Chapter 6 - Shadows Over Belgrade
Thirty-six hours later, the Virginia suburbs were a world away.
The air in Belgrade was biting, smelling of damp coal smoke, wet asphalt, and the metallic tang of an approaching winter storm. I stood in the shadows of a crumbling brutalist apartment block in the industrial district, adjusting the strap of my tactical harness.
My civilian clothes were gone, replaced by reinforced urban gear that blended into the nocturnal grime of the Serbian capital. In my earpiece, the encrypted satellite feed crackled with General Sterling’s voice.
"Hayes, you're clear to approach the target building. The asset is being held on the third floor by local syndicate enforcers. They don't know who we're sending. Keep it clean, and get out before local dawn."
"Copy that, Command," I murmured, checking the magazine of my suppressed HK416.
The mission was straightforward on paper, but dangerous in execution. The asset—a deep-cover NSA cryptanalyst who had uncovered a major cyber-espionage ring—had been compromised by a double agent within the local police force. If the syndicate syndicate managed to crack his encryption keys before morning, Western intelligence networks across three continents would be severely compromised.
I moved toward the rusted service fire escape at the rear of the building. Every step was deliberate, silent, trained into my muscle memory through a decade of high-stakes operations. No hesitation. No fear. Just pure, calculated execution.
I reached the third-floor window. The glass was cracked, taped together with yellowed packing tape. Inside, I could see two armed guards smoking cigarettes, arguing in rough Serbian about soccer scores while a bound figure sat slumped in a metal chair in the center of the room.
I didn't knock.
With a swift, practiced kick to the rusted frame, the window shattered inward. Before the guards could even register the sound, my weapon was raised. Two suppressed coughs echoed in the small room, and both men dropped silently to the floor, neutralized instantly.
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The bound man jerked awake, gasping through a cloth gag, his eyes wide with absolute terror.
"Easy," I whispered, stepping over the threshold and slicing the zip-ties binding his wrists with my combat knife. "I'm with US Command. We're going home."
