Justice of the Supreme War God

CHAPTER 43 PART 1

Detector Truth walked into Blue Haven Café at exactly 7:30 AM, his laptop bag slung over his shoulder and his mind focused on the job ahead. He'd memorized Diana Morrison's photo from the dossier Liam had provided—elegant features, sharp eyes, the kind of woman who commanded attention without trying.

What he hadn't expected was to see her husband already there.

Marcus Hayes sat at a corner table, a simple black coffee in front of him, dressed in the same unassuming clothes that made him blend into any crowd. Detector Truth recognized him immediately from the passport photo on Diana's company banking website and the picture Liam had forwarded with barely concealed contempt.

Just the poor husband, Detector Truth thought dismissively. Probably waiting to mooch breakfast off his rich wife.

He moved toward his usual tactical position—a table with clear sightlines and proximity to Diana's preferred spot. He'd run the hack, be gone before she even finished her latte, and—

"Harry Mitchell."

Detector Truth's blood turned to ice. He stopped mid-step, his hand frozen on his laptop bag's strap.

That voice—calm, measured, with an undercurrent of steel—had just spoken his real name. Not his hacker alias. Not his cover identity. His actual, government-issued, buried-under-six-layers-of-false-identities name.

Detector Truth turned slowly. Marcus Hayes was looking directly at him, those eyes that had seemed so ordinary now sharp and assessing in a way that made Detector Truth's survival instincts scream warnings.

"I'm sorry?" Detector Truth tried for confused innocence. "I think you've got the wrong—"

"Harry Mitchell," Marcus repeated, setting down his coffee with deliberate precision. "Born in Portland, Oregon. Dropped out of MIT after two semesters. Warrant out for your arrest in three countries. Currently operating under seventeen different aliases, but you seem to prefer 'Detector Truth' for your dark web work."

The café suddenly felt too small, too exposed. Detector Truth's mind raced through possibilities. How? How does he know?

Marcus stood, and despite being no taller than average, his presence seemed to fill the space. "This café is going to get crowded in about five minutes. Morning rush. Not the best place for a private conversation." He gestured toward the back door. "There's a quieter spot where we can talk."

"I don't know what you think—"

"Harry." Marcus's voice dropped lower, and somehow that made it more menacing. "You can walk out that back door with me willingly, or I can say your real name loud enough for everyone in here to hear it. Including the two off-duty cops at the counter. Your choice."

Detector Truth's eyes flicked to the counter. Sure enough, two men in casual clothes had the telltale bearing of law enforcement, even off the clock.

"Fine," Detector Truth said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Let's talk."

They exited through the back door into a narrow alley between buildings. The morning sun hadn't reached here yet, leaving the space in shadows. A dumpster occupied one end, and the alley dead-ended at a brick wall.

Perfect place for a conversation no one would overhear. Or a body no one would find for hours.

Marcus leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, looking relaxed. But Detector Truth had spent years reading people in dangerous situations, and everything about this man's stance screamed predator.

"How did you find me?" Detector Truth demanded, going on the offensive. "There's no way you could have traced—"

"Your trojan?" Marcus smiled slightly. "The source code was distinctive. You have a habit of commenting your work with obscure references to sci-fi movies. Very professional."

Detector Truth's jaw clenched. That was a signature quirk, something only someone with serious code analysis skills would notice.

"I cross-referenced hackers with your particular coding style against flight manifests for private charters into the city," Marcus continued casually. "Then I pulled security footage from every location Diana frequents. Found you at this café four days ago, sitting two tables away from my wife with your keystroke logger active."

"That's... that's impossible." Detector Truth shook his head. "Nobody has access to that level of surveillance data without government clearance, and even then—"

"Who said I don't have clearance?" Marcus's smile didn't reach his eyes.

The implication hung in the air like a guillotine blade. Detector Truth reassessed everything he thought he knew about this situation.

"You're not just some nobody Diana married," Detector Truth said slowly. "Liam said you were a street rat, a beggar she picked up out of pity."

"Liam says a lot of things. Most of them are stupid." Marcus pulled out his phone, tapped a few buttons, then showed Detector Truth the screen.

Detector Truth's face went white. It was a complete dossier on him—every alias, every job, every client, complete with evidence that would put him away for twenty years minimum. Bank transfers. Encrypted communications. Everything.

"Where did you get this?" Detector Truth whispered.

"I compiled it last night. Took about three hours." Marcus pocketed his phone. "You're good, Harry, but you're not as invisible as you think you are. Nobody is."