Chapter 5: Ghosts in the Dark
The night erupted in a burst of gunfire.
Jasper Hawke dived behind the rusted watchtower as bullets shredded through the leaves around him. Vega rolled low, slipping into the shadows with practiced ease. The muzzle flashes from the treeline revealed three shooters, their silhouettes barely visible in the darkness.
Hawke exhaled. Trained. Coordinated. These weren’t local thugs—they were professionals.
“Contact, three o’clock,” he murmured into his comms.
Vega’s voice crackled in response. “I see them. Taking position.”
Hawke reached into his vest, retrieving a flash grenade. He pulled the pin and lobbed it toward the tree line.
A blinding white explosion lit up the forest.
Then he moved.
The Counterattack
Hawke broke from cover, weapon raised. The first shooter was still disoriented—a half-second delay in his reaction. That was all Hawke needed.
One shot. A clean hit. The man crumpled.
The second shooter was faster, recovering quickly. He swung his rifle toward Hawke, but before he could fire, a single suppressed shot took him down.
Vega emerged from the trees, smoke curling from her silencer.
“One left,” she whispered.
They pivoted, searching for the third gunman. But he was already gone—vanished into the dark.
Hawke scanned the forest, listening for movement. Nothing. Just the rustling of leaves in the cold wind.
Vega crouched beside one of the fallen men, patting him down. “No ID. Military build.” She flipped his wrist over, revealing a tattoo of a black scorpion.
Hawke narrowed his eyes. “Scorpio Division.”
Vega swore. “That’s bad news.”
Scorpio Division—The Killers Without a Flag
Hawke had encountered Scorpio Division before. They weren’t tied to any country, any government. A private paramilitary unit, used by the highest bidders for the dirtiest jobs.
Their presence here meant one thing—whoever was behind Keller’s cipher had deep pockets.
Hawke turned toward the corpse slumped against the watchtower. He had assumed the man was a victim. Now he wasn’t so sure.
He crouched beside the body and unbuttoned the dead man’s shirt. Beneath, tattooed onto his chest in faded ink, was an old symbol:
A black hawk clutching a dagger.
Hawke’s blood ran cold.
Vega noticed his reaction. “You recognize it?”
Hawke nodded grimly. “The Black Dagger Program.”
Vega frowned. “That’s a ghost story.”
Hawke shook his head. “No. It was real. A covert NATO project, buried decades ago. Disavowed. Erased.” He pointed to the tattoo. “This man was part of it.”
Vega’s eyes darkened. “And if Scorpio is cleaning up the bodies…”
Hawke finished her thought. “…then someone is digging up old secrets.”
The Hidden Bunker
Hawke turned back to the watchtower. His gut told him this place was more than it seemed.
He ran his fingers along the metal plating—tapping lightly. Hollow.
A door.
He pulled a combat knife from his belt and wedged it into the seam, prying the metal loose. With a low creak, the rusted panel gave way, revealing a dark passage beneath.
Vega whistled. “I hate being right.”
They shared a look. Then, weapons ready, they descended into the darkness.
The Labyrinth Below
The tunnel was cold and damp, the air thick with decay. Dim emergency lights flickered along the walls, their yellow glow barely piercing the gloom.
Hawke moved first, scanning the area. The corridor led deeper underground, opening into what looked like an abandoned research station.
Desks overturned. Bullet holes in the walls. A layer of dust coating old equipment.
“This place was cleared out in a hurry,” Vega noted.
Hawke spotted something on the floor—a trail of blood leading to a heavy metal door.
“We’re not alone,” he murmured.
He pushed forward, pressing against the door. It was slightly ajar. He nudged it open with his pistol.
Inside, a single man sat slumped against the wall, barely conscious. His hands were cuffed. His face was battered.
But Hawke recognized him instantly.
Nikolai Grevich. Former intelligence officer. Expert cryptographer.
And the last person Keller had been seen with before his death.
Hawke stepped inside, gun raised. “Grevich.”
The man groggily opened his eyes. When he saw Hawke, something flickered in them—relief.
“You found me,” he rasped.
Hawke crouched beside him. “Who did this?”
Grevich coughed, wincing in pain. “Scorpio. They were looking for something.”
Hawke exchanged a glance with Vega. “What did you tell them?”
Grevich gave a weak, bitter laugh. “Nothing. But they didn’t need me for long.” He swallowed hard. “They already have the second cipher.”
Hawke’s pulse quickened. “Where is it?”
Grevich’s breathing was shallow. “Berlin.”
Then his eyes glazed over.
Vega checked his pulse. Gone.
Hawke clenched his jaw.
The second cipher was in Berlin. And Scorpio Division was already ahead of them.
He stood, gripping his weapon tighter. “We move. Now.”
Vega nodded. “Agreed.”
They turned to leave—
And that’s when they heard the explosion.
Somewhere above them, the bunker was collapsing.
