Counterterrorism in America

Javier hurried over and found a lifeless body lying on the ground. He had already been briefed by his subordinates about the strange occurrences earlier—first a handgun had fallen from the building, followed by a sniper rifle. And now, someone had actually dropped a whole body.

A sense of dread welled up inside him. Could the hostages be getting executed?

Behind him, the crowd stirred. The sound of cameras clicking echoed in the air as reporters eagerly began snapping photos. The hostage crisis had escalated into a major event—so much so that both the mayor and the governor had called to express their concern. With thousands of viewers glued to their screens, Javier had no choice but to tolerate the media presence, as long as they didn't go too far.

Officers equipped with riot shields approached and dragged the corpse away. Javier sighed in relief upon noticing the dead man's outfit. The body was wearing tactical gear, not civilian clothes. It likely wasn't a hostage.

However, he quickly spotted something strange: white lettering scrawled across the dead man's back. Although the writing was partially smudged from being dragged, Javier could still make out the words—"Steve Owen, LAPD"—along with a series of numbers that appeared to be a radio frequency. The last two digits, however, were too distorted to read.

Steve Owen? Javier recognized the name immediately. He was the detective who had reported the situation earlier—one of George's men. Just yesterday, Owen had cracked a major bank robbery case, earning George's team a hefty reward.

An idea struck Javier. He turned to a nearby officer and instructed, "Bring George over here. Also, get me a two-way radio."

In less than a minute, George arrived. He was escorted to the inner perimeter where Javier awaited him. "Javier, what's going on?" George asked.

"George, take a look at this body. Can you confirm if it's Steve Owen?"

George gasped and walked over to examine the face of the deceased. The body was deformed from the fall, but after a few moments of inspection, George shook his head. "No, that's not Steve."

Javier felt a wave of relief. He dismissed George and took the radio handed to him by an assistant. Setting the device to the frequency listed on the corpse, he pressed the talk button.

"Is anyone there? This is Chief Javier. Can anyone hear me? Please respond."

36th Floor

Owen and McClane stood by the window, watching the flashing police lights far below. Owen held a radio in his hand, waiting anxiously for a reply. Minutes passed, but all he heard was silence.

Instead, it was the sniper's radio that crackled to life.

"Yakov, when the police make their move, you're free to engage. Your primary targets are the commanding officer and SWAT operatives."

Owen and McClane exchanged a tense glance. The radio message continued, "Yakov, do you copy? Respond."

Neither man knew how to proceed. Should they reply? Before they could decide, the voice on the other end shifted in tone, growing low and ominous.

"It's you, isn't it? You two little rats… I know it's you."

Hearing this, McClane chuckled and snatched the radio.

"Rats? Is that what you're calling us now? Come on, you could at least call us something cooler—like the Dynamic Duo. And you must be Hans, right? I know your name. Isn't that better than 'rat'? Oh, by the way, you might want to tell your golden boy, Alex, that he's a real disappointment. Ha!"

Hans didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he cut straight to the point. "Where's Yakov? Did you kill him?"

"Of course we did! And we smashed his balls for good measure. You ever hear the sound of testicles being crushed? Makes your teeth ache just thinking about it."

McClane's words enraged Alex, who was listening nearby. He overturned a table in fury—not just because of McClane's taunts but because Yakov had been his younger brother.

Unaware of the personal connection, McClane continued his relentless mockery. Had he known, he likely would have made the insults even worse.

"By the way," McClane added with a grin, "I've got some news for you. See all those cops down there? Yeah, I called them. Surprise! Sorry to ruin your little party."

To his surprise, Hans remained unnervingly calm. After a long pause, he finally responded.

"Very well, Mr. Dynamic Duo. Enjoy your stay… while it lasts. I hope we never cross paths again."

The radio went silent. McClane frowned, sensing something was off. The enemy seemed too indifferent about the police presence.

Owen, however, was preoccupied with another concern. His makeshift message, delivered via the sniper's corpse, had yet to yield any response. He glanced at the radio in his hand with growing frustration.

"What's our next move?"

"I don't know. We'll figure it out as we go."

Ground Level

Javier's assistant came running over, holding a phone. "Chief, the hostage-takers just contacted us."

Javier took the call and steadied his voice. "This is Chief Javier of the West Hollywood Division. You're surrounded. Surrender immediately and release the hostages."

The voice on the other end chuckled darkly.

"Ah, Chief… I don't think you understand. I have hostages. That makes me the one in charge. To help you grasp the situation, I'll be sending you a little gift. I hope you enjoy it."

The line went dead. Javier scowled in frustration.

Suddenly, a loud crash drew everyone's attention. A pane of glass high up on the building had shattered. Moments later, a figure was pushed out of the window.

The body plummeted to the ground, landing with a sickening thud.

The scene erupted into chaos. Reporters surged forward, their cameras flashing wildly. In mere seconds, the corpse became the focal point of the entire crowd.

One of Javier's officers ran to inspect the body and quickly returned with a grim expression.

"It's Aoki Masakazu," he reported. "The CEO of Magle Corporation. They… they threw him off the building."

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