Marcus woke to the early morning light filtering through his bedroom window. The stillness of the house felt like an echo of the life that had filled it, a reminder of everything he’d lost. But as he lay there, his grief hardened into resolve. He knew what needed to be done. And the first step was making the call he’d been dreading.
He picked up his phone, finding Kessler’s number, and pressed dial. The line barely rang before Kessler picked up, as if he’d been waiting for this moment.
“Marcus,” Kessler said, his voice as steady as ever.
“Kessler. Tell me what you know.”
There was a pause, and then Kessler’s tone turned grave. “We’ve been piecing together what we can. The intel community doesn’t yet know who orchestrated the attack, but we do know where some of the men came from. Three of the terrorists were Iraqis from Mandali, a city close to the Iranian and Syrian borders. The two others were Syrian nationals, ex-ISIS fighters, veterans of the group’s last stand.”
Marcus listened intently, each word fueling the growing fire inside him.
“Two of the Iraqis,” Kessler continued, “were brothers. They’d been active online, posting support for an Islamic group out of Mandali that’s kept under the radar. They haven’t conducted any attacks yet, so they’ve largely gone unnoticed by the global intelligence agencies.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened. “This group—are they still in Mandali?”
“As far as we know,” Kessler replied. “But they’re small, and they’ve got the advantage of local support. You know the terrain, the way these groups vanish into the towns. They’re difficult to pin down, especially in a region that’s a crossroads for anyone trying to avoid attention.”
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Marcus was silent, processing the information. “Anything on their financing? How they managed to pull this off?”
Kessler hesitated. “Nothing solid yet. Whoever’s backing them, they’re good at covering their tracks. These aren’t amateurs, Marcus. They’ve been careful, kept it clean. We’ll keep digging, but it may take time to get a clear trail.”
“Time’s one thing I don’t have,” Marcus said, the edge in his voice unmistakable.
Kessler sighed, as if bracing himself for what was coming. “I expected that. But remember, Marcus, this isn’t about just one man. If you start this… the fire will spread.”
“Let it,” Marcus replied, his tone icy. “I’m not stopping until they’re all gone.”
Another pause. “Understood,” Kessler said. “I’ll have a contact waiting for you in Baghdad. They’ll brief you further on the ground situation in Mandali.”
“Good,” Marcus replied, his voice hollow but resolute. “I’ll be there soon.”
Marcus ended the call, gripping the phone tightly as he stared out the window. He stood in the quiet of his home for a final moment, the walls around him a fading echo of the life he’d fought so hard to build. He placed his phone carefully on the counter, its screen dark and silent, leaving behind any tether to his old life. His gaze swept over the room, each piece of furniture, each small detail heavy with memories he could no longer carry.
With a steady hand, he reached for the front door and paused. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of loss settle fully over him, hardening into something unbreakable. This place, this life—he had tried to make it his own, but it was gone now, scorched in a fire he could never put out.
He stepped outside, locking the door with a final, resolute click, sealing the past behind him. He knew he would never return. The man who had lived here, loved here, was gone. In his place walked someone with a new purpose, forged by loss and vengeance.
Without looking back, Marcus descended the steps and walked into the dawn.