24991124 | 1848

  Superyacht L’Aurore | Upper Nile Reach | Memphis Periphery

  29°50′45″ N

  31°15′30″ E

  The Nile stretched out like liquid gold beneath the dying sun.

  The desert wind warm and sweet with distant myrrh.

  The superyacht, L’Aurore, glided upriver in complete silence.

  The silence accorded only to a wealthy Monacan prince.

  Shirley lounged on a reclining deck chair.

  White sundress flowing around her like a spill of silk. She lifted a crystal flute of Rosé to her lips.

  Vintage, rare, chilled to perfection.

  She sighed in satisfaction.

  Kurt leaned against the railing in a loose white shirt.

  Sunglasses tucked into the collar, silver dog-tags catching the last orange light.

  He leaned close enough to keep the words private, jaw tight.

  “Le Fay said low profile, Tempess.”

  Shirley didn’t even look at him.

  She swirled the Rosé, watched the color catch the light.

  She took another delicate sip.

  “This is low profile,” she replied coolly.

  They were alone on the sundeck.

  A few steps away, Illeana kicked back on a deck lounge of her own, beer bottle in hand.

  ”Real wheat brew,” she muttered, cold enough to fog.

  She took a long drink, closed her eyes, and grinned.

  “Gotta say,” Illeana murmured, “I could get used to this kind of low profile.”

  “You can join me on my next Regatta run, girlfriend.” Shirley smiled.

  “You are going to bag me a man?” Illeana teased.

  “I will bag him and share him with you.” She smiled wickedly.

  “You want top or bottom?”

  “I want top,” Illeana said softly, leaning over her lounge chair to flick Shirley’s chin.

  Illeana leaned in closer.

  “So, I can punish you like the little slave girl you are.”

  Shirley did not shrink away.

  “Oh, I’m shaking.”

  “You will shake more when I have you tied up and begging for mercy-“

  They both burst out laughing.

  Kurt glared at them both. “You are both being far too comfortable.”

  “Oh, lighten up, Kurt.” Shirley said smoothly, eyes on the riverbanks.

  “Look around. No cameras. No crowd. No chatter. Just a yacht, a river, and a host with excellent taste.”

  “In you.” He said bluntly.

  “That’s the only reason we are here.”

  “I got us through immigration, right?” Shirley said.

  “You’re my photographer, Illeana is my insanely-desirable PA.”

  “What were we doing again?”

  “My socials,” Shirley said, “shopping, eating, looking pretty.”

  “Why don’t we take a few with your prince charming.”

  “No.”

  Illeana eyed Shirley behind her shades.

  “So, what did you do last night?” She whispered conspiratorially,

  “Nothing,” Shirley said, sipping on her Rosé.

  “Nothing?” Illeana echoed,” you serious, girl?”

  “Cross my heart -nothing,” Shirley said, “we just talk.”

  “Just talk?” Illeana echoed incredulously.

  “He’s a gentleman,” Shirley said defensively.

  “On the bed?” Illeana pressed.

  “What’s with you, girl?” Shirley looked at her in mock horror, “you sex-starved or something?”

  Illeana gave her a look that said exactly how starved she was.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Kurt sighed audibly.

  “You and me,” Shirley said in a low voice, “we need to switch roles.”

  “You won’t last five minutes with a scope.” Kurt muttered.

  “And you need to get laid.” Shirley hissed.

  Illeana laughed.

  “He chauffeured us First Class on his private jet, door-to-yacht and you didn’t have to get out of your dress?”

  “I’m not a whore, darling.” Shirley said.

  “Oh?” Illeana did her best impression of her, “I’m hungry.”

  “Oh god, you both need to get laid!” Shirley deadpanned.

  “Girl, I can hear you.” Illeana retorted, “for three full days.”

  “And still land that one-in-a-thousand shot.” Kurt said with a smirk.

  “Go do each other.” Shirley pouted angrily, folding her arms, her empty crystal dangling from her grip.

  Illeana laughed even harder.

  Shirley grew silent then.

  “Hey, you all right?” Illeana said, concerned.

  Kurt looked at her then, crossing his arm.

  “Yeah,” she said, “just… memories.”

  “Your mark?” Illeana asked.

  “He was never the mark,” Shirley said softly.

  Kurt said nothing.

  Illeana sighed.

  She lounged back and placed her ice-cold beer on her forehead.

  “She let it got real, Kurt.”

  Kurt grunted.

  Illeana downed her bottle in one swig, then reached for another in the icebox.

  Shirley pulled the entire bottle from the ice bucket and took a swig out of it.

  She took another swig, all elegance evaporated.

  Illeana reached over and took Shirley’s hand.

  “Let’s go shopping, girl time - take your mind off things.” Illeana said.

  Shirley smiled.

  “What were you thinking, Tempess?” Kurt asked quietly.

  “I wasn’t,” she admitted.

  Kurt shook his head.

  He turned around to face the river.

  He scanned the riverbank, watching the desert turn violet in the sinking dusk.

  The ancient city of Cairo glittered in the distance.

  The cold dam embargoing the river before them.

  “That’s our target.” he said.

  “The Aquifer Water Treatment Facility,” Illeana said, wiping condensation from her fingers.

  “Heavily guarded, two access points. No blindspots.”

  Kurt exhaled.

  Slow.

  Resigned.

  “Kurt,” Shirley said then.

  “Yes.”

  “You know that girl who fed you the deets?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “She didn’t give you an in?” Shirley asked.

  “She gave us a lead,” he shrugged, “didn’t say what it is for.”

  “You killed your way through a hab-block in Kowloon,” Shirley whispered, “had me dressed up and played doll - three days straight - for a guy I ghosted years ago.”

  “You got us here.” Kurt said, wryly.

  “Who is she?” Shirley said then, “some Netrunner girlfriend of yours that you got the hots for?”

  “Intel checks out, that’s hot for me.” he replied simply,

  “That’s not the right expression, boss.” Illeana sighed.

  “With her hit rate, we have a tactical advantage over the Church.”

  “She got a point, boss,” Illeana added, siding with Shirley, “we know nothing next to her name.”

  “Hydra,” Kurt said, dismissive, “a callsign.”

  “That,” Shirley pointed towards water plant, “is a political heat-point.”

  “88.7% probability. Flashpoint MOSES.” Kurt read from the text.

  “We screw this one up, le Fay will have our heads.” Illeana added.

  “And so far up yours, you will feel her hand out your mouth.” Shirley added, smiling.

  “What she got on you, boss?” Illeana asked, smiling, “had you running the second she called?”

  “Our goals aligned,” Kurt said flatly, “le Fay sanctioned it.”

  “That’s what’s spooked me,” Illeana said, “that big boss actually sanctioned it.”

  “How she look like?” Shirley smiled.

  “How about you two think of a way in?” Kurt asked.

  “I know how,” Shirley said, “but we… need to go shopping.”

  “This is not the time to indulge in your whims.”

  Shirley grinned and said a name.

  The river breeze carried it away.

  Illeana laughed.

  Kurt shook his head, unable to decide whether to be annoyed or impressed.

  Shirley tossed her head back, drained the entire bottle.

  She tossed it over the railing and into the river.

  “I think,” Shirley said, “we are going shopping.”

  Kurt didn’t look at her.

  He grumbled something.

  Shirley smiled.

  Small, inscrutable, victorious.

  She raised her glass in a mock toast.

  “I will inform our host.”

  24991124 | 1917

  Transit Corridor Echo | Eastern Nile Desert

  30°07′18″ N

  31°07′42″ E

  The sun sank toward the horizon.

  The desert stretched out in long, quiet bands of color.

  Even this late in the day, heat still clung to the land.

  It rose off the sand in slow distortions, bending the world to make distance unreliable.

  The road ahead shimmered, straight and empty.

  A ribbon of cracked asphalt cutting through ochre dunes and scrub that refused to die.

  The jeep moved steadily, suspension humming low.

  No music.

  No chatter.

  Just the wind through open vents and the muted crunch of gravel under thick tires.

  Cobra drove.

  One hand on the wheel.

  The other resting loose near the dash.

  Sunglasses still on.

  Even as the light softened, the lenses reflecting the desert back at itself.

  Viper sat in the passenger seat, rifle broken down and stowed.

  Their helmets was off, mask pushed up just enough to breathe the warm air.

  He watched the horizon roll past, the sun bleeding amber into violet.

  They’d driven like this a thousand times.

  Miles of nothing.

  Minutes of silence.

  The silence between men.

  Finally, Viper spoke.

  “You good?”

  Cobra didn’t look over. “Yeah.”

  A few seconds passed.

  “You don’t look it.”

  Cobra exhaled through his nose. “You checking on me now?”

  “I’m asking,” Viper said.

  No edge.

  No challenge.

  “Back there. On the ship.”

  Cobra’s jaw tightened, just a fraction.

  The jeep hit a shallow dip and rocked gently.

  “I was shaken,” he said. “That’s all.”

  Viper nodded, eyes still on the road ahead. “Didn’t look like just shaken.”

  Silence again.

  Longer this time.

  The sun slipped lower.

  The twilight stretched across the dunes.

  The air cooled.

  The heat lingered, soaked into steel and bone.

  Viper tried again, softer.

  “You looked like you were waiting for something to happen.”

  Cobra’s fingers tightened on the wheel.

  Then relaxed.

  “We’ve been running hot,” he said.

  “Long missions. No clean exits. That ship was a mess.”

  “Wasn’t the mess,” Viper replied. “I’ve seen you walk through worse.”

  Cobra glanced sideways now, just once.

  Enough to acknowledge the point.

  They drove on.

  “Feels different,” Viper said at last. “This one.”

  “How?”

  “Like we’re chasing smoke,” he said. “Every time she calls, we move. No context. No picture. Just coordinates and confidence.”

  “We moved on less. Her hits never missed.”

  “Yeah, but this,” Viper said, “feels different.”

  Cobra said nothing.

  “What were we looking for on that ship?” Viper asked, eyeing Cobra.

  Cobra did not reply, he did not turn.

  Viper leaned back, watching the desert scroll past.

  “Look, I’m not complaining. Just… asking.”

  “About Hydra,” Cobra said.

  Viper nodded. “About Hydra.”

  The name sat between them, heavier than it should’ve been.

  The jeep rattled forward.

  Cobra kept his eyes forward. “You don’t need to know.”

  “That’s new.” He turned slightly in his seat.

  “It’s not,” Cobra said. “You just haven’t heard me say it before.”

  Viper studied him for a moment. “you don’t trust me now?”

  Cobra shook his head. “No.”

  The sun dipped beyond the dunes.

  “It’s because of trust,” Cobra said.

  Viper frowned beneath the mask. “Then talk to me.”

  Cobra slowed the jeep as the road curved.

  The city’s distant glow beginning to creep into view beyond the dunes.

  He turned to Viper then.

  “I’m asking you to trust me,” Cobra said.

  “Me. Not her.”

  Viper leaned back, considering.

  Really considering it.

  “If this goes bad—”

  “It won’t.”

  “And if it does?”

  Cobra’s voice was steady. “Then it’s on me.”

  The sun finally slipped below the horizon.

  The desert was washed in deep purple and dying gold.

  The first lights of Cairo flickered to life in the distance.

  Viper nodded once.

  “All right,” he said. “If you say stop, we stop.”

  Cobra didn’t answer right away.

  The jeep rolled on, carrying them toward the city.

  After a moment, Cobra said quietly, “Thank you.”

  Viper turned back to the window, watching the night rise.

  “Anytime, Chief.”