Page 14 of Rogue Hope
He stayed with the teenagers, maintaining his borrowed anonymity until they veered toward the volleyball nets set up at the far end of the park. At that point, he seamlessly transitioned to a different group—middle-aged tourists taking photos of the celebration.
A familiar symbol caught his eye. Blue Shirt had removed his outer layer in the afternoon heat, revealing a distinctive tattoo on his forearm—a stylized compass rose with an offset needle. Finn recognized it immediately from intelligence files he’d compiled over the years. It marked the wearer as a member of the Vanguard Group, elite mercenaries who operated exclusively for Cipher’s organization.
The confirmation sent a chill through him despite the warm afternoon. Vanguard operatives were notoriously effective and utterly ruthless. Their presence in Hope Landing elevated the threat level significantly.
The Vanguard team would have backup resources, possibly including satellite surveillance and local assets. His earlier hopeof simply drawing them away from Hope Landing now seemed naïve. They’d know Zara lived here.
And they’d know they could use her as leverage.
He headed down a row of vendor booths, using their colorful awnings as visual cover. The heavyset man appeared unexpectedly, emerging from behind a kettle corn stand directly in Finn’s path. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second—enough for recognition on both sides.
He grabbed a nearby trash can and hurled it toward the man, yelling a vague threat and creating instant chaos as garbage scattered across the walkway. The distraction worked; several people moved between them, momentarily blocking the operative’s line of sight.
Finn used those precious seconds to sprint back toward the community center building. A service door stood propped open, staff bringing supplies in and out for the celebration. He slipped inside, immediately assessing the interior for escape routes and chokepoints.
The building was mostly empty, the celebration having drawn most people outside. A maintenance worker glanced up from mopping the floor, nodding casually as Finn walked past with deliberate purpose, projecting the confidence of someone who belonged.
“Bathroom?” he asked.
The worker pointed down a hallway. “End of the corridor, turn right.”
Finn thanked him and moved in that direction, listening intently for sounds of pursuit. Nothing yet, but the Vanguard team would regroup quickly.
The bathroom provided momentary sanctuary. Finn locked the door behind him, quickly assessing his options. The window was too small for escape, and the single entrance created a potential trap. He needed a better exit strategy.
A ceiling panel above the toilet caught his attention—access to maintenance areas or possibly ductwork. Super obvious, but he’d take what he could get. He stood on the edge of the toilet, pushed the panel aside, and hoisted himself up.
The crawlspace was cramped but navigable, ductwork and electrical conduits running in multiple directions. He took a moment to replace the ceiling panel, then oriented himself, crawling carefully toward what he hoped was the exterior wall. The metal ductwork creaked slightly under his weight, but the sounds of the celebration outside would likely mask any noise.
After several minutes of careful movement, he found what he was looking for—a ventilation output that opened to the exterior of the building. The metal grate was secured with screws, but the aging hardware yielded to persistent pressure.
The exit opened to a narrow alley between the community center and an adjacent building. No visible surveillance, no sign of the Vanguard team. It wasn’t ideal—the drop was nearly fifteen feet to concrete—but staying in the building was riskier.
He eased himself through the opening feet first, hanging by his fingertips to reduce the distance before dropping. He landed in a controlled crouch, absorbing the impact as best he could, though his injured ribs protested sharply.
As he straightened, something caught his eye—a small metallic object partially embedded in the gravel near his foot. He crouched down, carefully extracting what appeared to be a pin. Not just any pin—a stylized compass rose with an offset needle, identical to Blue Shirt’s tattoo. One of his pursuers had dropped their identifier.
He examined it closely, turning it over to reveal a minuscule power node on the back—not just an organizational emblem but a sophisticated tracker. He used his thumbnail to pry open the nearly invisible seam, exposing a battery smaller than a watch component. Removing it rendered the device inoperable,then he slipped both pieces into his pocket. Solid evidence of Vanguard’s presence—and potentially valuable leverage.
Night was falling now, the summer twilight casting long shadows that provided additional cover. He moved quickly through the alley, emerging onto a quiet residential street that paralleled the park. The sounds of celebration continued unabated, suggesting the Vanguard team hadn’t alerted local authorities or created any public disturbance that might interrupt the holiday activities.
That made sense strategically. Their mission was acquisition, not elimination—at least not in public. They would want to maintain operational security and minimize witnesses.
His immediate priority was retrieving his emergency gear from the motel before the Vanguard team located it. After that ...
After that, he needed to warn Zara.
The realization had been building since he’d recognized the Vanguard tattoo. If Cipher had deployed elite operatives to Hope Landing, the mission parameters wouldn’t be limited to Finn’s capture. Even if she hadn’t been on their radar initially, they would investigate his purpose here, which would inevitably lead them to Zara.
So by coming here, he’d all but ensured she got targeted.
The parade had likely kept her safe temporarily—too many witnesses, too much visibility. But once the holiday celebrations ended and she returned home alone ...
He sped up, ignoring the pain in his ribs. The motel was nearly a mile away, on the outskirts of town. He could retrieve his gear and still make it back to Zara’s apartment before she returned from the party. He needed to leave her a warning, something that would alert her to the danger without compromising her if it was discovered by others.
The irony wasn’t lost on him as he slipped through the shadows of Hope Landing, a ghost returning to warn the living of approaching danger—danger he himself might have brought to her door.
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