PERFECTION: Brotherhood

Chapter 13: Escape Plan

"Finally caught you, you Russian rat," Homer sneered as he escorted Markov to his awaiting vehicle.

The FBI took Markov and Caith. But as it was a complete mess in the FBI safe house, they retreated to a 5-star hotel in Munich, which the FBI heavily secured.

Trapped in the confines of the hotel room, Markov felt a sense of unease wash over him. The click of the cuffs securing his wrists echoed in the silent room, a constant reminder of his captivity. His gaze swept over the surveillance cameras strategically positioned around the room, their unblinking lenses watching his every move.

With a sigh, Markov tested the restraints binding him to the chair, but they held firm against his efforts. He glanced towards the window, the distant city lights offering a glimpse of freedom just out of reach. But with the room situated on the 10th floor, escape seemed impossible, even if he managed to break free.

Markov's mind raced as he pondered his next move, his instincts urging him to find a way out of this predicament. But with the FBI closing in around him, time was running out, and the odds of evading capture dwindled with each passing moment.

On the other side of the hotel, Caith appeared surprisingly composed. Was it because she was growing accustomed to being taken captive, or perhaps she had a plan up her sleeve? Time would soon reveal the truth. Unlike Markov, Caith was not bound by handcuffs, and there were no cameras keeping watch over her every move.

At the hotel bar, Homer and his colleague Wayne were celebrating their triumph in apprehending Markov.

"With this, we can safely return home," Wayne remarked, taking a sip of his beer.

Homer, however, couldn't shake off a sense of unease. "Yes, but what about our colleagues... they didn't make it."

Wayne attempted to lighten the mood. "Hey, we can't dwell on the past. Let's focus on the fact that we finally caught Markov after four long years."

Homer remained skeptical. "True, but something doesn't feel right. How did he get caught so easily?"

"Maybe he underestimated us? Come on, let's make a toast," Wayne suggested.

Homer's concern deepened. "Wait, where's Emma?"

"What about her?" Wayne questioned.

[Hotel's security room]

A knock at the door startled the guard. Opening it, he found himself face to face with Emma.

"Hello, agent. How may I help you?" the guard asked politely.

"I'm here on FBI business, checking in on Markov and the girl," Emma replied smoothly.

"Of course, ma'am. Let me show you," the guard said, stepping aside to let her in.

Emma went to the main monitor screen, where she observed Markov still handcuffed via the surveillance feed.

"They seem to be doing fine," the guard remarked.

"Good to hear," Emma said, her attention seemingly focused on the screen as she deftly inserted a USB stick into the main server.

"How's your manager?" she asked casually, engaging the guard in conversation to distract him.

"I think he's doing okay," the guard replied, oblivious to Emma's true intentions.

Emma continued her distraction tactics until the USB had completed its task. With practiced stealth, she removed the stick and prepared to leave.

"Time to go," she announced, bidding farewell to the guard.

"Goodbye, ma'am. It was nice talking to you," the guard replied.

With the USB now having installed dummy footage on the screen, Emma left the security room without arousing suspicion.

[Markov's Room]

Markov glanced at the clock, noting the time was 8:30.

"It's time," he muttered to himself, reaching for a makeshift lockpick hidden in his pocket. With deft fingers, he manipulated the lock until it clicked open, freeing his cuffed hand.

Markov wasted no time, using the vent in the room to maneuver his way to Caith's room.

"Hey, Caith, I'm up here," he called down to her.

Caith looked up, bewildered. "How did you get there?" she exclaimed.

"It doesn't matter. Get up," Markov replied urgently.

Caith quickly joined him in the vent.

"Now, let's go," Markov whispered, his voice filled with determination.

"Go where?" Caith asked, uncertain.

"You'll see. But first, we need to escape the hotel," Markov replied, his eyes glinting with resolve.

As Homer grew increasingly concerned, he swiftly exited the bar and made his way to the security room.

"Welcome, sir," the guard greeted him as he entered.

"Show me Markov's room, now," Homer demanded urgently.

"Sure, sir," the guard complied, guiding Homer to the monitor displaying the footage of Markov's room.

Homer scrutinized the footage intently, his brows furrowing with suspicion. Something didn't seem right.

"What is this?" Homer exclaimed, frustration evident in his voice.

"What, sir?" the guard inquired, puzzled.

"The footage, it was changed with a fake one," Homer clarified, his tone growing more urgent.

The guard examined the footage closely but couldn't discern anything unusual.

"You idiot, look at the table's reflection," Homer chastised, growing impatient.

"What about it, sir?" the guard asked, still unable to see the discrepancy.

"Are you kidding me? Look closely," Homer insisted, frustration mounting.

"I can't, sir," the guard admitted, feeling flustered.

Sighing in exasperation, Homer leaned in to examine the reflection himself.

"I'll show you. Look at the table's reflection. You can see the clock there from the reflection. Look at the time. It resets after 5 seconds, meaning it is in a loop. Moreover, the time right now is 8:32, while it's stuck on 8:25," Homer explained, his voice laced with urgency.

The guard's eyes widened in realization. "No way," he muttered, stunned by the revelation.

"Who came here before me?" Homer demanded, his mind racing.

"I-I-It was Agent Emma," the guard stammered, his heart sinking as he grasped the gravity of the situation.

The realization hit Homer like a ton of bricks. Emma was already en route, preparing to make her getaway with Markov and Caith. Time was of the essence.

"Agent Emma? What is happening?" Caith asked, her voice tinged with confusion and concern as she climbed into the car.

"Markov, explain it to her, please," Emma requested, her tone urgent.

Markov remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed ahead. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm yet firm, "Some things are better off not knowing."

Caith's brows furrowed in frustration,

"Markov, you bastard. You better explain—"

"I am kidding. Listen up," Markov interrupted, his tone shifting to a more serious demeanor.