The rain poured, drumming against the windshield as Sarah and Grace sat in the van, parked a few blocks from the federal building. The water streaked across the glass, blurring everything outside into a smear of lights and shadows. Each drop seemed to hammer with a rhythmic insistence, like the ticking of a clock counting down the moments before something inevitable and dark.
Horner had already left with Mason, heading for a secure location arranged by Grace. It was called ‘Haven’, an unassuming, abandoned farmstead nestled deep in the Louisiana bayou. Accessible only by a narrow, winding dirt road, it was surrounded by dense cypress trees and veiled in perpetual mist. The locals spoke of the property in hushed tones, calling it cursed, which made it the perfect hideout.
In the van, the engine’s quiet hum competed with the incessant beat of the downpour. Sarah glanced over at Grace, her eyes narrowing as if trying to pierce the fog that cloaked their surroundings.
"Don’t let that bastard get into your head. He’s a manipulator—a professional at screwing with people’s minds."
"What if he’s right, though? What if everything I’ve believed about my father was a lie?"
"Even if there’s some truth in what he said, that doesn’t change who your father was to you. And it doesn’t change what we need to do now. "
“Where’s Ryker?”
"Dead. He got sloppy after the explosion. They found him near the building. If they’ve traced him back to us—"
"Then we’ll be.….We can’t stay here."
As they were about to exit the van, a silhouette, soaking wet, was seen advancing towards the van. The figure’s limp and uneven pace made Sarah’s pulse quicken. Soon, it was right at the van’s door, slamming her palm against the glass. The headlights of the van caught the face of a young woman, eyes wide with fear and desperation. Wet strands of hair clung messily to her pale face, and her lips trembled as she mouthed one word: Help.
Grace looked doubtful, her foot hovering over the gas pedal. “We can’t risk it. It could be a setup.”
“She’s scared, Grace. Look at her.”
Against her better judgment, Grace acquiesced. She rolled down the window just enough to let the woman speak.
“Who are you?”
“I...I’m Alice. I was with them—the ones who.....who had done the firing at Old Oak. Please, trust me. I am no longer with them; I have escaped. But they’re coming. They’ll kill us all if we don’t leave.”
“Who? Who’s coming?”
“They call themselves ‘The Syndicate.’ They’re not just after you—they’re after anyone who knows what really happened to the President.”
“How do we know you’re not leading them right to us?”
Alice took a shaky breath, reaching into her pocket to pull out a small flash drive. “This has everything—the files, the communications. It’s proof. You have to trust me. I’m on your side now.”
Sarah grabbed the flash drive from Alice. It was light, inconspicuous—yet it felt like the weight of the entire conspiracy rested in her palm.
Grace glanced in the rearview mirror. “Get in. Quick.”
Alice climbed into the back, huddling between the seats while Grace threw the van into reverse, tires skidding against the slick mud as they raced away from the federal building.
“We need to reach out to Horner. If what she says is true, they’re already one step ahead.”
The van rumbled along the rugged path. Outside, a thunderstorm unleashed its fury, drenching the landscape in a thick blanket of grey. The trees stood like silent sentinels, their twisted branches stretching out as if eager to pull them back into the obscurity of the shadows.
Alice pressed against the back window. “They’ll be tracking us. We can’t take the main roads. They know every checkpoint.”
Grace’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I know a way. It’s longer, but it’ll keep us off their radar.”
As they veered onto a narrower path, the van jolted violently over potholes.
Sarah turned to Alice. “Who are these people?”
“I was embedded with them for weeks. They’re a network of operatives—intelligence agents and mercenaries. They’re ruthless and will stop at nothing to protect their interests.”
“Interests? What interests?”
“The Syndicate. They believe in a new order, a shift in the balance of power. The President’s assassination wasn’t just about eliminating a threat; it was part of a larger plan—a coup designed to destabilize the government. Mason is just a scapegoat. They wanted to create chaos, to manipulate public opinion. If they control the story, they control the outcome. They want to install a puppet leader who will be compliant, someone who will serve their agenda.”
At that moment, Sarah felt the flash drive in her hand was not only a potential bombshell but also a beacon drawing them closer to peril.
“We need something concrete to bring down The Syndicate.”
“When I was stationed with them during their operations, I heard conversations about the President’s death and saw something more than just files—physical evidence—coded documents sewn into clothing, unmarked weapons, and caches of money meant to fund the next phase of their operation.”
“Weapons? Caches of money?”
“Yes, it’s a physical coup in the making. They’re stockpiling arms, setting up safe houses across the country. They’re preparing for a complete take over, not just manipulating from the back end.”
"Where are these safe houses?"
"I don't know all of them, just a few locations I've overheard. But there's one in New Orleans—an old dockyard used for shipments."
The conversation was interrupted by the buzzing of Grace’s phone, an unknown number flashing on the screen. She picked it up cautiously.
“Who’s this?”
“Ryker. You know, the guy you left to rot under a pile of rubble?”
Her heart stopped mid-beat. Ryker was supposed to be dead—blown to bits after the explosion, or so they’d all assumed.
“You’re alive?”
“Oh, come on. Drop the act. You knew exactly what you were doing. Leave Ryker behind, let him clean up the mess, and hope he’s blown to pieces before he figures out who lit the fuse. Classic move. But don’t worry. I’m not here to hold grudges. I’m still alive, after all. And, funny enough, I’ve got something that might keep you alive. But, of course, nothing comes free.”
“Where are you?”
”At ‘Ebon Mirage’—28 minutes from your current location and yes, I know where you all are at right now. Come alone or this little treasure I found? It goes to the people whom you would not want to.”
The line went dead.
Grace slammed her fist on to the dashboard. “That scoundrel—”
“Ryker’s alive?” Sarah cut in. “How?”
“I don’t know, but if Ryker’s back, he’s got more than just a score to settle. He never plays unless he’s holding all the cards.”
“Is he double-crossing us?”
“I’m going anyway cause Ryker doesn’t bluff—he dangles bait. And only me; you two wait in the van.”
The trio sat in tense silence as they drove to the place mentioned by Ryker—hidden deep within a forsaken section of the city, the once opulent hotel, looms ominously against the sky, cloaked in shadows that swallow the faintest light.
“Don’t follow me.” Grace said as she stepped out to make her way to the den for the unsavoury.
Sarah clenched her fists. Letting Grace go off alone felt wrong, especially with Ryker lurking like a venomous snake.
"That’s basically suicide."
"I’m the only one who can handle Ryker. He’s already got one hand on the trigger, and he’s playing us. I need to figure out what he’s holding over us—alone."
Before Sarah could argue, Grace vanished into the downpour.
Alice was still shivering, half from the cold and half from fear.
“She might be walking into a trap.”
"Grace has always had her own way of doing things."
“But—”
Suddenly, the side door of the van was yanked open. A hand reached in, pulling Alice out by her collar with a brutal force. Sarah barely had time to react before a masked man shoved her back into her seat at gunpoint.
“Quiet!”
She glanced at Alice, now pinned to the muddy ground, struggling beneath the weight of another attacker. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t move—the muzzle of the gun two centimetres away from her face paralyzed her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a third figure. Tall and dressed in a rain-soaked coat, he approached the van unhurriedly and stopped outside it, bending slightly to peer inside.
"Sarah Lawson, I presume."
His voice was unsettlingly calm, exuding a false politeness that sent shivers down her spine.
“Where’s Grace?”
“Don’t worry about her. She’s having a…..conversation with Ryker. You are coming with me. You’ve really gone out of your way to make things difficult.”
He motioned to the man who hauled Alice to her feet. “Bring her too. She knows too much.”
As they were about to drag Sarah from the van, a loud crash echoed from the alleyway—a metallic clang followed by shouting. The masked man stiffened, momentarily distracted, and Sarah saw her chance. She twisted her body, slamming the van door into the man’s wrist. His gun clattered to the floor, and Sarah lunged for it, her fingers brushing the cold metal just as the man tackled her to the ground.
She screamed to Alice. "Run!"
Alice stumbled, breaking free from the second assailant and sprinting down the lane. Sarah gritted her teeth and swung the gun upward. The man grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully, but she managed to pull the trigger.
The shot rang out, sharp and deafening. The man’s body jerked violently as the bullet perforated his throat, blood spurting from the lesion in a horrifying spray. His scream was cut short, replaced by a guttural gurgle as he collapsed, his weight going limp on top of her. Sarah shoved his lifeless body aside, scrambling to her feet, following the footsteps of Alice.
The third man—the one in charge—began chasing her but Grace appeared unexpectedly, a knife glinting in her hand and blood streaming from a gash on her temple, and slashed at his thigh in one swift motion with a broken blade.
He staggered, clutching his muscle as blood oozed from the injury.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
"You’re tougher than you look. But you’ve just made your last mistake."
Sarah, hearing his chilling words, froze mid-step. She turned, her heart thundering in her chest as the scene unfolded before her like a nightmare.
He lunged at Grace and dodged the blade, grabbing her arm and twisting it behind her back. With a grunt, he shoved her against the side window, smashing it into a thousand jagged pieces. She crumpled to the ground and groaned in pain as the glass shards pierced her head.
“Thought you could outsmart us? You're just a—”
Sarah didn’t let him finish. She leaped forward and with every ounce of strength she had left, she tackled him from behind. They tumbled to the ground, but his strength overpowered her. He threw her off effortlessly, sending her crashing into the van's rear door.
"Stupid move, Lawson. Just like your father—too stubborn for your own good."
She glanced around, searching for anything she could use to defend herself. Her eyes locked on the serrated pieces of glass scattered across the ground near Grace.
Just as he was about to make his next move, she picked up one of the rugged pieces to cut deep into his already exposed thigh. The fragment bit extensively into his flesh, severing muscle and artery. He roared in excruciating pain, blood squirting from the incision in thick pulses, staining the wet ground a dark crimson.
"You think this is over?" the man hissed, blood gurgling from his lips. "You’re next. The Syndicate doesn’t leave loose ends."
But Sarah wasn’t listening. Her focus was entirely on Grace, who was struggling to lift her head. Sarah rushed to her side.
"Grace. Don’t worry. I am taking you to the nearest hospital. We’ll get out of this. Just hang on.”
"T—Too...l—late." Her voice was barely audible over her shallow breaths. She pulled Sarah towards her weakly. “The truth…..never dies. Y—You have to…expose them. Don’t let them bury it all….like your father…..”
Tears blurred Sarah’s vision as Grace failed to complete her sentence; her loose grip on Sarah’s arm collapsed, her gaze becoming distant. She exhaled one final, laboured breath.
“No….” Sarah’s voice cracked; her hands shook uncontrollably.
Right then, the door of the van creaked. Sarah turned to see the man—still bleeding but trying to stagger towards her, eyes filled with fury. She grabbed the gun dropped earlier. Her fingers tightened around the cold steel as she aimed it at him.
"For Grace. For my father.”
The man’s head snapped back as the bullet tore through his skull, fragments of bone dispersing in the air. His body hit the ground as life drained from his eyes. The gunshot reverberated through the alley, its sharp, brutal echo fading into the relentless patter of rain.
Sarah stumbled over to Grace's body. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she gently closed her friend’s eyes.
"I won’t let it be for nothing."
With one last glance at Grace, she ran to find Alice, her shoes splashing through puddles as the rain soaked her to the bone.
Alice had already made it to the street and was standing under a flickering lamppost. Her eyes were wide, filled with fear, and Sarah could tell that she was just as shaken.
“We need to move. They’ll be hunting us.”
“Where’s Grace?”
Sarah’s face stiffened; the agony beneath was unmistakable. Her lips pressed together as if words were too painful to form, yet her silence spoke volumes. Her answer was there, glinting in her tear-filled eyes, a silent confession of unbearable sorrow. Her shoulders slumped, burdened by an invisible weight that felt all-consuming. Alice’s breath hitched. She could feel the unspoken truth—a terrible, undeniable reality that crashed into her, leaving her hollow and speechless.
“We can’t stop.”
"Where do we go?"
"We find Horner. He and Mason are at the safehouse."
All of a sudden, Sarah felt a sharp vibration in her pocket. She pulled out her phone to see a call from an unknown number.
“Where are you? We’ve got problems.”
“Horner! From where are you calling?”
“Not important. Ryker has betrayed us. He has made a deal with The Syndicate.
“What do you mean, betrayed us?”
“He tipped them off about us in exchange for his sister’s life. Apparently, she was convicted for murder—some high-profile case in D.C. and given a death sentence. The Syndicate promised to put pressure on the Supreme Court to withdraw the order for capital punishment if Ryker sold us out.”
“How did you get this intel?”
“In the middle of the chaos. After Grace sent Mason and I to the west stairwell, we barely made it down a couple of flights when the situation felt like it was getting out of hand. There were agents everywhere, controlling the exits. We had to duck into a closet because we couldn’t risk moving. We waited in there for what felt like hours. That’s when I overheard two agents talking about how Ryker sold us to save his sister. I couldn’t say anything to Grace earlier. There wasn’t time, and I didn’t know who to trust anymore. Sarah, Ryker’s been playing us from the start.”
“And you’re sure?”
“100%. Ryker knows our moves—everything. He’s been tracking us, monitoring Grace, and now….now they have her blood on their hands too.”
The pieces seemed to fall into place now. Ryker’s attempts to get close, his calculated moves, getting Grace killed……..The image of Grace lying motionless in the rain flashed before Sarah’s eyes. The loss was searing, and now, knowing it was Ryker’s actions that had led to that, rage bubbled in her chest.
“We’re coming.”
"You sure that’s a good idea? If Ryker knows about it—"
She hung up the call hastily.
“We have to move.”
Alice scanned the empty road ahead of them. “Where? We don't even have a bike.”
“We’ll go on foot. Haven’s only a couple of miles away.”
Without waiting for Alice to respond, Sarah took off down the muddy trail, her boots sinking into the wet earth with each step. Alice hesitated for a moment but followed soon enough.
After what felt like an eternity of trudging through the rain and the dirt, Haven finally came into view. The fog around it was thick, swallowing the landscape in its eerie embrace, and for a moment, Sarah felt completely cut off from the world—like they were the last two people on Earth.
A figure stepped out from the shadows, its presence abrupt and jarring. Sarah raised her gun in defence.
"It's me, Horner!”
“Where’s Mason?"
"Inside. But he's barely holding on.”
Just then, a low rumble echoed through the bayou, a sound that was too mechanical, too deliberate to be natural.
“This is it. It was good knowing you guys.”
Ignoring him, Sarah dashed into the building, the smell of mildew and damp wood filling her senses. She found Mason slumped in a corner, his face gaunt and puny.
“You’re late.”
“We’re getting you out of here else they’ll bury the truth along with you.”
“The truth is....they're already here.”
A bullet shattered the window, followed by another. The sound of boots splashing through the mud outside grew louder, more threatening.
“We’ve got to hold them off.”
The front door burst open with a deafening crash, splinters flying across the room. Five men stormed in with their rifles raised. They wore tactical gear, faces covered with black balaclavas, their eyes cold and emotionless. One of them, taller than the rest, gestured to the others. “Take them alive if possible, dead if necessary. Master Hale wants them silenced.”
The words struck Sarah like a blow to the gut. Hale—the ruthless and elusive manipulator—was behind all of this. He wasn’t just covering tracks; he was The Syndicate.
Horner pulled out his gun to fire at the intruders, but the men scattered, ducking behind furniture, retaliating with lethal force. Bullets tore through the walls, making the air thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder. Sarah too felt the hot sting of a bullet graze her arm. She pulled the trigger in quick succession, hitting one of the men square in the chest. He collapsed with a grunt, blood seeping into the planks beneath.
But there were too many. Unsurprisingly, Ryker appeared from behind, unscathed, his eyes blazing with a predatory gleam.
“Hey pals! Recognize me?”
The memory of Grace ripped Sarah’s wound wide open again.
“You were always on their side.”
Horner could sense Sarah’s focus getting deviated.
“Get Mason out of here! I’ll hold them off!”
The sound of another gunshot echoed through the cabin, and Horner fell to his knees, blood blossoming across his chest. He hit the ground with a sickening thud.
“Horner!”
Ryker advanced slowly. “You were given chances to save yourself, but it seems you prefer death over life.”
Sarah clenched her jaw, gripping her gun tighter. As bullets continued to rip through the air, she glanced at Mason who was barely able to move. He wouldn't make it far.
Without thinking, she fired a shot towards Ryker. He dodged, moving swiftly behind cover. But Sarah wasn’t aiming for him; she hit the propane tank just behind him. It exploded with a thunderous boom, throwing Ryker off balance. The blast sent debris flying everywhere, and Ryker screamed in agony as he was engulfed in flames.
“Help me, Alice!” Sarah yelled as she dragged Mason towards the door.
Alice’s face was pale, her lips trembling with fear. She took a step forward, but something made her freeze.
Then it happened.
A sharp crack echoed through the storm. Alice’s eyes widened in shock. She gasped, her body jerking violently as she staggered back. Blood erupted from her abdomen, pouring out in a thick, visceral torrent. Her fingers twitched reflexively towards the gaping wound, but it was too late—the dark, sticky liquid surged through her shirt, drenching it in deep scarlet. The force of the shot sent her reeling, splattering blood across the ground as she collapsed, her face contorted in agony.
Before Sarah could react, a second shot rang out—this one louder, closer. The bullet tore through Alice’s chest with brutal precision, sending her small frame crashing backward into the mud. The impact was sickening, her body flopping like a rag doll, arms splayed out, blood mixing with the rain and dirt beneath her.
Sarah felt a cold, numbing rage wash over her, but she couldn’t afford to break down—not now. She grabbed Mason's arm, dragging him away. Tears mixed with rain on her face, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
She couldn’t give up now. Not when the truth was finally within reach. She had followed too many dead ends, lost too much, and now, with Mason as her reluctant but only ally, she was so close to figuring out the truth behind the President’s murder as well as understanding what had happened to her father.
Mason coughed, a deep, rattling sound, and leaned heavily against her. "I never wanted this, Sarah. I didn’t know—"
"Save it." she cut him off. There was no time for his half-hearted confessions. They had to get out of sight before Hale’s men caught up. She glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to see shadowy figures lurking behind them.
Just as they reached the mouth of the pathway, the sound of a single gunshot reverberated through the rain. Sarah felt Mason's body jerk violently in her arms. In an instance, his still body crumpled to the ground.
"No!"
Sarah dropped to her knees beside him. Her hands shakily hovered over the fresh wound in his chest, blood pooling around his inert framework. She looked up, searching for the source of the shot.
And then she saw him.
Hale stood at the far end, shrouded in the misty rain, a pistol still aimed at where Mason had stood. His face was calm, emotionless, as if this was just another day on the job. His coat flared out behind him, making him look like a phantom in the storm.
“You…You…”
"Mason was a loose end. He was never going to make it out of this alive."
"He…He knew the truth—about the President, about my father."
“Despite the persistent pursuits to intimidate you to forsake this case, as well as to mislead you to induce confusion when you were trying to demonstrate how hard-headed you are, you got till here. Well, since you’re going to re-unite with your friends and your dad very soon, let me tell you the truth once and for all, so that your soul doesn’t wander around, “searching for the truth” after your grand farewell party tonight.”
Hale flicked away his used cigarette and crushed it underfoot. “Mason was trained to kill the President. He was never supposed to survive the mission in the first place. He was marked for elimination the moment his task was done.”
“What are you talking about?”
"Your father; he hadn’t merely uncovered a conspiracy. He had discovered the President’s plan—the real plan. It wasn’t The Syndicate pulling the strings behind the scenes; it was the President himself. Your father had gotten too close, learned too much, and the President had ordered his death to protect his secrets."
Hale took a deep breath. “The President was involved in something far worse than anyone could imagine. He wasn’t just manipulating power for personal gain—he was running an illegal arms trade with Zhakari."
A sense of dread settled in Sarah’s chest. Zhakari—the rogue state, a nemesis of the U.S., notorious for its global destabilization efforts. The very mention of that country sent ripples through the international community, and now…now Hale was telling her that the President himself had been arming them.
"He was selling high-grade military weapons, munitions, even advanced technology. The profits were staggering. Billions funnelled through hidden accounts, and no one knew. The President was using his position to fuel Zhakari’s regional dominance, all while cashing in on the chaos. It was the perfect crime, and no one would ever suspect the Commander-in-Chief."
He continued. “Your father had thought he was investigating a routine case, but the deeper he dug, the more he realized the President was at the centre of it all. He had gotten hold of evidence—contracts, payments, everything. But before he could go public, the President—”
“Killed him. And you think I will believe this cooked up story of yours?”
Hale grinned.
“You’re just like your father.”
He pulled out his phone from his coat pocket.
“Let me show you.”
He turned it towards her. The screen displayed a series of encrypted files, each bearing the unmistakable presidential seal in the corner. She saw what looked like detailed military contracts, lists of offshore bank accounts, and streams of coded communications between the President and Rami Elan, the Sovereign of Zhakari.
“Your father had found these documents which tie the President directly to an arms deal with Zhakari. Prescott was playing both sides—selling weapons to the very enemies he publicly condemned.”
Sarah felt shock waves course through her as Hale swiped from file to file.
“Look here. Millions of dollars wired to accounts registered under shell companies. All leading back to the President. And these communications…” Hale zoomed in on the coded messages. “Your father decoded these.
Out of all the messages, one stood out:
Terminate T. Lawson.
It was dated just two days before her father’s death.
“That’s the President’s order. He had given the kill command.”
After a long pause of struggling to process what she just heard, Sarah spoke up.
"Why do you want to kill me?"
“Because you're standing where you shouldn’t be.”
"And what makes you so sure?"
"You think you understand the game?”
"You underestimated me.”
She tried to snatch the phone from his hand before Hale reacted with lightning speed, his hand clamping around her throat like a vice. The crushing force pinned her in place as her vision darkened, the mobile slipping from her grasp.
“Think you’re too smart, huh?”
“You…You might silence me, but the…the truth will come out. I…I will make sure it does!”
“Then die trying.”
With a surge of adrenaline, she kicked him hard in the shin, escaping from his iron grip. The phone flew out of his hand, clattering to the floor.
Hale was quick, but Sarah was quicker. She grabbed the phone, but Hale pulled her back with a strength that made her gasp. In the scuffle, a loud gunshot rang out.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
A few weeks later, the steady buzz of activity filled the halls of the Capitol Media Centre, a central hub where journalists gather to report on developments and proceedings within the U.S. Congress, as a news anchor appeared on the large T.V. screen in the briefing room.
“Investigative journalist Sarah Lawson has vanished without a trace. Lawson, known for her relentless pursuit of the truth behind the President’s assassination, was last seen five weeks ago. Authorities are searching for any leads, but so far, no clues have surfaced.”
The image of Sarah flashed on the screen.
“In a shocking development, new evidence has emerged that connects the late President to an illegal arms trade with Zhakari. The documents, which have been leaked to the press, show a trail of hidden transactions linking the President directly to arms deals that fuelled several international conflicts.”
Her voice grew sombre. “Lawson had been investigating these allegations before her disappearance. Was she silenced for getting too close to the truth?”
The screen faded, leaving a sense of eerie finality in the air. The truth was out. But Sarah was gone.
Somewhere, the pieces of the puzzle remained incomplete. Hale, The Syndicate, and the web of deceit still lingered, waiting to ensnare the next person brave—or foolish— enough to dig deeper into the conspiracy.
The storm wasn’t over. Not yet.
And maybe, just maybe, Sarah Lawson wasn’t done fighting either.