“Victor Kaelen has been a ghost story in Interpol for three decades,” Cross warned. “If he’s real, and he has ten billion dollars, he owns the board. Do not go to the local authorities, Olga. He will have them bought. I am currently stationed in London. Can you get out of the country?”
"I have a jet," Olga said.
“Fly to Heathrow. I will have a secure extraction team waiting on the tarmac. Trust no one.”
Twelve hours later, Olga’s private jet touched down on a rain-slicked runway in London. The English fog was thick, obscuring the terminal lights. As the cabin stairs lowered, two black Range Rovers pulled up to the aircraft.
Commander Cross stepped out of the lead vehicle. He was a tall, imposing man in his late fifties, wearing a sharp black overcoat. He didn't offer a handshake. He merely nodded toward the armored SUV.
"Get in," Cross ordered.
They drove through the winding, wet streets of London until they reached a brutalist, unmarked government building near the Thames. Cross led Olga down into a subterranean command center buzzing with analysts and massive digital maps.
"I ran the charity routing nodes you provided from the Geneva raid," Cross said, handing Olga a tablet. "You were right. The money hit the charity accounts for exactly 0.4 seconds before it was bounced through a microscopic backdoor protocol into a localized server farm in Zurich. The money was weaponized."
Olga stared at the routing data, her eyes tracking the complex algorithms. "He didn't just steal it. He’s using it as leverage. Ten billion dollars of liquid, untraceable cash can buy small countries. It can crash stock markets."
"It can do worse than that," Cross said grimly, projecting a satellite image onto the main screen. The image showed a massive, heavily fortified private island in the Mediterranean. "Three days ago, Victor Kaelen purchased the sovereign island of Orakis. It’s an independent micro-nation with no extradition treaties. He isn't just hiding, Olga. He’s building an impenetrable fortress."
Olga analyzed the satellite imagery. The island was ringed with anti-aircraft batteries, naval patrols, and biometric security gates. It was a billionaire’s warzone.
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"Why buy an island now?" Olga asked, her forensic mind searching for the motive. "He’s been a ghost for thirty years. Why step into the light?"
👉 "Because he’s hosting an auction," Cross revealed, bringing up an encrypted invitation intercepted from the dark web. "And the item he is selling to the highest bidder isn't a weapon—it’s a person."
Olga stared at the encrypted digital invitation glowing on the massive screen in the Interpol bunker. The graphics were sleek, minimalist, and terrifying.
THE GENESIS PROTOCOLStarting Bid: $5 Billion USDLocation: Orakis Island. Invite Only.
"What is the Genesis Protocol?" Olga asked, a cold knot forming in her stomach.
Commander Cross folded his arms, his expression darker than the London fog outside. "Thirty years ago, your mother, Elena Rostova, didn't just create a biometric banking trust. She was a bio-engineer. She developed a proprietary synthetic algorithm capable of hacking human biometric data—fingerprints, retinal scans, DNA sequences—and replicating them flawlessly. It was the ultimate key to bypass any security system on Earth."
Olga’s breath caught. "That’s how Victor hijacked my biometric signature to steal the ten billion dollars. He has a prototype of her algorithm."
"Exactly," Cross nodded. "But he doesn't have the complete source code. The true, perfected version of the Genesis Protocol was hidden by your mother before she died. Victor only has a fragment. He wants the rest, and he’s auctioning off the incomplete version to global superpowers to fund his research."
"You said he was auctioning a person," Olga noted, her voice steady despite the rising dread.
Cross clicked a button on a remote. The invitation shifted, revealing a low-resolution, live video feed of a holding cell deep within the island fortress. Sitting on a cot, wearing a white medical gown, was a woman. Her hair was completely gray, her face lined with age and trauma, but her aristocratic posture and piercing, intelligent eyes were unmistakable.
Olga’s heart stopped. The glass tablet slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly onto the concrete floor.
It was Elena Rostova. Her mother.
"She’s alive," Olga whispered, her entire world fracturing for the third time in a month. "Elias didn't kill her. Victor took her. He’s kept her locked in a cage for twenty-eight years to extract the Genesis code."
"And now he’s going to sell her to the highest bidder," Cross said softly, placing a hand on Olga’s shoulder. "The syndicates attending this auction don't just want the algorithm. They want the woman who invented it, so they can force her to build more."
Rage—pure, white-hot, and absolute—flooded Olga’s veins. It eclipsed the fear. It eclipsed the shock. Jack Vance had stolen her childhood, Elias Thorne had stolen her legacy, but Victor Kaelen had stolen her mother.
"The auction is in forty-eight hours," Olga stated, her voice turning to razor-sharp steel. "Interpol can't raid a sovereign island without triggering an international war."
"Correct," Cross admitted bitterly. "Officially, my hands are tied. The UN won't authorize a strike on Orakis."
"Then we don't go officially," Olga said, turning to face the Commander. Her eyes were burning with the same ruthless, calculating genius that had brought down Vance Holdings and the Thorne Syndicate. "Interpol can't go. But a billionaire forensic accountant with a vendetta can."
Cross frowned. "Olga, you can't just walk into a fortress surrounded by the deadliest cartels and warlords on the planet. They will execute you on sight."
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