Chapter 1: Into the Fire
The desert night swallowed Jasper Hawke as he crouched near the rusting fence of an abandoned airstrip outside Marrakesh. A warm breeze stirred the sand at his feet, carrying the scent of diesel and gun oil. This was where the deal was going down. He adjusted his earpiece, listening to the encrypted channel linking him to his handler.
“Eyes on the package, Hawke?” The voice of his control, Langley, crackled in his ear.
“Not yet. But our friends brought company. Three SUVs, tinted windows, and a fourth vehicle coming in hot.” Jasper’s voice was calm, measured.
Langley swore under his breath. “That’s unexpected. Keep your distance, and don’t engage unless necessary.”
Jasper smirked to himself. He wasn’t the type to engage unless it was absolutely necessary—but things had a way of escalating around him.
A black SUV rumbled to a stop in the middle of the cracked tarmac. The doors opened simultaneously, and men in dark tactical gear stepped out. Their leader, a tall man with a neatly trimmed beard, strode forward, shaking hands with an arms dealer Hawke had been tracking for weeks—Karim El-Amin.
Jasper activated the micro-drone strapped to his wrist, letting it slip into the air. The tiny device buzzed upward, its camera relaying a high-definition feed to his contact in London. He zoomed in, lip-reading the exchange.
“The shipment arrives in two weeks,” Karim was saying. “Same route. Double the quantity. Payment upfront.”
The bearded man nodded. “And security?”
Karim smiled. “Guaranteed. No interference. Not from the authorities. Not from anyone.”
Jasper exhaled slowly. That was a lie. He was about to interfere in a big way.
A metallic click sounded behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know someone had a gun to his back.
“Drop it,” a voice hissed.
Jasper tensed, calculating. His options were limited, but he always had a way out. He let his hands slowly rise, his fingers brushing the hidden knife strapped to his forearm.
“Nice night for a walk,” he said casually.
“Shut up,” the gunman snapped.
Jasper moved. A twist of his torso, a sharp elbow to the ribs, and a pivot that sent the attacker sprawling. Before the man could recover, Jasper pressed his own silenced pistol against his temple.
“Go to sleep.”
A quick strike, and the man slumped unconscious. Jasper pulled him into the shadows. No time to linger.
A new voice crackled through his earpiece. “Hawke, get out. Now. We’ve got movement.”
Jasper turned his gaze back to the meeting. The bearded man was walking back toward his vehicle, his posture tense. Then he paused, looking directly toward Jasper’s position.
He’d been made.
Jasper cursed and sprinted. Gunfire erupted, bullets kicking up dust as he darted between rusting cargo containers. His exit plan was compromised, but he never left without a backup.
A motorcycle was stashed near the perimeter fence. He vaulted onto it, gunning the engine just as headlights flooded the desert. Vehicles roared to life behind him.
He smirked. The game had begun.
