All Chapters of The Exile's reckoning : Chapter 161
- Chapter 170
174 chapters
Vincent’s Testimony
**Theodore’s Submarine - Conference Room - 6 Hours After Escape**The debate had been raging for an hour. Voices raised. Tensions high. Seven people arguing about fate of one prisoner. About justice versus pragmatism. About revenge versus strategy.“We kill him,” Torres said. Blunt. Military thinking. “He’s too dangerous to keep alive. Too connected. Too valuable to Council. They’ll rescue him. Or he’ll escape. Or he’ll sabotage us from inside. Dead, he’s just a corpse. Safe. Contained. Final.”“We can’t kill a prisoner in custody,” Julie countered. Professional ethics. Medical oath. Sister’s conscience. “That makes us executioners. Murderers. No better than Consortium. We fought for justice, not revenge. We keep him alive.”“But where?” Nadia asked. Practical. Tactical. “We can’t hold him indefinitely. We don’t have prison. We don’t have legal authority. We’re not government. We’re not law enforcement. We’re just people who captured international criminal. Eventually, we have to deci
The Deal
Theodore’s Submarine - Server Room - 2 Hours After Vincent’s AgreementDerek’s fingers flew across keyboards. Mei beside him. Both working. Vincent’s biometric authorization obtained. Server access granted. Download beginning.The encrypted server unlocked like vault. Sixty years of data. Decades of crimes. Everything Council had done. Everything they’d hidden. Everything they’d controlled.Files streamed across screens. Financial transactions. Kill orders. Meeting minutes. Communications. Photographs. Video recordings. Audio files. Documents signed. Operations planned. Lives destroyed. Systematically. Globally. Completely.“How much data?” Theodore asked. Watching. Witnessing history. Evidence. Truth.“Terabytes,” Derek said. Awed. Overwhelmed. “Sixty years of operations. Five networks. Twelve Council members. Every major operation. Every significant crime. Elections rigged. Wars started. Financial crashes orchestrated. Assassinations ordered. Coups planned. Governments toppled. All
The Second Mole
The submarine’s interior felt smaller than ever. The constant low-frequency drone of the screws and the faint metallic creak of pressure against the hull usually faded into white noise. Not tonight. Tonight every sound carried accusation.Twenty-three green dots glowed on the master life-signs display in the control room. Twenty-three heartbeats. Twenty-three sets of lungs pulling recycled air. Twenty-three potential traitors.Kai stood at the center of the compartment, arms folded so tightly his knuckles showed white. The red battle lights turned his face into planes of shadow and determination.“Lockdown is total,” he said, voice carrying just enough to reach every ear without shouting. “No one moves alone. No one accesses any terminal without a witness. No exceptions.”Julie stood beside him, her hand resting lightly on the back of the navigation plotter. She hadn’t slept properly in three days; the circles under her eyes looked bruised. “We’ve already lost too much to surprises. I
Dead in the Water
The torpedo room became a black iron coffin the instant the charges blew.A second shockwave rolled through the hull—deeper, slower, the sympathetic detonation of two Mk 48 warheads still racked in their cradles. The lights died. Emergency red strips flickered once and stayed on, bathing everything in blood-colored gloom. Seawater roared through the rent in the forward bulkhead like a fire hose turned to full. The deck tilted twenty degrees bow-down in seconds.Kai slammed against a reload cradle, shoulder-first. Pain lanced down his arm. He tasted copper. Nadia was already on her feet, dragging Torres upright. The big man’s face was gray; fresh blood soaked through the bandage on his shoulder.“Bulkhead door!” Kai shouted over the roar.They staggered toward the single watertight hatch that separated the torpedo room from the rest of the boat. Twenty feet of flooded deck. Water already chest-deep and rising fast.Nadia reached the hatch first, yanked the operating wheel. It spun free
Stranded
Theodore’s Submarine - 80 Miles from Turkish Coast - 4 Hours After Mole’s SabotageThe submarine listed fifteen degrees. Water flooding compartments faster than pumps could manage. Hull integrity compromised. Multiple breaches. Systems failing. Death imminent.Theodore studied damage reports. Engineering background showing. Calculating. Assessing. Understanding reality nobody wanted to accept.“Twelve hours,” he announced. Voice steady despite situation. “Maximum. Before submarine sinks completely. Maybe less if flooding accelerates. We’re finished.”“Can we dock somewhere?” Julie asked. Medical instinct seeking stable ground. Seeking safety. Seeking hospital for wounded.“Turkey blocked us. Council influence. Political pressure. We’re persona non grata. Greece wants us arrested. Cyprus might help but it’s eighty miles away. We won’t make it. Submarine’s too damaged. Too slow. We’d sink before arrival.”“Then we abandon ship,” Kai said. Decision made. Commander mode. Survival prioriti
The Twin
Theodore’s Submarine - Engineering Section - 22 Minutes Until DetonationWater rising. Waist-deep. Cold. Aegean Sea claiming vessel inch by inch. Emergency lighting flickering. Darkness advancing. Death approaching multiple ways. Explosion. Drowning. Violence.Theodore stared at impossible figure. Vincent’s face. Vincent’s body. Vincent’s presence. But not Vincent. Someone else. Someone who should’ve been dead. Someone who’d never existed in Theodore’s reality.Until now.“I never died,” Victor said. Calm. Matter-of-fact. Like faking death for forty years was casual decision. “Car crash was staged. Body double arranged. Someone who looked similar enough after accident. You buried him. Mourned him. Moved on. While I lived. Worked. Built. Created architecture you never saw. Never suspected. Never imagined.”“But why?” Theodore demanded. Mind reeling. Trying to understand. Trying to reconcile impossible with reality. “Why fake your death? Why leave family? Why—”“Because two Vincents ope
The Rescue
Theodore’s Submarine - Engineering Section - 90 Seconds Until Full SubmersionDarkness. Drowning. Death. Theodore’s consciousness fading. Water filling lungs. Victor’s hands holding him under. Certain. Professional. Killing efficiently.Then. Gunshot. Loud. Echoing in flooded compartment. Close. Very close.Victor stumbled. Grip loosening. Bullet in shoulder. Blood in water. Wound not fatal but painful. Disabling. Surprising.Theodore surfaced. Gasping. Coughing. Choking. Alive. Barely. Desperately. Impossibly.Mei stood in doorway. Weapon raised. Wet. Exhausted. But present. Real. There.“Get away from him!” she shouted. Aiming. Ready to fire again. “Now!”Victor dove for cover. Behind equipment. Behind flooding machinery. Professional survival instinct. Protecting himself. Calculating. Assessing new threat. New variable. New complication.“Mei?” Theodore gasped. Confusion. Relief. Horror. “You’re supposed to be on raft. Forty miles away. How—”“I stayed,” she said. Helping him up. S
Two Vincents
Turkish Beach - Deserted Shoreline - 2 AM*The team gathered around small fire. Minimal. Concealed. Enough for warmth and light. Not enough to attract attention. Eight people. One prisoner. One revelation. Everything changing.Vincent Secondary sat apart. Restrained but speaking. Exhausted but determined. Guilty but confessing.“I need to explain,” he said. Voice quiet. Sincere. Desperate to be believed. “There were always two of us. Vincent Prime—my brother—founded Consortium in 1975. Five members initially. Growing to twelve. Architecting shadow government. Controlling markets. Manipulating politics. Orchestrating chaos.”“And you?” Kai asked. Voice hard. Skeptical. “Where were you?”“I joined. 1976. One year after founding. But not to lead. To stop. To sabotage from inside. To undermine. To destroy.” Vincent Secondary looked at his hands. Restrained. Useless. Guilty. “I spent forty years sabotaging operations. Creating failures. Making missions unsuccessful. Every mercy shown. Ever
The Hostages
Turkish Beach - 2:15 AMVincent Prime’s voice continued through the phone speaker. Calm. Controlled. Enjoying every word. Every revelation. Every demonstration of power.“I have your families. Your loved ones. Your weaknesses.” He paused. Let it sink in. “Julie’s apartment roommates. Three civilians. Sarah, Michelle, and David. Taken from their home two hours ago. Currently secured in warehouse outside Richmond, Virginia.”Julie’s face went pale. “No. They’re just—they’re not involved. They’re innocent—”“Lila’s father,” Vincent Prime continued. Ignoring protest. “Arthur Blackwell. Retirement home in Connecticut. Taken during manufactured medical emergency. Ambulance crew were operatives. Currently secured in facility outside Hartford.”Lila’s hands shook. “You bastard. He’s seventy-eight. He has dementia. He doesn’t even know who I am anymore—”“Derek’s sister. Jennifer Sterling. Chicago. Kidnapped from her workplace. Marketing firm. Downtown office. Taken during lunch hour. Currentl
Four Rescues
The operations room in the safe house outside Lisbon had become a pressure cooker. Screens lined every wall, each displaying live feeds, satellite overlays, and encrypted comms channels. Derek stood at the center, sleeves rolled up, eyes flicking between four glowing timelines. The master clock in the top-right corner read 59:12 and counting down.Vincent Prime’s ultimatum had been brutally simple: sixty minutes until the first hostage died. No negotiations, no extensions. Four lives—four locations—four teams. And every second mattered.“Chicago team, wheels down in eight minutes,” Derek said into the primary channel. “Arizona, you’re thirty out from intercept. New York insertion in twelve. Greece, you’re already on ground—status?”Mei’s voice came back crisp, almost serene. “En route to target hospital. ETA four minutes. Vincent Secondary is with me. We’re green.”Derek exhaled through his nose. “Copy. Everyone remember: speed, silence where possible, lethal force authorized only whe