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Muzzammil Manzoor Muzzammil Manzoor
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Cumulet - Ch. 4-5

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Sorry for the delay guys. Ramadan :D



"Stryker's callin' ya."

The Hawk swiftly stood up and followed the aide to the massive operations room conducting global operations. He glanced at the blacklist screen.

Most of the names had been crossed out.

Saddam Hussein.
Osamah bin Ladin.
Hannibal A., the recently deceased Secretary of State.
Xiang Wu

And many more..

He had to admit though that the Bin Ladin operation had been spectacular. Give a tip to the US Army and a dossier detailing all of Pakistan's defences and it went after Ladin like a dog without a leash.

The guardian.

The watcher of the pigeons, ever silent and deadly.

Still following the aide, he crossed across to the raised platform, on which a room rested, shielded on all sides by glass.

The nest of the Stryker.

As always his back was towards him, facing the operations screens behind a giant wall of black glass, the armchair hiding most, if not all of his bulk. There was a giant mahogany table facing directly opposite the armchair's back.

On it were two files.

"Mr. Hawk, I've been told your performance  in the operation in DC was excellent."

Of course you knew, Hawk thought. Hacking the birds in the sky was pretty much kid's work for this organisation.

Eagles searching for the pigeons.

And sending a hawk to do the dirty work.

"Yes sir," he said.

"Of course, you are our most valuable asset..."

Hawk let himself smirk slightly, almost undetectable. He was, but he was also no fool to think that if Stryker wanted, he could be dead within a second.

"Please wipe that smirk off your face, Mr. Hawk. Your next mission is on the table."

Hawk carefully walked forward and picked up the first file. Opening it he saw a familiar picture of a woman and a horde of paperwork. He froze imperceptibly for a second and then glanced downwards.

A name was stencilled.


"With all due respect, sir, I-"
"Pick up the other file," Stryker commanded, cutting him short.

Picking up the other file he exited the lair and purposefully strode back to his quarters.

He opened the file and skimmed through it quickly. Child's play.

Closing it, he tried to lie down on his bunk and relax.

But the image of the woman had been burnt into his retinas.


Stryker leaned comfortably in his armchair. Everything was going precisely according to plan.

There was however one tiny problem.

The operation in DC had not gone well at all. The response of the SWAT had been quick.

Too damn quick.

For decades Stryker had built his operations on intel. There was always a definite difference between a strike team without intel and one prepared with intel.

And the SWAT team had had intel. He was sure of it.

Though the FBI, CIA and especially the NSA were like Swiss cheese, full of his operatives and moles, there was one pressing issue.

There was a mole in his agency.

But no one could stop him now. This operation had taken a decade to develop, triggered after 9/11, funded handsomely.

It was unstoppable.

He hummed quietly and leaned back in his wheelchair as the techies below rerouted the screens to show CCTV cameras and street cams.

In precisely 22 hours the Tarantula would strike.

In precisely 26 hours the Hawk would strike.

And in precisely 76 hours, Cumulet would fall.

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