Chapter 94
The black Lincoln slammed into the right-front guardrail. Cameron’s eyes flashed with determination as he remained composed. He gripped the steering wheel, his forearms bulging with veins as he wrestled the car back under control.
Creak!
The car’s right side scraped against the guardrail, showering sparks. The guardrail helped the car regain its balance.
Bang!
Another bullet struck a tire. Cameron’s gaze intensified as he rapidly pumped the brakes—the most stable way to stop a high-speed car with a flat tire. The Lincoln finally halted, less than 300 feet from the assassin on the mountaintop.
“Stay in the car,” he ordered. “I’ll be back soon.”
Using the car door for cover, Cameron quickly exited. Another bullet whistled past. A subsequent bullet shattered the windshield, adding to the existing cracks. The assassin’s firepower would have destroyed the windshield and fuel tank, were it not for the Lincoln’s custom bulletproof glass and reinforced body. This bullet, however, revealed the assassin’s position.
Cameron, using the sparks created by the bullet's friction, located the assassin 30 degrees to his right, atop the mountain.
On the 130-foot peak stood a man in camouflage, his face painted an olive color. He held a heavy Barrett sniper rifle, aimed at the Lincoln below. Clad in camouflage and concealed by vegetation, his position was seemingly flawless.
Cameron’s dark eyes locked onto the assassin. From the bullet holes in the bulletproof glass, he deduced the sniper was using a Barrett rifle firing 12.7mm caliber rounds—a weapon with a range exceeding 3,000 feet, capable of piercing steel plates and aluminum alloys. Even the Lincoln’s bulletproofing couldn’t withstand many more hits. The assassin was well-prepared. Someone was trying to kill Laura.
Just as the sniper’s telescopic sight settled on Cameron, preparing to fire, Cameron vanished.
“What?” the man exclaimed, astonished. Suspecting a hallucination, he moved to check the telescopic sight again.
“Don’t,” a cold voice echoed behind him.
The sudden voice startled the sniper; he leaped. Turning, his eyes widened in terror. Cameron stood behind him. He recognized the man as a foreign mercenary.
“Who sent you?” Cameron demanded.
The man remained silent, rubbing his eyes, but Cameron’s figure remained. The reality of the situation—Cameron’s superior skill—struck him. He drew a poison-tipped dagger, adopting a combat stance.
“That won’t work on me,” Cameron said calmly. His next words sent shivers down the sniper’s spine: “Tell me who the mastermind is, or you become my pawn, preserved in formaldehyde for the rest of your life. My patience is limited.”
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