Chapter 10: Endgame
London – 00:26:42 Remaining
Jasper Hawke raced through the streets of London, his breath steady despite the pounding urgency in his chest. The clock was ticking.
The encrypted drive had revealed everything—the infiltration of his own agency, Langley’s role in the conspiracy, and now, the final move: an attack on a high-profile government building in London.
Hawke didn’t know the exact target, but he had coordinates. And he had less than twenty-seven minutes to stop it.
His comm crackled to life. “Hawke, MI5 is mobilizing units, but they need more intel. What are we dealing with?”
He took a sharp turn, cutting through an alley, his boots splashing through rain-slicked pavement. “Langley wasn’t working alone. This is bigger than we thought. There’s a bomb. And we’re running out of time.”
The Target
As Hawke emerged onto the main street, his eyes locked onto the coordinates displayed on his phone.
The Foreign Intelligence Headquarters.
Of course. A symbol of power, diplomacy, and intelligence. An attack here wouldn’t just send a message—it would ignite chaos.
He was two blocks away when he spotted them—two figures in tactical gear slipping through a restricted entrance.
There.
Hawke didn’t hesitate. He sprinted forward, drawing his suppressed pistol as he moved. No time for subtlety.
He fired.
One assailant dropped instantly. The other spun, drawing a weapon—too slow. Hawke closed the distance and drove an elbow into the man’s throat. A sharp twist, a muffled gasp, and the second figure collapsed.
Twenty minutes.
Inside the Beast
Hawke moved through the corridors, his mind calculating the most likely location for the bomb. It had to be somewhere central—maximum damage, maximum impact.
His earpiece crackled. “Hawke, MI5 has eyes on you. We’re breaching in five.”
“Negative,” Hawke said, his voice low. “If they rigged the bomb to a remote trigger, a full breach could set it off. I’m almost there.”
Fifteen minutes.
The Bomb
The basement was cold, the air thick with the hum of generators. And there, in the center of the room—a black metal case wired with explosives.
A countdown timer glowed red.
00:14:57… 00:14:56… 00:14:55…
Hawke exhaled slowly. This was it.
He pulled a small tool from his jacket and set to work.
One wrong move, and London would burn.
He scanned the wiring—military-grade, precise, ruthless. Whoever had set this up wasn’t an amateur. There would be a failsafe.
And then he saw it—a secondary trigger linked to a remote detonator.
Somebody was still watching. Somebody had a finger on the button.
The Final Betrayal
A slow clap echoed through the room.
Hawke turned, pistol raised.
From the shadows, a man stepped forward.
And Hawke felt the weight of realization settle in his chest.
His handler.
The voice in his ear. The person feeding him intel, guiding him through the mission.
“You should’ve walked away, Hawke,” the handler said, smirking. “But you never know when to quit.”
Hawke’s grip tightened. “You were part of this from the beginning.”
His handler shrugged. “Not just part of it. I orchestrated it.”
Betrayal.
The handler held up a small detonator.
Hawke didn’t think.
He acted.
One shot—clean, precise, final.
The handler collapsed.
The detonator clattered to the floor.
Disarming the End
00:03:27… 00:03:26… 00:03:25…
Hawke turned back to the bomb, his mind laser-focused.
He cut the primary wire. The countdown stopped.
Silence.
Then—the weight of everything crashed down.
It was over.
The Aftermath
MI5 stormed the building minutes later. The bomb was secured. The operation was over.
Hawke stood on the rooftop, watching the first light of dawn break over London.
His agency had been compromised. His own people had betrayed him.
But he was still standing.
And the people responsible?
They weren’t done answering to him yet.
