Chapter One: "The Call to Action" - Alex is recruited in London for a mission to take down Viktor’s network.
The night air hung thick with humidity as Alex clung to the side of the skyscraper, his fingers gripping the suction cups that anchored him to the glass. Fifty stories below, Singapore sprawled in a dazzling neon tapestry of casinos, skyscrapers, and streets pulsing with life, all oblivious to the shadow moving above. He adjusted his night-vision goggles, the green-tinted world sharpening as he scanned the balcony for movement but only met with nothing. With a flick of his wrist, he activated the device strapped there, sending a silent pulse that scrambled the security sensors. A faint click confirmed his success. He took a breath, then leapt silently onto the balcony, melting into the shadows of Viktor Sokolov’s penthouse.
Inside, the air was cool, laced with the subtle scent of expensive cologne. Alex moved across the marble floor with practiced silence, his senses on edge. The penthouse screamed wealth and power as modern art splashed across the walls, sleek furniture arranged with precision, a grand piano dominating one corner, and a bar stocked with top-shelf liquor gleaming in the dim light. But Alex wasn’t here for the aesthetics, his target was Viktor’s private office the nerve center where secrets lived.
The office door whispered open under his gloved hand. A large mahogany desk anchored the room, flanked by a cutting-edge computer and shelves lined with books and artifacts displaying the trophies of a man who collected influence as easily as wealth. Alex’s eyes landed on a framed photograph of Viktor, sharp-featured and smug, shaking hands with a prominent politician and that photograph was the perfect cover for his little toy. He slipped a tiny listening device from his pocket, attached it behind the frame, and activated it with a tap. A faint hum confirmed it was live, feeding audio to his remote receiver.
Footsteps echoed down the hall, Alex darted behind a towering potted plant, his pulse kicking up a notch. The door swung open, and Viktor Sokolov strode in, an imposing figure with piercing eyes and a presence that filled the room. Two burly bodyguards trailed him, their suits straining over muscle, followed by a woman in a slinky red dress who moved with the grace of a predator.
“Make sure the shipment is ready by tomorrow,” Viktor said, his voice low and commanding. “I don’t want any delays.”
One of the bodyguards nodded, his tone clipped. “Yes, sir. Everything’s on schedule.”
The woman leaned against the desk, her voice a velvet purr. “And what about our little problem with the authorities?”
Viktor’s lips curled into a smirk. “Taken care of, money talks, my dear.”
Alex committed every word to memory. A shipment of drugs, weapons, something worse? This was the kind of intel that could unravel an empire but he needed to get out clean but not before the second bodyguard sniffed the air, his brow furrowing. “Do you smell that? Like… aftershave.”
Viktor’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Search the room.”
Alex cursed silently at his rookie mistake for he had underestimated the ventilation. His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers closing around a small remote, one press, and a false alarm blared from the far side of the penthouse—a shrill wail of sirens. The bodyguards bolted toward the sound, Viktor barking orders as he followed. The woman lingered, her gaze sweeping the room with suspicion, then sauntered out after them.
Now or never. Alex slipped from his hiding spot, crossed the office in three strides, and reached the balcony. He vaulted over the railing, suction cups biting into the glass as he began his descent. The city lights blurred below, his mind racing with what he’d heard. Viktor was moving something big, and tomorrow was the deadline.
Back on solid ground, Alex wove through the humid streets to a dimly lit bar tucked in an alley. Elena Petrova waited in a corner booth, her sharp eyes tracking him as he approached. Her blonde hair was pulled back, accentuating the hard lines of her face so beautiful, but tempered by years of survival.
“Alex,” she said, her Russian accent faint but unmistakable. “Did you get it?”
He slid into the seat opposite her, signaling the bartender for a whiskey. “Yeah, and more. Viktor’s planning a shipment tomorrow, we need to know what and where.”
Elena leaned forward, elbows on the table. “And your plan?”
He met her gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Poker. Viktor’s hosting a high-stakes game tomorrow night. If I can get in, I might catch him off guard and get him to slip.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You think you can beat him at his own game?”
“I have to,” Alex said, his voice steady. “The stakes are too high to lose.”
Their eyes locked, and for a fleeting moment, the air between them thickened not just with strategy, but with the weight of their shared history which neither spoke of. Elena broke the silence first, standing with a nod. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s a long day.”
Alex watched her go, then tossed back his drink. The burn steadied him, but as he left the bar and headed to his hotel, a gnawing certainty settled in his gut: this mission, with Viktor Sokolov at its heart, would test him like nothing before.