CHAPTER 431: CHAPTER 265 NEGOTIATION_1

Not the police... No one would send a grizzled old man to chase an escaped murderer.

Dean thought for a moment, then tentatively asked, "Barton?"

"Sorry, I don’t know any Barton. The police have already blockaded the entire neighborhood. If you, Mr. Dean, wish to leave here safely, you might need our help."

Outside the door, the elderly voice was steady and unhurried.

Dean understood instantly. This was a man who got things done. He was well aware of the government’s power. Right now, he was just a sharpshooter in poor physical condition. Without external help, his chances of escaping were extremely low, so he didn’t hesitate long.

Dean opened the door.

Outside, a ragged old man, who looked like some kind of vagrant performance artist, gave Dean a slight smile and held out a set of clothes. "Pharmacist Dean, put these on. Miss Catherine wants to see you as soon as possible. Then, the doubts in your heart will be answered."

The old man handed over a fully-equipped tactical suit!

Dean took it and spread it out. The tactical suit bore an emblem: a skull enveloped by an eagle and ears of grain.

He recognized this emblem from his own world. It belonged to a unit of the Mexican Army Special Forces, a formidable group and a key force in combating the Mexican drug cartels. Of course, in his world, the strongest drug cartel in Mexico had been formed by an instructor from this very special forces unit, leading a team he had personally built...

He changed into the clothes and donned a mask that only revealed his eyes.

Under the old man’s guidance, the two of them moved through shabby alleys, eventually arriving at a jeep parked at a street corner.

In the jeep, a tactical squad sat waiting.

Seeing them, a burly man at the front nodded to the old man, then gestured for Dean to get in the vehicle.

Dean knew that at this moment, he had no choice.

So, without saying a word, he jumped into the vehicle, sitting amidst those stone-like warriors. He adjusted briefly, and his entire demeanor blended in, making him seem like a natural part of the team, except for the fact he was unarmed.

The burly man noticed this, a hint of surprise in his eyes.

Could this guy also have a special forces background?

He gave Dean a long look, then sat in the front passenger seat and signaled the driver to start the car.

On the way, Dean noticed police cars monitoring and stopping vehicles at every intersection in this neighborhood. At intervals of every fifty to sixty meters, fully-armed teams patrolled the area.

If anything happened, the area would immediately become an encirclement, primed for a lethal takedown.

This was the power of a collective force.

However, faced with a jeep full of soldiers who looked as hard as iron, the Mexican police officers naturally didn’t dare to stop them, allowing Dean to leave the area smoothly.

The jeep headed south.

Dean noticed they were heading toward the city center.

「Half an hour later.」

The surrounding streets began to look cleaner, with high-rise buildings, apartment blocks, neatly arranged green belts, and well-dressed pedestrians.

Everything here was a stark contrast to the neighborhood where Dean had been hiding.

Just when Dean thought this group might take him to some upscale community...

The military jeep didn’t stop. It drove straight through the city’s main thoroughfares, eventually leaving the urban area. Braving the wind and sand, it finally stopped at a small military base in a semi-desert region.

Who exactly did Barton sell the reagent to?

Still harboring doubts, Dean was finally led by the special forces soldiers to an empty shooting range. They left him there alone, departing one by one.

The range was fully equipped.

On the table in front of Dean lay various models of handguns and semi-automatic rifles.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Forceful footsteps approached.

Dean looked in the direction of the sound.

A trim woman with shoulder-length brown hair, wearing professional shooting gear, walked towards him.

"Catherine?" Dean took the initiative.

The woman walked past Dean without acknowledging him, moved to the table, casually picked up a palm-sized handgun, gave it a deft flick, and squeezed the trigger.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

After a barrage of shots, only a single bullet hole remained on the fixed target twenty meters away.

Having emptied the magazine, the woman finally set down the handgun, satisfied, and looked at Dean. "The file says you’re just an ordinary, third-rate detective. I’m curious about your marksmanship. Are you CIA?"

"No!" Dean shook his head. "You could consider me a timid, unlucky detective who’s afraid of trouble. Besides, your target should be the formula I possess. I have important matters to attend to. Agree to my conditions, and I’ll give you the formula."

This woman... she had her men call me ’Pharmacist.’ That was her way of showing she knew who I was. It was also a test. If I’d looked clueless, it would have meant I was just some lucky guy, not a smart one. Conversely, it would show I’m shrewd. You deal with different people in different ways. So, by being direct, I’m showing her I’m smart. She wants the formula? Fine. Then she has to meet my conditions!

Upon hearing this, the woman sighed. "Alright, it seems you’re a tough one. I am indeed interested in your formula. State your terms. I hope you won’t make things too difficult for me."

Negotiation is really just business. Winning over lucky people simply requires a mix of coercion and enticement.