GOLDEN PALM

Chapter 3 – “The Ghost Command”

Rain hammered the alley, drowning the echo of the rifle shot. Nicholas rolled behind a dumpster, shards of brick raining down where his head had been a second earlier.

The SUV’s headlights flickered, one of its tires hissing flat. “Sniper, ten-o’clock elevation,” he muttered.

The broad-shouldered man who’d called him Mr. Mayford ducked beside the wreck, one hand still holding that metal badge. “Still fast,” the man said, breath calm.

“You trained me,” Nicholas replied. “Didn’t think you’d be the one to pull the trigger.”

“Wasn’t me.”

“Then you brought friends.”

A bullet sang off the dumpster. Both men hit the ground. Nicholas counted three seconds of silence, then moved, low and silent, to the SUV’s rear door.

He yanked it open, scanning: medical kits, tactical vests, a laptop still glowing with a red-lined map of Orivale. “What is this?”

“Extraction plan,” the man said. “For you.”

“Looks more like a manhunt.”

The man winced as another round tore through the mirror. “Name’s Commander Ash Verek,” he said quickly. “I’m not your enemy.”

“That line never ages well.”

Nicholas grabbed the laptop, slung it under his arm. “Talk fast.”

Ash peeked over the hood. “HYDRA-13’s awake. Someone sold our old files, medical, tactical, everything. They’re using your research to rebuild the program.”

“My research died with Project Aesir.”

“Apparently not.”

Nicholas’s jaw tightened. The word Aesir hit like a blade to the ribs. “Who’s behind it?”

“Don’t know. But they want you alive.”

Another shot. The rifle’s report cracked through the rain like thunder. Nicholas’s eyes flicked upward, fifth floor, southeast window. He pointed. “Stay down.”

Before Ash could reply, Nicholas sprinted out, boots splashing through puddles. He hit the wall, ran two steps up, pushed off a drainpipe, and caught the fire escape ladder. Metal screamed as he climbed.

Ash watched from below, muttering, “Still a ghost.”

Inside the half-collapsed building, Nicholas moved with surgical precision. The air smelled of rust and cordite.

He heard the sniper reload, two floors up. Nicholas whispered to himself, “Left-handed shooter, heavy trigger pull.”

He waited for the next shot; when it came, he moved. Fast. Silent. He reached the landing, kicked the door open, and pressed the muzzle of the fallen pistol against a masked man’s temple. “Drop it.”

The sniper froze, hands rising slowly. “Orders were to observe only.”

“You failed.”

Nicholas ripped the mask off. The face beneath was younger than he expected, early twenties, pale, eyes trembling. “Who sent you?”

“Ghost Command.”

“Never heard of it.”

“You will.”

Before Nicholas could ask more, a small light blinked on the man’s collar, red, rhythmic. “Move!” Nicholas shouted, throwing himself backward.

The explosion swallowed the room in white noise and flame. The blast threw Nicholas backward. He hit the floor hard, air punched from his lungs, ears ringing like struck metal.

Dust and smoke swallowed the corridor. He rolled to his knees, coughing. “Damn it…”

The sniper was gone, only a smear of blood and shrapnel where the body had been. A controlled charge, surgical. Whoever Ghost Command was, they cleaned their trail fast. Boots pounded on the stairs. “Mayford!”

Ash Verek burst through the haze, jacket scorched, eyes wild. “You still breathing?”

“Barely.”

“Then move. That blast just pinged every police scanner in Orivale.”

Nicholas pushed to his feet. “You going to tell me what Ghost Command is, or do I keep guessing?”

“Black-budget unit. Supposed to be disbanded after Aesir collapsed.”

“Supposed to be?”

“They went private. Mercenaries now. Someone’s paying them to recover you.”

“Recover?” Nicholas scoffed. “Try kill.”

“No. You’re worth more alive. They need your brain.”

Nicholas stopped mid-stride. “Explain.”

Ash hesitated. “Your neural mapping, the bio-reflex study you built. They’re weaponizing it. Turning it into remote-sync combat tech.”

“That research was locked, encrypted.”

“Was.”

They reached the stairwell. The lower levels groaned, beams shuddering from the explosion. “We can argue after we stop dying,” Ash muttered.

They hit the alley. Rain was thicker now, washing the soot from their faces. Sirens howled somewhere close.

A black sedan screeched to a halt ahead of them. A woman leaned out the window, silver pistol drawn. “Get in!”

Nicholas froze. “Elara?”

She grinned through the rain. “You didn’t think a little C-4 would kill me, did you?”

“You blew up the diner.”

“Had to fake my death. Ghost Command was tailing me. Now move.”

Ash looked between them, gun half-raised. “She’s a liability.”

“She’s alive,” Nicholas said. “That counts for something.”

They piled into the sedan. Tires screamed as Elara floored it. Inside, the air smelled of gasoline and adrenaline.

“You’ve got five seconds,” Nicholas said. “Convince me not to throw you out.”

“They’re using your serum,” she said. “The one that regenerates neural tissue. Only now they’re injecting it into soldiers. Rapid-heal, zero empathy.”

Nicholas’s stare hardened. “That formula was never meant for combat.”

“Tell that to the dozen corpses in Sector Nine.”

Ash checked his side mirror. “We’ve got a tail.”

Elara slammed the wheel right. Bullets tore past, punching holes through the trunk. “Hold on!”

The car fishtailed into a service tunnel, concrete walls flashing past inches from the mirrors. “How long before the cops block this?” Nicholas asked.

“Three minutes,” Elara said. “Less if Ghost Command hacks the grid.”

“Then we need to disappear.”

He reached into the glovebox, found a med-kit and a small injector gun. His hands moved automatically, loading vials, checking pressure.

“You still practicing medicine?” Elara asked.

“Always.”

“For yourself or the world?”

“Whoever’s bleeding faster.”

The tunnel opened onto the river docks. They skidded to a stop behind a stack of shipping containers. Rain hissed against metal. Ash jumped out first, scanning the darkness with a tactical light.

“We won’t hold here long. They’ll triangulate the explosion.”

Nicholas stepped closer to the water, eyes narrowing. The current carried fragments of debris, and a body.

He hauled it onto the dock. A Ghost Command operative. Still breathing, barely. “You’re lucky,” Nicholas muttered. “Sort of.”

He pressed fingers to the man’s neck, found the embedded micro-chip just beneath the skin. A faint red glow pulsed. “Tracker?” Elara asked.

“No.” Nicholas’s voice dropped. “Recorder.”

The chip blinked faster, projecting a flickering hologram above the dying man’s chest, static resolving into a face: an older man, clean suit, cold smile. “Nicholas Mayford,” the hologram said. “It’s been a long time, son.”

Nicholas froze. Ash swore under his breath. Elara’s grip on the gun tightened. “Impossible,” Nicholas whispered. “You’re dead.”

The hologram smiled wider. “You really think I’d let death stop me?”

The chip’s light turned crimson. Nicholas lunged, shouting, “Get back!”

The explosion ripped the docks apart.