A sudden jolt of turbulence rattled the cabin, snapping Reed awake. Overhead lights flickered, casting fleeting shadows across uneasy faces. A low murmur rippled through the passengers as the plane rocked again. Reed blinked hard, shaking off the grogginess clinging to him like a heavy fog. The last thing he remembered was leaning back against the headrest, his eyes heavy from exhaustion after an unrelenting 24 hours.
His previous assignment had been posing as a photographer at the Governor's daughter's wedding—one of those sprawling New Orleans affairs where the celebrations bleed into dawn, a chaotic mix of flashes, quick adjustments, and the city's signature revelry. He hadn't planned to fall asleep on this flight to Vienna, but the fatigue had been absolute, pulling him under before he could resist.
He stretched his legs out and glanced down, his pulse quickening. The camera instruction manual—a thin booklet that had slipped from his fingers while he dozed—rested precariously on his lap. Relief washed over him as he snatched it back. This wasn't just a manual; it was a lifeline, disguised in plain sight.
Reed scanned the cabin. The man in 16B was still there, eyes closed but unnaturally still, as if feigning sleep. The flight attendant, who had watched him with predatory focus earlier, was nowhere in sight. For now.
The plane lurched again, and the captain's voice crackled over the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're experiencing a patch of turbulence. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened."
The announcement barely registered with Reed who was now preoccupied, wondering if he had missed anything inside the manual. If this was PPI's way of guiding him, then there was far more at stake than a covert photo session. The mission to photograph Secretary Kessler and pass on the coded sequence suddenly felt secondary, a cover for something larger.
Vienna was still hours away, but now it wasn't just about reaching his destination. It was about staying alive.
His eyes flickered to the overhead lights as it blinked on, followed by a crackle from the intercom. The captain's voice came through, steady but tinged with something that tightened Reed's gut.
"Ladies and gentlemen, due to unforeseen circumstances, we will be diverting to Bratislava, Slovakia. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened."
A murmur of confusion rippled through the cabin as passengers shifted nervously. Reed's heart pounded. Bratislava? This wasn't in any of his contingency plans. He glanced at 16B, who was now wide awake, eyes alert. And slowly turned his head in Reed's direction. Their gazes locked, and Reed knew: this diversion wasn't random.
The flight attendant emerged from the galley; his polite facade stripped away. His gaze swept the cabin with the precision of a marksman before locking onto Reed. Another shudder rippled through the plane, harder this time, and Reed's grip on the manual instinctively tightened.
He leaned back, feigning interest in the pages. The coded alert replayed in his mind—a signal from an operative out of sync, calling for subtle coordination.
"Unexpected, isn't it?" came a muttered voice across the aisle. Reed turned just enough to see a pale, wide-eyed woman clutching her armrest. She looked shaken; her knuckles white. He forced a reassuring nod, masking the storm of thoughts raging beneath the surface.
Bratislava meant delays, missed connections, and a complete overhaul of his escape plan. Vienna, and Secretary Kessler, felt more out of reach with each passing second. But this diversion wasn't an emergency caused change of plans—it was deliberate.
Reed glanced again at 16B. The man now staring right at him. "Looks like a rough ride," the man said, his voice low and casual. His gaze flicked to Reed's camera, then back up to Reed's eyes. "Bet you're a professional with that kind of gear."
Reed blinked, but he kept his smile tight. "You could say that."
The man reached into his jacket pocket and slipped out a card, passing it with practiced nonchalance. Reed accepted it, glancing at the clean, minimalist design as he tucked it into his pocket. Box Gallery, it read. The tagline below declared: An Eye for the Unexpected. The address and phone number were unmistakable—coordinates every PPI operative knew by heart. This wasn't just a gallery; it was a PPI outpost, a safe house.
"Good eye," Reed murmured, making the exchange appear as casual small talk. The man in 16B nodded once, a subtle smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
The plane jolted again, and 16B leaned back, closing his eyes as if the moment had passed. But for Reed, the revelation settled like a weight in his chest. This wasn't just about an unexpected diversion or a suspicious flight attendant—it was bigger. He was a pawn in a larger, shifting game, and Vienna wasn't the finish line. It was the starting point for something far more complex. The man who handed him the card was connected—how deeply, Reed didn't yet know.
The plane tilted into descent, and the captain's voice returned through the speakers. "We'll be landing shortly in Bratislava."
Reed's heart seemed to skip a beat as he closed the manual and tucked it under his arm. Whatever awaited him on Slovakian soil, he needed to be ready.
The plane began its descent into Bratislava, the hum of the engines masking the uneasy murmurs sweeping through the cabin. Before Reed could process his next move, the flight attendant emerged from the galley, striding toward him with purpose.
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"Mr. Sawyer," the attendant said, his voice clipped and professional, "I need you to step aside for a routine PPI inspection."
Reed's mouth opened with shock. The phrase sounded innocuous—just another procedural check. But to him, it carried a far heavier meaning. Why PPI? Was the attendant subtly signaling Reed's connection to the organization? Or was this something else entirely?
Reed stood slowly; camera instruction manual tucked firmly under his arm. "Of course," he said evenly, letting a trace of compliance show as he stepped into the aisle.
"We'll need to verify a few items," the attendant said, his tone firm as he gestured Reed toward the galley. Leaning in, his voice dropped to a near whisper. "PPI checks are essential, but not all forums are secure."
Reed's mind raced. The "forum"—a clear reference to Pro4uM.com's dual nature? It was a known risk that not every piece of intel on the site could be trusted. The warning was subtle but clear: even trusted procedures could be traps.
"Mr. Sawyer," the attendant said again, his calm starting to fray. "We need to complete this before landing."
"I'm ready," Reed said, though the question remained: ready for what—and for whom?
Reed had barely taken five steps when the seatbelt signs flashed on, followed by the intercom blaring to life:
"Ladies and gentlemen, we've begun our initial descent into Bratislava. At this time, we'd like to ask everyone to please return to your seats, fasten your seat belts, and ensure your tray tables are stowed and seatbacks are in the upright position. Flight attendants, please prepare the cabin for landing and take your seats."
The flight attendant shot a pointed look at Reed. "Please return to your seat. We'll continue the inspection after landing."
As Reed turned back, he caught the briefest glance exchanged between the flight attendant and 16B. It was subtle—so quick it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else. But Reed's instincts flared.
Years behind the lens had trained him to catch the smallest shifts in a person's expression—the faintest flicker of recognition, a fleeting hesitation in the eyes. This was one of those moments. The glance wasn't just a glance; it was an unspoken exchange. A signal.
Are they working together? The thought ricocheted through Reed's mind, colliding with cryptic clues and coded warnings. The flight attendant's cool demeanor, the deliberate PPI reference, and now this fleeting exchange—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit together. Reed's training came rushing back: Trust no one completely. Even the familiar can betray you.
Was 16B orchestrating this scene with the flight attendant? Was this diversion to Bratislava part of a bigger plan, crafted long before he boarded? Or were they both agents, manipulating him from different angles?
Reed's mind churned with questions. On paper, the mission was straightforward: fly to Vienna, photograph Secretary Lucien Kessler at an exclusive diplomatic event, and subtly pass on a coded sequence hidden in the way he directed the session. It was classic PPI—an exchange masked as routine. But now, with the unexpected diversion to Bratislava and the cryptic interactions on the flight, Reed felt the weight of what hadn't been said.
Settling back into his seat, Reed let his mind comb through the mission file. Every detail was burned into his memory: expected lighting conditions, proper attire, the address to pick up the equipment—
Wait.
The address.
His hand shot to his pocket, pulling out the card given to him by 16B. His eyes scanned the printed address. It matched.
Relief flickered—brief, fragile. A confirmation they were on the same team.
Or were they?
The question hung in the air, unsettling and persistent. What truly bothered him were the omissions—the unspoken elements PPI was infamous for leaving in its directives. The gaps felt deliberate, calculated, as if designed to create space for the unforeseen. Now, with 16B's involvement and the flight attendant's cryptic warnings, Reed felt as though he were assembling a puzzle, he hadn't even realized existed.
Is this still the PPI I believed in? The question surfaced, unwelcome but insistent. He remembered when PPI had first recruited him, presenting itself as a force of silent guardians, stepping in where larger agencies faltered. It had promised honor cloaked in secrecy—serving without recognition but with the knowledge that justice was being done.
A memory flashed: training days at PPI, shadowed rooms filled with agents speaking in code and sharing stories that straddled truth and myth. He had been eager then; driven by the belief he was joining an organization that protected without the burden of politics and red tape. A mentor, Hudson, once told him, "We don't get the glory, but we make sure others do. We're the difference between a headline and a footnote." It was like being a commercial photographer. Nobody remembered the photographer who shot car ads for Toyota; he was just a footnote, an anonymous craftsman cashing a check.
Reed's thoughts froze. Was that still the PPI he served? Or had its noble mission twisted under ambition, shadowed by the corruption it vowed to fight? The sudden diversion, the cryptic warning from 16B, and the PPI-trained flight attendant's obscure words pointed to a mission that was anything but straightforward.
The idea of Kessler as a decoy began to take shape. If the Secretary was just a lure, the real objective lay deeper, hidden beyond what PPI trusted him to see. The possibility stung, cutting with the sharp edge of betrayal.
Reed exhaled slowly, forcing clarity into his thoughts. He'd joined PPI to be on the right side, to do meaningful work without getting caught up in the grand games of world powers. But now, with the pieces moving around him like chessmen in someone else's strategy, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was a pawn in a game spinning beyond his control.
He glanced down at the camera instruction manual, now open in his hands. It reminded him of who he was—an operative trained to see beyond the obvious, capturing what others missed. If PPI's purpose had shifted, if their true intentions were compromised, he knew he would need to navigate this mission on his own terms.
For the first time, he wondered if the operative in 16B was as in the dark as he was, another piece being moved on a board neither of them fully understood.
Reed's resolve solidified. Whether he was being set up or not, he would see this through. He would reach Vienna, confront Kessler, and find the truth. If the mission held darker motives, he would do what PPI had trained him for—adapt, survive, and uncover the real story hidden in plain sight.
The descent continued, the lights of Bratislava airport winking through the small window—a promise of safety or the start of a new trap.
His muscles tensed as the landing gear engaged, the plane shuddering in anticipation. This was it. Time had run out, and the game was about to change.
The wheels screeched against the tarmac, jolting passengers against their seats. The engines roared as the plane decelerated, the noise masking anxious whispers. Reed's pulse pounded, urgency pressing down on him.
Amid the commotion, 16B leaned forward, eyes locking on Reed with a look that pierced through the noise. His lips moved, barely audible over the din. "They know you're here," he said, each word sharp.
The engines eased into a rumbling hum as the plane prepared to taxi. Reed's eyes darted between the flight attendant, standing stiffly by the galley with a predatory watchfulness, and 16B, who leaned back. Simultaneously the cabin lights flickered, as if on the brink of failure. The captain's voice came through the intercom, calm but hollow: "Welcome to Bratislava, Slovakia. We've arrived about an hour early due to the diversion. Please remain seated until we reach the gate."
An hour early. Reed's hand instinctively went to his phone, still in airplane mode, silent through the 12-hour flight. There had to be a message, an update—something from PPI or another source. His fingers itched as he powered it on, eyes fixed on the screen as notifications filtered in.
One message stood out, above the rest: "If Kessler falls, it's failure. Watch the shadows, but move only in the light."
Reed's breath caught, almost gasping out loud, the warning's weight settling in his chest. The lights of the airport glowed outside the window, casting long, cold shadows. He gripped the camera instruction manual and the phone, muscles tensed as the plane rolled to a stop. The world outside waited, uncertain and full of unknowns.