Beom blinked, momentarily thrown. "Konstantin Markov?" he repeated, his brow furrowing. The name was entirely unfamiliar, but it sent an odd chill down his spine. He leaned forward. "Who the hell is that?"
Sasha's lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze still fixed on the photograph. "A ghost," he said cryptically, his tone laced with something between disdain and caution. "The kind of man who doesn't leave footprints behind. If he's in this photo, it's not by accident."
Beom bristled at Sasha's vagueness. "A ghost?" he snapped. "That's not an answer, Sasha. You know more than you're letting on."
Sasha finally lifted his gaze to meet Beom's, his expression unreadable. "Markov isn't just a name," he said evenly. "He's a symbol—a myth, even. No one knows where he's from or how he got involved in all of this, but wherever he goes, chaos follows. People swear they've seen him, but there's never any proof. No records. No trail. Just rumors."
Beom's mind reeled. He stared at the photo, the faint, torn image of the man suddenly feeling more ominous. "And you're telling me this… Konstantin Markov is behind all of this?"
Sasha tilted his head, considering Beom's question. "Maybe," he admitted. "Or maybe he's just a piece of the puzzle. Either way, if Markov's name is tied to this, it's bigger than we thought."
Beom's frustration only deepened. "And you're just casually sitting here, acting like this is no big deal?" he demanded. "You knew about him all along, didn't you? What else are you keeping from me?"
Sasha sighed, setting the photo back on the table and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I'm not keeping anything from you, Beom," he said smoothly, though his tone carried an edge of warning. "I'm telling you what I know—what I can tell you. Konstantin Markov is dangerous, but you won't find him by chasing shadows. He'll find you if he wants to."
Beom stared at him, disbelief and suspicion battling in his mind. This guy is infuriating, he thought. Every answer he gives just raises more questions. But he couldn't deny that Sasha seemed genuinely cautious, even wary, as if just speaking Markov's name carried risks.
"Why do I feel like you're holding the whole damn playbook and only giving me the scraps?" Beom muttered bitterly, running a hand through his hair.
Sasha's smirk returned, faint but present. "Because I am," he said bluntly, his tone carrying a note of finality.
Beom glared at him, clenching his fists. This isn't over, he thought. Not by a long shot.
Sasha leaned back in his chair, the dim light casting sharp shadows over his face. He folded his arms casually, letting his words sink in before finally speaking. "I'm more of a businessman than an agent," he said, his voice calm but edged with something dangerous. He crossed one leg over the other, his movement fluid and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world. "If I'm able to grab the blueprint of this code, I could sell it, you know."
Beom stared at him, the words hanging in the air like a slap to the face. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sell it? he thought, his stomach churning. After everything we've been through, after all the chaos and bloodshed, he's talking about profiting off it?
For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Beom's fists clenched, his knuckles whitening as his frustration boiled over. "Now you're really sounding like a selfish psycho," he said sharply, his voice filled with disbelief. "Ready to sell your country like that?"
Sasha chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down Beom's spine. It wasn't a laugh of amusement, but one of disdain, as though Beom's outrage was nothing more than a child's tantrum. "You think it's about loyalty to a country?" Sasha asked, his tone almost mocking. "That's cute, Beom. Really."
Beom's jaw tightened, and his thoughts raced. Cute? Is he kidding me? Does he really think this is just some game? His mind flashed back to the bodies they'd left behind, the bloodshed, the danger they'd barely escaped. This isn't about profit, he thought angrily. This is about lives—real people who could die because of this code.
"You're unbelievable," Beom snapped, his voice rising. "You talk about this like it's some kind of commodity, like selling weapons or drugs. Do you even care about the consequences? About what this code could do in the wrong hands?"
Sasha's expression remained unreadable, his piercing eyes locking onto Beom's. "Of course I care," he said coolly, though his tone suggested otherwise. "But let me ask you something, Beom. Do you know how the world works? Do you understand that everything has a price—loyalty, information, even lives? If I don't sell it, someone else will. At least with me, there's control."
"Control?" Beom repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You call this control? You're no better than the people we're fighting against, Sasha. You're just dressed better."
Sasha laughed again, this time leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "And you, Beom," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "are far too naive for this game. Do you think the agency is any cleaner? Do you think your precious country isn't already compromised? I'm just playing my part—playing it better than most."
Beom stared at him, a mix of anger and disbelief swirling in his chest. How did I end up here? he thought, his gaze fixed on Sasha's smug expression. How did I end up trusting someone like him, someone who sees the world as nothing more than a chessboard?
But as furious as Beom was, he couldn't shake the nagging thought that Sasha might be right. Is the agency really as clean as I thought? Are we all just pawns in a bigger game? The uncertainty gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside, his resolve hardening.
"You can justify it however you want," Beom said through gritted teeth. "But at the end of the day, you're just another selfish bastard looking out for yourself."
Sasha smiled faintly, unfazed by the insult. "Maybe," he said, his voice almost playful. "But you're still here, aren't you? Still sitting across from me, still following my lead. So tell me, Beom—what does that make you?"
Beom had no answer, and the silence that followed was deafening.
Sasha leaned back in his chair, a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he spoke. "As you know, I was trying to get information through the crowd at the ball," he began, his tone calm but sharp as a blade. "Well, the Seraphim Code is equivalent to this code..." He paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink in before finishing, "A-K 257."
Beom's eyebrows furrowed immediately, the name ringing in his ears like an alarm. A-K 257? Where have I heard that before? he thought, his mind scrambling to make connections. He stared at Sasha, searching for any hint of further explanation, but the man sat there like a statue, his calm exterior unshaken.
"A-K 257," Beom repeated slowly, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. The code sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. "What the hell does that mean?" he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and unease.
Sasha raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a slight smirk as if he enjoyed watching Beom squirm. "It's not exactly public knowledge," Sasha said, his voice carrying an edge of superiority. "But if you're as smart as you think you are, you'd know that A-K 257 isn't just a code. It's a legend, a ghost of the intelligence world."
Beom frowned, his unease deepening. A ghost? he thought. Why does everything with Sasha feel like some cryptic riddle? He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he tried to piece things together.
"Enlighten me," Beom said flatly, his patience thinning. "What exactly is A-K 257?"
Sasha's smirk widened, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table as though he were savoring the moment. "A-K 257," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "is an encryption system so sophisticated that even the world's top agencies haven't been able to crack it. They say it's a failsafe, a key to the most sensitive information imaginable—nuclear codes, black ops missions, financial pipelines. You name it, it's in there."
Beom's stomach churned, a cold wave of realization washing over him. Nuclear codes? Black ops missions? The implications were staggering. If the Seraphim Code was truly equivalent to A-K 257, they weren't just dealing with ordinary intelligence. They were holding the key to global chaos.
"And you think you can sell this?" Beom asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Do you have any idea what could happen if this falls into the wrong hands?"
Sasha chuckled softly, his calm demeanor unnerving. "Of course I do," he said, his tone almost dismissive. "But the thing is, Beom, everyone has a price. Even those so-called 'wrong hands.'"
Beom stared at him, his chest tightening. This guy is insane, he thought, his mind racing. He's treating this like a business transaction, like lives don't hang in the balance.
"You're playing with fire," Beom said, his voice low but firm. "And you're going to get burned."
Sasha's smirk faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "And you're playing the role of the moral hero," he said, his voice cool. "But tell me, Beom, how many times has your agency turned a blind eye to the same kind of fire? Don't act like you're above it all."
Beom didn't respond immediately, his thoughts a storm of doubt and anger. Damn it, he thought. Is he right? Is this all just a game to everyone involved? But even as the doubts crept in, one thing remained clear—this was bigger than either of them, and they were running out of time.
"The only person who knows where we can find it is Paul Petrovich," Sasha said casually, his tone almost too relaxed given the gravity of their conversation. "And I know exactly where we can meet him to derive answers." He shrugged, as though they were talking about something as trivial as picking up groceries instead of dealing with a global conspiracy.
Beom's gaze sharpened, and his body tensed, as if the name alone had just sent a ripple of electric tension through his veins. "The founder of AUCC?" Beom repeated, his mind racing. Paul Petrovich? The name held a weight that sent an uncomfortable chill down his spine. AUCC, the Apex United Commercial Consortium—a name that was synonymous with power, corruption, and illicit dealings. Everyone in the intelligence world knew AUCC, but not everyone could claim to know its founder, a shadowy figure who preferred to stay out of the public eye. And for good reason. The organization had fingers in nearly every dark pie, from arms deals to laundering money for the world's worst criminals.
"Yep," Sasha said, his answer short and nonchalant, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper, something calculating. It was as if the name alone had the same effect on him as it did on Beom—one that stirred up an undercurrent of unease, an unspoken understanding that meeting Paul Petrovich could very well be the tipping point between the world's balance of order and chaos.
Beom leaned back in his chair, trying to gather his thoughts. How the hell does Sasha know where to find him? he wondered. Paul Petrovich doesn't just leave his trail lying around. He's the type of man who operates from the shadows, pulling strings without ever being seen. The fact that Sasha not only knew where to find him but seemed comfortable with it made Beom uneasy. There was something about Sasha's calm demeanor that didn't sit right. This isn't a casual meeting, Beom thought. This is an ambush waiting to happen.
Beom ran his hand through his hair, frustration and confusion mixing in his thoughts. What the hell does Sasha have to do with Petrovich? Was Sasha working with AUCC? Or was this all part of some bigger game that Beom couldn't even begin to understand? He felt like he was in over his head, and he wasn't sure if he should be asking more questions or preparing for whatever the hell was coming next.
"So, what's the plan?" Beom finally asked, his voice laced with both doubt and determination. He didn't like this one bit, but there was no way around it. If they wanted answers, Petrovich was the key. The thought of going up against a man like that made Beom's stomach tighten with unease. The man wasn't just a criminal mastermind; he was a ghost, a legend who had slipped through the fingers of every government agency in the world. And yet, here they were—Sasha, as calm as ever, acting like meeting him was a mere formality.
Sasha's lips curled into a sly smirk as he noticed Beom's unease. He didn't answer immediately, letting the tension hang in the air, before finally leaning forward, his eyes glinting with a dangerous, almost amused light. "The plan is simple," Sasha said, his voice low and steady. "We meet him, and we get the information we need. I'll handle the rest." He sounded so sure of himself, like he already knew what would happen, as though Petrovich were some sort of formality.
Beom wasn't so sure. Sasha's too calm about all of this, he thought, narrowing his eyes. This feels more like a setup than a meeting. The last thing he wanted was to walk straight into a trap. But what choice did he have? Without Petrovich's information, they were just two blind men stumbling around in the dark. I need answers, Beom thought, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. And if Sasha is right, Petrovich holds the key to everything.
But there was something else gnawing at him. Sasha clearly has a plan—does he expect me to play along, or does he just not care? Beom wasn't sure, but he knew one thing: This wasn't just about getting answers anymore. It was about survival.
"So when do we meet him?" Beom asked, trying to mask the wariness in his voice, though his instincts told him to tread carefully. Sasha's response was almost immediate, and it was exactly what Beom didn't want to hear.
"Tomorrow," Sasha said, his voice cold and determined. "Get ready. This won't be a simple exchange."
Beom was about to speak when Sasha shushed him, giving him a look that silenced any protests.