Page 32 of Rogue Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #4)

Dawn crept through the cabin windows as Finn laid out their equipment. Two burner phones, SIM cards separate. False credentials. Signal jammers. Cash in three currencies. His wooden cross tapped against his chest as he leaned forward, inspecting each item.

Two made his heart literally soar: a laser pointer, suitable for a college professor, that doubled as a means to disable security cams, and his favorite, a signal jammer disguised as a power bank or portable charger.

He lifted a prayer of thanks for the dedicated beast that was Christian Murphy.

Zara emerged from the bathroom, carrying Christian’s specialized makeup kit. “Found Murphy’s disguise stash. The man’s more well stocked than a theatrical supply store.”

She set the kit on the table with a soft thud. “Our academic cover needs work. Facial recognition at Changi airport is top-tier.”

Finn glanced up. “What’s your thinking?”

“Age up.”

She flipped open the kit, revealing an array of specialized prosthetics, creams, and implements. “Nobody looks twice at older travelers. We become functionally invisible.”

“Hiding in plain sight. Smart.”

“I learned it from Harrison.” She pulled out small containers of latex, spirit gum, and specialized cream. “He called it the ‘gray advantage.’ Young agents try too hard to blend in—they try to perform anonymity. Older people naturally have it.”

She held up a small pot of specialized foundation. “This adjusts skin texture—creates convincing age spots and fine wrinkles that catch light naturally. Plus, that shiner is fading, but it’s still a no-go.”

She demonstrated, dabbing it along her hairline then blending it outward with a specialized sponge. The transformation was subtle but effective—skin that had appeared smooth now showed the slight crepe texture of someone fifteen years older.

“Come here,” she ordered, gesturing to the chair across from her.

Finn settled in, oddly comfortable with her proximity as she leaned close, studying his face with clinical detachment.

“Silver at the temples,” she decided, reaching for a small bottle. “And we’ll thicken your brows—people notice the wrong brows more than they notice the wrong face.”

She worked quickly, applying the temporary dye to his hair in strategic patches. The cool liquid tingled against his scalp.

“The secret,” she explained, dabbing spirit gum along his laugh lines, “isn’t dramatic disguise. It’s shifting perception just enough that facial recognition algorithms fail their first pass. After that, human operators rarely look further.”

Her touch was cool. Soft. Ever so delicate around his bruised eye.

She applied a thin layer of latex to his cheekbones, aging him subtly by emphasizing hollows that were still decades off.

“Where’d you learn this level of detail?”

“Taipei, the year I got assigned to work with Ronan’s SEAL team.

” She blended the edges of the latex with expert strokes.

“Harrison sent me for specialized training. The instructor was former Taiwanese intelligence—seventy years old and could transform herself into a forty-something mom in under forty minutes.”

Finn raised an eyebrow, earning a sharp tap from her finger.

“Hold still.” She added a touch of makeup that dulled the natural sheen of his skin. “Murphy keeps the good stuff. This is military-grade—developed for deep cover operatives. Withstands heat, humidity, even swimming.”

She handed him a small mirror. The man staring back was undeniably him, yet different—academic, slightly worn, unremarkable.

But twenty years older.

“Impressive,” he admitted.

“Your turn.” She slid the kit toward him. “I can’t reach the back of my neck.”

Finn followed her instructions as she talked him through the application. The focused intimacy felt both familiar and new—a remnant of their brief partnership reborn in this strange present.

“The glasses next,” she said after he’d finished. “Not just for show.” She handed him a pair of wire-rimmed frames. “Anti-facial recognition tech embedded in the lenses. Disrupts depth perception cameras without being detectable.”

“Your guy doesn’t skimp,” Finn observed, settling the glasses on his nose.

“Christian lives to plan,” she replied dryly. “Makes him excellent at his job.”

When they finished, two different people stood ready for departure—a middle-aged academic couple, unremarkable in every way.

The woman’s athletic build disguised beneath shapeless, layered clothing that added perceived weight while concealing weapons.

The man slightly stooped, his sharp alertness hidden behind professorial abstraction.

“Time for the behavioral component,” Zara said, executing a subtle transformation in her posture. Her shoulders rounded slightly, her stride shortening to appear less purposeful.

“Dr. Margaret Worthington,” she introduced herself. “Botanical illustrator. Forever trailing after my husband’s architectural obsessions.”

Finn matched her shift, adopting the slightly distracted air of someone perpetually lost in academic thought. “Archie Worthington,” he replied with his own inflection. “Eastern architectural symbolism. Frightfully boring to anyone but me.”

“Exactly.” She nodded with approval. “Remember—academics photograph everything but themselves. They’re constantly distracted by details others ignore. Perfect cover for surveillance.”

“And for airport security?” Finn asked, his tone shifting to practical concerns. “We’ll need identification that holds up to scrutiny.”

Zara whipped out her secure phone. “Stand against that wall.”

She positioned him precisely, then snapped several photos from different angles that captured his newly aged appearance.

Now he understood. “Kenji?”

She nodded, taking several selfies that showcased her altered features. “We have a dead drop thirty minutes from PHX. He’ll have complete documentation packages waiting—passports, driver’s licenses, credit cards with established histories.”

Finn whistled. “He can turn them around that fast?”

“He’s already got the templates ready. This is SOP for us,” she explained, sending the photos through an encrypted channel. “He just needs our current appearances.”She tucked the phone away. “The documents will scan properly at Changi. Kenji’s work rivals anything intelligence services produce.”

She reached into her bag, producing two small tubes. “Stick this in your cheek, against your gum line.” She demonstrated with her own. “Temporarily alters dental structure. Changes smile pattern recognition.”

Finn complied, feeling the subtle bulge alter his jawline slightly.

“Commercial air means TSA body scanners,” she continued, pulling out thin silicone pads. “These go in your shoes. Subtle height adjustment throws off gait recognition software.”

They gathered their carefully packed bags—nothing that would trigger security concerns, nothing connecting them to their real identities or to Knight Tactical.

“We’ll take the mountain route,” Finn said, slipping into their agreed operational pattern. “Less surveillance.”

Zara nodded, shouldering her pack with practiced ease. If the weight aggravated her still-tender muscles, her expression revealed nothing.

The cabin disappeared behind them as they slipped into the forest, mist curling around their ankles. Morning light filtered through the canopy, dappling the path ahead. They moved in comfortable silence, synchronizing their pace unconsciously.

Finn watched her navigate the uneven terrain with determination, noting how she’d altered her natural grace to match her academic persona—still efficient but lacking the predatory fluidity that marked her as a trained operative.

The prayer came unbidden as they approached the road where their transport waited.

Lord, keep her safe. Whatever happens to me, whatever truths we uncover, protect her.

Ahead lay Singapore, Shen Feng, and answers that might destroy what fragile trust they’d rebuilt. Finn adjusted his newly acquired spectacles, his resolve hardening beneath his academic disguise.

He would protect her, even if it meant sacrificing everything he’d worked for since Paris.

Some debts could never be fully repaid—but he would try anyway.