Page 3 of Code Name: Reaper (K19 Allied Intelligence Team Two #5)

“Current status confirmation?”

“She’s still inside the building,” Delfino responded.

“Maintain surveillance,” Wren ordered. “I want real-time monitoring of every way in or out.”

“German intelligence is coordinating discrete observation,” Hornet said. “No visible surveillance presence, but complete coverage of the building and surrounding area.”

Wren turned to me. “So, Agent Black, what the hell are you waitin’ for?”

I glanced at my brother, who was already coordinating my itinerary. “Departure from Gatwick as soon as you can get there. Direct flight to Berlin, approximately two-hours flight time. GFIS will provide ground support coordination and local op assistance.”

Hornet approached me. “Who do you want with you?”

“I’m going in alone.”

Like when Blackjack and I burst into the command center earlier, all conversation stopped.

Hornet was the first to speak. “But?—”

“I said I’m going alone.”

Wren studied me for several seconds, then addressed the group. “You heard him. He’s going alone.” She turned to me. “I’m letting you go solo; don’t you dare challenge me on having teams in place if you need them.”

I relented. “Copy that, ma’am.”

Wren glanced at the digital display. “What are we looking at in terms of local support?”

“German intelligence has been briefed on the situation. They’re providing surveillance coordination, emergency backup, and extraction support if needed. Local law enforcement has been instructed to avoid the area unless specifically requested on the scene,” Delfino reported.

“Rules of engagement?” Blackjack asked.

“Agent Black will return Amaryllis alive.” Wren’s voice carried absolute authority.

“She possesses critical intelligence regarding Minerva Protocol corruption that could compromise every ongoing operation we’re currently running.

We cannot afford to lose that intelligence or the agent who gathered it. ”

I grabbed my laptop bag from the floor, adrenaline already building in my system.

“Reaper,” she called as I headed toward the door.

I stopped and she approached.

“Agent Beaudoin has successfully stayed ahead of both our tracking efforts and her enemies’ pursuit for over a week.

That level of evasion requires exceptional operational skill combined with extraordinary luck.

” Her expression was grim. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that luck will run out.

While we have her twenty now, it’s up to you not to lose her again. ”

I looked her dead in the eye. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Delfino, continue real-time financial tracking. Any cash transactions, any electronic activity, any financial footprints detected, report immediately to Reaper’s field communication system.

Hornet, keep NRO satellite coverage active and focused on the target building.

I want the same timely intelligence on anyone else who approaches that location or shows interest in the area. And, Blackjack?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Get your brother’s ass on the plane, would you?”

My brother took the same route we had earlier, except in the opposite direction, while I mentally reviewed everything we’d managed to piece together about Amaryllis’s current situation.

She’d uncovered corruption within Minerva Protocol, gathered substantial evidence against Dr. Eleanor Aldrich, and was now positioned in Berlin for reasons God only knew.

My assignment was straightforward—locate and extract her safely into coalition protection before hostile forces could eliminate a valuable intelligence asset.

But knowing Amaryllis, straightforward wasn’t going to be an option. She’d probably have three different contingency plans running simultaneously, each one more complicated than the last. And she’d resist extraction until she accomplished whatever mission she’d assigned herself.

“Weather conditions are favorable, no air traffic delays anticipated, and German authorities have cleared us for priority landing at Berlin Brandenburg. Ground transportation will be waiting on arrival,” the pilot informed me as I boarded.

“Copy that.”

I settled into a seat and used the flight time to study the detailed reports Wren had received from German intelligence and forwarded to me. Building schematics, neighborhood maps, local area photographs, emergency contact protocols, and extraction procedures.

The target building was typical of Berlin’s residential architecture from the seventies. Concrete construction with multiple floors, designed for efficiency rather than aesthetics. Good choice for a temporary safe house—unremarkable enough to blend with the surrounding urban environment.

But it also meant limited defensive positions if things went wrong. If hostile forces located the building, Amaryllis would have few options for holding out until backup arrived—backup I doubted she’d make use of.

Two hours later, Berlin’s sprawling metropolitan landscape spread out below as we descended for landing.

As promised, once we were on the ground, I spotted a black sedan waiting on the tarmac.

“Building surveillance confirms target individual remains inside the structure,” the driver reported in accented but fluent English after I got in and we pulled away from the airport. “No movement detected for the past six hours.”

“Other activity in the immediate area?”

“Normal residential traffic patterns. No suspicious vehicles or foot traffic.”

“Estimated travel time to target location?”

“Fifteen minutes, maybe less.”

My cell vibrated a few seconds later with an alert from Hornet. PRIORITY: FSB team en route to target location. ETA under 15 minutes. Move fast.

“Fuck.”

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Problem?”

“Russians. How much faster can you get me there?”

“Ten minutes if I push it.”

“Push it harder. I need to be there in five.”

After telling the driver to drop me off a block over, I sprinted through Berlin’s darkened streets. Every shadow could hide a Russian operative. Every parked car could be surveillance. Every second that ticked by brought the FSB team closer to Amaryllis.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I approached Zossener Strasse. The street was too quiet—the kind of stillness that made every footstep echo like a gunshot.

The building loomed ahead, its gray concrete facade blending into the night like a tomb. Six stories of anonymous windows stared down at me, and behind one on the fourth floor, Amaryllis had no idea death was racing toward her at sixty miles per hour.

I pressed myself against the building’s entrance, weapon drawn, scanning my surroundings one final time. Still clear. But that could change in seconds.

The electronic lock system blinked red in the darkness. Standard residential security—designed to keep out burglars, not FSB kill teams. The intercom buttons glowed like tiny beacons, each one representing lives that could become collateral damage if this went sideways.

My cell buzzed again. FSB ETA 5 minutes.

Five fucking minutes. I could be up those stairs and on our way out in two if she didn’t fight me. But Amaryllis would fight. She always fought.

I checked my weapon again—magazine secure, chamber loaded, safety off. My communication equipment crackled with static from coalition coordination, but I switched it off. Whatever happened in the next few minutes, I was on my own.

Nine days of hunting. Nine days of Amaryllis staying one step ahead of everyone—us, the Russians, Prism’s people. Nine days of her surviving on instinct and luck while I’d gotten nowhere but dead ends.

Now, it came down to this—four flights between me and her before trained killers arrived to put a bullet in her head.

Time to end this shit.