The phone rings. It’s your handler, “Boris”. He calls you “Natasha”.
Boris: “Natasha, a package is being delivered to you.”
:::the phone clicks, dial tone:::
The doorbell rings…
A folder-size envelope is laying on the floor just outside Svetlana’s door. Closing the door, she opens the envelope and inside is a dossier; a picture is affixed of a Russian SovOil Secret Policeman. His name is Ivan Ivanov. He has been suspected of corporate espionage for a short while. He has been recorded in the presence of Petrochem employees and has made no report to his superiors of any investigation or police work that might explain his behavior.
Information in the dossier reveals that Mr. Ivanov works at the SovOil Night City office and goes off shift at Midnight. Svetlana decides she will wait for him to leave work.
Parked outside the SovOil office, she waits. A quarter after midnight, Ivanov rides out of the SovOil parking garage on a Mitsuzaki of some sort; a very sleek red and black Japanese sportbike. In a small, piece of shit commuter car loaned to her by the company, she follows Ivanov. He rides directly the pier in the East Marina. Svetlana parks a block away and stealthily creeps along a warehouse-type building to the pier. She spots Ivanov chain-smoking cigarettes, waiting at the pier alone.
After five minutes of waiting, a grey ToyoChevy pulls up and three men get out, leaving a driver in the car. Ivanov meets a well-dressed corporate type in a suit. The corp is flanked by two men. in suits. Their muscles and submachines bulge underneath their jackets.
After a brief conversation, Ivanov takes a large envelope. They part ways.
Ivanov then rides to The Hole in City Center, an assortment of brick buildings with fast food restaurants at the ground floor. These lower levels are populated by Black Queens, selling drugs to corps in the middle of the night. Svetlana watches Ivanov enter his apartment and waits in her car across the street. After a few minutes, he appears in front of the building. He strikes up a conversation with a couple Black Queens. Ivanov and two Black Queens walk around the corner and look at Ivanov’s motorcycle. After some arguing, one of the Queens hand him a stack of cash and Ivanonv hands over the keys. Ivanov returns inside the building. Within 2 minutes one of the punks starts up the bike, wheelings across the parking area off the curb, into the street and crashes into a parked car, totalling the bike and the punk. His friends laugh and try to pick him up off the street. Debris is scattered across the street.
While watching the mayhem, Svetlana nearly misses a cab stop in front of the building and speed away. On a hunch, she follows the cab to the Night City Hilton hotel. Ivanov climbs out and carries a backpack and two duffel bags into the hotel and checks in.
Svetlana enters the hotel and tries to find out where Ivanov is staying, but he checked in with a fake name. She decides to wait at the bar.
An hour later, a Net 54 van pulls up outside the hotel. A cameraman and a reporter go inside. A driver waits in the van. Svetlana shadows the media men to the elevator bank and watches them go to the fifth floor. She elects to run the stairs, but on arrival at the fifth floor, she is unsure of what room they are in. She knocks on a few rooms, but only tired hotel guests answer the doors. She pretends to be drunk, and the occupants are amused.
She gets back in the elevator, goes to the lobby and exits the hotel. She knocks on the Net 54 van’s window. As the young female driver rolls the window down, she is a recipient of a Karate kick to the face, rendering her unconscious. Svetlana climbs in the back of the van looking for clues, but finds nothing useful.
She decides to phone Boris. Utilizing a corporate netrunner, they are able to track down the hotel room. Room 507. After looking at the floorplan, she crosses the street, charms her way past the ticket taker at the Stars Theater. Carrying a violin case and a purse, she climbs the stairwell to the roof on the sixth floor. She assembles her Arasaka WSAA sniper rifle and begins scanning the 5th floor windows. In luck, she visualizes the hotel room, it’s curtains open.
Ivanov is seated across from a corporate reporter. Standing, the media assistant is setting up a light and videocamera. The reporter sets a recorder on the table. Svetlana reports to Boris who authorizes Svetlana to send Ivanov “into retirement”. One well-placed flechette round enters Ivanov’s head through his left ear sending his brain matter across the room and onto the two medias. Stunned, the two men look at each other and bolt for the hotel door. The assistant takes a flechette round to the back of his thigh severing his leg and flooring him. The reporter makes it to the door before one round hits him square in the back. The force knocks him into the door before he collapses. Remaining conscious, he writhes on the floor before taking another round to the back before dying. Glass falls six floors below onto the street. Svetlana swiftly gets off the roof, walks across the street, enters the hotel and takes the elevator. She enters the room, grabs Ivanov’s backpack and empties his duffle bag. Inside the duffel is the envelope containing 50,000eb and a pistol. She takes the recorder and exits the hotel. Just as she gets into her car, the sirens of the Night City Police Department come screaming around the corner and two cops run into the hotel.
After returning home, Boris calls Svetlana. Angrily, he tells her to turn on Network 54 news. She turns on the TV and tunes into live coverage of “a bloodbath at the Night City Hilton hotel… a reporter and his assistant gunned down in cold blood along with an unidentified man… the scene is grizzly, disturbing and downright frightening. As of yet, there is no known motive or suspect in the case… reporting live Lisa Andrews, Network 54.”
Boris suggests that Svetlana lock up her apartment and head to the south parking lot of Rangers Stadium. She quickly drives to the stadium and finds Boris waiting for her in a car. She enters the car. “Svetlana, we need to get you out of the city for a while. You need to lay low until this all blows over… and I know just the place. I’m gonna send you far away from here for a few weeks; one of SovOil’s less glamorous detachments. You can help out the local security office and at the same time, keep a low profile. But first, I’ve got someone who’s going to watch your back. Someone outside the normal channels, some pure muscle…”