I WALKED INTO COURT IN MY SEAL UNIFORM, MY FATHER CHUCKLED UNDER HIS BREATH, MY MOTHER SHOOK HER HEAD, BUT THE JUDGE…

The rain lashed violently against the window of the midnight train speeding toward the heart of Berlin.

I had left Knox with a trusted former Navy handler in Virginia, knowing this mission was a one-way ticket into the dark.

I was traveling under a highly classified alias, using a forged Canadian passport that had cost me ten thousand dollars in untraceable cryptocurrency.

The Russian ledger from my attic sat heavily in my waterproof backpack, its pages holding the key to a global conspiracy that connected a rural Virginia aquifer to the highest echelons of Eastern European power.

I reviewed the decrypted flight manifests and intelligence reports on my secure tablet.

If Lewis was operating in St. Petersburg, he was completely off the grid, operating without American oversight or extraction protocols.

The only way to find him was to track the money flowing from the cartel's offshore accounts directly to the Russian recipients.

My first lead was a former Stasi interrogator named Volker, who now operated as an elite information broker in Berlin's criminal underworld.

The train slowed as it pulled into the cavernous Hauptbahnhof station, the brakes screeching harshly against the steel tracks.

I slipped into the crowded platform, keeping my head down and blending seamlessly into the sea of weary commuters.

Volker had demanded a face-to-face meeting at an abandoned meatpacking facility in the industrial district.

I navigated the labyrinth of neon-lit streets and crumbling brick alleyways, hyper-aware of the shadows stretching across the wet pavement.

I reached the rusted iron doors of the facility and pushed them open, stepping into a massive, echoing warehouse smelling heavily of copper and decay.

Volker was supposed to be waiting on the catwalk above the killing floor.

Instead, I found him suspended from a heavy steel meat hook, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the concrete floor.

A pool of dark blood was slowly expanding beneath his expensive leather shoes.

The warning bells in my head screamed simultaneously.

This wasn't just a murder; it was a strategically placed message.

I heard the distinct, metallic slide of a suppressed weapon being racked in the darkness behind me.

I didn't hesitate.

I dropped my heavy bag, drew my pistol, and dove behind a massive stainless steel processing table just as a barrage of suppressed gunfire ripped through the air where I had been standing milliseconds before.

The bullets sparked violently against the metal table, deafening in the enclosed space.