Page 1 of Undercover Shadow
1
NIGHTINGALE
Istared out at the London sky, finding no stars tonight, only darkness broken by the city’s endless lights. From my safe-house window in Notting Hill, I tracked the shadows moving across the wet pavement below, mentally cataloging each suspicious figure. My breath created small patches of fog on the cold glass, temporary markers of my existence that disappeared seconds later.
They were following me again tonight. Different faces, same purpose. They weren’t even trying to be subtle anymore.
My mobile vibrated—the third burner this week. The text contained only coordinates and a time—zero one thirty. Half an hour from now. Another move, another location, another step in this elaborate game where I couldn’t identify all the players. The message came from Kestrel, an encrypted handle I’d come to dread. Another ghost pulling my strings.
My gaze drifted to the small tracking device I’d extracted from my tactical vest after Syria. I’d disabled it, of course, but hadn’t destroyed it.
If I’d left it active, Tag would have found me by now. Niall MacTaggert—the man I’d trusted more than anyone was also the man who’d put it on me, in the first place.
The thought of him sent a familiar ache through my chest. He’d be pacing his study at Glenshadow by now, his green eyes intense as he tracked intelligence feeds, searching for any trace of me. Tag didn’t abandon his people. Especially not someone he’d promised to protect.
I turned away from the window, methodically packing the few possessions I could bring with me. Everything fit into a single backpack—the mark of an operative who knew better than to grow attached to physical things.
Or people.
My fingers paused on a faded photograph, its edges worn from frequent handling. Two figures stood before a Highland backdrop—Tag and Idris, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, laughing at something outside the frame.
I slipped the photo into my jacket pocket alongside the letter I’d carried for three years—Idris’ last gift, his final mission. It had led me here, to London, to Damascus before that, always one step behind the people who’d killed my brother. Idris had told me to go to Tag, to trust him with everything he’d sent me. But I’d been nineteen and shattered and determined to finish what my brother began. Alone.
“You shouldn’t keep that,” a woman’s voice said from the doorway.
I didn’t startle. I’d known she was there before she spoke—the subtle shift in the air pressure, the nearly imperceptible creak of the floorboard.
Viper stepped into the room, and I closed my hand around the picture. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Your tails have gotten more aggressive. They’ve stepped up their movement in the last hour—as if they’re preparing to close in.”
“How many?”
“Two that we’ve tracked. Could be more. One we believe is Obsidian. We still don’t have ID on the other—could be Janus’, could be the Russian, could be McLaren’s asset if she’s actually alive.”
He’d found me after all. “So I go dark again.”
“Yes. An MI6 extraction team is on the way. They’ll be there in sixty minutes and will take you to another secure location until we can figure out who these people are and what they want.”
Little did she know that I’d be long gone by then.
“You know Obsidian won’t stop,” I said. “He’ll keep searching.”
“The Earl of Glenshadow is persistent, I grant you,” Viper responded, moving toward the doorway she’d come in through. “But he’s following the breadcrumbs we’ve intentionally placed. By the time he realizes the trail is false, it will be too late.”
I turned toward the window, hiding my expression. “You underestimate him.”
“Perhaps.” She sounded amused. “Or perhaps you overestimate his feelings for you. Men like MacTaggert love the chase more than the capture.”
I didn’t respond to the barb. Let her believe what she wanted about my relationship with Tag. The less she understood, the better.
She checked her mobile. “Our contact will be arriving sooner than anticipated. Be ready.” She paused at the doorway. “And, Agent Nassar? Do remember where your loyalties lie now.”
When her footsteps faded, I extracted a small tool from my boot heel and pried up a floorboard beneath the bed.Inside the shallow space lay a second communications device—neither standard MI6 nor Unit 23 issue, but something more specialized.
I activated it and composed a message in the unique encryption protocol only a handful of people in the world could decrypt. My warning needed to be clear without revealing too much.
Janus active. McLaren remains in play. Tunnels vital.
