Chapter 222: The Phantom Pain Alliance Leader’s Update

"He's stopped. Near the Walmart. Location accuracy is within 50 meters…"

Becky relayed the final pinpointed location—this was the limit of what tower-based triangulation could deliver. From here on, it was up to Owen and Swag to visually confirm the target.

Swag slowed the vehicle, letting it coast smoothly toward the area while Owen scanned through the windshield, carefully watching the parked cars in front of Walmart.

He signaled for Swag to pull over across the street. In front of the store, Owen counted three cars with men visibly talking on their phones.

He observed closely, trying to distinguish any suspicious behavior, but all three looked about the same. Just as he was about to ask Becky to send over a photo of Denzel Payton for visual confirmation, the call with the seductive escort in the backseat abruptly cut out.

"Hello? Hellooo?? Ugh, what the fuck is this?"

The woman furiously stared at the disconnected phone. Her easy-money gig had just come to an abrupt end. She had already racked up several hundred dollars—more than she'd usually earn lying on her back for a full day. Her bra was literally stuffed with bills.

Now, suddenly, her cash cow had dried up. She wanted to scream.

But Owen had no time to comfort her. His full attention was on the three men. Two were still on their phones. Only one—a scruffy-looking, disheveled blond man—had just angrily tossed his phone onto the passenger seat.

Owen locked eyes with Swag.

That's him.

They had found Denzel Payton. This Walmart must've been "the usual place" mentioned in the intercepted text. And from the looks of it, Denzel wasn't new to working with Richard Brown—he was probably the go-to guy for Brown's dirty jobs.

The location was carefully chosen—accessible in all directions. Without a 30-man police unit, this place couldn't be locked down. And Walmart's constant foot traffic meant one gunshot could trigger full-blown chaos.

But Owen and Swag weren't planning to arrest him—not yet.

According to the profile, Denzel was ruthless and dangerous. He'd once let a kidnapped girl starve to death in a cave just to keep his tracks clean. If he had Jack Bauer's wife and daughter, there was no telling what he'd do if he felt threatened.

So they decided to stay low and follow him—silent and patient—until he led them to the hostages.

Their car was parked in a bad spot—too exposed. Leaving it there for too long would draw attention.

Swag circled the area once and then parked at a discreet spot near the entrance. From there, they had a clear view of Denzel's vehicle without standing out themselves. A perfect vantage point.

Back inside the car, Becky's delayed message came through—a police mugshot of Denzel Payton, matching the disheveled man perfectly.

Denzel lit a cigarette and began his wait.

Then, a new text appeared on Richard Brown's old phone—Denzel again, asking for an update. Owen ignored it. A while later, Denzel called.

Still, Owen didn't answer.

The goal was to wear him down, frustrate him into returning to wherever he was holding the hostages, giving them a trail to follow.

Surprisingly, Denzel's patience held. He waited nearly an hour, burning through at least seven or eight cigarettes before finally crushing one under his boot and driving off.

Walmart's parking lot was crowded. Owen and Swag followed carefully, blending into the flow of traffic. Swag stayed two cars behind—far enough to avoid suspicion, close enough not to lose him. If you hadn't been trained in counter-surveillance, you'd never notice.

They drove steadily, heading out of the city—just as expected. Most kidnappers preferred to hide their victims in remote locations.

Swag kept it slow and subtle. Then, without warning, Denzel's vehicle suddenly accelerated—drifting in place and making an illegal U-turn into the opposite lane.

"Fuck!"

Owen cursed. It was a textbook counter-surveillance maneuver—abrupt, illegal, and completely unprovoked. If they mirrored the move, they'd instantly reveal they were tailing him. But if they didn't, the next legal turnaround point was still far off. Denzel would vanish before they even had a chance.

The man was a pro. A veteran at shaking off tails.

Swag hesitated. He could feel the clock ticking. If they lost Denzel now, they might never find the hostages again. But following recklessly could risk their cover—and the women's lives.

Then Owen barked, "Keep driving. Don't stop."

Swag complied, pushing ahead with traffic. In the rearview mirror, they spotted a stroke of divine luck—a patrol car had witnessed Denzel's wild maneuver.

The cop had already pulled him over.

Owen nearly laughed. God really is on our side today.

Swag floored it. The car tore through traffic, blowing past slower vehicles. In the mirror, middle fingers popped up like weeds.

They hit the roundabout, flipped a quick U-turn, and raced back in the opposite direction. After a tense stretch, they spotted Denzel's vehicle again—pulled over with a police officer leaning into the window.

We didn't lose him.

Swag eased off the gas, not wanting to pass them before the traffic stop was over. As they slowed, other drivers became furious, honking, cursing, and flipping off the "idiots" blocking the lane.

Swag sighed and muttered under his breath, "Yeah yeah… my bad, folks."

Finally, the stop ended. The officer handed Denzel a ticket and returned to his cruiser. Denzel, looking pissed, tossed the ticket aside and drove off again.

Swag followed, smoothly merging back into traffic at a nonchalant distance.

Denzel's driving had changed. Maybe the stop soured his mood. Maybe he didn't feel like playing cat-and-mouse anymore. Either way, he sped up—much faster than before—but no longer tried to shake any tails.

Swag kept pace at a careful distance.

Two vehicles, one target, and a fragile hope that somewhere ahead, Jack Bauer's family was still alive.

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