Chapter 194: Mission: Kill Agent 17
Somewhere in Beijing, a man sat clad in a black robe, his eyes closed. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door and he said "Come in."
A young man walked in, bowed and said "Sir, I think you need to see this." The old man said "Out with it." The young man said "Here" and then handed the old man a tablet that had news headlines opened.
The old man took the tablet and looked at the news, his eyes narrowing with each moment as he scrolled and read.
The old man says "My, my, my. They are finally out of their hiding hole. I knew this day would come." The young man says "Sir, the other son..." The old man interrupts "Oh yes I know, that is 17. They have given him a name." The man laughed manically, causing the young man to shiver.
The old man continued and said "Li Xinjie, a name with very deep meaning." The young man asked "Is there anything you would like us to do sir?"
The old man raised his head, his eyes ice cold, he says "Deploy all agents to Shanghai, you know the drill. There is no exit here."
The young man replied "Understood" before quickly exiting the room, eager to carry out his orders despite the growing unease he felt in the old man’s presence.
The old man, left alone, looked at the news once more. He zoomed in on Sun Lixia’s photo and muttered, "We will meet again soon, beautiful." The man laughed, his unemotional laughter echoing in the room. He then moved his fingers around the engraved logo on the table, the table showing a wolf howling at the full moon.
There was a sinister feeling to the old man’s words and actions. As he traced the wolf emblem - a symbol of his secretive and ruthless organization perhaps - he seemed to be hinting at dark plans for this woman from his past. His emotionless laugh highlighted a cold, calculating nature hidden behind his foreboding appearance in black robes. The room itself, bearing the hallmarks of some clandestine base of operations, reinforced an aura of mystery and malintent as the old man gazed possessively at the image of the woman destined to meet him again.
The old man was the founder of the Wolves Syndicate, an organization established 60 years ago. He had grand plans for the Wolves Syndicate, but those plans were interrupted years ago when two scientists he had pinned his hopes on turned against him.
The NeauroNex project was still in its infancy back then. But now, years later, the old man has had to employ other methods to complete the project. And even though he wouldn’t admit it to others, the way forward was better than he could have expected.
The agents he has raised within the Wolves Syndicate are now like beasts waiting to be unleashed upon the world. Trained and honed with singular focus. Though the old man lost the original scientists and their expertise on the NeauroNex neurological programming, he has found new ways to mold his agents into utterly loyal and lethal operatives - tools primed to further his designs, whatever those may be.
The old man traced the carved wolf insignia with a touch of dramatic flair as he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. His younger self could not have predicted this future - darker and more promising than ever.
The young assistant continued carrying out his orders, making calls to all the regional managers of the Wolves Syndicate while the old man was deep in thought.
The regional managers were responsible for ensuring smooth operations and fair deployment of agents across geographic divisions. The young man informed them that all agents ranked in the first 20 had to immediately head to Shanghai.
Agent 17 had gone rogue - an unforgivable offense in the Syndicate. The penalty for desertion was clear - retirement in body bag. The rules were simple, no one left freely. You served till your dying breath.
The regional managers complied without question. They knew not to ask for details or reasons. Within the opaque and strictly regimented world of the Wolves Syndicate, you followed directives from the top. And the ominous tone of these new orders implied Agent 17’s fate was already sealed.
As the old man obsessed over news of this woman from his past, his loyal servants scrambled to enact his will - subterfuge and bloodshed would soon follow. The Syndicate’s best agents were being mobilized for what seemed to be turning into an ominous manhunt.
The regional managers got to work immediately, activating protocols to summon the top agents back to China. Across various corners of the globe, Syndicate operatives wrapped up their current missions, canceled leaves and disappeared from their posts.
A man in London withdrew a dagger from a target’s chest, cleaned the bloodless blade and caught the first flight out. A woman in Moscow triggered a pre-set explosives device, demolishing a hotel and vanishing into the tumult without a trace. A team of four in Mexico City rappelled from a high rise apartment building in the dead of the night.
Within hours, the Syndicate’s deadliest assassins, covert intelligence personnel and infiltration experts were enroute to Shanghai via an array of covers, false identities and nationalities that obscured their movements. The old man would soon have his pick of ruthless enforcers to bring the full weight of the Wolves down upon the betrayer, Agent 17.
Meanwhile, the regional managers worked their connections - politicians, law enforcement chiefs, corporate allies. Favors were called in, piggy banks emptied, leverage exerted to put local resources at the disposal of Syndicate field agents converging on Shanghai. The stage was being set for what would no doubt be an efficient, bloody and absolute extraction of punishment and payback against the cardinal sin of deserting the pack. The hunt was on.
The old man sat in his shadowy and stark office, poring over the news articles and image of the mysterious Sun Lixia on the tablet in front of him. She represented unfinished business and an echo from his past that haunted the Syndicate leader.
As reports flowed in of assets mobilizing and his loyal lieutenants leaping into action across the world, a thin smile of anticipation cracked the old man’s impassive demeanor. Age might have slowed his reflexes and dulled his senses, but his brilliant, cunning mind was as sharp as ever, plotting and scheming like a master playing chess.
He traced the fierce carving of the wolf on his desk again as his mind worked through the permutations - the carefully assembled dominos beginning to topple exactly as intended. Agent 17 would pay the ultimate price, of course. Traitors always did. But Sun Lixia.. oh yes, she would have a critical role to play in the unfolding drama as well.
It was only fitting that she be present to witness his power now. Witness the fury of his forces closing in to enact his wrath upon the defiant turncoat. Oh yes, this would be deeply satisfying endgame, indeed.. just what the old man desired. He sat back, eyes glinting maliciously in the shadows, savoring the anticipation as destiny awoke and the hunt began.
Jet after private jet touched down at Shanghai’s remote airstrip reserved for politically-connected VIPs and shadowy organizations that worked outside the boundaries of legality.
The planes taxied to a revetment area – a concealed stretch of the airport far from prying eyes. A cavalcade of black sedans waited near a hanger, ready to whisk occupants unseen through a gate that leading into backroads of rural district.
As each jet landed, the very best of the Wolf Syndicate’s agents disembarked – the First 20, an elite group of assassins answering directly and only to their supreme leader. Keenly disciplined and intensely loyal, they lived only to fulfill the directives of the old man. Their skills were unmatched, honed from childhood to carry forward his vision. Every blood-soaked order executed without question.
Splitting up wordlessly into waiting vehicles, the First 20 were driven towards a mansion estate on the outskirts of Shanghai city, equipped as a safehouse and operations headquarter. There the full details of this potentially unprecedented breach of faith would be disclosed by only the old man himself.
But allowed no time even to overcome jetlag, a palpable bloodlust and hunger for vengeance hung over the First 20 as they converged to rapt attention. A traitor had turned – and they would see the stain wiped clean in fire and fury...
The long-standing policy of doubling an agent’s pay for taking out a traitor within their own ranks fostered intense competition and vigilance amongst the First 20. Each one would be eying the others, wondering if they secretly conspired to claim the bounty themselves.
Sidelong glances were exchanged as the black sedans sped towards the safehouse. Hands would never be far from concealed weapons. The First 20 were deadliest of killers, but opposed to openly attacking each other - at least not until ordered to by the old man.
Still, the incentive structure he had built insured a level of constant tension between his top agents, even those with long service together. Rivalries would be quietly re-examined. Old grudges revisited as they each probed softly for advantage, seeking clues while staying razor focused on the demise of the defected former brother-in-arms.
For in their world, nothing superseded serving the old man’s wishes. And he had made expressly clear that the traitor would suffer a slow, agonizing end. The agent who claimed that privilege would find their status elevated to the top of the pack. And each was ready to fight to be the alpha assassin to complete the task...
