"How's it going?"
When Owen returned to their place after paying off the Turkish teens, Nikki had already remotely activated the bugging device.
"Pretty good\~\~"
Nikki shrugged. From the speaker came the sound of someone cursing—clearly, Pavlovich was not in a good mood.
On the other side, the computer was recording everything the bug picked up. Owen could only hope Makarov would make contact within the next two days. Otherwise, once the bug's battery died, he'd have to find another way to sneak in again.
"Come look at this."
Owen handed Nikki his phone. The photos were ones he had hastily snapped in Pavlovich's room earlier.
Nikki's expression darkened as she scrolled through them. She zoomed in on the wall diagrams and the code on the computer screen, studying the details. After a while, she muttered, "This looks like some kind of detonation program… Pavlovich seems to be modifying it."
Given Pavlovich's background, Owen was almost certain the diagrams on the wall were schematics for a nuclear bomb. The fact that Pavlovich was actively working on them made the world feel even more insane.
From the speaker, another voice joined in—Chikalyev, who had apparently just returned: "We can't get in touch with Makarov for now, but his last order was for us to stay here and work on the decryption. Once it's done, he'll give further instructions…"
"The decryption program will probably be ready by tomorrow, but unless I see the plutonium core, none of this means anything. I need to match the program to the actual core to confirm it works. You don't just plug in any code and expect it to trigger a nuke. Even the slightest deviation means failure. And I'm not his subordinate—I only agreed to help him for the revival of the Soviet glory. You'd better show some respect…"
Pavlovich's tone was clearly irritated. Chikalyev quickly replied, "Of course, Mr. Pavlovich. Makarov instructed me to fully support your work. If there's anything you need, just ask—I'll do everything I can. We're working toward the same goal, after all. There's no disagreement on that…"
Once he had calmed Pavlovich, Chikalyev seemed to leave again. The room was filled only with the sound of keyboard tapping. Owen peered across to the other building—he couldn't see inside due to the curtains, but he could imagine Pavlovich hunched over the desk, coding.
What followed was a long, silent wait. Chikalyev didn't disturb Pavlovich, just as he'd said. His role was to assist, occasionally bringing food and tending to Pavlovich's needs.
By evening, they divided the watch: Owen would sleep first while Nikki handled the first shift, then he'd take over in the second half of the night.
But Owen had barely fallen asleep when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen—Jack.
"Jack?"
"Owen, I've got an update—Makarov has been captured."
The second Jack spoke, Owen jolted upright, completely awake.
"What did you say?" He thought he'd misheard.
"At 7:21 p.m. tonight, Makarov and his team staged another bombing at London's Victoria Station. The explosion temporarily shut down the terminal. But the good news is, NSA had intel beforehand. Operatives from the Third Echelon nabbed Makarov during his escape."
"The Third Echelon… Splinter Cell?"
"Maybe. I don't know all the details—NSA hasn't officially released anything. I found out through my own channels."
Owen recalled what little he knew about the Third Echelon—an elite NSA black-ops division, its numbers unknown. Every agent was said to be handpicked and had undergone at least 18 months of training in physical endurance, weapons, driving, and resistance to interrogation. These operatives were deployed around the world for espionage and counter-espionage missions.
What made the Third Echelon most famous was their use of solo operatives known as "Splinter Cells"—each one a standalone unit, like a single cell of an organism, executing missions solo with remote support.
CIA and CTU also had similar structures, but neither relied on single-agent operations to that extent. CTU's rapid response teams were their highest-tier assets, and they always operated in squads.
Same with CIA—Omega Squad, the IMF (Mission: Impossible) team—they all functioned in groups. Perhaps in his past life, agents like Jason Bourne or those from Treadstone came close, but even they mainly did assassinations, not full-spectrum operations like NSA's "cells."
Owen couldn't even fathom what kind of individual could qualify as a "Splinter Cell." Compared to them, regular special forces or spies were probably amateurs.
He turned on the TV. News of the London train station bombing flooded every channel—even in Turkey, it was being broadcast on repeat.
But no matter how many channels he flipped through, there was no mention of anyone being caught. That confirmed Jack's intel—the capture was covert. It fit the style of the "cells." Owen suspected that even the British government might not know yet that the suspect was already in American hands.
The deeper he thought about it, the more amused he felt. These agencies really were something else. On the surface, they all preached cooperation, but behind the scenes, everyone had their own agenda.
Just look at the CIA—they must've known about Makarov and the nukes all along but kept it quiet to hog the credit.
And NSA? Owen could easily imagine them withholding intel from the UK just to make sure they could capture Makarov themselves.
Both agencies were just trying to push everyone else aside to claim the spotlight. And given how famous Makarov had become—especially after being declared a U.S. enemy by the President—capturing him would instantly crown you the new star of the counterterrorism world.
"So, what now? Do we still go after the nuke?"
Owen's question was valid. In theory, with Makarov caught, his entire operation would fall apart—unless there was a successor strong enough to take over and keep his network running.
"We keep going. A nuke isn't like anything else. Whether or not Makarov is in charge, we have to find it."
Jack's voice was resolute. Owen nodded silently on his end.
Just then, a voice came through the speaker monitoring Pavlovich's room—Chikalyev: "Pavlovich, Makarov wants to speak with you."
Makarov? Owen's brows furrowed in confusion.
"…Tomorrow… verification… plutonium core…"
Pavlovich's reply was hard to make out, but the topic clearly involved the detonation program they'd discussed earlier.
But if Jack's intel was right and Makarov had been captured, then… who was this "Makarov" talking to Pavlovich now?
(End of Chapter)
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