The fate of the pickpockets caused a ripple of fear—passengers in the train car began whispering among themselves. After a while, the men lying on the floor silently got up and turned to leave without a word. There was an unspoken rule among thieves worldwide: no matter what happened, never involve the police.
Owen ignored the resentful glares they shot him before leaving. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep. The plutonium case sat at his feet. Anyone who wanted to make a move on it would have to be prepared to pay the price.
Once the thieves were gone, the car returned to peace. Slowly, people seemed to forget what had just happened. A few stations later, Owen felt the urge to use the restroom. He stood and walked toward the bathroom.
Shortly after he left, two unremarkable-looking men also rose from their seats, exchanged glances, and followed him.
Owen moved from his car to the connection between cars, only to find a man blocking his path.
He recognized them as one of the three groups he had been keeping an eye on. It seemed that after witnessing how easily he had taken down the first group, they had decided that subtlety wouldn't work and instead opted for brute force. As for the fact that he had already dispatched a crew of attackers? That detail had apparently been conveniently ignored. After all, they were three people.
Owen glanced at the men ahead and behind, and a faintly mocking smile spread across his face. He couldn't help but wonder: if they knew the case they were risking so much to steal contained nuclear material, would they piss themselves in fear?
The man blocking the way, confident and smug, became furious when he saw Owen smirking. He wanted to teach him a lesson. With a flourish, he whipped out a butterfly knife, spun it with dramatic flair, and then lunged at Owen's abdomen.
The amateurism of it almost made Owen sigh. He played with knives himself—he wouldn't call himself a master, but he knew one thing: knives were most effective when used with stealth. Flashy posturing only telegraphed the attack. It was almost insulting.
With a single movement, Owen disarmed the man and, in one fluid motion, reversed the knife and stabbed it into the man's palm, pinning it to the wall of the train car. The man let out a scream of agony, only for Owen to jab a knuckle into his throat, turning the shriek into a strangled gurgle that made onlookers' teeth ache.
With the first man down, Owen turned around, smiling calmly at the other two.
Of course, he hadn't killed the guy—he had controlled his strength. He only wanted to wound, not to kill. They were just thieves; a hard lesson was enough.
The remaining two looked at each other, stunned. The man who had just been brought down was their strongest, and Owen had dealt with him like it was nothing.
Owen didn't wait for them to act. He surged forward, and before they could even react, he had taken them both down with a flurry of strikes and kicks.
With both men incapacitated, Owen brushed off his hands in disinterest. It felt like a max-level warrior grinding low-level mobs—no satisfaction at all.
After relieving himself in the restroom, Owen stepped back out to find the three men still groaning on the floor. The two less injured ones were trying to get up—until they saw Owen returning. They instantly flopped back down and played dead.
Owen didn't bother with them and walked off.
The whole incident had happened quickly and in the connection between train cars, so no one really noticed. When Owen returned to his seat and looked back, the corridor was empty. A short while later, several of the other suspicious groups in the train car seemed to have gotten word and quietly left—likely realizing Owen wasn't someone to mess with.
After that, no one gave him any more trouble. About an hour later, the train arrived safely in Belgrade, Serbia.
While still on the train, Owen had already contacted Jack Bauer back at CTU HQ. The matter of the plutonium was too serious to ignore. It had to be reported. And since the CIA was involved, Jack had to be informed of everything. There was also the issue of Makarov.
Owen had seen Makarov in person at the deal site. But hadn't Makarov already been captured by NSA's Third Echelon? That meant one of the two had to be a fake.
The nuclear threat brought the situation to Jack's full attention. Owen was alone and carrying the plutonium—he was constantly in danger. The Quick Response Team ended their medical leave early and mobilized immediately, heading to Serbia to rendezvous with Owen.
With his team on the way, Owen felt much more confident. Handling complex situations solo was always difficult. He decided to lay low somewhere in Belgrade and wait for the team before taking the next step.
At Belgrade Central Station, Owen blended into the crowd, watching his surroundings carefully as he exited the train. He didn't notice anything unusual.
"Nikki, are you here?"
Owen had told Nikki to take a flight and reach Belgrade ahead of him. Logically, she should've arrived before him.
"I'm here, Owen. I can see you. Exit through Gate B1—everything around you looks normal…"
In a corner of the waiting hall, Nikki sat against the wall, disguised as a passenger. If one looked closely, they'd notice a wire running from her laptop into the wall's electrical circuit.
To access the station's surveillance network as quickly as possible, Nikki had chosen a physical connection—bypassing hardware firewalls entirely, though it carried some risk.
On the other end, Owen followed her instructions and exited through Gate B1. Everything seemed fine. He moved carefully, maintaining the pace of a normal pedestrian. But then, no further instructions came from Nikki. He waited—but there was only silence in the earpiece.
"Nikki, what's next? Nikki?"
Owen tried calling her again—twice. Still no response.
Something was wrong.
Without changing his expression, Owen scanned his surroundings—but nothing seemed out of place. A sense of unease began creeping in. What had happened to Nikki?
At that same moment, in the waiting room, Nikki was sweating profusely. Her screen was functioning, but her earpiece was filled with static. She could see Owen but couldn't reach him.
This wasn't normal interference. Someone was deliberately targeting her.
Nikki's heart dropped. She realized she had been compromised. She looked up, scanning her surroundings. No one seemed to be behaving unusually. But she wasn't the only one experiencing signal loss—others were glancing at their phones, confused.
The signal had to be strong—meaning the jammer was nearby. But everyone had large luggage; any of them could be hiding a high-power jammer. There was no way to pinpoint the source.
She knew she was in danger now. Someone nearby was watching her. But what worried her more was Owen. On the screen, he had started looking around—he sensed something too.
Nikki kept trying to contact him while scanning the room. About ten meters ahead was a police officer. If anyone tried to hurt her, she planned to scream "assault" and use the chaos to escape.
But the danger never came—instead, something happened on Owen's end. On the screen, she watched in horror as someone approached him, gently helping him sit down. Then that person picked up Owen's briefcase and walked away.
No… Owen… no…
Nikki let out a silent scream. Her heart clenched in panic. On the screen, Owen sat completely still—not moving. Nikki didn't know if he was dead. Grief and rage surged inside her.
What do I do now?
(End of Chapter)
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