Chapter 6: The Kremlin’s Shadow
The city of Moscow hummed with the quiet efficiency of a well-oiled machine, its streets lined with sleek, black sedans that passed by without a hint of hesitation. The night was bitterly cold, but the city was alive. Inside the safehouse, the ticking of an old clock was the only sound that marked the passing of time.
Hawke stood by the window, staring out into the darkness. The Russian capital sprawled before him, a sprawling web of alleys, towering skyscrapers, and clandestine operations. Somewhere out there, Orlova was pulling the strings, but he could feel her presence like a shadow just out of reach.
Vasilev walked in quietly, his boots making little noise on the cold floor. His eyes were sharp, calculating. “The Kremlin isn’t far from here. If Orlova’s network has ties to the financial district, then she’s likely embedded somewhere within the city’s elite. We can’t afford to waste time.”
Hawke nodded but didn’t break his gaze from the window. The cold wind from the street slipped through the cracks of the window, brushing against his skin. His mind raced through the possibilities. The operation had grown more complex with each hour. Krylov, Orlova, and the cyber attack had now converged into a single, monstrous entity—one that threatened not just Moscow but the entire world.
“I know a way in,” Hawke finally said, turning around. His eyes met Vasilev’s. “But it won’t be easy.”
Into the Belly of the Beast
Their plan was simple yet perilous: infiltrate a high-profile gala taking place at one of the Kremlin’s most secure buildings, a fortress of power and influence. It was an event attended by the wealthiest members of Russian society, politicians, and businessmen. Orlova’s ties to the elite were well-documented, and it was here that they would find their first real lead.
Hawke didn’t trust the idea, but it was the best option they had. Orlova wouldn’t make an appearance directly, but her presence would be felt. The guests at the gala were more than just high society—they were the ones pulling the strings, orchestrating the collapse of global financial markets.
The pair suited up, blending into the night like shadows. Hawke’s mind flickered to the past, to the countless missions that had led him here. None of them had ever been easy, but this was different. This mission was personal.
They arrived at the venue—a palatial structure that gleamed under the lights, a symbol of Russia’s power and opulence. The guards at the entrance barely glanced at them as they flashed their fake IDs, their demeanor professional but not overly attentive. This wasn’t the first time Hawke had infiltrated such events. He knew exactly how to move unnoticed in a sea of expensive suits and extravagant gowns.
The Russian Elite
Inside, the gala was in full swing. Hawke scanned the room, his eyes sweeping across the crowd of politicians, businessmen, and spies. It wasn’t hard to spot the ones with the most power—they wore subtle but impeccably tailored suits and carried themselves with the arrogance of those who controlled the world behind closed doors. These were the people who funded operations like Zmeyevich and pulled the strings on a global scale.
“Look for any signs of Orlova’s associates,” Hawke murmured to Vasilev. “They’ll be here.”
Vasilev nodded, his eyes scanning the room with precision. As a former FSB officer, he was trained to notice the smallest details, the flickers of movement that others would miss. For a moment, the two men blended in seamlessly with the crowd—two shadows in a sea of power.
The First Encounter
Hawke moved through the crowd, his gaze never stopping for too long on anyone. He could feel the weight of the place, the suffocating air of deception and lies. He hated it. It reminded him too much of the old days—the days when he would slip into these events unnoticed, gather information, and disappear before anyone even knew he had been there.
As he walked past a group of businessmen, he caught sight of a familiar face. It was Maxim Volkov, a man he had once tracked years ago in a completely different operation. Volkov had a reputation as a kingmaker in the Russian financial world, but more importantly, he had ties to Orlova’s network.
Hawke made his way toward him, Vasilev trailing a few steps behind. Volkov was speaking to a woman, his back turned to Hawke as he ordered drinks for his group.
“Maxim,” Hawke said, his voice steady but cold.
Volkov turned slowly, his face hardening as his gaze met Hawke’s. Recognition flickered in his eyes before he masked it with a forced smile.
“Hawke,” Volkov said, his voice smooth, too smooth. “I should have known you would show up eventually.”
“You’ve got a good memory,” Hawke replied, his tone neutral. “Still playing in the shadows, I see.”
Volkov’s smile faltered. “I’ve always preferred the shadows. But you’ve always been better at that, haven’t you?”
Hawke didn’t flinch. “I’m here for one reason, Maxim. Orlova.”
Volkov’s expression shifted slightly, the barest hint of fear in his eyes before he composed himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do,” Hawke pressed. “You’re too close to her operation. You can either help me, or you can get in my way.”
Volkov let out a low laugh. “I don’t think you understand, Hawke. Orlova doesn’t need your help, and you certainly won’t get in her way. You should leave while you still can.”
Hawke leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “I don’t have time for games, Volkov. This isn’t a negotiation.”
For a moment, the tension between them was palpable. But then Volkov’s expression softened, almost imperceptibly. “She’s already gone,” he said quietly, “and there’s nothing you can do to stop what’s coming.”
Hawke stood there for a moment, processing Volkov’s words. Something was off. Orlova had been here, but now she was gone—vanished into the shadows once more.
Hawke straightened up, a grim realization settling in. Volkov wasn’t just a player in the game—he was a pawn. And the game was far from over.
Chasing Shadows
Volkov’s words lingered in the air as Hawke turned away from him, his mind racing. Orlova had moved. She wasn’t at the gala anymore, but her network was still here, and someone had to know where she was.
“I’m going to find her,” Hawke muttered to Vasilev.
They made their way through the crowd, the clock ticking. The night was far from over, and the stakes had just been raised.
