The train to Bucharest rattled like a dying heartbeat. Nam sat near the back of the carriage, his eyes hidden beneath a hooded jacket, the USB drive clenched tightly in his pocket. Outside, the Romanian countryside blurred into greys and greens, the tranquility mocking the storm brewing inside him.
He wasn't alone.
Two men had boarded in Brașov—one tall and thin with a scar under his left eye, the other stockier, with military posture. They hadn't looked at him directly, but their eyes had swept the car too carefully. Surveillance. Ford's men?
Nam sent a message on a secure channel: "I'm compromised. Following Plan Echo."
The reply came seconds later.
"Echo confirmed. Execute within 48 hours."
As the train neared Bucharest North Station, Nam disembarked early, slipping into a side corridor as the two men followed the flow of passengers. He vanished into the crowd, exiting through a maintenance hatch that led into a narrow alleyway.
Waiting for him was a woman in her early 30s, blonde, dressed like a local with sharp green eyes and a firm stance. "You're late," she said.
Nam tilted his head. "Traffic."
"Welcome to Romania, Mr. Nguyen." She handed him a burner phone. "I'm Alina. Ford is in the Parliament building—he has influence deeper than we guessed. The NGO front is called Human Axis. You'll need to infiltrate tomorrow, during a donor gala."
"What's security like?"
"Paranoid. Biometric locks, pressure-sensitive floors, facial scanners. You'll need a face."
Nam gave a slight smile. "Then we get me one."
That night, in a crumbling flat beneath the city, Nam watched video footage of Ford from gala appearances, studied his gestures, absorbed his voice. Alina injected his face with a synthetic reshaper—a temporary disguise crafted with bleeding-edge nanotech stolen from military research.
Twelve hours later, Nam stood before a mirror.
Jonas Ford stared back.
He adjusted his suit collar, eyes cold with purpose. "Let's meet the man who thinks he's untouchable."