It was a sleepless night—not just for Owen, but for Pavlovich across the street as well. The lights in the second-floor room remained on all night, and Owen sat in front of the speaker, listening the entire time.
It seemed Makarov had said something during their call that greatly excited Pavlovich. The bug continually picked up his whistling and the sound of him typing away at the keyboard.
As morning approached, Owen couldn't help but yawn. He had downed two cans of "Monster," and now the drowsiness was finally catching up to him.
"I'll keep an eye on him. You get some sleep," Nikki said, stepping out from the room and noticing the fatigue on Owen's face. They had originally planned to split the night shift, but after Jack's call, Owen had been too keyed up to sleep and let Nikki rest instead.
"I'll be fine. Just a little while longer."
Owen shook his head and opened another can of Monster, forcing down a gulp. The taste was terrible, but it kept him awake.
Seeing Owen insist, Nikki said nothing more and settled by the window. She leaned into the telescope and focused on the building across the street, just in time to see Pavlovich open a window. This was the first time during their surveillance that he had done so.
Through the lens behind the sheer curtain, Pavlovich could be seen deeply inhaling the crisp morning air, a rare look of pleasure on his face. The air was cool and refreshing—invigorating, even.
Nikki quickly snapped photos from all angles, taking full advantage of the open window to capture a clear view of Pavlovich's face.
"Mr. Pavlovich…"
The sound of the window apparently alerted Chikalyev. His voice came through the bug.
Pavlovich seemed in a good mood. "Chikalyev, I think it's time you popped open some champagne."
There was a brief pause from the other end, followed by delighted surprise: "It worked?"
"Yes, it worked. Last night, Makarov and I finalized a few parameters. The plutonium device's model is much simpler than I expected. I redesigned the detonation sequence to bypass the original safety mechanisms and optimized the program. See this? Once this is plugged into the device and the light turns green, it means the override worked."
As Pavlovich spoke, Nikki's high-definition lens captured everything in detail. With the window open, she had a perfect line of sight. The object in Pavlovich's hand looked like a USB drive—likely the override module he just described.
"That's fantastic. I'll notify Makarov right away."
From the window, Chikalyev could be seen moving to a corner to make a call while Pavlovich casually poured himself a glass of red wine and swirled it flamboyantly in his hand.
After a while, Chikalyev returned. "Mr. Pavlovich, Makarov has arranged the meeting with the other party. He wants me to take you there now."
"No, no, no. That wasn't the deal. I only agreed to provide the program, not to personally attend."
"Sorry, sir. He says the plutonium model has changed. He needs an expert to confirm its authenticity. Also, the program needs to be tested, doesn't it?"
"Ugh… fine. But he'll have to pay extra. That's a premium service."
"Of course. I'll get the car."
With that, Chikalyev headed downstairs, and the bug picked up Pavlovich's muttering. Owen and Nikki exchanged glances, quickly weighing the pros and cons.
Originally, Owen's plan was simple: secretly follow Pavlovich or Chikalyev. They'd eventually lead him to Makarov. But now that it was about to happen, he realized he had underestimated the complexity of the situation.
When the two left, they'd certainly be on high alert. Fortunately, with NSA satellite support, tracking them wouldn't be an issue. The real challenge was acquiring the plutonium and the override device.
If Makarov needed Pavlovich to verify the bomb, then there'd definitely be people at the deal—at least both parties' teams.
This wasn't a CTU rapid response mission. It was just Owen and Nikki, and Owen was the only field operative. Storming in to grab the device and the bomb was nothing short of a fantasy. It had to be done with cunning, not brute force.
Owen made a snap decision and looked at Nikki.
She immediately understood what he intended to do and protested, "No, Owen. That's too risky."
"I think it's worth a try."
Owen glanced at her, then at the 3D printer nearby. Nikki rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Fine. But I need time."
"Leave it to me."
Owen pushed open the back window. Outside was the basketball court, where the same group of Turkish teens were playing.
He whistled. The boys immediately paused and looked up. Owen pointed in a certain direction—no words needed. They knew what he wanted.
Once again, the green of American dollars beckoned. The teens eagerly left the court, picking up the envelope Owen had tossed down. Inside, it was filled with crisp bills.
While Owen was organizing the Turkish teens, Nikki was rapidly working on the computer. The photos she had taken of Pavlovich from multiple angles now came in handy. After scanning them with a specialized program, Pavlovich's 3D facial features were mapped. Nikki manually adjusted a few sections the software couldn't recognize.
The 3D printer began its work. The cutting tool spun, shaving off excess material until a face began to take shape.
Downstairs, Chikalyev had just pulled up in the car when—BANG—a stone hit the car window. It didn't break the glass but gave him a scare.
He got out angrily, about to yell at the teens across the street when more stones rained down. One of the windows shattered.
As the sounds of English cursing floated up from the street, Owen took the silicone mask from Nikki. She stuck a tiny speaker to his throat and helped him put on the mask.
A few seconds later, everything was in place—eyebrows, beard, hair. Owen changed into Pavlovich's clothes and was now the spitting image of the Russian scientist.
"All set. It's your show now…"
Nikki patted Owen on the shoulder. He climbed to the roof, glanced at the chaos below—Makarov's man still trying to fend off the teens—and quickly dashed toward the building across the street.
(End of Chapter)
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