The Kassandra Vale
The Airbus A380 descended through dense tropical clouds, its landing smooth, almost surgical. Judd stared out the window at the glittering archipelago below—Singapore, the Lion City. Clean, green, and deceptive. It had a reputation for perfection, but beneath that polished skin pulsed the same secrets, syndicates, and shadows found in every great port city.
Singapore had always been about control. Founded as a British trading post in 1819 by Sir Stamford Raffles, the island had grown from a sleepy fishing village into one of the most vital hubs on the globe. Through colonization, World War II, Japanese occupation, independence, and explosive modernization, the city-state had never stopped being what it was born to be: a gateway. A prize. A crossroads of empire. And now, it seemed, a petri dish for something far more dangerous.
The flight from Sydney had given Judd just enough time to study. The Lazarus virus—coded by Sebastian Wolf’s inner circle—was no ordinary contagion. Its blueprint mirrored retroviruses like HIV, using reverse transcription to inject RNA directly into human DNA. The result? Selective genetic alteration. Cell-level transformation. Not a disease of circumstance, but of design. Change the host. Change the species. By the time he stepped off the plane at Changi, he was already working.
Within the hour, Judd checked into the Westin Singapore, an elegant tower of glass rising above the city’s business core. The lobby, perched on the 32nd floor, was a sanctuary of cool marble and sweeping harbor views. Below, the streets pulsed with humidity and high finance.
The heat hit him like a wall as he stepped back out onto Cecil Street, heading toward Pan Asia Maritime Trade Holdings in Tanjong Pagar—a boxy office tower sandwiched between glass skyscrapers and tiled-roof shophouses. Inside, the air was thin and cold. The lighting, fluorescent. A petite Singaporean woman greeted him with a bow and polite smile. “Mr. Knight. Please, have a seat. Mr. Harland will join you shortly.” She returned moments later, offered tea, and disappeared again.
Judd met Alistair Harland in a dim side room. Former British Navy turned private-sector logistics broker. A man with a past—and no reason to be modest about it. He knew Harland from his time in London where they traded commodities oil the Baltic Exchange together.
Judd handed over the manifest. “Josh pulled this from a hidden subdirectory on Wolf’s drive. We believe this ship is carrying the payload.” Harland scanned it. “ The Kassandra Vale.”
Harland typed for ten minutes, muttering as he cross-referenced hidden registries, gray-zone port records, and black-flag movement.
Nothing.
“No such ship in the Singapore Strait Judd. Not on AIS. Not in dry dock. Not ghosting on the darknet. Either you have not wrong, or it doesn’t exist.”
Judd left the building dejected, stepping into the muggy heat. A block away, the scent of incense curled from a Buddhist temple, mixing with the humidity like an ancient perfume. Then—
“Mr. Knight.”
He turned. It was the receptionist from earlier. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the alley behind the temple.
“They’re watching,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t talk. But I had to tell you.”
Judd steadied her. “Tell me what?”
“There is no ship,” she hissed. “Kassandra Vale is not a vessel. She’s a woman. A carrier.”
Judd felt the air shift. “Vale is a person?”
The woman nodded. “And you’re not the only one looking. But there may be someone who can help.”
She slipped a folded card into his palm with hastily scribbled handwriting. Marina Bay Sands. Level 4. Baccarat Room. 10 PM.Sit. Play. He will find you.
Back at the Westin, Judd worked out in the gym—fast, punishing circuits—then and took the elevator to the infinity pool to gather his thoughts. It was a postcard scene—sleek water meeting sky, the Marina Bay skyline shimmering beyond. He ordered a gin and tonic from the poolside bar, opting for Tanglin Orchid Gin, Singapore’s first craft spirit—floral, spicy, and laced with notes of torch ginger and amchoor. As he sipped, he watched the city breathe. The kind of moment that made you forget the world was cracking at its edges. He didn’t have that luxury for long.
The chess board now had a new piece.
At 9:55 PM, he entered the Marina Bay Sands casino—a space as opulent as it was overwhelming. Crystal chandeliers shimmered above polished marble. Dealers wore black silk. The walls glowed with gold-toned light. Somewhere, a jazz band played behind mirrored glass.The baccarat tables were tucked in the corner. High-limit. Velvet rope. Surveillance everywhere. Judd sat, bought in, and started to play. He didn’t wait long.
A man approached. Not tall, Impeccably composed, with presence. Indian descent, dark hair brushed back, with surgical precision, designer stubble framed by a jaw that rarely smiled without purpose. He wore square-lensed glasses with matte black frames and a tailored Etro blazer, the kind of pattern that said: I’ve arrived, and I don’t care if you noticed. His shoes gleamed like obsidian. His cufflinks sparkled just enough to suggest old money. And he moved like someone who didn’t need to bluff—because he already knew your cards.
He sat beside Judd, placed a single chip on the table, and casually ordered a Dalmore 25, no ice. Looking directly ahead, he spoke softly.
“You could die looking for Miss Kassandra Vale,” he said, as if remarking on the weather. “Do you want to die, Mr. Knight?”
Judd didn’t flinch. “Depends on the day.”
The dealer dealt two more cards, silently.
The man finally turned, offering his hand. “Vinod. No last name. If you ask, I’ll just make one up.”
Judd took the hand. “Knight.”
“Yes. I know.” Vinod’s smile returned, thinner this time.
“I make it a point to know everyone who passes through Singapore. Especially those who carry ghosts in their luggage.”
He sipped his scotch and surveyed the room—not paranoid, just aware, the way apex predators glance through the savannah.
“I imagine you’ve come here looking for something very dangerous,” Vinod continued. “Something that was never supposed to exist. And yet… it does.”
Judd stayed quiet, letting the man talk.
“And now it has a name,” Vinod said. “A face.”
“Kassandra Vale.”
Vinod nodded. “You’re not chasing a ship, Mr. Knight. You’re chasing a weapon that walks, breathes, and doesn’t yet understand what she is. And if you’re not very, very careful… someone else is going to get to her first.”
Judd leaned in. “Then help me find her.”
Vinod’s eyes sparkled behind the lenses. “I might. But not for free. You see, I love this city. I love my wine, my art, my women, and my very expensive shoes. But most of all, I love leverage.”
He smiled like a man who never played unless he stacked the deck.
“Let’s play another hand,” he said. “And maybe, just maybe, I’ll tell you where the next move leads.”
The cards were dealt.
The game had begun.
