As the pizza delivery guy left, Owen picked up his phone and dialed the number printed on the delivery box—it was the same pizzeria that had just made the drop-off.
"Hello, is this the pizza place? I'm calling from 13 Fountain Street. I wanted to ask—was there a mistake in the order you just delivered?"
"Oh? Sir, what seems to be the issue? Two large seafood pizzas…"
"Oh, sorry, my mistake. The size and number are correct. Right, by the way, could you check what I ordered the past couple of days? Something about today's taste seems different…"
"Uh… one moment… yes, you ordered two large seafood pizzas yesterday and the day before as well. The only difference is that today's had a different crust. Maybe that's what you're noticing…"
"Oh, probably. Thanks very much. That's all."
Owen hung up and turned to Nikki. "There are likely only two people inside, and they've been living there for at least two days."
With the identities and number of occupants confirmed, the two began analyzing the situation. According to CTU intelligence, Makarov and Pavlovich did not belong to the same organization. Makarov was a registered terrorist and part of the Russian extremist group "Core Group," while Pavlovich wasn't technically a terrorist at all—just a devout Russian nationalist. Though his views of the West were extremely negative and often expressed in radical statements, he had no known record of violence.
What was certain was that the two were in temporary collaboration. Now that they were holed up in the same building, there were two possibilities: they were either preparing for something—like building a bomb—or awaiting Makarov's next instructions.
Owen didn't want to stop at tracking Pavlovich's location. He wanted to know why Makarov had sought him out in the first place.
"No, Owen, this is too dangerous," Nikki objected.
"Relax. I've got this. The more intel we gather, the easier things will be later."
Owen spoke with confidence.
Nikki knew he was right, but the idea of Owen sneaking in to plant a bug was still a serious risk.
"Trust me, Nikki."
"…Fine."
Unable to change his mind, Nikki reluctantly agreed. She retrieved a small box and handed it to Owen.
"This is a new model bug—super compact, easy to hide, reliable and simple. It has a 48-hour standby time and a 100-meter range. That's more than enough here. You can turn it on or off remotely. Just plant it somewhere discreet."
"Got it."
Owen pocketed the device. Now all they needed was an opportunity—something that would buy him enough time to sneak in and plant the bug.
While Owen waited silently, Nikki resumed her surveillance of the target building. After staring through the scope for too long, her eyes were dry and sore.
"Take over for me," she said, stepping away. Owen assumed she was going to the bathroom, but she sat down at the computer instead and began typing. After a while, she announced, "Done. I've written a motion-detection program. If the front door changes, we get an alert. No need to keep watching constantly now."
Perfect. Owen's own eyes were aching from the strain.
A moment later, a pedestrian walked past the building's front door—beep beep, the alert sounded. The program was working.
The rest of the afternoon passed in boring silence. No one came or went from the target house. Just as Owen considered creating some kind of distraction to force them out, the computer let out a sudden beep beep.
Owen rushed to the window just in time to see the front door open and Makarov's subordinate stepping outside.
"Only the Core Group guy left. Pavlovich is still inside. What now?" Nikki asked.
"Stick to the plan. I'll adapt on the fly."
With the bug in his pocket, Owen slipped out the back window and found the group of teens at the basketball court again.
This time, he didn't even need to speak—they immediately stopped playing and crowded around. The last task had been easy money, and Owen had paid up without hesitation. He had built a reputation.
Owen took out another $100 bill. "See that house? I want you to knock on the door and say, 'Foreigner, go back to your country,' three times. Got it?"
The teens looked at each other. The tall one who'd previously been hostile stepped forward. "If you're looking to pick a fight, I can beat him up for you—just $200."
Owen rolled his eyes. They really thought he was an ATM.
"No. Just do what I said. Nothing extra. Otherwise, no one gets paid."
"Fine, but we want payment upfront," the tall teen negotiated.
"Sure. Just remember, screw this up and you won't get another chance. I'm sure there are plenty of other kids in this city who'd be happy to earn dollars."
After a light threat, Owen handed over the $100. The lead teen pocketed the money, then rallied his crew and walked toward the house.
Owen, meanwhile, climbed up the side stairs and onto the rooftops. In Istanbul, rooftops were essentially open public walkways—everyone used them. The buildings were connected, making it easy for Owen to reach the roof above number 13.
Bang bang bang!
Below, the group of teens knocked loudly and obnoxiously at the door. A face appeared at the second-floor window, glanced down, and disappeared. Moments later, the sound of someone descending the stairs could be heard.
"What do you want?"
Pavlovich opened the door, looking suspiciously at the group of Turkish boys.
The tall teen stepped forward and, in heavily accented English, said, "Foreigner, go back to your country…"
The accent was so thick that Pavlovich didn't understand it at first. When he finally did, he flew into a rage. A hot-blooded Russian, he looked ready to fight.
But the teens didn't care about his reaction. They repeated the phrase two more times as instructed and bolted away, laughing as they scattered.
Pavlovich was fuming. Meanwhile, Owen took advantage of the commotion to slip in through a window.
His target was the room on the second floor where Pavlovich spent most of his time—according to Nikki's surveillance. That meant this was where the work was happening. It was the perfect place to plant the bug.
The house's layout was simple, and Owen quickly found the room. It was a mess—tools and a laptop on the table, diagrams pinned to the walls. Clearly, Pavlovich both worked and slept here.
Owen placed the bug on the inner side of the bookshelf—somewhere no one would casually check. As he turned to leave, he thought better of it, pulled out his phone, and snapped photos of everything on the desk and wall from every angle.
He was about to leave when footsteps reached the top of the stairs. There was no more time.
Owen leapt out the window just as Pavlovich stepped into the hallway. Dangling by one hand from the ledge, Owen didn't have time to close the window.
Pavlovich paused. Something was off—the window was open. Hadn't it been closed?
Frowning, he walked over and looked out. Nothing. Just the empty alley below. He shook his head, convinced he must have remembered it wrong.
He closed the window and returned to his room. Outside, hidden in the shadows below the ledge, Owen held his breath. As he heard Pavlovich's footsteps receding, he exhaled in relief.
(End of Chapter)
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