Chapter 2: Ghost Signals
Berlin never slept. Even at this hour, the city pulsed with a quiet, unshakable rhythm—cars gliding through wet streets, neon lights reflecting in puddles, distant voices carried by the wind. It was a city of secrets, and tonight, Jasper Hawke was buried deep in one.
He stood over the dead man’s body, exhaling slowly. His pulse had steadied, but his mind was moving faster than ever. The two attackers weren’t just hired guns; they had been sent by someone who knew exactly where to find him.
The enemy had eyes on him.
Hawke crouched and searched the second man’s pockets. Nothing useful—no phone, no ID. Just a single metallic key with an engraving: SVR-029. Russian? Maybe. But there was no time for speculation.
He pocketed the key and pulled out his burner phone. No signal. Every encrypted network was still dark.
That meant his usual contacts were unreachable.
Which left him one option.
Hawke moved quickly, slipping out of the safe house through the rear exit. The cold air bit at his skin as he disappeared into the Berlin night. He knew better than to hail a cab—too easy to track. Instead, he walked for four blocks before ducking into an underground U-Bahn station, blending into the late-night commuters.
His destination was clear.
The Kaiserhof Hotel.
On the surface, it was a five-star luxury hotel for diplomats, politicians, and the occasional billionaire. But Hawke knew it for what it really was—a hub for intelligence operatives who needed a neutral ground for off-the-record meetings.
And tonight, he needed an off-the-record conversation with an old acquaintance.
The lobby was exactly as he remembered—pristine, elegant, and dripping with the kind of wealth that masked the real power struggles happening behind closed doors. He walked past the concierge without hesitation, heading straight for the bar on the second floor.
He spotted his contact immediately.
Lena Volkova.
Former FSB, now a broker of information—if something was happening in the world of intelligence, Lena either knew about it or was selling it to the highest bidder.
She was seated in a booth, swirling a glass of whiskey, her eyes flicking up as he approached.
“Well, well,” she murmured. “If it isn’t Jasper Hawke. The last time I saw you, someone was trying to kill you.”
Hawke slid into the seat across from her. “Not much has changed.”
Lena smirked, but her eyes were sharp. “I heard about the blackout. The entire world’s intelligence network has gone blind. And yet, somehow, you’re still moving. That tells me one thing.”
Hawke waited.
Lena leaned forward. “You know something.”
He placed the metallic key on the table between them. “I need to know where this came from.”
She eyed it, her fingers brushing over the engraving. Then she let out a low whistle.
“SVR-029,” she mused. “That’s not just Russian. That’s Zmeyevich.”
Hawke’s expression didn’t change, but inside, something clicked.
Zmeyevich was a covert faction within Russian intelligence—off-the-books operatives who answered to no one but their own hidden agenda. Even Moscow had trouble controlling them. If they were involved in the blackout, this wasn’t just a cyberattack.
It was a power play.
Lena tapped the key against the table. “This is a clearance token. It grants access to a specific location—a safe house, a storage unit, maybe a command post. Either way, someone gave it to those men for a reason.”
“Where?” Hawke asked.
Lena sighed, finishing her drink. “There’s an underground data vault beneath an old Soviet facility in Warsaw. It’s been inactive for years, but rumors say certain… groups still use it. If I had to bet, I’d say that’s where your key leads.”
Hawke took the key back and stood.
“Careful, Jasper,” Lena said, watching him. “Warsaw isn’t friendly territory for someone like you.”
Hawke gave a small, knowing smile.
“It never is.”
Then he was gone.
