25 February 2031 – Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport – 10:36
Naser leaned against the side of his sleek black Mercedes-Benz, his eyes scanning the steady flow of travelers spilling in and out of the terminal. He was a scrawny-looking man in his early twenties, with small, gelled black hair and sharp brown eyes. That was enough to describe him—slim, neat, and carrying the kind of confident air that came with wealth.
Normally, he wouldn't be caught standing around an airport on a Saturday morning. But today was different. His best friend, Sohel, was finally coming back from the Bangladesh Military Academy. At least… he should have been back a year ago. Instead, Sohel had somehow wound up in Tokyo, and no one could explain why.
What the hell was he doing in Tokyo? Naser thought grimly. He's going to get a proper beating for making Mitali cry.
His mind drifted into the past—back to their school days when the five of them were inseparable. They'd spent their youth like there was no tomorrow: Ovi always chasing girls, Tahmid scaling neighbors' trees to steal fruit, and Naser and Sohel failing miserably to rein them in.
"Naser… Naser… NASER… MR. NASER SIDDIQUE!"
The booming voice yanked him back to the present. Naser turned, glaring at the man shouting his full name.
"Who are you? And how do you know my name?" he demanded.
"Why wouldn't I know my best friend's name?" the man replied with a grin.
Naser blinked, finally taking in the details: tall—easily 6′2″—with a lean, muscular build. His hair was thick, black, and brushed back neatly. His face was handsome, but more importantly… familiar.
"Sohel?" Naser asked cautiously.
"Of course. Lieutenant Sohel Chowdhury, at your service."
Naser broke into a wide smile, though a part of him still refused to believe it. This was nothing like the Sohel he remembered—a 5′9″ guy with a little extra weight and a softer face. This man looked like he'd stepped out of a military recruitment poster.
He pushed the thought aside. "Come on, get in. And throw that ridiculous duffel bag in the boot."
Sliding into the driver's seat, Naser watched Sohel load the bag and climb in beside him.
"So," Naser began, his voice tight with irritation, "why are you a whole year late?"
"That's classified," Sohel replied flatly.
Naser's eyes narrowed. "What were you doing in Tokyo?"
"That's classified too."
The short, clipped answers were already wearing thin, but Naser forced himself to stay calm.
"How's everyone else?" Sohel asked instead.
"Me? I'm working as a nuclear power researcher. Tahmid runs a travel agency. Ovi's at Bangladesh Bank. And Mitali—she came back from training last year. She's at CMH now, waiting to be enlisted. But enough about us. Where the hell have you been all this time? You were supposed to come back last year. You didn't. You didn't even contact us in four years. We tried reaching you through BMA headquarters, but they wouldn't tell us a thing. Then suddenly, last night, you call and say you're in Tokyo and coming home. So tell me—what the hell were you doing there?"
Sohel's lips twitched into the faintest smile. "As I said, that's classified. But I'm here now, aren't I?"
Naser shook his head. "We were worried, you know. Especially Mitali. She almost cried when no one could tell us where you were."
The humor faded from Sohel's face, replaced by a serious, unreadable expression. Naser decided to drop it—for now. The car glided onto the elevated motorway toward Gulshan.
---
Unknown Location
In a dimly lit office, a Japanese man in his late fifties sat behind a polished desk. His square face and sharp jawline gave him a stern presence, and his dark eyes had a piercing quality that could unsettle even the most hardened soldier.
The door opened, and a man in an olive-colored military combat uniform stepped in, a tablet in hand.
"Did you contact Greed?" the older man asked.
"Yes, sir. He was reluctant at first, but after some negotiations, he agreed to take the job."
"Good. Send a few Phoenix Company men in civilian attire for support."
The soldier hesitated. "Sir, there's… a problem."
The older man's gaze sharpened. "What is it?"
"Our spy reports SNA presence in the area. One of their operatives was seen very close to Greed."
The Japanese man, who had been leaning back in his chair, sat forward sharply. "I thought we were being covert. How did they find us?"
"We don't know yet. What are your orders?"
"Wait."
He picked up the black telephone on his desk and dialed.
"How's Project Spectre progressing? … Hunt's experiment is operational, hmm? No, that's no good—we don't need to blend in. How's Ito? … Still incomplete? Fine. Send the best men you have, now… Yes."
He hung up, turning back to the soldier. "Ito's sending his team for the job. You won't need to deploy anyone else. Anything more to report?"
"No, sir." The soldier bowed and left.
Alone again, the man leaned back in his chair, a cold smile tugging at his lips. "Just you wait… No, Maria. Daddy will take care of the Seven Nation Army for you."
---
14:45 – Shah Amanat International Airport, Chittagong
Two figures in their early twenties emerged from the terminal, each carrying only a small case.
The man muttered, "What's the boss thinking, going off alone and leaving me with the Ice Queen here?"
The woman shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. "Huh? Who are you calling Ice Queen? I'll kill you."
A female voice crackled into their earpieces. "You know you can't do that. Calm down, both of you. And you—peabrain—focus. The lieutenant gave you a job. Stick to it, yeah?"
The woman clicked her tongue. "Tch. Fine. Let's go, Jacob."
They both climbed into a waiting taxi, disappearing into the streets of Chittagong.