The cargo ship left the port, while the trucks that were actually loaded with gold quietly slipped out of the harbor without Mathias Targo noticing, heading north toward the Canadian border.
Targo was outnumbered and outgunned—every single one of his men had already been replaced by Simon Gruber's people. He stood alone in front of the bomb, completely unaware that the cargo had been swapped, carefully adjusting parameters and setting the timer.
Once they reached international waters, the ship would be blown apart, sending the shattered gold to the bottom of the ocean.
"Simon, everything's set. We'll start the countdown before we disembark," Targo said, clearly satisfied. "The world would be better off without all that gold."
"Yes," Simon replied.
Standing behind him, Simon raised his gun and fired several shots in rapid succession, riddling Targo with bullets.
They were already in international waters—there was no longer any need to pretend, and no longer any need for this partner.
Truth be told, Simon would've preferred if Targo had died back in the sewers at the hands of the Beggars—would've saved him the trouble.
Under Targo's disbelieving gaze, Simon crouched down and spoke softly, "Sorry, but I can't let that gold sink to the bottom of the sea. Humanity dug it out of the earth with great effort and turned it into a universal store of value—the foundation of modern currency. It used to belong to the United States… now it belongs to me."
Inside the department store, the battle had reached its peak; gunfire echoed everywhere, throwing the entire mall into chaos as customers screamed and ran in every direction.
"They're upstairs!" Keung shouted, then immediately dashed into the fire escape and charged upward.
McClane followed, thinking to himself: Keung, you're insane—you don't even have a weapon, and you're rushing armed mercenaries. What, can martial arts really stop bullets?
---
Moments later, he got his answer—no, it couldn't—but Keung used the complex layout of the mall to his advantage, weaving through obstacles and dodging gunfire with unbelievable agility.
"McClane!"
Looking up, McClane saw Keung swinging from a chandelier rope, flying right over his head before landing a flying kick that sent a mercenary seven or eight meters away.
"Holy—"
McClane froze.
Was this Tarzan or Martial Arts?
What followed was complete chaos—scaffolding, shelves, carts, even clothing racks all became weapons in Keung's hands as he leaped and darted like a monkey through the furniture displays; dozens of mercenaries fired wildly, but not a single bullet could touch him.
Snapping out of it, McClane grabbed a gun and moved in to support him; he wasn't nearly as strong in close combat, but he could at least provide cover fire.
Working together—one in front, one behind—they systematically took down more than a dozen mercenaries.
Even after the last one dropped, McClane still couldn't believe what he'd just seen.
How the hell did we just win that?
Then he looked around at the wrecked hall and sighed.
Keung's destructive power… was on another level.
"Keung!" McClane said excitedly, rubbing his hands together. "When this is over, you've gotta teach me martial arts—that was incredible! That's exactly the kind of close combat I've always wanted!"
Ignoring him, Keung bent down and picked up a black box from one of the mercenaries.
"McClane—another bomb!"
They opened it.
30 seconds.
"Damn it! It's gonna blow!" McClane's eyes nearly popped out.
"Run!"
Keung kicked the box away, and both of them sprinted toward the floor-to-ceiling windows; as they ran, Keung grabbed a rope, tied one end to a pipe, and wrapped the other around his waist.
"McClane—hold on to me!"
"Now is NOT the time for a hug!"
Without another word, Keung grabbed him anyway, and the two of them spun around the rope several times like tangled dumplings before smashing straight through the third-floor window.
Boom!
The explosion erupted behind them, and the shockwave hurled them outward—but the rope yanked them back, sending them spinning down along the wall.
Still clinging to each other, they used the rope to slow their fall; when it finally came loose, they crashed onto a first-floor awning, bounced once, and rolled onto the street.
Lying there, McClane felt like every bone in his body had shattered; he turned to Keung, who was breathing heavily beside him, and grinned.
"Keung… you're unbelievable. You just saved my life."
Keung shook his hands as if they were burning. "New York is too dangerous… especially the department stores."
"Hahaha!"
Both of them burst out laughing in relief.
Not long after, police officers arrived at the scene and picked them up; once inside the patrol car, McClane received a call from David.
"McClane! We've been played!" David shouted. "The school bomb was fake—it was just sugar water! Simon Gruber tricked us!"
"The gold—his real target was the Federal Reserve. It's all gone!"
McClane's expression changed instantly.
The trucks.
Fourteen trucks.
To move that much gold, only heavy dump trucks would do.
"David—trucks! The trucks!" McClane snapped. "Ask the Dove right now, and alert every checkpoint in New York—watch for those trucks leaving the city!"
"…Too late," David said through gritted teeth. "Simon already shipped the gold out to sea. He's going to blow it up."
A few minutes earlier, Simon had broadcast a message across New York:
The West has stolen vast wealth from the world. In a few minutes, the Federal Reserve's gold reserves—the foundation of your economy—will explode and sink into the ocean. If you're lucky, you're invited to witness it.
Shortly after McClane hung up, a deafening explosion echoed across the waters off Long Island, loud enough for the entire city to hear.
Everyone turned east.
"Maniac…" McClane muttered. "Is the American economy fucked up?"
---
At the school entrance—
David Mills and Patrick Denham stood side by side, staring at the distant sky.
"We're finished," David said with a bitter smile. "Forget our jobs—over a hundred billion dollars' worth of gold just sank into the ocean. This is going to shake the entire U.S. economy… hell, the global economy."
Denham's face went pale.
He knew David was right.
This disaster would ripple across the world—and they, as the primary people in charge, would be the first to face federal consequences.
"Let's at least send salvage teams," Denham said, rubbing his temples. "Recover whatever we can."
Soon after, calls flooded in—the explosion hadn't escaped military attention; luckily, it happened at sea.
"If that had gone off in the city…" David scoffed. "You know, some of them would've preferred that—if it meant saving the gold. Tell me, how many lives equal a hundred billion dollars?"
Denham said nothing.
He didn't disagree.
"Did you call the Dove?" he finally asked.
David shook his head. "He shouldn't be involved in this anymore—what, you expect him to send doves to fish gold out of the ocean? This is too big. He can't take the fall for it."
Denham could only give a helpless smile.
At that moment, McClane and Keung arrived in a patrol car; after exchanging information, the group found themselves at a dead end.
Their only hope was salvage.
And Simon Gruber.
"The Diplomatic Security Service has stepped in," Denham said. "They're sending someone to hunt him down. We're heading to the airport to meet him and share intel."
"DSS?" McClane blinked. "Who?"
"Luke Hobbs."
"…Hobbs?" McClane felt a chill run down his spine. "That walking tank? The guy whose entire body—including his brain—is made of muscle?"
"That's the one," Denham muttered. "Let's hope he can catch Simon."
Keung, completely lost, pointed at himself. "Uh… do you still need my help?"
David and Denham exchanged a glance—they suddenly remembered that Keung had a close connection with the Dove.
McClane slung an arm around his shoulders. "You're not going anywhere, Keung. You're coming with us—we're taking down Simon."
After witnessing Keung's skills—and his ability to destroy an entire mall—McClane now treated him like a priceless asset.
It'd be a crime not to recruit this guy.
Just then, Luca called.
He first expressed regret over the "loss" of the gold, then added, "I've found some clues about those stolen trucks."
McClane froze.
Trucks.
"Where are they now?" he asked.
"Already left New York," Luca replied. "Someone spotted them in the suburbs."
McClane went silent.
If the gold had already been blown up… why would Simon still need the trucks?
Why not ditch them and escape in something faster?
Unless—
"Gold!! Damn it—Simon played us again!" McClane suddenly shouted. "There's no gold in the ocean—he took it all!"
Everyone froze.
"…What?"
After hearing McClane's reasoning, the group fell into stunned silence—then realization hit.
It made perfect sense.
Those trucks—
They belonged to the Dove.
"Hahaha!" McClane burst out laughing. "In the end, it all comes back to the Dove! Simon never realized those trucks were his—biggest mistake he ever made!"
David's eyes lit up. "The Dove of Peace really is our lucky charm…"
Denham clenched his fist. "No time to waste—move out! Mills, McClane, take a team and intercept the trucks. I'll head to the airport and meet Hobbs. Those mercenaries are well-armed—this won't be easy."
[Bond: Close Friend]
The "Close Friend" bond deepened further.
Luca could feel it—just a few more pushes, a few more moments like this, and with the right opportunity, he might be able to elevate it to "Partner."
Bonding went both ways—it required something deeper than cooperation.
But before that—
He needed Simon Gruber's skill.
There was no way he was letting that man leave the United States.
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