As night shrouded Dalian under its blanket, thousands of miles away, in Las Vegas, it was morning.
In a five-star hotel suite in Las Vegas, Chekhov sat comfortably on an expensive sofa, with one leg on the other. He held a cigar in one hand and a glass of high-priced Lafite in the other.
A number of high-spec laptops were arranged on a meeting table in front of him, manned by a group of top American hackers, their fingers dancing over the keyboards like phantoms.
Chekhov took a leisurely sip of his wine and handed his glass to a sexy blonde behind him. He laughed lasciviously as he fondled her breasts.
"Dear boys, I know you are exhausted now. But… believe me, your hard work will be handsomely rewarded!" Chekhov roared to the engrossed hackers.
"Ah, handsome boss Chekhov, we've worked with you before, we trust your credibility!"
"Exactly, handsome boss Chekhov, I'm still longing for those women you found last time, I hope they'll dress more provocatively today!"
"Ha ha!"
