The moment he entered the lobby, Jack had to fight the urge to let loose with an appreciative whistle. Instantly, he recalled his initial thoughts upon his first visit to the edifice.

‘There’s luxury. . .and then there’s this.’

‘This,’ was the Svyatilishche.

In addition to being nearly impossible to pronounce, it was also an insanely expensive (rooms started at $11,000 per night), incredibly indulgent, and best of all impressively private hotel.

Although widely speculated it was neither confirmed nor denied that the hotel’s notoriously private owner, billionaire Stefan Cassadine, had purchased the airspace not only above the Svyatilishche, but that of several of the surrounding buildings as well. Those among the news and gossip outlets with pockets deep enough, or paparazzi possessing nerves steely enough were welcome to take on either his lawyers or jet fighter pilots, respectively; the outcome in either scenario always proving to be financially crippling (not to mention potentially fatal) for the challenging party.

Another widely held albeit outlandish belief, cultivated among the most truly paranoid of conspiracy theorists, asserted he had purchased the air rights to the entire block; the end result being a virtual ‘media blackout’; effectively crippling those parasites in the press seeking to obtain access to the hotel’s patrons via photos from a helicopter, or other aerial modes of transport. Thus more than the luxury amenities or cuisine, it was the privacy one was afforded when residing there that served as a major reason the luxury lodging was so popular with those in the public eye. Be it celebrity, magnate, dignitary, or even hermit, those who craved anonymity and were fortunate (and wealthy) enough to reside at the magnificent establishment made it a point to keep their “slice of heaven” as closely guarded a secret as possible, sharing its location only with those whom they knew were as vigilant about privacy and discretion as they were.

Svyatilishche was also the place Sabrina called “home” whenever she was on the West Coast.

This was only Jack’s third visit to the hotel—in all the time they’d been involved, even once they became “official” and were a couple, he’d never stayed there overnight. Sabrina had made it perfectly clear: he had complete and unlimited access to the Ritz Carlton, her luxury hotel of choice when in town; but this one, Svyatilishche, was just what its name meant in her native but rarely spoken Russian tongue.

Sanctuary.

This was home.

And Sabrina had absolutely no intention of mixing the pleasurable with the personal. Even when it became undeniable to her that the two worlds could no longer exist separately—that, as Jack had crudely reminded her during one of their more heated exchanges, “You know it’s okay, Bri, for you to love me as much as you love fucking me!”—she still refused to give in and do the inevitable. Submit.

Until now.

Jack was jolted from his thoughts by a dark-haired gentleman patiently yet expectantly standing in front of the hotel’s Reception desk, who appeared to be addressing him.

“Welcome to Svyatilishche, Agent Bauer,” he said, nodding his head ever so slightly. Before Jack could inquire as to how the man knew who he was the impeccably attired stranger smiled sagely. “Miss Sabrina,” he explained, the accent of his native tongue slightly pronounced. Extending his hand, he introduced himself. “I am Anatoly Chernikova, General Manager of the Svyatilishche. We have been expecting you.” Anatoly stepped away from the brilliantly polished mahogany counter, gesturing to Jack. “Come. If you will follow me, I shall initiate your security clearance.”

Jack nodded his understanding. In silence he followed Anatoly into a small room adjacent to the Reception work area, sizing him up the entire time. ‘Hotel Manager my ass,’ Jack observed silently. If there was one thing a lifetime in espionage had taught Jack Bauer it was to spot danger; not just with regards to his physical surroundings but probably more vital than anything, to recognize it in others. What was the phrase Curtis and Tony were forever tossing about?

‘Game recognizes game.’

As he followed Anatoly into the anteroom, Jack acknowledged the soft-spoken man with the severe but unfailingly polite disposition very well might be in hotel administration. Now. But his eyes told a different story; hinted at a life far removed from the civility he now wore as elegantly and easily as the tailored suit on his back. Jack was certain there was a time – maybe long ago maybe only a few years ago, but there was certainly no doubt – Chernikova had been (and quite possibly could still be) the very thing Jack was, what he excelled at. An agent of darkness, destruction, and death. Yeah, no doubt about it; Curtis and Tony nailed it.

Game most definitely recognizes game.

Casting: Anatoly Chernikova—Mads Mikkelsen (NBC’s Hannibal; Clash of the Titans)