Chapter 06: The Trap Is Set
Villa, South of France, 2:15 PM
The voice echoed through the dimly lit hallway, sending a ripple of tension through Hawke’s spine. It was unmistakable—Rainer Voss. The very man whose existence had been nothing more than a whispered legend, a ghost haunting the edges of the intelligence world.
But here he was, standing before them in the flesh, as calm and poised as ever.
Hawke’s hand instinctively tightened around the grip of his gun, but he held his fire. His mind was racing, calculating the odds, assessing the situation. Voss wasn’t just an adversary—he was a predator, one who never showed his hand too early, who knew how to manipulate every move on the board. Hawke wasn’t about to walk into his trap without a plan.
“Voss,” Hawke said, his voice a razor-sharp whisper. He kept his tone steady, betraying nothing. “You’re alive.”
Voss smiled, a cold, calculating expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Alive, yes. But I must admit, it’s become increasingly difficult to stay in the shadows these days. Perhaps you can relate.”
He stepped out from the shadows of the hallway, his polished shoes making no sound against the marble floor. A slight gesture of his hand, and the door to the adjoining room clicked shut, sealing them in the narrow corridor.
Hawke’s eyes narrowed. Every instinct was screaming that this was a setup. There was no way Voss would be so careless as to let them close the distance. No, Voss wanted them to come. He wanted this confrontation.
Evelyn’s voice crackled through the earpiece, her words low and urgent. “Hawke, we’ve got company. A dozen or more coming in from the north side. We’re surrounded.”
Hawke’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t break eye contact with Voss. The situation had escalated beyond anything they had anticipated. They had walked into a trap—and Voss knew it.
“I must admit,” Voss continued, his voice smooth, almost sympathetic. “I didn’t think you’d get this far. But here we are. You should have stayed out of this, Hawke. This was never your fight.”
“Then why lead me here?” Hawke shot back. “Why now?”
Voss’s smile grew colder. “Because you’re a problem. A loose end. And loose ends… well, they tend to unravel things, don’t they?”
The words were a threat wrapped in a smile, and Hawke could feel the weight of the danger pressing down on him. It was clear now. Voss had orchestrated everything. The documents, the betrayal—it had all been a game to him, one where Hawke had unwittingly played into his hand.
A muffled click came from behind them. Hawke turned instinctively, gun raised. A figure emerged from the shadows—a tall, broad-shouldered man, his face obscured by a hood.
“Don’t move,” the figure growled in a voice laced with authority.
More figures emerged from the surrounding hallways, each one armed and moving with purpose. They were everywhere now. The villa had been a trap, designed to lure them in, to cut off their escape routes, to eliminate them.
Hawke’s eyes flicked to Evelyn, who was already moving, her body language calm but ready for action. She was a fighter, always ready for the worst. But they were outnumbered. A dozen against two. It wasn’t a fair fight.
Voss observed them, his cold gaze lingering on Evelyn for a moment before returning to Hawke. “I had hoped for more cooperation from you, Hawke. But I understand… you’ve always been stubborn. It’s part of your charm.”
Evelyn’s voice came through the earpiece again, this time with an edge of panic. “They’re closing in faster. We don’t have much time.”
Hawke’s mind raced. They were cornered, with no clear escape route. He had trained for moments like this—where the odds were against him, where every second counted. But Voss had anticipated his every move. The man was always one step ahead.
“You should have stayed out of this,” Voss repeated, his voice almost a whisper now, as though relishing the moment. “But it’s too late for regrets.”
With a sudden motion, Voss nodded to his men. They moved in a synchronized motion, weapons raised, surrounding both Hawke and Evelyn. Hawke’s grip on his gun tightened, but he didn’t fire. Not yet.
The clock was ticking.
“Get them,” Voss commanded.
In an instant, the room erupted into chaos.
Villa, South of France, 2:20 PM
The first man lunged at Hawke, but he was ready. With a fluid motion, Hawke sidestepped and slammed the butt of his gun into the attacker’s jaw, sending him crashing to the floor. The second assailant was faster, lunging with a knife aimed directly for Hawke’s throat.
Hawke twisted, the blade missing by inches, and delivered a quick, brutal strike to the man’s ribs, knocking him off balance. The knife clattered to the floor as the man staggered back, gasping for air.
Behind him, he heard Evelyn engage her own attackers, her movements fast and precise. She was a blur of efficiency, a master of the fight, but even she couldn’t take on so many alone.
Hawke’s eyes darted around the room, calculating. There was no escape, no window to jump out of, no ventilation shaft to crawl through. The walls seemed to close in as Voss’s men encircled them.
One of the attackers moved in from the left, but Hawke had already anticipated it. He brought his gun down in a sharp arc, striking the man’s wrist with the butt of his weapon and sending his gun skittering across the floor. Before the man could react, Hawke delivered a blow to his stomach, sending him crashing into a nearby pillar.
But the attackers just kept coming, wave after wave. The villa was now a battlefield, the air thick with the acrid smell of sweat and the sharp tang of fear. Every move felt like it could be his last. But Hawke wasn’t one to fall easily. He was built for this.
As another assailant closed in, Hawke ducked low, using the momentum to sweep the man’s legs out from under him. The man hit the ground with a sickening thud, and Hawke moved in, his gun aimed at his head.
But as he pressed the gun’s barrel against the man’s temple, his thoughts flashed back to Voss’s words: loose ends unravel things. This wasn’t just a physical battle. It was a mind game. And Voss was playing it at a level Hawke had never imagined.
Evelyn’s voice broke through the chaos, sharp and commanding. “Hawke, we need to move. Now!”
Hawke glanced toward her. She was holding her ground, but the odds were overwhelming.
It was now or never.
With a quick gesture, he motioned for her to move. Together, they charged through the fray, side by side, their movements synchronized. But just as they neared the exit, the door slammed shut with a deafening sound.
“Game’s over, Hawke,” Voss’s voice came from behind them. “This is where you die.”
The trap had been set. And now it was time for them to face the consequences.
