Chapter 01: The Assignment
London, 12:30 AM
The rain drizzled down in sheets over the darkened streets of London, the glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the damp pavement. Jasper Hawke stood at the edge of an alley, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a practiced, almost predatory focus. He hadn’t been assigned to London in years, but tonight it felt familiar. Too familiar.
His earpiece crackled. “Hawke, you copy?”
He tapped the side of his ear, adjusting the comms. “I’m here.”
“Good,” came the low voice of Director Cross from headquarters. “The package is in play. The target is a high-level government official who’s gone rogue. We need you to retrieve the documents he’s carrying. The intel’s critical—nothing gets through to the press, understood?”
“Understood,” Hawke replied, his gaze never leaving the shadows ahead. His fingers tightened around the sleek pistol tucked at his side, just in case the mission went south.
The target, a man named Daniel Wexler, had been a trusted operative in Hawke’s agency until his sudden disappearance two weeks ago. The fact that Wexler had gone rogue wasn’t a coincidence. As Hawke knew too well, in the world of espionage, loyalty was as fluid as water. Today’s ally could easily be tomorrow’s enemy. And now Wexler had something the agency desperately needed to silence.
The documents were rumored to contain intelligence that could compromise not just one country, but several. Hawke didn’t need to be told why the mission was so important. The agency had made that clear. Keep it quiet. Get in, get out. Simple.
But nothing in Hawke’s world was ever simple.
He adjusted his jacket and slipped deeper into the shadows, moving with precision, as if he were one with the darkness. He was a ghost—a phantom, working in the shadows of a game where everyone was both a player and a pawn. But tonight, there was something different in the air, something sharp, like a storm on the horizon.
A sudden movement caught his attention—a figure in the distance, stepping out from behind a row of parked cars. A man, tall, with a nondescript black coat. Hawke’s instincts flared. This was too early. Wexler wasn’t supposed to be here yet.
He stopped and ducked into a recessed doorway, pressing himself flat against the cold stone. His mind raced. Was he being watched? A feeling of unease crept through him, but he pushed it aside. A dozen surveillance teams were supposed to be keeping eyes on Wexler. He’d follow the man now, no questions.
He checked the time. The rendezvous with Wexler was supposed to happen in fifteen minutes. Hawke wasn’t early; someone else was. His eyes never left the figure as the man entered the building across the street.
Just as Hawke was about to move out of the doorway, a voice crackled in his earpiece again.
“Hawke, we’ve just had a priority alert,” Director Cross said, his voice tight. “Wexler’s intel? It’s more than just documents. He’s carrying classified government codes—codes we thought were buried.”
Hawke’s blood ran cold. The room around him seemed to darken. “Buried? What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Cross replied. “But I suggest you move quickly. We’ve confirmed Wexler’s target is bigger than anyone anticipated. We’ll send you further intel as we get it.”
Hawke’s pulse quickened, but he kept his cool. Bigger? He had expected a simple mission—retrieve the intel, get out. But the agency had a way of throwing curveballs at the worst possible moments. Now, there was a different weight on his shoulders. A real one.
He turned and walked out of the alley, heading for the building where Wexler had just disappeared. The rain fell harder now, drenching him as his boots splashed through puddles, the sound muffled by the ever-increasing downpour. But his focus was razor-sharp, his every step calculated.
He approached the entrance of the building. No one was in sight. A quiet night. Too quiet.
His earpiece buzzed again.
“Get inside, Hawke,” Cross’s voice was low, urgent. “We’ve got a problem. Your extraction route is compromised. Someone’s tipped off the enemy. You’re not alone on this mission anymore. Watch your six.”
Hawke froze, his hand instinctively going to the concealed sidearm. Compromised?
The familiar tension settled into his muscles, a feeling he knew all too well. He couldn’t afford to get distracted, not now. His job was clear. Retrieve the documents. Find Wexler. Get out.
But that voice in the back of his mind whispered again—the same voice that had kept him alive all these years in the most dangerous games on the planet: Trust no one.
The door ahead was ajar, just enough for him to slip inside undetected. He exhaled and moved quickly. Inside, the building was dark, with only the distant hum of fluorescent lights piercing the silence.
Hawke’s trained eyes scanned the hallways, his movements silent, deliberate. Every noise, every shadow, every flicker of light was something to be watched.
He crept closer to the sound of murmured voices. Wexler was nearby. But the voices didn’t belong to him.
Hawke pushed himself into a crouch against the wall, listening intently. Two figures. One low voice. One sharp, precise.
“… not taking him alive,” said the first voice.
Hawke’s heart rate accelerated. The enemy?
“Do it quickly. The agency will handle it from here,” the second voice responded.
His mind went into overdrive. The agency? What did they know?
He could feel the trap snapping shut around him. The enemy wasn’t just after Wexler. They were after him too. Someone inside his own government had sold him out, and now he was the one being hunted.
He stepped back into the shadows, rethinking his next move. The plan had changed.
No longer just a retrieval mission, this was now a race against time—and against those he thought he could trust.
The hunt had begun. And for the first time in his career, Jasper Hawke wasn’t sure who the real enemy was.
