At Manila International Airport, a recent flight landed, and before long, passengers began filing out and catching taxis.
Once the crowd had thinned, a woman in sunglasses—Jenny Fox—stepped through the exit. She glanced around, and soon a taxi pulled up. After giving the driver an address, Jenny got in, and the car slowly pulled away.
The driver enthusiastically introduced her to Manila's many tourist attractions, but Jenny wasn't in the mood to listen. Her trip appeared to be a casual vacation, but in reality, she was on a mission from the Continental Hotel—to assassinate a high-profile target in the Philippines.
Seeing that his suggestions weren't having any effect, the driver eventually fell silent. They soon arrived at the hotel Jenny had booked in advance.
After paying the fare, Jenny got out with her small suitcase and stood by the roadside. Nearby, a newsstand vendor was loudly hawking the latest headlines in English.
Jenny was about to leave but turned back when she caught wind of what the vendor was shouting.
Every front page displayed the same headline—"Kindergarten Terror Attack: U.S. Ambassador Killed!"
The Philippines had long been a Spanish colony, but Tagalog and English were the main languages now. Of course, there were English newspapers. Jenny picked one up, paid, and walked toward her hotel while reading.
"Just my luck…"
Jenny couldn't help but sigh. The U.S. Ambassador to the Philippines had just been killed in a terrorist attack, and she happened to arrive right after. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the target she was sent to kill would now have ramped-up security.
Being a European woman in an Asian country already put her at a disadvantage. Add to that the current situation, and the difficulty of her mission had just gone up significantly. At this rate, even the generous bounty offered by the Continental Hotel didn't seem quite as tempting.
She tossed the newspaper aside and lay down on the bed to rest. Her phone beeped twice.
Jenny opened her eyes and checked the new message. It contained an address and a string of numbers—part of the support system the Continental Hotel offered its assassins. Their vast network could provide everything from target intelligence to weapons and gear—at a steep price, of course. Only elite assassins like her could afford such premium service. Lesser hitmen often had to smuggle in their own weapons or try their luck with the local black market.
After a quick wash-up, Jenny left the hotel and hailed a cab to the address in the message. Upon arrival, she paid and got out, walking down the road until she found the car matching the license plate provided.
She stopped, pretending to fix her makeup while checking her surroundings in her compact mirror. Confirming it was safe, she walked briskly to the vehicle.
It was an old model Peugeot sedan, clearly worn. Jenny popped the trunk—it was unlocked. Inside was a case. She looked around again and opened it. Inside were a handgun, grenades, spare magazines—everything she'd ordered.
She closed the trunk and got into the driver's seat. Flipping down the sun visor, she found the key. Moments later, the engine roared to life, and she drove off, disappearing down the road.
…
Elsewhere, Owen and Nikki entered a café. There were quite a few foreigners in Manila, and this café was no exception. Their presence didn't draw any attention.
Owen nodded toward a small round table in the corner, and they sat down. The atmosphere was noisy, but that only made it a better cover. Owen ordered two coffees, and Nikki pulled out her laptop.
"Let me think… how should I approach this?"
Muttering to herself, Nikki's fingers danced across the keyboard. One command after another went out, and multiple interface windows popped up on her screen.
"Got it."
A moment later, Nikki pumped her tiny fist in excitement. With her large eyes and bright expression, she looked both adorable and nerdy.
"Look! This is the movement history of the assassin's car over the past few days. I think we can learn something from this…"
She pointed to the digital map. Owen zoomed in and noticed the car had appeared multiple times at the same location. It was either a hideout or a site of particular importance.
"Nice work. How'd you pull it off?"
"It was simple. At first, I tried checking the guy's personal data, but the Philippines has terrible surveillance coverage, so I didn't get much.
"Then I switched to the car. Turns out it was stolen—but it was bought on loan. You know what that means: financed cars always have GPS trackers. I used the license plate to get the GPS ID from the dealer's CRM system, then hacked the GPS site to pull the tracking data. Smart, right? Come on, praise me already…"
"You're the best," Owen said, grinning.
He stood, grabbing his coat. "Send me the address. I'll need support. Keep an eye on the outside for me."
Owen exited the café and jumped into a car they'd taken from the safehouse—ready for deployment.
Back inside, Nikki placed an earpiece in her right ear and began monitoring police radio channels. At the same time, she logged into NSA's system and pulled satellite access. A top-down satellite image appeared on her screen.
She outlined two targets on the screen: Owen's vehicle and his destination.
"All clear, Owen," she said softly.
"Got it. You be careful too."
As Owen drove toward the target location, another man in the café—a local Filipino—was sneaking glances at Nikki from across the room.
Jericho Rosales was a spoiled playboy who had studied abroad. Ever since experiencing the "magic" of foreign women, he'd found it hard to go back to local girls. His favorite pastime was frequenting bars and cafés known to attract foreigners, pursuing flings with these open-minded visitors.
With his mixed heritage and taller-than-average build, he often had good luck.
Now, he had his eye on Nikki. Seeing that her male companion had left, Jericho sensed an opportunity. Straightening his clothes and flashing a confident, sultry smile, he began walking toward Nikki's table.
(End of Chapter)
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