With the first glimmer of dawn, an uninvited guest came to the deserted alley.
With his right hand hidden in the pocket of his vest, Agent Davis walked into the alley and tightly held the M9 with the safety off. His eyes vigilantly searched the alley.
Just a few days ago, Agent Braddock, who was on the trail of Abel Torres in Colombia, disappeared from his apartment.
After receiving the order from the CIB headquarters, Davis immediately ended the case at hand and rushed to Colombia from Brazil. He followed the clues of the drug lord Abel Torres and came to Bogota, the capital of crime.
Based on the intelligence of the informant and the analysis of the existing clues, Abel Torres met a "dealer" in Florida at a bar near the airport last night. Apparently, because something big was about to happen, the drug lord was going to directly exchange all the inventory in the warehouse for firearms.
Davis didn't know what the "big thing" that Torres mentioned was about to happen in Colombia, just like he didn't know the whereabouts of his colleagues. But this was the reason why he was here. The CIB senior management took this matter very seriously. Not only did they give him the highest level of operational authority, but they even promised him that they could mobilize a "SEAL" team when necessary.
Now, all the clues pointed to this place.
From the mouth of a homeless man, he spent 10 dollars to learn that Abel Torres appeared in this alley in the early hours of yesterday. There was also a blonde girl who appeared in the alley with him, only about twelve or thirteen years old.
Davis knew the special hobbies of the drug lord. He mourned for the girl who was most likely dead for two seconds before he continued to walk down the alley.
There was a faint smell of blood in the air, which made him frown slightly.
Soon, he found something unusual from a few details on the ground.
"Hair?"
Davis squatted on the ground, took out his gloves, and used tweezers to pick up a brown hair from the ground.
He took out a flashlight with his other hand and placed the hair under the flashlight. He quickly found the problem.
"Brown, matches Torres' hair color. The fracture is neat. It doesn't look like it was torn off during a fight, but more like it was directly cut by a sharp object. Blood? Who would it be? "
The conditions here obviously couldn't do DNA identification.
Davis took out a small plastic bag about the width of an index finger from his pocket, picked up the strand of hair with a pair of tweezers, and carefully put it inside.
After doing all this, he continued to search the ground.
However, to his surprise, he found a lot of useful clues on the ground, but he did not find the one he had been looking for.
"Blonde hair … no, it should be very eye-catching. Could it be that Torres didn't encounter any resistance when he was violent? But that doesn't explain the bloody hair … and the fibers left by the fabric. "
While analyzing to himself, Davis searched into the depths of the alley.
Just as he passed by a row of trash cans, his footsteps suddenly stopped.
Frowning slightly, he looked at the row of rubbish bins.
Amidst the disgusting rancid smell, he vaguely smelled a trace of blood that was even thicker than before.
Davis stepped forward and pressed down on the lid of the trash can.
The moment he opened it, the stench assaulted his nostrils, causing him to subconsciously move his head back.
Looking at the waste newspaper in the trash can, he reached out and casually fiddled with it.
Just as he put his hand into the waste newspaper, he immediately felt something wet stuck to his hand.
Slightly taken aback, he suddenly opened the newspaper in the trash can.
When he saw what was buried under the newspaper, his face suddenly turned pale. A warm current churned up and down in his stomach, almost surging to his Adam's apple.
Arms, organs, even eyeballs … all the parts were neatly placed in the bloody bucket, perfectly utilizing every inch of space.
However, it was this almost cold neatness that made the blood even more cruel and cold. Even if he was used to seeing corpses and blood, he couldn't help but feel fear and tremble deep into his bones at the scene in front of him.
Just what kind of person would be able to be so ruthless …?
"God … Sh * t …"
Muttering incoherently, he put on plastic gloves and mechanically flipped the head over. Flipping it to the front, his index finger slid down the bridge of its nose and stopped at its jaw.
"Abel Torres … I can't be wrong."
Davis took two steps back as he muttered in a daze. He took off the plastic gloves and threw them into the bag he carried with him.
"This is the flag bearer …" Davis pressed the button on his collar. He resisted the urge to vomit in his heart and said in a difficult tone, "We have locked onto Abel Torres's trail."
"Where!?" In the special operations command room of the CIB headquarters, Baird grabbed the communicator and hurriedly said.
"In an alley outside the airport." Davis, with a pale face, glanced at the pile of indescribable objects. "Walk fifteen meters inside and turn left. In the second trash can …"
Baird was stunned and thought he heard wrong.
"The second … trash can?"
"Yes." Davis swallowed with difficulty. "A total of three people were killed, or brutally dismembered and stuffed into the trash can. One of them is Torres, and the other is his confidant. His name is very long, and he is a native of South America. "
"You mean, Abel Torres … was killed?" Baird said in disbelief.
After taking a deep breath, Davis spoke slowly.
"This is the case."
Although the CIB had always wanted to get rid of this guy, they absolutely didn't want him to die here. There was still a lot of information on him that could be excavated. His death without any reason completely disrupted their work.
"What about Agent Braddock …" Baird asked.
"I don't know." Davis smiled bitterly. "The only thing I can be sure of is that he is not in this trash can."
"Find the murderer of Abel Torres! He may know something. "
"Yes …"
After he hung up, the bitter smile on Davis' face became even more apparent.
The trail was broken here.
Who on earth had executed Abel Torres in such a cruel manner? Was it simply a traitor, or was it to bury some shocking secret?
Also, where is Agent Braddock now? Did he discover something before he disappeared?
For some reason, Davis suddenly felt a chill down his spine.
From the putrid stench mixed with the smell of blood, he faintly smelled a conspiracy.
His intuition had always been accurate.
And now, his intuition was telling him that what he saw was only the tip of the iceberg …
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