The two MINIs swerved onto Highway 15, speeding down the road.
Just then, Owen's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen and answered immediately. Jack's voice came through: "Was it you guys?"
"Yes, sorry about that, Jack…"
"We have 15 minutes before all entry and exit routes to Los Angeles are locked down…"
The call ended abruptly—Jack Bauer had helped him once again, despite himself.
Owen knew that "locking down" the routes didn't mean a complete closure. This was Los Angeles, the most bustling city in California. Even CTU didn't have the authority to completely shut it down.
What it actually meant was that state police or highway patrol officers would be setting up checkpoints to inspect passing vehicles. If they couldn't leave within the next 15 minutes, they wouldn't be able to escape by road.
Owen had no idea how the fight was going back there, but since Jack still had the time to warn him, things were probably going well. After all, CTU had set up a trap for the mercenaries—if they still couldn't win despite that, it would be quite a failure.
The car continued racing down the highway. Owen rolled down the window and casually tossed his phone out. He had always been extremely cautious about communications—before the operation, everyone but him had changed their phone numbers.
The only reason he kept his own number wasn't because he was worried about Jack Bauer—on the contrary, Jack's call was an unexpected bonus.
The real concern was others trying to track him via his phone. Yesterday, Heartbeat had managed to pinpoint his location that way, so there was no guarantee someone else wouldn't think of the same trick.
With the phone gone, the two MINIs suddenly made a sharp U-turn, taking the nearest exit and heading straight for the train station.
They had never actually planned to leave Los Angeles by road. Keeping that phone was just a diversion. Their real escape route was the train.
Brian had arranged everything in advance. The others were probably already waiting for them at the station.
Twenty minutes later, the two MINIs slowly pulled into a train station. But this wasn't the passenger station in the city center—it was a small freight station on the outskirts. There were only two platforms, and one of them currently had a freight train being loaded.
As Owen drove up, he spotted Heartbeat standing on the platform, keeping watch. He was still wearing his work uniform, blending in with the station staff—except for his unmistakable mohawk, which stood out like a sore thumb.
Seeing Owen's MINI, Heartbeat motioned for them to drive into a warehouse.
As soon as Owen stepped out and dragged Alex from the trunk, a large freight truck rumbled in through the other end of the warehouse.
The truck came to a stop, and several Eastern European men got out. They ignored Owen and his team entirely, as if they didn't exist, and efficiently loaded both MINIs into the container before shutting the doors and driving off.
With the MINIs taken care of, Heartbeat led Owen and the others back to the platform. They located a specific train car, slid open the door, and climbed inside.
The carriage was just an ordinary freight car, but to Owen's surprise, Sweetie was also there.
They had previously agreed that Sweetie was only helping out temporarily—once Alex was secured, she was out of the picture. There was no reason for her to join them in Colombia, where her hacking skills wouldn't be needed.
But it seemed like she had changed her mind.
"You're coming with us to Colombia?" Owen asked.
"Of course! I love the climate there. Bogotá is a great place," she replied cheerfully.
Owen rolled his eyes.
Sure, Colombia had a nice climate, but it was also crawling with drug cartels, armed militias, and rampant gun violence. In that country, cartel power sometimes outweighed the government's, and shootouts were a common occurrence—it was far from an ideal destination.
He sighed. This girl couldn't even be bothered to come up with a convincing excuse. Still, he couldn't help but remind her:
"What about your job at the NSA?"
"Don't worry, I took time off. The NSA has thousands of analysts—one more, one less, who cares?"
Sweetie beamed, her usual carefree energy radiating.
Owen was speechless.
Outside, Brian was shaking hands with a bearded Eastern European man. "Buddy, we really appreciate your help this time…"
"We're friends. Ukrainians don't say such things to friends," the man replied gruffly.
While Brian continued his conversation, Sweetie's eyes suddenly lit up inside the carriage. She let out a small gasp of surprise: "Mashkov?"
Owen also found the guy outside familiar. Hearing Sweetie's reaction, he asked, "You know him?"
"Of course."
Sweetie glanced at Owen, then recited as if reading from a dossier:
"Mashkov Leka Polovich. Ukrainian. Officially runs a waste disposal business, several restaurants, and gas stations, but in reality, he's the leader of an Eastern Ukrainian gang.
Though not the most powerful, he has strong ties with other Ukrainian and Russian syndicates. Many crime bosses consider him a brother—he's a well-known figure in the underworld."
Owen suddenly understood. No wonder the guy seemed familiar—he was one of the key players in the Eastern European crime scene. He hadn't interacted much with them before because West Hollywood wasn't their territory.
Outside, Brian finally wrapped up his discussion and climbed into the carriage. The door was locked from the outside, followed by the sound of the latch securing it. It seemed they would be spending the next stretch of time on this train.
The train rumbled to life and slowly began moving forward.
Trains in the U.S. weren't particularly fast, and being confined in the carriage was a bit dull. Fortunately, the walls had small windows that could be opened, so it wasn't too stifling.
Owen nudged Alex with his foot. The guy had recovered by now—his face was still a mess, but he no longer looked as wretched as before.
The others stood motionless. When Alex saw Owen approaching, he instinctively shrank back, his hands reflexively covering his nose.
Owen pulled out a phone and handed it to him.
"Call your father."
"Huh?"
"Call your father. Tell him you've been rescued and that he better not harm the female SWAT officer. Otherwise, every bit of pain she suffers will be repaid to you tenfold."
Alex immediately understood what was happening. A smug grin spread across his face.
"Let me guess—it's that girl, Monica—ugh!"
Before he could finish gloating, Owen smashed a fist into his nose. The barely healed injury flared up in excruciating pain, making his eyes water. It also served as a brutal reminder of his current situation.
"!#￥%￥@!&...%@!（&）..."
Dialing a number, Alex started speaking rapidly in Spanish.
Spanish was Colombia's official language, and except for Brian, no one in the carriage understood a word he was saying.
After a few moments, Alex held the phone out. "My father wants to talk to you."
Owen took the phone. A strong, authoritative elderly voice came through the line:
"Bring Alex to Colombia, and I guarantee the woman's safety."
"Alright."
"How long until I see my son?"
"No idea. It'll take some time for us to get out of the U.S."
"Fine. But if you fail… I'll make sure that woman dies with Alex."
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