15. Hornet
15
HORNET
W e watched and listened as Typhon and his team headed to the coordinates Kima supplied.
“Movement at the villa gates,” Greenwich reported seconds later. “Convoy mobilizing. Three vehicles, standard protective formation.”
Kima and I exchanged glances. Our discovery had come at the right time. Though being sidelined went against every instinct, we understood the strategic necessity. Our presence would only complicate an already dangerous extraction.
“Typhon’s team is in position,” I confirmed, tracking his signal on the digital map. “Intercept point locked, two kilometers from the villa.”
The convoy moved down the coastal road, maintaining consistent speed and spacing.
“Typhon has visual.” Greenwich’s voice came through the comms. “Initiating contact in thirty seconds.”
When Kima’s grip tightened on the edge of the table, I briefly placed my hand over hers in wordless support.
“Contact initiated,” came Typhon’s calm voice as the ambush unfolded on our screens. Given the standard FSB response would be to protect the primary vehicle at all costs, the unit deployed smokers to obscure visibility while operatives from the other teams approached from multiple angles. However, what happened next wasn’t standard at all.
Instead of the expected defensive formation, FSB guards poured from all three vehicles, engaging Typhon’s team with unexpected force. The operation shifted instantly from controlled extraction to a full firefight.
“Heavy resistance,” Typhon reported, his voice steady despite the chaos visible on our feed. “More personnel than anticipated.”
I could hear gunfire through the comms as we watched the strike team take defensive positions. Kima’s breath caught as one of our operatives went down, quickly dragged to cover by Regent.
“Wounded,” he reported. “Nothing critical.”
“They’re fighting too hard for a routine transport,” I observed. “Something’s off.”
“Agreed,” Kima replied, her mind working through possibilities. “Either Reaper is extremely high value, or?—”
“Approaching vehicle, northeast quadrant,” Greenwich cut in. “Not the FSB. Repeat, unknown vehicle approaching at high speed.”
A black SUV appeared on the edge of our surveillance feed, driving straight toward the firefight with seemingly no regard for personal safety. It skidded to a halt behind the team’s position, and a single figure emerged—a man moving with the distinctive efficiency of a veteran operative.
I leaned closer. “That’s?—”
“Jekyll,” Kima confirmed as he took cover beside Typhon, apparently saying something that our audio couldn’t capture.
The firefight intensified, the FSB’s forces focusing suppressive fire on the lead vehicle while trying to create an extraction corridor for the center SUV. Typhon’s team countered masterfully, cutting off their escape route with precise shooting.
“Approaching center vehicle,” Typhon reported. “Primary target should be inside.”
We watched as he and Jekyll moved in tandem, covering each other with the unconscious coordination of operatives who’d worked together extensively. Despite eleven years of separation, their synergy remained intact—a dangerous dance perfected through countless operations.
“Vehicle secured,” Typhon announced moments later. “Searching now.”
The camera angle shifted, giving us a partial view of the vehicle’s interior as Typhon and Jekyll proceeded. The expressions on both their faces told us everything before Typhon’s voice confirmed it.
“Negative on package,” he reported, tension evident in his controlled tone. “Reaper is not in the transport. Repeat, target is not here.”
“Decoy operation,” I said, the realization hitting both of us simultaneously.
“Ask if there’s any intelligence indicating where he might actually be,” Kima instructed, already pulling up secondary target locations on her tablet.
Before I could relay the question, Jekyll appeared on the feed, leaning into Typhon’s space to speak directly into his comms. “Tell Delfino to check the port. East terminal. They’re preparing him for transport over water.”
The unexpected direct address sent a chill through the room. Jekyll had not only anticipated the interception but clearly knew we were monitoring remotely.
I reoriented the satellite to the Athens port, where increased activity was indeed visible around the eastern docks. A cargo vessel had recently docked, and security had been conspicuously enhanced.
“They split the operation,” I said, studying the thermal signatures. “The convoy was a calculated sacrifice.”
“Greenwich,” Kima called through the comms. “We need coverage on the port facility immediately.”
“Redirecting now,” came the response. “But we’re at least twenty minutes out.”
Kima and I looked at each other, the decision forming between us without words. We’d been ordered to stay dark, but with the operation compromised and Reaper’s window closing rapidly, protocol no longer mattered.
“We move,” she stated simply.
“The motorcycle in the service bay will get us there in twelve minutes,” I said, reaching for my gear.
As we prepared to depart, Typhon’s voice came through the comms once more. “Be advised, Jekyll is mobile. Departed intercept site in personal vehicle, heading in the direction of the port. Unknown if he’s operating independently or with the FSB.”
“Acknowledged,” Kima responded. “We’re moving to the port as well.”
“Negative,” Typhon countered immediately. “Maintain your position as ordered. We’ll handle the secondary extraction.”
Kima muted the comms and turned to me. “We’re going anyway.”
“Agreed,” I replied, securing my weapon. “We’ll blame it on technical difficulties later.”
We exited the hotel through the service entrance, avoiding the FSB’s surveillance we’d spotted earlier. The motorcycle waited exactly where Greenwich had left it, fueled and ready.
“Ten minutes to the port,” I said as Kima climbed on behind me, her arms wrapping securely around my waist. The intimacy of the contact still sent electricity through my system despite the gravity of our mission.
The morning sun cast long shadows by the time we reached the outskirts of the port, with golden light glinting off the shipping containers and warehouses. I parked the motorcycle behind an abandoned maintenance shed three hundred meters from the eastern terminal.
“Two-minute surveillance, then we move,” I said, scanning the area through binoculars.
The facility was heavily guarded—far more security than standard port operations would require. Armed men patrolled the perimeter while others loaded equipment onto a sleek vessel docked at the eastern pier.
“That’s our target,” Kima whispered, pointing to a reinforced container being moved toward the ship. “Perfect size for prisoner transport.”
I spotted movement on a rooftop opposite our position—a lone figure in dark clothing tracking the same container through a scope. The silhouette was unmistakable against the bright morning sky.
“Jekyll,” I muttered. “He beat us here.”
As if hearing his name, the figure turned slightly, and though I couldn’t see his face clearly at this distance, I felt the weight of his gaze. He made a deliberate gesture toward the south side of the compound.
“He’s showing us an entry point,” Kima said.
“Or leading us into an ambush.”
She checked her weapon. “Only one way to find out.”
We moved silently around the perimeter, using the containers for cover. The security pattern Jekyll had indicated showed a twenty-second gap between patrols—narrow, but exploitable.
“I’ll take point,” I said. “Follow my lead.”
The moment the guard rounded the corner, I sprinted across the exposed area to the chain-link fence. The specialized cutters I carried made quick work of creating an opening large enough for us to slip through. Kima followed seconds later, her movements fluid and silent.
Inside the perimeter, we stayed low, navigating between stacks of storage toward the loading dock where the reinforced unit was being secured for transport.
Our earpieces crackled suddenly. “Movement at your three o’clock,” came Jekyll’s voice, startling us both. “Two guards, automatic weapons.”
I pulled Kima behind a fuel tank just as the guards passed within meters of our position.
“How the hell is he on our frequency?” I whispered.
“He’s always been one step ahead,” she replied. “The question is why he’s helping us now.”
When the guards moved on, we continued toward the dock. Through a narrow gap between containers, I spotted the transport unit being loaded onto a cargo elevator.
“They’re moving him below deck,” I said. “We need to?—”
Gunfire erupted from the far side of the facility, drawing the attention of the security teams. Through the chaos, I spotted Typhon leading an assault team through the main entrance.
“He followed us,” Kima realized.
“Or had the same intel we did,” I countered. “Either way, it’s our chance.”
As security forces converged on Typhon’s position, we sprinted toward the ship. The cargo elevator had already descended, but a maintenance ladder provided access to the lower deck.
“Thirty seconds until they realize they’re being flanked,” I estimated, helping Kima onto the ladder.
We descended into the dimly lit hold, where the container was being secured by two FSB operatives. I signaled Kima to circle left while I took the right.
The first gunman fell without a sound as I applied a precise choke hold. Kima neutralized the second with similar efficiency. Neither had time to trigger an alarm.
The container’s electronic lock yielded to the decryption device Reaper had given me months ago—“for emergencies only,” he’d said with a knowing look. As the door swung open, I braced myself for what we might find.
Reaper sat bound to a chair, his face bruised but otherwise alert. When he saw us, a faint trace of his usual smirk showed through split lips.
“Took you long enough,” he rasped.
“Had to stop for coffee,” I replied, cutting through his restraints while Kima kept watch at the entrance.
“They kept mentioning Jekyll,” Reaper said as I helped him stand. “He?—”
“We saw him,” Kima interrupted. “At the convoy interception. He disappeared after they discovered you weren’t there.”
Before he had the chance to say anything else, the ship’s engines rumbled to life.
“We’re moving,” Kima warned. “Extraction route?”
“This way,” I said, guiding them toward the maintenance ladder. With Reaper still unsteady, our progress was slower than I would’ve preferred.
We’d just reached the upper deck when the first bullets ricocheted off the metal walkway. Three FSB gunmen had positioned themselves between us and the gangway to the dock.
“Cover!” I shouted, pushing Kima and Reaper behind the ventilation housing as I returned fire.
The firefight intensified as more security forces converged on our position. We were outgunned and rapidly running out of options when a second eruption of gunfire—this time not directed at us—cut through the chaos.
Through the haze of gunsmoke, I saw a figure—Jekyll—engaging the FSB team from a flanking position with deadly precision.
“Move, now!” I ordered, supporting Reaper as we made our way toward the gangway.
Typhon’s team was visible on the dock, providing suppressive fire as we approached. I caught a glimpse of Jekyll backing away, disappearing into the bright morning light without looking at Kima. Her eyes followed him, conflict evident in her expression.
The extraction was chaotic but effective. Within a few seconds, Greenwich approached in an SUV and transported us away from the port, Reaper secured between us. Only when we were safely clear did I notice the blood seeping through his shirt.
“You’re hit,” I said, already reaching for the medical kit.
“Flesh wound,” he dismissed, though his pallor suggested otherwise. “Got it during initial capture. More pressing matters to discuss.”
“Whatever it is can wait,” Kima said, helping me apply pressure to the wound.
“Jekyll was part of the interrogation team.”
If that was the case, the same man who’d saved all our lives was working both sides.
“They questioned me about Minerva.”
“How did he handle it?” I asked.
Reaper shook his head slowly. “Jekyll…” He paused, seeming to struggle with what to say next. “He protected me during interrogation. Somehow convinced them I was more valuable alive than dead.”
“Interesting,” I muttered.
“He also asked me to deliver a message to Delfino.” He glanced at her. “He said, ‘Tell her I’m running out of time.’”
The vehicle went quiet as we absorbed the message Reaper passed on. Kima’s expression was unreadable, but I felt her hand seek mine.
“Did he say anything else?” she asked.
Reaper hesitated, an unusual reticence coming over him. “Their intention was to transport me to Montenegro. He mentioned Romanov as well as Dr. Henning specifically. Said finding her was critical.”
I caught the flash of surprise on Kima’s face. “Amaryllis’s missing mentor?” she asked.
“That’s right. Also, Jekyll seemed…concerned about her safety.”
“Did he explain the connection?” I pressed.
“No.” Reaper’s expression darkened.
As we approached the extraction point where medical support waited, I found myself studying Reaper. Something in his demeanor suggested he was holding back—weighing each word with uncustomary caution.
“We’re approaching the safe house,” Greenwich announced.
Kima squeezed my hand before releasing it. “Get Reaper to medical. I need to brief Typhon.”
While the medical team took Reaper inside, I hung back, catching him in a moment alone.
“What aren’t you telling us?” I asked quietly.
Shadows of something I couldn’t identify lurked on his face. “Some truths aren’t mine to share.” He glanced toward where Kima was conferring with Typhon. “But I will say this—Jekyll’s involved with Minerva. While not said specifically, my gut is telling me I’m right. There’s also something else in motion that extends beyond his relationship with his stepdaughter.”
Before I could press further, Amaryllis appeared, her face tight with concern that softened visibly when she saw Reaper. Their gazes met across the room, another unspoken exchange reinforcing my suspicion that their antagonism masked something more complex.
As the team regrouped to plan our next move, I found myself watching Reaper and Amaryllis.
“Hornet.” Typhon’s voice broke through my thoughts. “A word.”
I followed him to a private corner of the safe house. “Sir?”
“Jekyll made contact,” he said without preamble. “During the extraction.”
“With you?”
“Yes, briefly. He confirmed what Reaper told you—Montenegro is our next destination.” Typhon’s expression hardened. “I don’t need to tell you that Delfino is walking into something bigger than a family reunion.”
“No, sir. You don’t.”
“This mission is going to get more complicated.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “Jekyll and Delfino have unfinished business that goes beyond operational objectives.”
“Agreed,” I replied, knowing exactly what he meant. The personal and professional were colliding in a way I had no doubt Jekyll had planned.
“I’m certain Jekyll is dying,” Typhon continued. “And dying men with secrets are unpredictable. Especially when those secrets have been kept for over a decade.” His eyes bored into mine. “Right now, all I care about is that Kima comes out of this unscathed. I don’t give a fuck about Minerva or Romanov.”
“Roger that,” I responded.