Chapter 8: Ghosts of the Past
A Name from the Shadows
The name Victoria Langley burned on the tablet screen like a ghost from Jasper Hawke’s past.
Evelyn frowned. “Who is she?”
Jasper didn’t answer right away. He forced himself to breathe, to push back the flood of memories clawing at the edges of his mind.
Moreau tapped the steering wheel impatiently. “Judging by that look on your face, she’s not just some random bureaucrat.”
Jasper’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “Victoria Langley is—or was—one of the most dangerous covert operatives Britain ever produced. MI6 wiped her from official records years ago.”
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “Then why is she in this file?”
Jasper’s thoughts raced. The last time he had seen Langley was years ago. She had been running an off-the-books operation—deep undercover in Moscow. Then, she vanished.
The intelligence community had written her off as dead.
But if her name was buried in these files…
It meant she wasn’t just alive.
She was in play.
Moreau pulled the car into a secluded forest road, shutting off the engine. “So what now?”
Evelyn tapped the encrypted drive. “I need more time to break this open. The data is layered—whoever tried to bury it didn’t want anyone finding it.”
Jasper clenched his jaw. Voss had been playing them from the start.
Now, the game had changed.
And they were running out of time.
The Zurich Safehouse
The safehouse was buried deep in the Swiss countryside, an old chalet repurposed into a tactical hideout.
Evelyn set up her laptop, running a deeper decryption on the files. Moreau checked their weapons, always preparing for the worst.
Jasper stood by the window, scanning the tree line, his instincts on high alert.
Evelyn’s voice broke the silence. “Got something.”
Jasper turned. “Talk to me.”
She pulled up an audio recording, distorted but decipherable. The voice was unmistakably Victoria Langley.
“The summit is a cover. You’re all being played. If you’re hearing this, it’s already too late.”
Static.
“Trust no one. And tell Hawke—”
The recording cut off abruptly.
Jasper’s grip tightened on the chair.
She had known.
She had known about the summit, the betrayal—everything.
Moreau exhaled. “That’s not good.”
Jasper’s mind worked fast. “Where was this recording sent from?”
Evelyn checked the metadata. “Vienna. Forty-eight hours ago.”
Moreau whistled. “If she’s in Vienna, she’s running.”
Jasper grabbed his jacket. “Then we’re going to Vienna.”
A Meeting in the Dark
They moved fast, chartering a private flight under falsified passports.
By nightfall, they were in Vienna, the city alive with energy.
Jasper had set up the meet in Prater Park, using an old protocol Langley would recognize.
Now, he waited.
Evelyn and Moreau kept watch from a café across the street, eyes scanning the crowd.
Minutes passed.
Then—movement.
A woman approached the park bench, wrapped in a long coat, her hood low.
Jasper’s breath caught.
Langley.
She sat beside him, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
Jasper’s eyes stayed on the city lights ahead. “Didn’t leave me much choice.”
She sighed. “They’ll be watching. Listening.”
Jasper tensed. “Voss?”
Langley nodded. “And others. You don’t understand, Hawke. This isn’t just about stolen intelligence.”
Jasper turned to face her. “Then tell me what it is about.”
Langley hesitated, then reached into her coat, pulling out a small flash drive.
She pressed it into his palm. “The truth.”
Before Jasper could say another word, she stood.
Her final words sent a chill through him.
“They’re already here.”
Then she disappeared into the night.
The Trap is Sprung
Jasper’s instincts screamed at him—move.
He pushed off the bench and crossed the street, his pace controlled but urgent.
In the café, Moreau noticed first. “Hawke, we’ve got company.”
Two men in dark coats approached from the west. Another two from the east.
Evelyn muttered, “That’s not good.”
Jasper slipped into the café and sat down, his voice low. “We’ve been burned. We need an exit.”
Moreau smirked. “Already planned for it.”
He nudged his coffee cup slightly. Underneath was a small detonator switch.
Jasper gave him a look. “Really?”
Moreau shrugged. “It’s a small charge. Just enough to create chaos.”
Evelyn sighed. “I work with lunatics.”
Jasper smirked. “You love it.”
Outside, the men in dark coats closed in.
Moreau hit the switch.
A loud BANG rocked the opposite side of the street—smoke flooding the air as glass shattered.
The distraction was enough.
Jasper led them out the back, disappearing into the alleys.
The game had just changed.
They weren’t just running anymore.
Now, they were hunting.
