The trucks successfully emerged from the sewers and headed toward the docks; however, except for one truck, the drivers of the other thirteen had all been replaced—Brian led the way, and the rest were homeless members of the Beggars' Guild.
"We need to be careful of the Dove of Peace," one driver said, his expression deadly serious. "I heard he used to be a butcher—someone who'll do anything. He's got the upper hand now, so we can't just give up—we need to find a way to take it back. Later, we'll call all the brothers back."
"Baba Yaga is one of his men," Simon said flatly, and his words left Mathias Targo speechless.
The name alone carried weight; John Wick's reputation was known worldwide, and even just the nickname "Baba Yaga" was enough to intimidate most people. Targo couldn't help but wonder—even if he gathered every remaining man he had, would it even be enough for Wick to wipe them out alone?
"And since you know the Dove of Peace was once called 'Butcher,' you should also know how strong he is personally." Simon's expression turned distant as he added, "I just hope his brain is as small as a 'dove,' or as reckless as a 'butcher,' so I still have a chance to fool him—make a temporary, harmless friend, and then get the gold out of New York."
Once you leave New York, the world opens up; once you leave the United States, the sky's the limit.
Simon didn't think the situation was beyond saving—the Dove of Peace had seemed surprisingly easy to deal with; besides, the more urgent problem now was figuring out how to swap the gold right under both the Dove of Peace's nose and Targo's.
According to Targo's original (and frankly idiotic) plan, the gold would be loaded directly onto a ship and blown up in the Atlantic; meanwhile, Simon intended to secretly switch out all the containers during loading—he had already prepared fourteen crates filled with scrap metal and garbage at the dock.
If the Dove of Peace hadn't interfered, the swap wouldn't have been difficult; all it would've taken was distracting Targo, but now that the Dove of Peace was involved, there were far too many variables.
Simon needed to think carefully about his next move—maybe… he'd even need the Dove of Peace's cooperation.
Meanwhile, the police successfully located the bomb at the school, and everyone's expression changed the moment they saw the two massive canisters of liquid explosives that had turned red after mixing.
Denham rubbed his forehead, looking utterly helpless, while David felt a chill crawl down his spine—he instinctively stepped back, then forced himself forward and asked the bomb disposal expert, "Is there any way to stop it?"
"My advice?" the expert sighed. "Everyone should get as far away from this thing as possible. The mixture's already active—it could blow at any moment."
Next to the bomb, the robbers had even thoughtfully placed a countdown timer, showing there was still nearly an hour left; beneath it was a blank input line, clearly indicating that entering a password would stop the explosion.
"What's the unlock code?" the expert asked.
David shook his head. "I don't know—we haven't heard anything from McClane yet."
Denham clenched his jaw. "I suggest we evacuate all the students immediately."
David hesitated. "Simon said the moment we evacuate the students, he'll detonate the bomb."
So what—evacuate anyway?
Those lunatics had set up too many rules; if they broke one and got caught, then… David didn't dare make that call lightly, nor could he even imagine the consequences.
If this thing explodes, I'll be the scapegoat—and I might not even make it out alive.
This bomb could flatten everything within a mile.
"We have to act," Denham said firmly. "Simon only said students can't leave—he didn't say anything else. We can gather them in one place first, so we can move faster if we need to evacuate."
David nodded. "Okay."
The group moved together to organize the students, guiding them into the auditorium under the pretense of a fire drill, while quietly preparing for a full evacuation if an opportunity arose.
At the same time, David called Luca again. "Dove… things are getting complicated."
Luca still couldn't be completely certain the school bomb was fake—until someone confirmed that a real bomb had been found on the cargo ship, which matched the original setup: Simon planted fake bombs at the school, while the real ones were on the ship.
But how was he supposed to explain that to David?
After a brief pause, Luca chose reassurance over truth, calmly telling him not to panic and to trust John McClane and Keung; once they finished the "game" and obtained the code, everything would be resolved safely.
For some reason, David felt noticeably calmer after hearing Luca's voice—it carried a strange conviction, as if whatever he said was bound to come true.
"Give McClane and the others some confidence," Luca added. "Trust them to finish this."
"…Let's hope so," David muttered. "Dove, pray this works."
After hanging up, Luca immediately called Leon, who was traveling with the convoy, and confirmed their position—they would reach the dock in about ten minutes.
---
The story had already drifted far from its original course.
Keung's early arrival prevented McClane from discovering the situation on Wall Street in time, while the two of them were busy playing Simon's twisted "games" and defusing bombs; it was fair to say that without Luca's interference, Simon might've successfully moved the gold without a hitch—and the police would likely never have recovered it.
In the original sequence, Simon had indeed succeeded, but he had a habit of toying with McClane—leaving behind a bottle of aspirin with a clue that led McClane to the Canadian border, where he ultimately tracked Simon down, killed him, and recovered the gold.
Now, however, Simon couldn't die—not before Luca secured the skill.
Luca didn't care much about the "Aspirin" skill, but he did want "Simon Says"; an aura-type ability like that, capable of influencing large groups, was easily on par with his Anti-Drug Ambassador and Peace Ambassador skills.
Right now, Simon was cornered, and cooperation was his only option.
"I have to keep pretending I don't know there's gold in those containers," Luca muttered. "Guess it's time to test my acting skills… maybe I'll eat a few more Oreos first."
---
Time Square.
John McClane and Keung finally arrived.
"It's been almost a year," McClane said, glancing at the repaired phone booth by the roadside. "This is where I first met the Dove—I was just passing by a department store to buy a gift, and somehow I still ended up in trouble. Story of my life."
"Where's the department store?" Keung asked—the only thing he cared about.
"This way."
The two entered a shopping mall near the square, and as soon as they stepped inside, Keung was dazzled by the glass displays, escalators, and endless variety of goods—especially the furniture; for some reason, he suddenly remembered what his friend had said about opening a furniture store.
"Is running a furniture store in New York profitable?" he asked curiously.
"No idea about the specifics," McClane shrugged, "but it's definitely better than driving a truck. What—thinking about turning your little shop into a full-blown mall?"
"…Let's just find the bomb," Keung said, shaking his head. "Where's the phone booth?"
They quickly located a public phone booth in the mall lobby—but this time, even after the appointed time passed, Simon never called.
Unbeknownst to them, Simon had already lost interest in the game; his focus was entirely on getting the gold out of New York, and while he ignored them, the mercenaries he left behind had not.
Upstairs, a sniper rifle was already trained on the two men.
"Simon, they've arrived. Proceed as planned?"
On the other end, Simon fell silent for a moment as he weighed his options—recall them for the gold operation, or continue the original plan?
The school bomb wouldn't hold forever; fake or not, the police would figure it out eventually, and once they did, they'd also uncover the Federal Reserve heist.
He needed another distraction.
"Proceed," Simon said coldly. "Take out McClane—make it loud. Detonate the mall bomb when you get the chance."
At the docks—
The convoy rolled into the harbor and lined up before the cargo ship; Simon left several men to guard the perimeter, and as he stepped out of the vehicle and saw Luca's youthful face, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of surprise.
"Dove, you're younger than I expected," he said with a smile. "The money's been transferred. You got it?"
"It's arrived," Luca replied calmly. "Appreciate the trust."
They shook hands.
Simon pulled Luca aside, lowering his voice. "I've got two shipments—one by sea, one by road…"
Before he could finish, Mathias Targo rushed over, his face tense. "Simon—the customs police are here. They want to inspect the cargo."
Simon's pupils shrank slightly.
Of all times…
Without another word, he followed Targo to the ship, where several officers had already surrounded the trucks, demanding the containers be opened; his men blocked them, and the tension on-site was moments away from exploding.
"Open the containers—now!" a heavyset officer barked, clearly in charge.
Simon stepped forward, forcing a polite smile as he produced fake engineering credentials. "Sir, everything here has been approved by the mayor."
"Save it," the officer snapped. "I don't care if the president himself signed off—you open those containers, or we will. What are you hiding in there?"
"The mayor needs this shipment urgently," Simon said, barely containing his impatience. "Every second you delay could cost you your career."
"Then cooperate," the officer shot back. "You're the ones wasting time."
Simon's patience wore thin.
Why did everything start going wrong the moment the gold left the Federal Reserve?
At that moment, Luca stepped in, casually pulling the officer aside and whispering a few words; then he returned to Simon, casually munching on an Oreo.
"Customs guys," Luca said with a shrug, "they always want a cut. Gruber, you might need to bleed a little more before they let this go."
Simon stared at him.
Then glanced at the officers.
Then back at Luca.
The more he looked, the more it felt like a setup—like Luca and the officers were putting on a show just to squeeze more money out of him.
Before he could say anything, Luca suddenly smiled. "That said, I've got a good relationship with them—once they heard you're a friend of mine, they decided to let it slide. So tell me—was that four million worth it? With payment comes service, after all."
Simon paused—then, unexpectedly, felt that Luca looked… a lot more agreeable.
"Dove," he said with a chuckle, "working with you might be the smartest decision I've ever made."
Privately, though, he couldn't help but laugh.
These Mafia types—he wasn't sure if they were old-fashioned or just stubbornly honorable—but they were too focused on the "sesame seeds" in front of them, completely oblivious to the "watermelon" sitting inside the containers.
He liked working with people like this.
With Luca's "help," the loading process went smoothly; Simon pulled Targo aside to finalize their plan, while secretly ordering his men to swap in the containers filled with scrap metal.
At this point, he finally felt everything was back under control.
Before boarding the ship, Simon shook Luca's hand again. "Dove—I look forward to our next collaboration."
[Bond: Familiar]
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