Istanbul, Turkey
A van pulled up alongside a curb and came to a stop. The door slid open, and Makarov, accompanied by his men, stepped out and looked up at the hotel in front of them before walking into the lobby.
A few minutes later, the elevator reached the 12th floor. The group stopped in front of a room door. Makarov signaled, and one of his men knocked—three long raps, two short.
Moments later, the door opened to reveal an Asian man. He sized them up, then stepped aside to let them in.
Inside the room sat a sharp-looking woman on the sofa, a warm smile on her face. As she stood up, her tailored business suit perfectly outlined her figure. Makarov said nothing at first, silently watching her. The woman remained unfazed, smiling back. She picked up a bottle of champagne on the table and poured two glasses, handing one to him.
"Mr. Makarov, congratulations on your glorious achievement."
Makarov finally smiled. "Miss Avril, may our cooperation be fruitful."
"Cheers." They clinked glasses.
Avril took a dainty sip, but Makarov downed his in one go.
"Miss Avril, our first collaboration with White Masks was a great success. You've demonstrated your professionalism. I'm very much looking forward to what surprise our second effort might bring America."
…
Washington D.C., International Airport
The vehicle dropping Owen off drove straight onto the runway. A CIA jet was already waiting. Though CTU was leading the joint operation, it lacked the resources for a private jet—hence the CIA's involvement.
Owen disembarked and boarded the aircraft. As he passed the flight attendant, she asked politely, "Mr. Owen?"
"That's me."
"Very well. The other passenger has already boarded. Now that you're here, we'll prepare for takeoff."
Inside, a woman sat on a sofa, face hidden behind a newspaper. Clearly the NSA analyst.
Owen took the seat opposite her, ready to greet her—just as she lowered the newspaper.
He froze. "Sugarcube?!"
Nikki rolled her eyes. She no longer even bothered protesting the nickname. It was pointless.
"You're one minute late."
"Sorry. Traffic. God, I didn't expect NSA's support to be you. What a surprise…"
Owen was genuinely pleased. It had been a while since he'd seen Nikki.
She grinned. "Why so surprised? This is a major incident. Of course NSA sent their best. Who else but me? You should've guessed."
"Hahaha…" Owen laughed. Nikki was still as confident as ever in her field.
Since seeing Nikki, Owen felt more secure about the mission. She was brilliant. They'd worked together before and were very familiar with each other. Of all the support staff he'd collaborated with, Nikki topped the list. Honestly, she was better than Chloe, Janice, or even Jack Bauer in this role. Not to mention she was a skilled hacker, able to pull off feats others couldn't.
"So, Sugarcube, what's your plan for this one?"
Ever since seeing her, Owen had been itching to ask. But Nikki just lazily sucked on a lollipop and said, "No plan."
"No plan? What do you mean?"
"No plan means no plan. We'll play it by ear. Everything's in here." She tapped her temple, full of confidence.
Owen was speechless. He just turned to stare at the clouds outside the window.
…
Manila International Airport
The CIA jet gradually slowed to a halt on the runway. Owen and Nikki disembarked. Though it was a CIA flight, all formal procedures were strictly followed. Owen didn't bring any weapons—those would be provided by the CIA on-site. Nikki only carried her laptop.
Exiting the terminal, they quickly spotted a heavy-set Black man holding a sign with "Steve Owen" boldly written in black marker. They exchanged a glance and walked over.
The man looked them over, then greeted them warmly. "Mr. Owen? I'm Chebi Dan, but you can call me Chebi."
Owen assumed this must be the local CIA liaison. Strange that the CIA deployed a non-local agent in an Asian country like the Philippines—especially one who looked straight out of Africa and weighed at least 200 kilos.
Nikki nodded. "I'm Nikki."
"Follow me."
Chebi took her bag and led the way. They followed him down the escalator to a table covered with disassembled handguns and ID cards. Armed airport security stood behind it.
Chebi stepped forward, handed an ID to one of the officers, who verified it and nodded. Chebi picked up a Glock, assembled it, chambered a round, and holstered it.
After gearing up, he seemed to know they'd be curious, so once they were in a less crowded area, he explained, "My official cover is a security company employee. We provide premium protection for wealthy clients—only foreign personnel are hired."
Owen nodded. That made sense. The foreign presence might seem conspicuous, but under such a cover, it became an effective misdirection—hidden in plain sight.
"So, Chebi, where are you from?" Owen asked, purely out of curiosity.
"Uganda."
"Oh, lovely place."
Owen said it reflexively. Honestly, he had no idea where Uganda was—somewhere in Africa, probably.
They got into the car, and Chebi drove them to their accommodations.
To Owen's surprise, the car stopped in front of a luxury hotel.
Typically, he would expect to be taken to a CIA safehouse—where they'd be issued weapons and receive preliminary intel. Instead, they were dropped off at an upscale hotel. It felt strange.
Still, Owen didn't question it. Maybe this was CIA's new approach: hide in plain sight. After all, even their agent was unconventional—what else could be?
Chebi led them into a presidential suite on the top floor. The room was stunning, with expansive floor-to-ceiling windows offering a spectacular view.
Standing at the window, Owen and Nikki took in the scenery, feeling their mood lift.
Just as Owen opened his mouth to say something, he caught movement in the glass's reflection—Chebi was behind them, drawing his gun.
"Down!" Owen shouted, grabbing Nikki and diving to the floor.
"Thup-thup-thup!" Several silenced shots rang out behind them, and bullet holes bloomed across the windowpane.
(End of Chapter)
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