Elena didn't even flinch. She kept her eyes locked on Olga. "You think you control this room, Commander? You think your badge makes you the apex predator?"
Without looking away from Olga, Elena spoke a single, phonetically bizarre phrase—a sequence of Russian syllables that sounded like a computer dialing out. Protocol Omega-Nine.
Instantly, the three Interpol tactical agents standing by the bunker door simultaneously unholstered their weapons. But they didn't aim at Elena. They aimed directly at Commander Cross.
Cross froze, the color draining from his face. "What is this? Stand down, agents!"
"They can't hear you, Marcus," Elena said softly. "The Genesis Protocol isn't just a banking algorithm. I am a bio-engineer. Twenty years ago, I embedded a subliminal biometric trigger into the standard-issue psychological evaluations used by Interpol and the CIA. Anyone who passed those specific psych evaluations has a dormant failsafe in their neural pathways. I just woke them up. They belong to me now."
Olga’s brilliant mind raced, processing the sheer, apocalyptic scale of her mother's genius. Elena hadn't just built a shadow economy. She had bio-hacked the very law enforcement agencies designed to hunt her.
"Give me your arm, Olga," Elena commanded. "Don't make me have them shoot the Commander."
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Olga looked at Cross, who gave her a microscopic, desperate shake of his head. Olga knew if she gave Elena her blood, the world would burn. She had to break the stalemate. She didn't reach for her arm. Instead, she reached into her tuxedo pocket, pulling out the dead EMP smartwatch.
👉 What did Olga realize about the watch's battery, and how did she use it to turn her mother’s invincible bio-hack into a catastrophic backfire?
The EMP smartwatch was supposed to be dead, drained from shattering the biometric locks on Victor Kaelen's island. But as a forensic accountant, Olga knew that systems always held a reserve—a hidden ledger of power designed for catastrophic recovery.
She didn't try to activate the EMP pulse. Instead, she forcefully twisted the titanium bezel of the watch backward, shattering the internal safety pin and exposing the raw lithium-ion micro-battery.
"You think you control the board, Mother," Olga said, her voice dripping with ice. "But you forgot who audited your ledgers."
Olga slammed the exposed battery directly against the raw metal casing of the bunker’s primary server terminal. The kinetic impact bypassed the surge protectors. A massive, localized electrical arc exploded from the terminal, acting like a makeshift flashbang. The deafening crack of electricity blinded everyone in the room.
The three compromised Interpol agents instinctively flinched, their neural-hacked programming momentarily disrupted by the blinding light and agonizing sound.
Cross didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, tackling two of the agents to the concrete floor. "Run, Olga!" he roared over the chaos.
Olga didn't look back. She sprinted toward the heavy steel blast doors, her white tuxedo illuminated by the sparking, dying fluorescent lights. Behind her, she heard Elena screaming orders in Russian, but Olga was already in the stairwell, taking the concrete steps three at a time.
She burst out of the subterranean bunker and into the freezing, rain-slicked streets of London. The fog was thick, rolling off the River Thames like gray smoke. Olga was completely alone, armed with nothing but her intellect, her ruined tuxedo, and the terrifying knowledge that her mother was worse than any monster she had previously faced.
She couldn't use her credit cards. She couldn't use her phone. Elena controlled the grid.
Olga ducked into a narrow, cobblestone alleyway in Soho, pressing her back against the damp brick wall to catch her breath. The rain plastered her dark hair to her face. She needed to disappear. She needed a ghost.
Her mind flipped through her mental archives—the thousands of financial records, criminal profiles, and hacker aliases she had audited over the years. Jack Vance was dead. Elias Thorne was ruined. Silas was dead. Victor Kaelen was hunting her. Elena Rostova was hunting her.
There was only one person on Earth with the digital capability to hide her from the Genesis Protocol, and he was currently serving a twenty-year sentence in a maximum-security cyber-prison in Scotland. He was the only hacker to ever successfully steal from Elena Rostova and live.
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A black Range Rover suddenly turned the corner into the alleyway, its high beams cutting through the fog, blinding her.
👉 As the heavily tinted window rolled down, Olga braced for a bullet, only to hear a painfully familiar, sarcastic voice she thought she had left behind in America.
"Get in the car, useless," the voice sneered.
Olga froze, the rain dripping from her chin. The sheer impossibility of the situation hit her like a physical blow. Sitting in the driver’s seat of the armored Range Rover, wearing a stolen Interpol tactical jacket, was Blake Vance.
Her adopted brother. The golden child she had personally sent to federal prison.
"Blake?" Olga whispered, entirely baffled. "You’re in a minimum-security cell in North Carolina."
"I was," Blake said, unlocking the passenger door. "Until an hour ago, when some ghost named Victor Kaelen bought my warden, faked my death in a prison riot, and loaded me onto a cargo plane to London. He wants to see you. Now get in before your mother’s brainwashed zombies find us."