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LOCATION: CANAL DISTRICT
CITY: BRUSSELS, BELGIUM
DATE: SEPTEMBER 25, 2026 | TIME: 12:00 PM
When Erik and Viktor arrived in Brussels, Erik followed the GPS and left the car in a public parking structure. From there, they decided to visit a local dealer that Viktor had used in Brussels in the past.
"Ivan would surely have to visit Lucas once he arrived here. There would be no way to travel with weapons from Ukraine."
Erik agreed. It was as good a lead as any, and much better than sitting around NATO Headquarters and waiting for something to happen.
They took a taxi to the Canal District. The car dropped them off beside a hulking brick terminal where the hydraulics from freight cranes seemed to make up the majority of the noise and smells.
Moving quickly through alley after alley, Viktor led Erik to a windowless building of corrugated steel.
A sign out front showed a stylized barge logo and proclaimed the business inside:
OMEGA TERMINAL LOGISTICS
"Fancy," Erik said.
Viktor knocked once on the door. Then three times, and then twice.
The door swung open slowly, and an old man recognized Viktor immediately.
"There he is! It's been a long time since you came to visit old Lucas. Come in, come in."
The old man was wearing a pair of greasy, denim overalls over a black t-shirt. His leather boots were scuffed and worn. He ushered them inside and closed the door, locking three different locks in slow succession.
They were in a small, well-lit lobby with four chairs and some trade magazines on a coffee table. A coffee machine sat empty on a counter with paper cups stacked next to it.
Lucas removed two keys from a lanyard around his neck, and used them to open two well-oiled locks in an otherwise plain-looking metal door.
When he pushed the door open, Erik did his best to hold back his surprise.
The inside of this warehouse that looked so simple from the outside was reinforced with thick concrete walls, interspersed by heavy iron piles that were driven deep into the floor. The beams were spaced about two feet apart.
"It's to keep cars from ramming the building," Lucas said. "We've got some sensitive equipment in here that doesn't mix well with large impacts."
Erik nodded in approval.
"Well done," he said.
He scanned the room. His trained eye noticed immediately that that space was too small, given the shell of the building he'd witnessed from outside.
A few cars sat on jacks, in various states of repair. Or disrepair, as it were. Racks of wrenches and sockets lined one wall, and hydraulic tools hung from overhead hoists.
The room smelled of oil and steel. Music played over the speakers. It was just loud enough to hear, but not so loud to break concentration.
The entire scene was like a mechanic's dream.
But Erik knew they were there for a car.
Viktor rested his hand on Lucas's shoulder.
"My old friend, I need your help. Ivan Kovalenko would have been through here—"
"You know I can't talk about other clients. I'd never do it to you, and I won't speak of others."
Lucas waved his hand, attempting to push Viktor's hand away.
But Viktor held tightly. Not tight enough to hurt the older man, but just enough to make his point.
"I would never come to you if it weren't critical," Viktor said. "It's very important that I get in touch with Ivan before he does what he came to do. If all our years of working together mean anything, do this for me."
Viktor maintained eye contact, and his hand still rested heavily on Lucas's shoulder.
Erik Drexler loomed just behind, trying to look present, but not overly intimidating. He knew a lot of men like Lucas, running facilities like this all over the world.
There would be a room in the back of the building stocked with weapons and ammunition, IEDs, and other tools like night vision and laser targeting.
He looked around. A single door toward the back seemed out of place. It likely led to a small well-appointed bunker beneath the building where Ivan was probably hiding out right now.
"You don't have to tell us anything," Erik said. "Just don't get it our way when we check what's behind that door."
His meaty finger pointed to his left.
Lucas was a professional. But it seemed he had found his way of justifying his action.
"Well," he said, "if I was tied up to… that chair over there, I suppose there's nothing I could do to stop you from investigating."
Erik chuckled. He patted Lucas on the back.
"You're a good man, Lucas. Get comfortable. How much time do we have?"
Erik pulled out four long, black zip-ties and knelt down to start with Lucas's ankles.
"My secretary will be here in two hours," Lucas said. "But please don't leave too much of a mess to clean up down there. It's hard transporting bodies out of this facility."
"Don't worry," Viktor said, "we don't plan on harming Ivan at all. We just need to have a chat. I'm pretty sure he'll see it our way."
Lucas shrugged as Erik finished with the last restraints.
"I've already been paid," Lucas said. "I'd just prefer you not make a mess down there."
Erik raised an eyebrow.
"How pragmatic of you," he said, as he and Viktor walked over to the door.
Viktor used the key Lucas had given him, and they entered the staircase. Both he and Erik drew their sidearms as they carefully descended the stairs.
Before turning the knob for the door at the bottom, Viktor called out.
"Ivan? It's Viktor Malenkov. I'm coming in. We need to talk."
Viktor heard a few muffled words through the door, but he assumed it was consent, and opened the door.
Inside, Ivan Kovalenko stood in firing position with an assault rifle aimed at the door. He started to lower it when he recognized Viktor, but raised it again when Erik entered the small space.
"What the fuck is this? You brought Erik Drexler here?"
Viktor held his hands up in front of him.
"Just hear me out, Ivan. There's no need for the hostility."
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LOCATION: IZAKAYA NAMIDA, ROPPONGI HILLS
CITY: TOKYO, JAPAN
DATE: SEPTEMBER 25, 2026 | TIME: 11:00 PM
Izakaya Namida was a tiny night club, tucked on the third-floor of a narrow building on the boisterous streets of Roppongi Hills.
Roppongi is a haven of neon and night. Glass towers and narrow alleys where late-hour izakaya restaurants, hostess bars, expat pubs and flashy clubs butt up against pachinko parlors.
The air tastes of grilled meat, takoyaki and other street foods, punctuated by karaoke, foreign tongues, and taxi horns.
Lights blur faces into a crowd where anyone can vanish or remake themselves for an hour. Or an evening.
And then there's the drinking. Always the drinking. Alcohol is like oxygen in a town like Roppongi. Expats, military men and women from all over the world, and foreigners of all stripes seemed to congregate in the area like shards of steel to a high-powered magnet.
Izakaya Namida was one of hundreds of tiny clubs, and just as anonymous for that reason.
Sumi had grown up in the industrialized and dirty streets of Hamhung, North Korea. "Blessed" with looks that resembled Japanese more than Koreans, she suffered through school being called Sumi-chan, or even Yaman-in (야만인), which was Korean for "savage."
Sumi was beautiful by any standard, but that wouldn't stop children in a homogenous society from singling an extraordinary person for standing out.
She struggled through her youth, but in her last year of high school, her life was thrust into a completely new direction.
She arrived home from after-school archery practice, wishing (as always) for a dinner much larger than her family could afford. But when she entered her small house, she heard her parents talking with someone in the living room.
She removed her shoes and peeked around the corner. An actual General from the North Korean military sat ramrod straight in a chair, and her parents sat across from him, looking unusually tight and formal.
"Danyeowasseo (다녀왔어)," she said.
"Ah, Sumi," her father said nervously, "come and sit. We were just talking about you."
The General (as he told her to call him), told her she was being recruited for a top secret agency in North Korean intelligence. She would have to leave for training as soon as school was done in a month, and she wouldn't be back for many years.
But most importantly, the government would promise to provide a stipend for her family and ensure that Sumi's parents and younger sister would never want for anything.
She signed up on the spot, deciding that whatever she would be subjected to, it would be worth it to take care of her precious family.
Sitting at the counter in the Izakaya Namida in Roppongi, she thought about all the steps that had led her to this spot.
After school, Sumi had entered a secret training camp in the hills of North Korea, learning how to speak Japanese as if she had grown up there.
She learned their mannerisms, their customs, and memorized a backstory so detailed that by the time she left for the country that would become her new home, she'd almost forgotten about her real upbringing.
Sumi had become a deeply embedded spy in Japan, serving North Korea through a complicated, but old-fashioned network of agents, cut-outs, and intel drops. The spycraft that would become her very life and livelihood.
That was decades ago. The old network had gone completely silent after the Dear Leader was killed, but the idea of reunification brought her reluctant joy.
Was she even allowed to wish for such a thing?
With no instructions to the contrary, she continued living her life, working her normal everyday job, and coming to Roppongi every Friday night.
To sit at this very barstool, and wait for precisely four hours. Just in case someone bumped into her, and inserted new instructions into her pocket.
On September 25th, for the first time since the world had changed with the strike on the United States ship back in April, she felt a nudge as someone passed by her in the crowded night club.
Sumi carefully reached her hand into her pocket and felt the tightly folded paper.
She slowly finished her drink and paid her tab.
Then, she exited Izakaya Namida and pushed her way through the throngs of people filling the Friday night streets, into a back alley, up the stairs, and to her small one-room apartment.
Only then did she pull the paper from her pocket and read it.