Ethan hit the wooden floor hard as bullets shredded the cabin around him. The scent of gunpowder mixed with pine and blood. He stayed low, rolling behind the overturned table, heart pounding in sync with each crack of suppressed gunfire.
Whoever they were—black ops, hired killers, maybe even Interpol's own—they weren't here to arrest him. They were here to clean up.
Just like Prague.
He slid the USB from the laptop and shoved it into a hidden pouch inside his jacket. The laptop sparked—hit. He cursed silently. No backups. No time.
A grenade clinked through the broken window.
"Shit."
Ethan leapt for the back wall. He slammed the emergency release on the floor hatch and dropped into the crawlspace just as the grenade exploded above him—a deafening thunder that rattled the earth.
Smoke and dust rained down.
The crawl tunnel was narrow, cold, and pitch-black. He moved fast, crawling thirty meters until he reached the steel door at the other end. Another explosion shook the ground as the cabin above burned.
He punched in a code. Click. The door opened to a hidden shed tucked beneath the slope of a hill. He burst out, gulping fresh air—and immediately saw them.
Two men in black tactical gear, sweeping the forest. One looked his way.
"Move," Ethan muttered to himself.
He sprinted for the trees.
The first bullet missed by inches. The second took bark off the trunk ahead of him. He zigzagged, dropping low behind a fallen log. He reached into the hidden compartment in his boot and pulled out a compact flash grenade. He counted three seconds, then tossed it high and far.
Bang!
A burst of white light and noise stunned the attackers.
Ethan bolted down the slope toward the old riverbed, where he'd stashed a dirt bike years ago. If it was still there, he had a chance.
Branches tore at his jacket. Rain soaked his face. But the bike was there—under the camouflage net, rusted but alive.
He kicked the starter.
Once. Nothing.
Twice. Sputter.
Third time—roar.
He didn't wait. The bike tore down the muddy slope, tires spitting gravel as he vanished into the forest.
---
Two hours later, Ethan sat in a gas station bathroom fifty kilometers away, face splashed with cold water, jacket soaked, eyes red. He stared at himself in the mirror.
Jakob was dead.
His past had caught up with him.
And he had no idea who to trust.
The USB sat on the sink beside him, harmless and silent. But inside was a ghost—a program called Shadow Protocol. Something Interpol had buried. Something powerful enough that men were dying to keep it secret.
Ethan's hands trembled.
He had walked away from this world. Left the agency. Burned everything.
But now?
Now it was back.
And this time, it had brought war.
---
End of Chapter 2