Chapter 4: Ghosts of the Cold War
Hawke didn’t stop running until he was several blocks from the abandoned factory. The frigid Warsaw air burned his lungs, but he ignored it. He had gotten what he came for—confirmation that the blackout was part of something much bigger.
Now, he needed answers.
And there was only one man in the world who could give them to him.
The Spymaster
Hawke knew that calling Nikolai Vasilev was a risk. The former KGB director had more enemies than friends, but his knowledge of underground networks—both past and present—was unrivaled.
Finding him, however, required a different kind of tradecraft.
At a small café in Warsaw’s Old Town, Hawke left a single red chess piece on an outdoor table before vanishing into the night. It was an old signal from their Cold War days—one that meant:
We need to talk. Now.
Hours later, at precisely 2:00 AM, Hawke received a single text on his burner phone.
Lazienki Park. The Palace on the Water. Come alone.
He ditched the phone and moved.
A Meeting in the Dark
Lazienki Park was deserted at this hour. The grand Palace on the Water stood illuminated by moonlight, its reflection shimmering in the lake below. A perfect meeting place—secluded, open enough to detect surveillance.
Hawke spotted Nikolai Vasilev standing near the stone balustrade, hands clasped behind his back. He looked older than the last time they had met—his frame thinner, his face lined with deep creases. But his eyes, sharp as ever, betrayed nothing.
“You’re getting reckless, Jasper,” Vasilev said without turning.
“I don’t have time for games,” Hawke replied. “I need to know about Zmeyevich.”
Vasilev finally turned, his expression unreadable. “Zmeyevich isn’t a man,” he said. “It’s an operation.”
Hawke frowned. “Explain.”
Vasilev sighed, as if burdened by the weight of his own knowledge. “Zmeyevich was first conceived in the final years of the Cold War—a contingency plan for economic and cyber warfare. A failsafe, in case the Soviet Union ever needed to collapse the West without firing a single shot.”
“But the USSR is gone,” Hawke said.
“And yet, the plan lives on.”
Vasilev reached into his coat and handed Hawke a small USB drive. “Inside, you’ll find financial transactions linked to the attack. Someone has reactivated Zmeyevich. And if they’ve already pulled the trigger on the blackout, that means they’re moving to the next phase.”
Hawke studied the drive. “Who’s running it?”
“That’s what you’ll have to find out,” Vasilev said. “But I can give you a name.”
Hawke tensed.
Vasilev’s voice was quiet but deadly serious.
“Krylov.”
The Assassin’s Shadow
Before Hawke could respond, something changed.
A faint rustle in the trees. The soft click of a suppressed rifle.
Sniper.
Hawke didn’t hesitate. He lunged, slamming into Vasilev just as the first shot cracked through the night. The bullet whizzed past, striking the stone railing where Vasilev had been standing.
More shots followed.
Hawke rolled, drawing his pistol and scanning the shadows. He caught a glimpse of a silhouetted figure perched in a nearby tree—black tactical gear, precision rifle, no wasted movement.
This wasn’t a random hit. This was a professional kill order.
Another shot rang out.
Hawke fired back, forcing the sniper to shift positions. But he knew he was outmatched in a long-range fight.
They needed to move. Now.
“Can you run?” he barked at Vasilev.
“I’m old, not dead,” Vasilev growled.
Hawke grabbed him and darted toward the stone archways leading out of the park. Another shot kicked up marble dust behind them. They had seconds before the sniper recalibrated.
A black sedan sat idling near the exit. A getaway vehicle. The shooter wasn’t alone.
Hawke turned to Vasilev. “Do you trust me?”
Vasilev smirked. “That depends—”
Hawke didn’t wait for the answer. He shoved the spymaster into the lake.
The cold water would conceal them better than any alleyway. And by the time the shooter figured it out—
Hawke was already charging toward the sedan.
Interrogating the Driver
The driver never saw it coming.
Hawke reached the car before the man could react. He yanked open the door, dragged him out, and slammed him against the hood.
“Who sent you?” Hawke hissed.
The man struggled, but Hawke twisted his arm hard enough to make him grimace in pain.
“You’re wasting time,” Hawke warned. “Your sniper’s going to kill you next.”
The man hesitated. He knew Hawke wasn’t lying.
“… Krylov,” he finally gasped.
Hawke’s blood ran cold.
So it was true. Krylov was pulling the strings.
But before he could press further—
A final gunshot rang out.
The driver stiffened, eyes wide, before slumping lifelessly against the car.
The sniper had cleaned up his loose ends.
Hawke ducked just as another round shattered the windshield.
Time to go.
Vanishing into the Night
Hawke sprinted back toward the lake. Vasilev was already pulling himself onto the shore, dripping wet but very much alive.
“We need to move,” Hawke said.
Vasilev nodded, wiping water from his face. “Where?”
Hawke glanced back at the empty park, then at the USB drive still clutched in his hand.
“We follow the money,” he said. “We find Krylov.”
And if Krylov was running Zmeyevich…
Then the blackout was only the beginning.
