Taekjoo also knew that the name Psikh Bogdanov was just what people call him for his infamy. Yet, he didn’t think that Psikh would have a real name—or that Zhenya was short for that Yevgeny. As he learned the Russian language, he also studied Russian society, culture, history, and customs but hadn’t paid much attention for nicknames. Back then, he never imagined coming to Russia or using an actual Russian nickname with an actual Russian.
What was he thinking, letting Taekjoo call him by that name? What was he thinking watching Taekjoo call him that with no hesitation? Taekjoo could only imagine how entertained the bastard must have been, watching him believe everything despite the obvious clues. Climbing walls upside down, riding a bike through Siberia, crawling through dust-filled vents. Oh, how stupid he must have looked.
Taekjoo could almost hear Zhenya’s diabolical laughter. Taekjoo clenched his jaw, fists trembling.
“FUUUUUCK!”
His pent-up rage exploded, and the man who had been watching him flinched. Taekjoo thrashed, unable to contain the fury. His head bandage came undone, and the IV tubes jerked so violently that they toppled the IV stand. The pillow and blanket tumbled to the floor. As if that wasn’t enough, he trembled with rage, breathing like a cornered bull.
“Calm down. There wasn’t even a P in the shot you got, let alone Polonium-210. It was just a tranquilizer—a powerful one, though. The doctor said a regular dose of that stuff is enough to keep most people under in normal circumstances.”
The man, still visibly shaken, tried to calm Taekjoo, who lowered his head and focused on breathing. His hair fell over his face, hiding his expression.
“Who the hell is he?”
Taekjoo finally spoke after a long pause.
“What?” the man asked back.
“Yevgeny, that bastard. Who the hell is he?”
Taekjoo raised his head. His sharp gaze turned even more piercing.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the FSB,” the man started, shrugging.
Taekjoo nodded. The Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation. It had replaced the notorious KGB, the Soviet-era agency people said no one ever returned from—and it was just as fearsome. Its agents could investigate anyone without warrants. They used spies or even set up fake companies, if need be, to gather intelligence. On top of everything, it was an independent entity, free from the control and oversight of other government institutions. Officially, it handled counterintelligence and anti-terrorism like South Korea’s National Intelligence Service. Unofficially, rumors said that it carried out kidnappings and assassinations.
That FSB? Though it was too soon to be certain, Taekjoo felt very sure of himself. If Zhenya worked for the FSB, then that made him technically a government employee. Still, it said plenty about the reputation of that government, and the country behind it, that they’d trust official duties to a lunatic like him.
Taekjoo’s face quickly soured. But the man continued without stopping.
“There are two special forces under the FSB. Spetsnaz Alpha and Vympel. Among them, Spetsnaz Alpha, usually just called Alpha, consists of the most elite agents. Most of them are stationed in Moscow. It’s technically a unit, but it operates independently and runs its own investigations. It has five subunits, each with about 150 to 200 agents. Here’s the important part. One of those five subunits has only one agent.”
Hundreds of hand-picked elite agents meant their missions were just as tough and complicated. And there was one man who took care of the work of hundreds?
No way. A chill ran through Taekjoo, and the man confirmed it with a nod.
“That’s him.”
Taekjoo just let out a dry laugh. Was that even possible? But the man had no reason to make something like this up just to tease Taekjoo. And it did make sense. Only someone like that could earn the nickname Psikh Bogdanov. But even then, it was still too far beyond common sense.
Why would the Russian government or the FSB allow such an arrangement? The man had a simple answer ready.
“If it were you, would you want to be on the same team as him?”
Not a chance. Taekjoo hadn’t liked Zhenya from the start. If HQ hadn’t mixed up the photos, he would’ve never even gotten near him. Even if he had, he would’ve trusted his instincts and stayed away. He hadn’t gotten a single good night’s sleep with Zhenya around.
“There’s a reason he’s called a living weapon, a nuke. Even the smallest inconvenience, and he’s already throwing punches. What kind of an idiot would want to work with him? If things don’t go his way, he’ll turn on his own teammates.”
“Yeah, and calls it self-defense.”
Taekjoo grumbled, like it was an excuse he was all too familiar with, and the man gestured in agreement.
Taekjoo was finally beginning to piece things together. Why Zhenya had saved him when he first arrived in Russia posing as Sakamoto Hiro. Why they met again during the hotel luncheon. Zhenya was on the phone with someone at the time.
“—no, I am here, but it’s gonna be boring.”
His voice had sounded like he was making excuses, maybe playing hard to get to tease whoever was on the other end. Taekjoo had seen the Gazprom employee practically begging on the phone as he walked to the restroom. Didn’t he say he had sent a proxy to the luncheon?
“Let’s make one thing clear. I covered for you enough last time.”
That was what Zhenya said.
So in the end, he saved Sakamoto Hiro—not Taekjoo—because he was the third eldest son of the Bogdanov family. He’d gone there to cover for his brother or father, who was the president of Gazprom. And that’s where he ran into Taekjoo by chance.
Zhenya had stumbled on an unexpected source of amusement. There was Sakamoto Hiro, studying his picture. As an FSB agent, Zhenya would have immediately known something was off. That was why the Gazprom president’s stand-in never showed up that day.
The puzzle pieces that hadn’t fit were finally falling into place. It explained some of the strange things Zhenya had done. He was right. Taekjoo had simply been lucky. Zhenya had threatened to kill him countless times, yet Taekjoo had survived.
He sighed and cleared his head. When he looked up and met the man’s eyes, he was back to his usual calm.
“And your name is?”
“What’s the point now?”
“I’m Kwon Taekjoo.”
Taekjoo ignored the sarcasm and held out his hand for a handshake. The man scowled and just tapped Taekjoo’s hand.
“Salman. Salman Basayev.”
He had barely moved for the handshake, but even that small motion sent pain shooting through his whole body. It was especially unbearable below the waist. Taekjoo groaned and winced. Salman shook his head, watching Taekjoo.
He had nothing more to say to someone who had just escaped death. He stood up and told Taekjoo to rest. Taekjoo looked puzzled.
“You’re just leaving?”
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“We need to plan our next step,” said Taekjoo.
Salman looked at him like he’d just lost his mind. He couldn’t hold back a laugh. The guy looked like a walking corpse but was still talking about making plans. It wouldn’t have mattered even if they were both in perfect health. Taekjoo had barely gotten away from Psikh Bogdanov. How could he want to go back for more? Maybe he’d hit his head too hard and lost all sense of reason.
Salman clicked his tongue.
“Can’t you see? The mission’s a failure.”
“No—”
“I know you want to deny it. I know you want to fix this. But we’re out of chances. This hospital bill is the last thing HQ will pay for. After that, they’re shutting this down. So get patched up and go back home.”
Taekjoo opened his mouth to argue, but Salman raised a hand, cutting him off. He limped toward the door but paused just before walking out. He seemed to remember something, turned back, and smirked.
“Looks like he was into your ass, judging by the injuries there.”
What?
The door was closed before Taekjoo could ask. He stared blankly at the closed door. Salman’s tone had been unmistakably mocking. What did he mean by there?
Taekjoo turned the words over in his head, then froze. His face went pale—almost bluish. Humiliating memories he’d buried deep resurfaced. He started punching the bed, but it didn’t help at all. His roar of rage echoed through the hospital.
“Crazy fucking bastard, I’m going to kill you!”