CHAPTER 9: SHADOWFALL
At 03:32 a.m., the first system error registered.
A printing press a crucial one jammed. Nairobi's team scrambled, shutting it down before the gears burned out.
I watched the feed from my second location, heart sinking.
"Talk to me," I said.
Nairobi's voice was tight. "We lost press four. If we can't replace the rotor, we'll lose an entire print cycle."
"How long to repair?"
"Six hours. Best case."
"Worst?"
"We fall behind schedule. We miss the haul."
The margin for error had always been slim. Now it was razor-thin.
And Berlin... was already unraveling.
He stormed into the press floor, shouting, pointing fingers. Blaming Nairobi. Blaming the tech crew. Even blaming the paper stock.
Nairobi tried to hold the line. "We're running twenty-four-hour shifts. You want three billion? You need to stop screaming and start fixing."
But Berlin was past listening.
He shoved a tray of printed sheets off a table.
Tokyo stepped in. "That's enough."
He turned to her. "What are you going to do? Shoot me in front of the crew?"
"If I have to."
The tension cracked like glass.
Then Denver spoke. "We follow the plan. Not the panic."
That quieted him.
But only for now.
Meanwhile, in the command tent, Raquel sat with the article again.
She was focused on a single footnote.
"…referencing the controversial Salamanca lectures of 2004, attended by political theorists Álvaro R. M."
She circled the initials.
Álvaro R. M.
The false name given to her.
She cross-referenced university databases, thesis submissions, lecturer guest lists.
And finally finally she found it.
Álvaro Ramón Martínez.
Fake credentials.
But a face.
The Professor's face.
It was him.
No doubt now.
No more shadows.
Just a name.
And names had power.
I switched burner phones again.
Moved to my final hideout.
A windowless backroom of an abandoned law firm near Plaza Mayor. The heat barely worked. The lights flickered. But the signal was clean.
I lit a cigarette.
Not because I smoke.
But because I needed something to burn.
Back in the Mint, Rio flagged something urgent.
"Professor, we've got another breach attempt. Police scanners. They're rotating new IPs through the system every ninety seconds. Trying to tunnel through the firewalls."
"Can you stop them?"
"Barely. But it's a constant war. We're losing bandwidth."
"Do not lose the camera feeds. Prioritize internal eyes. If we go blind in there, we're dead."
"Understood."
Tokyo stepped in. "What about a manual block? Sever the external uplinks."
"That's a kill switch," Rio said. "It isolates us from everything—including the Professor."
She looked at the screen.
Then looked at Rio.
"You need to be ready. In case he's not there when we need him."
Down in the tunnel, Moscow collapsed.
Denver caught him just before he hit the ground.
"Dad!"
Blood from his mouth. His hands trembling.
Denver screamed over the comms. "Professor, my dad's down!"
"I'm here," I replied. "Get him to the infirmary. Now."
"He needs a hospital."
"We can't risk extraction. We're too exposed."
Denver went quiet.
"I'm not losing him," he whispered.
"You won't."
But I didn't believe it.
Not really.
Tokyo returned to the printing floor. Monica intercepted her.
"I think Arturo stole a map. A real one. Not just the fake layout."
Tokyo's eyes darkened. "Where did you see it?"
"In his coat. He was marking exits. He has a key to the stairwells now."
"Why didn't you report it sooner?"
"I was afraid."
Tokyo didn't answer. She stormed off.
Found Arturo leaning against a sink, whistling.
"You planning something?" she asked.
He didn't even blink. "Always."
She pressed him against the wall, gun drawn.
"I'm done playing games. One more move, and you're out of this story."
He smiled.
"Funny thing about stories... they always have a traitor."
Raquel printed out the face shot. Álvaro's face. My face.
She took it to Prieto.
"This is The Professor."
He studied it.
Then picked up the phone.
"Find him. Today. I want boots on every building in a two-mile radius of the Mint. I want drones. I want heat scans."
She watched him.
And for the first time, she hesitated.
Because hunting a criminal is one thing.
Hunting a man you almost loved?
That's something else.
Berlin sat alone in the vault, counting down the rotations.
The days were blurring. The pressure was warping him.
He spoke to himself now.
"You built this. You hold it together. Or you let it collapse and dance on the ashes."
He looked up at the camera.
"Professor. I know you're watching."
I was.
"You chose me for this. Don't forget that."
I hadn't.
But I was starting to regret it.