill. They were wrong not to use extraordinary means against the Yamaguchi-gumi. We had hoped that they would use powerful bombs to directly blow up the Yamaguchi-gumi's headquarters, but instead they found you guys, this group of mercenaries, to attack directly... Bah, a bunch of idiots."

  Chekhov suddenly punched his wound, bringing up a stream of blood: "Damn it, I'm telling you, Chekhov is broad-minded and won't hold your rudeness against you... But you're not allowed to talk about my boss, got it?"

  The ninja laughed: "Alright, alright, haha, maybe you should tell your boss to inform 'them' that they can't send people to their deaths like this, bring out some stronger characters."

  Chekhov said fiercely: "I've seen people among 'them', they're not something you bunch of stinky monkeys can compare to... Can you fly? They can, and they also have very powerful superpowers... Damn it, why did I tell you?"

  The ninja looked at him with profound meaning: "So, our guess is correct. 'They' can't be ordinary people. The tasks they've completed are very difficult for ordinary people to accomplish... So, inform your boss that we paid the money and 'they' should thoroughly settle this deal."

  Chekhov chuckled and said: "The boss is definitely looking for someone to take revenge, no need to say, no one can cut us down without being taken down by us... Don't worry about it... Tell me, who are you?"

  The ninja looked at Chekhov: "What I am is of no importance."

  "Chekhov muttered under his breath: 'I'm trying to find a way for us to stay alive, you know? Damn little monkey.'"

  The ninja bit his lip: "I can't bear your insults to us... If you call me a monkey again, I'll duel with you."

  "Damn it, your Toyotomi Hideyoshi was once a monkey himself, why can't you be called monkeys... Damn it, hurry up and tell me who you are, I'll find a way to take you two to your headquarters, so our lives will be spared... Don't you understand? Outside is full of police... Yamaguchi-gumi, damn it."

  The ninja was stunned for half a day. Before Toyotomi Hideyoshi rose to power, he indeed served as a vassal of someone else. At that time, his identity wasn't very glorious... He glared fiercely at Chekhov: "I am Izumita, the first-class water ninja of the Five Elements Alliance under the Chrysanthemum Organization of the Great Japanese Empire."

  Schtroumpf stared foolishly at the ninja, bewildered by the long string of names he had just been told. Was he watching a fantasy movie from the East? Otherwise, how could such things and people appear? Thinking back to the action, those eerie silhouettes that emerged from nothingness, Schtroumpf began to suspect that everything he had experienced was just an illusion.

  Chekhov spat on the sofa less than an inch from Spring Field's face and said disdainfully, "I could tell these lies when I was three years old... What the hell are you, some kind of water person? Hmph, nonsense. Tell me, what are you?"

  "Whatever I am, take me to Mt. Fuji. On the east side of Mt. Fuji, there is a mountainous area, that's our headquarters. If we three can make it there, we'll be completely safe... Of course, we need to change clothes."

  Chekhov slowly got up and suddenly kicked a foot into the belly of Quan Tian: "You dog-raised, why did I have to save you? If it weren't for you in the room, I wouldn't have gone out to find the girl. If I hadn't gone out to find the girl, I wouldn't have run into that German devil. If I hadn't run into that German devil, I'd still be playing with the girl now... Dammit, you jinx."

  "Izumi Minamoto groaned in pain: 'You'd better hurry up, they won't let me go, and even less that German... Of course, if you get caught, the first one to die will be you.'"

  Chekhov pointed at his own nose: "Me?"

  "Izumi said bluntly, 'A good-for-nothing is worthless and will definitely be the first to be executed. You'd better think of a way to get us two cripples to Mt. Fuji, where we'll be safe.'"

  Chekhov stared at him with a dead gaze, slowly revealing a despicable smile. He slowly walked up to Izumi and began to cut open the bandages on his body with a fruit knife. Izumi asked in surprise: "What are you doing?"

  Chekhov smiled: "Let's start preparing for our trip to Mount Fuji."

  After signing a large check for Jirō again, Stronheim and Izumi had a big hemp cigarette in their mouths, supported by several people, and barely managed to get downstairs, where a rented house car was waiting for them.

  Schtroumpf and Smurfberry were both dressed in Chekhov's style, with a pair of red and green sunglasses on their heads. Fortunately, the injuries on their bodies were all on their backs or shoulders, and none of them were exposed.

  Four fifteen- or sixteen-year-old girls burst into the carriage, giggling. Chekhov chuckled and said: "Which of you will drive? Let's head towards Mount Fuji. The other three can keep me company... They only like to watch; they don't have the ability to do it themselves."

  Four little girls' subtle eyes secretly glanced at Stronach and Izumi's lower body, almost making the two men shout in anger, but now they can only sit weakly on the sofa in the car compartment, stunned. The marijuana smoke relieved their painful wounds and gave them a bit of spirit.

  In Ji Lang's 90-degree bow farewell, Chekhov and seven others set off on a tour, with Mount Fuji as their destination.

  "Oh God, I'd better believe in you after all. Please don't mind what I just said and let us arrive at Mt. Fuji safely. And please, no police on the way... The bullet train has too many people, we don't dare to take it... Oh dear God, please don't let the police or the Yakuza set up checkpoints on the road."

  Across from the hotel, two Europeans quietly watched as the RV drove away, reporting in low tones into the collar-mounted microphone: "Target spotted... accompanied by six unidentified men and women, with two of the men injured. How should we proceed?"

  "Arrest him on the spot... Don't bother with the people around him, they're just a bunch of hooligans."

  "Yes, head... On-the-spot arrest."