Whether the International Contract Agency actually existed was a conclusion no one could definitively draw. Not even Mr. Nobody.
Legend had it that the ICA's operations spanned Asia, Europe, Africa, the Americas, Oceania, and even the North and South Poles. If needed, they were everywhere—but it was merely a legend; no concrete evidence had ever proven the organization's existence.
If it hadn't been for the day Lorraine Broughton received a tip to meet an informant, only for the entire room to explode into the heavens ten seconds after she stepped inside, the existence of the ICA would have been a certainty rather than an unproven myth.
The explosion had been spectacular—so much so that they couldn't recover anything related to Lorraine Broughton from the rubble, save for tiny fragments of flesh that told a grim tale.
He had been deeply saddened by it. After all, his job at the time was to coordinate with Lorraine to determine if the intel was genuine or a trap.
However... Nobody had never managed to uncover who Lorraine had conceived Locke with. Even the father's name on Locke's original birth certificate was a complete fabrication.
Just then.
*Drrrring!*
Egorova looked down at the phone in her hand—the one belonging to Egorov—and then at Nobody.
Nobody nodded. "Go ahead."
Egorova pursed her lips and answered the call.
...
Manhattan Port!
Locke had found a particularly sturdy-looking lamppost and was currently hanging upside down from it like a bat. Though he wasn't a capitalist, it didn't stop him from enjoying the "pleasure" of being hung from a lamppost ahead of schedule.
Coupled with the broken, overpowered capability of his Stealth Technique, even if someone were standing directly beneath him looking up, they would subconsciously ignore his presence.
Even hanging upside down, Locke looked sharp in his tailored suit. His crimson eyes stared into the distance, focused on the entrance to the port.
*Thud!*
*Thud!*
*Thud!*
Three black sedans approached silently, the only sound being the slight rattle of the weighbridge as they entered the port. After a moment, the cars slowed down, navigating through the dense rows of shipping containers until they reached their objective.
*Bam!*
*Agh!*
*Smack!*
*Ugh!*
Two women were engaged in a brutal fight. It was a vicious exchange of strikes, every move designed to kill.
Egorova drew a pistol from her coat and chambered a round.
*Wham!*
The woman facing her delivered a lightning-fast roundhouse kick. With a cry of pain, the pistol flew from Egorova's hand, clattering against a container to the right.
Left with no choice, Egorova was forced back into a desperate hand-to-hand struggle with an opponent who was clearly her superior in combat prowess.
"Hold your fire!"
Egorov stepped out of his car and roared at the agents who were already clicking their safeties off. He stared in disbelief at the woman brawling with his niece.
"Lorraine Broughton!"
*Shit!*
He wasn't stopping them because he feared they would hit his niece. He was terrified of accidentally killing Lorraine Broughton.
This was the mother of his Lord!
Though Locke had spoken casually, telling him to "do whatever you were doing," a subordinate who didn't know how to decipher their superior's hidden intent was a failure.
Egorov hadn't climbed from a mere politician to the Deputy Director of a Lubyanka bureau by being literal. He excelled at interpreting the complex, profound meanings behind simple words.
For instance, if a leader said, "The weather is nice today":
A low-level subordinate would agree.
A mid-level subordinate would praise the leader's insight.
A high-level subordinate would ask where the leader would like to go for a stroll.
Egorov? He would have already booked the sauna, the massage, and the luxury hotel suite before the leader finished the sentence.
So, when Locke said he didn't care, Egorov didn't believe it for a second.
At that moment, "Lorraine Broughton" seemed to lose her stomach for the fight upon seeing Egorov's reinforcements. Egorova seized the opening. After being knocked down again, she performed a low slide, reaching the spot where her pistol lay.
She snatched it up. "Lorraine's" eyes narrowed.
Egorov's heart leaped into his throat.
"Don't—"
*Phwt!*
*Phwt!*
*Urgh!*
Before Egorov could finish his warning, muzzle flashes flared. two glowing bullets tore through the air, burying themselves into the chest of "Lorraine Broughton" as she lunged forward to stop the shooter.
Time seemed to freeze. "Lorraine" looked down at the blossoms of blood on her chest. Her body swayed, and she began to stumble backward.
In the next second, her weakened right foot tripped over something. Like a broken ragdoll, she fell helplessly into the dark waters of the harbor below.
"Shit!"
Egorov snapped out of it and sprinted past the bruised, panting Egorova. He reached the edge and looked down just in time to see the "Plop!" as "Lorraine" vanished beneath the waves.
"Fuck!"
In Egorov's eyes, as she sank like a lead weight, she was definitely dead. He was losing his mind. His career as a vampire felt like it was ending before it even started.
He turned back toward Egorova, who was using a container to pull herself up. For a moment, he actually wanted to kill his own niece.
"Was my order not clear enough?" he hissed, his face dark with rage.
"Capture her alive! I wanted her alive!"
Egorova looked up, wiping blood from her nose, and replied in Russian,
"My apologies."
"Suka Blyat!"
Egorov clutched his forehead, unable to look at her. He gestured to two agents nearby, pointing at the water.
"You, and you! Find—"
Suddenly, the roar of engines echoed from the distance, approaching at high speed.
"Shit!" A Lubyanka agent on lookout duty shouted through his headset. "Sir! Langley is—"
*Thwip-thwip-thwip!*
The sound of bullets entering flesh cut him off. The message was clear. The CIA had arrived.
"Move! Get in the cars!"
In a flash, Egorov abandoned the recovery plan and bolted toward his armored sedan. "Go, go, go!"
He was a high-ranking official. If Langley caught him, Lubyanka's reputation would be dragged through the dirt. Even if he were eventually released, his life back in Moscow would be over.
Egorov didn't suspect his niece for a second. In his mind, "Lorraine" had been with the CIA. When Locke reported the wiretap, "Lorraine" must have realized they were coming for her and tried to draw them out.
She just hadn't expected her to be so ruthless, taking out a legendary operative—the woman known as the "Charlize Theron" of the spy world—with two rounds.
*Rat-tat-tat!*
*Agh!*
As the CIA vehicles screeched to a halt, a dozen operatives opened fire with automatic rifles. In an instant, two Lubyanka agents were killed.
Just then...
"Agh!"
*Thud.*
Egorova appeared to be hit in the chest and collapsed to the ground.
Crouching low as he dove into his black sedan under the cover of his men, Egorov's eyes lingered on Vanya. She lay there, blood leaking from the corner of her mouth, her eyes fixed on him.
A split second later, He averted his gaze. The door slammed shut. The engine roared, and the car sped away, leaving behind five or six agents who were now "disposable"—men whose deaths could never be officially linked back to Lubyanka.
They were being abandoned. Including Vanya, who was still bleeding out and who had just called her uncle.
"Uncle."
Five minutes later, the gunfire died down. Nash led the tactical team to clear the site. *Bang. Bang. Bang.* Out of professional habit, he put a precision round through the forehead of every corpse he found.
Then, Nash walked over to Vanya. Her eyes were open, and a single tear seemed to escape. He knelt beside her.
Vanya had decided to betray Lubyanka, but witnessing her own uncle abandon her so decisively was still a bitter pill to swallow. Despite the soul-crushing training of the "Sparrow School," she had managed to keep a sliver of her humanity intact, and it hurt.
Nash holstered his pistol and pulled Vanya into a tight embrace, whispering in her ear, "You did perfectly. We can start our new life very soon, my dear."
At the sound of his voice, Vanya slowly came back to herself. She looked at Nash as he cupped her face with his hands. Driven by emotion, Nash leaned in and kissed her passionately, completely ignoring her bruised and battered face.
Vanya responded with equal heat.
Hanging upside down from the lamppost above, Locke's eyelids twitched violently. He really wanted to shout an insult.