Sawan had rescued the prisoner from the jaws of death and brought him safely to a taxi. The taxi driver dropped him off in front of his hotel and said,
"Okay, get off here. I'll take him to his destination. You can catch tomorrow morning's flight."
Sawan, exhausted, reached his hotel room. He took off his jacket and washed his face with cold water. Just then, there was a knock on the door—"knock, knock!" As he opened the door, the same taxi driver was standing there.
"You? You took him away?" Sawan asked coldly.
The driver gave him a crooked smile, "The work is done. Won't you invite me in?" Sawan was suspicious, but he let him in. Sawan's eyes fell on the driver's hand, where he had hidden a pistol under his jacket.
"Why did you bring a gun?" Sawan took advantage of his 7-foot height and pressured him.
The driver said nonchalantly, "I have to keep it for safety, friend. You threatened our boss (Kenji), remember? The syndicate doesn't forget such things."
Sawan understood that the hunter was about to become the hunted. He gingerly backed away, took his gun from the closet, and tucked it behind his waist. They both sat down on chairs facing each other. The temperature in the room had dropped.
The driver began, "The agent you rescued sells our country's intelligence to the government. We're just middlemen. But Sawan, there's a problem. A man who knows too much has a short lifespan."
Sawan leaned back in his chair and asked, "Why are you telling me all this?"
The driver suddenly pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Sawan's chest. "
Because the boss said you shouldn't come back alive. You threatened him and wrote your own death."
In the blink of an eye, Sawan pulled out his gun and placed the barrel against the driver's chin.
"We were friends, weren't we?" There was a violent depth in Sawan's voice.
The driver laughed, "Friends made through threats aren't friends, Sawan."
"Okay," Sawan said calmly, "Let's have one last drink before we die?"
"I'm not into that, I believe in shooting straight," the driver tightened his finger to pull the trigger.
"Thaan... thaan!"
The silence of the hotel was shattered by the resounding sound of gunfire. There were screams and shouts. The room door slowly opened.
Sawan stepped out. His face was as hard as stone. Fresh blood stained his cheek and near his left eye. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and roughly wiped away the blood. That blood wasn't Sawan's—it belonged to the driver, whose brain was now stuck to the hotel room walls. Sawan didn't even give him a chance to blink.
The hotel lobby was in chaos. People were running everywhere, the police were being called. Sawan picked up his bag, which contained the Korean silk dress he had bought for Komal. He took advantage of the crowd, went down the stairs, and out the back door of the hotel.
As he reached the street, he took a deep breath. He understood that Kenji had sent him to kill him, which meant war had begun. He now had to get back to his city—to Komal. Because if the syndicate wanted to kill him here, Komal wouldn't be safe either.
Sawan threw away the handkerchief and disappeared into the dark alley. Only one thing echoed in his mind: "
Kenji, you have made the biggest mistake of your entire life."