By the time Abir and Arisa returned to the estate's main living room after securing the power grid, dawn had fully broken over the city. But there was no time for luxury or rest. Rider's men had dragged the bleeding, broken commander of the Black Squad into the center of the room, forcing him onto his knees.
Abir sat back into the leather armchair. He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply before exhaling a thick cloud of gray smoke directly into the mercenary's face.
"Where is Draco's primary operations base in Mexico, and what does his defensive matrix look like?" Abir asked, his voice dropping into a chilling, business-like tone. "Speak quickly. My clock is ticking."
"Juarez..." the commander stammered, his eyes darting around the heavily armed room. "The outskirts of Juarez. He operates from a subterranean compound known as 'The Dragon's Den'. He has three separate tiers of private military contractors guarding the perimeter. You'll be dead before you even cross the state line."
Abir let out a dry, mocking chuckle. He glanced at Arisa, who was already analyzing satellite scans and cartographic data of the Juarez region on her terminal.
"Abir, he's not exaggerating," Arisa interjected, rotating a 3D wireframe layout of the fortress. "The compound is a biometric dead zone. High-yield radar arrays, thermal tracking drones, and kinetic motion grids. If we attempt to clear Mexican customs through commercial channels or standard aliases, Draco's border assets will intercept us at the gate."
Abir stubbed his cigarette out in the crystal ashtray and stood up, his posture exuding absolute, unyielding authority.
"Then we don't use commercial channels, Arisa," Abir commanded. "Rider, clear our black-market cargo transport for immediate takeoff. We clear the Mexican airspace low on the radar and drop via tactical HALO parachutes ten kilometers outside the perimeter. Pack our heavy loadouts into the pressure-sealed cargo pods."
Arisa looked away from the monitor, her eyes flashing with a dangerous spark. "And my **H2R**? The operation is incomplete without the supercharger, Abir."
Abir placed a steady hand on her shoulder, a rare, protective smirk appearing on his face. "Your machine will be tied down in the rear drop-bay, my Queen. When we breach the Juarez highways, we're going to need every bit of that 300 km/h velocity to tear Draco's empire apart."
Abir pulled out his encrypted comm-link and recorded a short, final voice file directed straight to Draco's private server: *"Draco. I've discarded your garbage. Now, I am personally coming to burn your Dragon's Den to the ground. The apex predator of this city is currently airborne."*
Hitting send, Abir zipped up his heavy black riding leather. Rider and his core team of five elite marksmen were already moving toward the estate's hidden subterranean hangar, where the massive turboprop cargo plane was already spooling its engines for a flight into the depths of hell.
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