Agent @Gang Dongho
Private loans? Pyramid schemes? Drug runner? Forget the pathetic past.
As an Asura who punishes evil, I am reborn!
1. Damn it.
The lobby of the Shangri-La Hotel in Singapore.
Even in Singapore, where five-star hotels lined the streets, it was considered among the highest class.
Crystal chandeliers hung long from the double-height ceiling, reflecting dazzlingly brilliant light, and the walls and floors were clad in natural marble imported from Europe, adding a luxurious feel.
On one side of the hotel lobby.
A beautiful woman sat with one leg crossed in front of a café table spaced at a comfortable distance.
Wearing a white blouse and a gray pencil skirt, she stared at her laptop with an expression of deep concentration.
When the beauty, who wore glasses elegantly atop her high nose bridge, took a sip of coffee, the scene looked like something out of a commercial.
She looked like a businesswoman visiting for work, or perhaps a highly capable secretary.
Either way, she was a rare beauty who would stir the hearts of many men.
But the woman herself was forcibly suppressing the irritation bubbling up inside her.
[Damn it. Everyone's staring too much. This is exactly why I opposed having Amber wait in the lobby.]
[It's too late now. Stop yapping and just shut up, okay?]
[If the operation fails, you're taking responsibility……]
Ah. So annoying.
Amber lightly tapped the laptop keyboard.
Including the word that started with F and ended with K, she was typing every curse word she knew.
Of course, to others she would look like she was diligently writing a business report.
While she was hoping her damn annoying teammates would just shut up and wondering if there were any more creative curses, the moment she had been waiting for finally arrived.
A black Mercedes-Benz luxury sedan glided in alongside a Cadillac van and stopped in front of the main entrance.
A bellboy in a red uniform approached to open the rear door, but burly men who stepped out of the Cadillac stopped him.
Sensing the oppressive atmosphere, the bellboy wisely retreated.
Then, men who appeared to be bodyguards swiftly surveyed the surroundings before opening the rear door of the Mercedes.
Stepping out of the car was a man in his fifties with half-receded hair and a mustache.
It was Andrei Mordvichev, a Russian arms dealer who operated on the global stage.
Wearing a cool linen suit without a tie and sunglasses, Mordvichev entered through the revolving door of the hotel entrance, surrounded by four bodyguards.
Mordvichev's group strode across the lobby and boarded the elevator.
Filming the scene secretly with her smartphone, Amber muttered quietly.
"The target went up."
[Roger that. Moving in five minutes as planned.]
"Roger."
Amber replied briefly and brought her hand to her wristwatch, pressing the stopwatch button she had preset to five minutes.
***
15th Floor Emergency Stairwell.
Two men in hotel employee uniforms stood in the darkness, facing each other.
The Asian man wearing an ultra-compact special earpiece in one ear was Patrick.
A Korean-American with a tall stature, a prominent nose, and distinctly handsome, masculine features.
The Indian man beside him was called Sing.
Both were members of Nemesis, a secret subordinate organization of the CIA.
"Want to bet on who takes down more?"
Sing said as he affixed a silencer to his Glock.
"Oh, feeling confident?"
Patrick, who had been checking the ultra-compact earpiece in his ear, sneered with a mocking expression.
"Seriously, you lose every time and never get tired of it. Are you possessed by a gambling ghost or something? I'm sick to death of you jumping at every chance to make a bet."
Patrick drove in a verbal dagger without much change in expression, then flicked his fingers.
"If you're so eager to stuff money into my pockets, I've no reason to refuse. Bring it on."
"Hey, you bastard……."
Sing's shoulders shook with indignation as he spoke.
"Damn bastard, I'm definitely winning today. Let's do it for a hundred bucks."
"Ah, sure. Go ahead."
Even as he spoke, Patrick's eyes, fixed on his watch, turned sharp.
The moment the ticking countdown reached exactly zero, the fire alarm blared loudly as if it had been waiting.
Wee-oo wee-oo!
The two men moved swiftly, as if they had never been bickering, opening the emergency exit door and stepping into the hallway.
Patrick immediately pulled the pin from the smoke grenade in his hand and rolled it across the floor like a bowling ball.
Hiss!
Accompanied by a hissing sound, thick white smoke spewed out and engulfed the hallway in an instant.
"There's a fire. Please evacuate immediately!"
"You must exit your rooms and evacuate downstairs immediately! Hurry!"
The two shouted while pounding on the doors of the rooms lining both sides.
"What? A fire?"
"Quick, grab our things!"
"Mommy!!"
Startled guests frantically opened their doors and came out.
Those who had been surveying the hallway with bewildered faces also saw people running urgently and dashed out barefoot to join the evacuation line.
"Elevators are dangerous, use the emergency stairs!"
Patrick, directing the people rushing ahead toward the emergency stairs, exchanged glances with Sing.
Their target was room 1512 at the end of the hallway.
***
"Did you bring the item?"
At Mordvichev's question, a middle-aged man with an angular face met his gaze and spoke.
"Show me the money first."
Mordvichev gestured to a bodyguard standing behind him.
"Bring it."
The bodyguard placed two silver aluminum briefcases on the table and opened the lids so the contents were clearly visible.
"Ten million dollars in crisp cash, as promised."
When the middle-aged man jerked his chin, the large man beside him randomly pulled one bill from the stacks of cash inside the bag and inserted it into a portable counterfeit detector he had prepared beforehand.
"No problems."
"Hmm."
Only then did the middle-aged man pull a small USB from his inner pocket and place it down.
"This is it?"
Mordvichev's eyes sparkled.
"That's right."
The middle-aged man nodded and continued.
"It contains the names and personal data of fifty CIA black agents operating within Russia."
Mordvichev picked up the USB.
A sharp-witted bodyguard promptly pulled a laptop from his bag and placed it on the table, as if he had been waiting.
"It's best to be certain about everything."
"Be my guest."
Mordvichev plugged the USB into the laptop and opened it.
Inside, just as the middle-aged man had said, were photos and detailed information on CIA black agents operating within Russia.
If it fell into Russian hands, it was information that could deal a serious blow to the CIA's intelligence network against Russia.
Smiling in satisfaction, Mordvichev removed the USB and tucked it into his inner pocket.
"Then it seems our business here is concluded. I shall take my leave."
Just then, Mordvichev stopped at the sound of a blaring fire alarm.
"What is that noise?"
"It's a fire alarm."
At the sudden situation, Mordvichev furrowed his brows in displeasure.
Bang bang bang!
"Fire! Please come out immediately!"
Someone could be heard shouting loudly from outside.
A bodyguard checked the outside through the door viewer and reported to Mordvichev.
"It's a hotel employee. The hallway is filled with smoke; it appears a fire has truly broken out."
"Tch. Of all times, it had to be now."
It couldn't be worse timing on such an important transaction day.
He felt something was off, but he couldn't exactly stay in the room when there was a fire.
Mordvichev lifted his heavy frame and spoke.
"Don't let your guard down just in case."
After warning his bodyguards, Mordvichev moved toward the room door.
The bodyguard standing at the entrance unlocked the door and opened it, and at the same time, dull firing sounds rang out.
Thud! Thud!
"Ugh!"
Two dark figures shoved aside the bodyguard who collapsed with a death rattle and entered the room.
"What?!"
As Mordvichev screamed with wide eyes, the remaining bodyguards hurriedly drew their pistols.
But Patrick and Sing moved faster than the bodyguards could react.
Thud-thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Each time the muffled sounds—like striking a sandbag with a club—rang out in succession, the targets clutched their chests and collapsed or fell straight backward.
Mordvichev was no exception.
Feeling as if red-hot iron rods were ruthlessly stabbing his chest and head, Mordvichev lost consciousness.
Amid the thick smell of gunpowder, the room was enveloped in silence in an instant.
Having swept through the room in mere seconds, the two men didn't lower their guard and surveyed their surroundings.
They swiftly swept the room with both hands gripping their Glocks, ready to pull the trigger at any moment, checking if any targets remained.
"Sing."
"What?"
"Don't forget the hundred dollars."
Patrick, who had checked the bathroom, flashed a grin.
He was referring to having taken down two more men than Sing.
"Damn it!"
"Told you to size up your opponents before jumping in."
Patrick, his expression mostly flat but with the corners of his mouth slightly raised, searched the blood-soaked body of Mordvichev sprawled on the floor.
"Bingo."
"Let's get out of here before people swarm in."
Patrick nodded, tucked the USB into his chest, and stood up.
The two collected the aluminum briefcases filled with cash and exited into the hallway still thick with white smoke, then descended the emergency stairs.
Along the way, they stripped off their hotel uniforms and tossed them out a window.
Fire trucks that had rushed to the scene and guests who had fled their rooms packed the lobby, turning it into a complete madhouse.
"You said there was a fire! What on earth is going on?"
"My vacation schedule is completely ruined. Will we be getting refunds for our stay?"
"Please. Just a moment, everyone. We are currently checking the interior, so please remain calm……."
The staff were all overwhelmed by the sudden situation.
The two slipped out through the back door while the staff were occupied with agitated guests and opened the side door of a white van parked in one corner of the parking lot.
"The goods?"
Amber, sitting in the driver's seat, turned around.
The blonde beauty who had been with her laptop in the lobby, and was the two men's teammate who had been monitoring Mordvichev's arrival.
"Right here."
Patrick climbed into the second-row seat and produced the USB.
"Oh."
Amber smiled broadly, dimples forming on both cheeks.
"Good work, guys."
"Skip the pleasantries and let's get moving. I want to shower and drink a cold beer."
"Must sting losing money on top of everything."
"Damn bastard, cut it out."
Amber opened her large eyes and looked back and forth between the two.
"What are you talking about?"
"It's nothing important, so drop it."
Patrick waved his hand dismissively.
Anyway, it was best to leave while people were distracted elsewhere.
"Okay."
Amber nodded refreshingly, started the engine, and pressed hard on the accelerator to get the van moving.
The van exited the hotel parking lot and headed straight for Keppel Island, where the yacht marina was located.
The plan was to board a prepared yacht there and slip away to Phuket.
As the van stopped at a red light, Sing, in the back seat, opened his mouth.
"You got champagne ready on the yacht, right?"
"Of course. I put out your favorite Perrier-Jouët."
"Kuh. As expected of Amber!"
Sing gave a thumbs up from the back, saying women were indeed better than disrespectful bastards.
Was it the satisfaction of having completed the mission perfectly?
Listening to his teammates' voices, louder than usual, Patrick turned his head toward the window with a slight smile.
"……!"
In that instant, Patrick spotted a massive dump truck barreling toward them from the left at high speed.
The truck was charging straight at the van without slowing down at all!
He turned to his teammates and shouted urgently.
"Everyone, watch out!"
At the same time, the dump truck slammed into the van, and a tremendous impact rocked their bodies with a loud crash.
Kwaaang!
Like an enraged bull ramming into their side, the dump truck pushed the van forward for a good distance, crushing it like scrap paper, before finally stopping only after burying it into a shop by the roadside.
Amid the utter chaos, a man wearing sunglasses opened the door and stepped down from the driver's seat of the dump truck.
Holding a pistol in one hand, the man approached the wrecked van with unhurried steps, as if he had not just caused a major accident.
"Urrgh……."
Inside the mangled van, a survivor still lived, gasping roughly, covered in blood.
"Cough!"
Patrick spat out a mouthful of dark blood and glared at the man with eyes full of killing intent.
"You…… who are you?"
Covered not only in his own blood but also splattered with Amber's and Sing's blood, Patrick looked like he could stop breathing at any moment.
Yet even in that state, his eyes alone were alive, brimming with murderous intent. Meeting those eyes, the man replied with an expressionless face.
"Why would a man about to die be curious about such things?"
The man casually raised one hand.
On the back of his bony hand gripping the pistol was a tattoo of Saint Michael.
Bang!
'Damn it…….'
Patrick opened his eyes wide as if vowing never to forget until the very end.
Even as his consciousness faded, he remembered only the shape of that tattoo.