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CHAPTER 5: SHADOWS AND SILENCE
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MI6 Headquarters – London, United Kingdom
10:30 AM
The conference room at MI6 Headquarters carried a heavy tension. The dim lighting, the cold air, the scattered reports—they all reflected the weight of the situation. Officers and analysts stood around a round table, their expressions grim as they reviewed the classified files before them.
At the head of the table stood Sir Frederick Ward, the Director of MI6. In his early sixties, Ward had seen it all—espionage, covert wars, and assassinations that altered the course of nations. His silver-streaked hair and deep-set blue eyes carried the weight of a man who had spent decades in the shadows.
This, however, troubled even him.
"We need answers," Ward said, his voice sharp. "The assassinations of Richard Langley and Theodor Krause have triggered international repercussions.
Germany's BND intelligence agency is asking for our help and suspects that the hitman is from our country. CIA is waiting for our response. And if we don’t act quickly, we’ll be playing catch-up in a game we don’t control."
Sitting to his right, Victoria Lane, MI6’s Deputy Director of Counterintelligence, studied the files in front of her. Forty-five years old, with auburn hair pulled back in a loose but professional bun, Victoria had built a reputation for her sharp instincts and cold efficiency. Her brown eyes flicked over the reports before she spoke.
"Langley Industries isn’t just another defense contractor," she said. "They develop and supply weapons systems for NATO, MI6, and the Pentagon. Krause’s and Langley’s deaths weren’t random hits. They were targeted and eliminated. Someone wanted to send a message."
Ward nodded. "Which means we need to identify who did this—and why."
Across the table, Scott Reeves, MI6’s senior analyst, leaned forward. In his late thirties, with unkempt hair and dark circles under his eyes, he had spent countless hours digging through intelligence reports. His expertise lay in uncovering patterns others missed, and this case was testing him to the limit.
"We reviewed the timeline of Langley’s assassination. The killer didn’t just take the shot—he infiltrated Langley Industries headquarters before pulling the trigger. The body of Nicholas Carter, Langley’s personal assistant, was found in the underground parking garage. Security footage shows Carter entering the parking area as usual, but he never made it outside. Instead, minutes later, someone resembling him walked into Langley’s private office."
Victoria’s eyes darkened. "You’re saying he killed Carter, took his identity, and walked straight into the CEO’s office?"
Scott nodded. "Exactly. Disguised as Carter, he bypassed security, accessed Langley’s office, and ensured he was in position for the kill. Once Langley was dead, he slipped out without a trace."
"The executions were too precise to be anything but the work of a professional," Scott said. "Both targets—one bullet each, no second attempt, no evidence left behind. The shooter knew exactly what they were doing."
Scott tapped his laptop, bringing up a satellite image of Frankfurt with two red dots: Krause’s location at the time of his death and the sniper’s estimated firing position.
"The shot was taken from 3,825 meters away," Scott announced.
The room fell silent.
"That’s impossible," a voice muttered.
Ethan Cole, MI6’s lead firearms and ballistics expert, sat forward, his green eyes narrowing as he examined the data. A former SAS marksman, Ethan had trained elite snipers and understood the physics of long-range shooting better than most.
"Three thousand, eight hundred twenty-five meters?" he repeated. "That’s… beyond extreme. Are you saying this is a new world record for a confirmed sniper kill?"
Scott nodded. "Yes. The previous record was 3,540 meters, set by a Canadian JTF2 sniper in Iraq. But this? This shattered it."
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Victoria exhaled, shaking her head. "So whoever pulled this off didn’t just set a record—they made a statement."
Ethan studied the trajectory reports. "At that range, wind speed, air pressure, even the curvature of the Earth come into play. There are only a handful of rifles capable of making that shot."
Victoria turned to him. "How many snipers could pull this off?"
Ethan hesitated. "Only one in a millions can pull this off. And most of them are either deep inside military programs… or dead."
Ward’s jaw tightened. "Then we need to find out where this one fits in."
Scott hesitated before speaking. "There’s one name that keeps coming up in underground networks."
The room waited.
"Renzo."
A chill settled over the table.
Scott continued, "No photos. No real identity. Some say he’s a myth, a name used by multiple assassins. Others believe he’s a lone operator, a sniper so precise he’s almost impossible to track. Either way, he’s a ghost—a professional with a reputation for impossible kills."
Ward exhaled sharply. "A sniper Capable of record-breaking shot and an infiltrator skilled enough to walk through locked doors. This isn’t just a hitman. It’s a ghost."
Scott leaned back. "And ghosts are hard to track."
Victoria’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Ghost stories don’t kill people," she said. "This one clearly does."
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Langley Industries' European Headquarters – Frankfurt, Germany
11:00 AM
Security at Langley Industries' European Headquarters had reached its highest level. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter. German and British intelligence officials worked inside, piecing together what had happened to Richard Langley and Theodor Krause.
In his private office, Roger Davies, the Head of Security, sat at his desk, his face tight with controlled rage.
Roger was forty-nine, a former military intelligence officer with a square jaw, short-cropped dark hair, and piercing gray eyes. He had spent over a decade protecting Langley Industries' leadership, ensuring they remained untouchable.
Now? They were dead.
Not in an accident. Not in some random attack.
Executed.
The phone rang. He snatched it up. "What?"
"Sir, we have a problem," the voice on the other end said.
Roger’s fingers curled into a fist. "No kidding. We lost two of the most important men in the company. I'd say that qualifies as a problem."
"The hit—the way it was executed. It was too clean. And MI6 is looking into it."
Roger’s grip on the phone tightened. "Why the hell is MI6 involved?"
The voice hesitated. "We’re hearing whispers about a sniper called Renzo."
Roger stood abruptly, knocking over a glass of water on his desk. His voice dropped to a lethal tone.
"Then find him. I don’t care what it takes. I want a name. I want a location. And I want the son of a bitch who did this."
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Back at MI6
Sir Frederick Ward stood near the windows of the conference room, staring out at the London skyline. The deaths of Langley and Krause—they weren’t just assassinations. They were calculated eliminations, designed to destabilize something bigger.
And MI6 had no clear answers—yet.
He turned back to the table.
"Ethan," he said, "if Renzo is real, what’s the likelihood he took this contract alone?"
Ethan shook his head. "Unlikely. Snipers this skilled don’t take random contracts. Someone paid a fortune for these kills—and they weren’t just hiring a gun. They were sending a message."
Scott exhaled. "Then the real question is—who benefits from Langley and Krause’s deaths?"
Victoria leaned back in her chair, already thinking three steps ahead. Then she said "And who’s next?"
Ward’s voice was steady. "Find out anything about him. Before Renzo pulls the trigger again."
The room fell silent. The hunt had begun.
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End of Chapter 5
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