Rogue agents 1: The prima ballerina (Completed)

Running out of time

*Karolina*

The speedboat, a tiny speck against the vastness of the Venetian lagoon, cuts a wild path through the inky water. The shouts of our pursuers are fading, replaced by the rhythmic chug of the engine and the wind whipping through my hair. I’m still clinging to the side, adrenaline coursing through my veins, a bizarre mix of terror and exhilaration washing over me.

Ryan, however, seems completely at ease. He's steering with one hand, the other casually resting on the gunwale, a smirk playing on his lips. He glances back, a playful glint in his eye.

"They're losing us, darling," he shouts over the engine's roar, his voice a low rumble. "But I wouldn't bet on them giving up just yet."

He leans closer, his words a conspiratorial whisper despite the noise. "Any ideas on how to shake these persistent admirers?"

I manage a shaky laugh, the sound swallowed by the wind. "I...I don't know. A decoy, maybe? Or...a smoke screen?" My knowledge coming mostly from movies has me rattling off the first things that comes to mind.

Ryan throws his head back and laughs, a sound both boisterous and thrilling. "Smoke screen? In Venice? Darling, that's a classic! But far too predictable. Besides, I'm not in the mood for setting fire to historical landmarks."

He points towards a cluster of islands ahead, barely visible in the gloom. "We'll lose them amongst those little islands. They’re notorious for smugglers and things far more exciting than us… usually." He winks. "Prepare for a bit of rough sailing."

He seems to know a lot about the city for someone who claims to have never visited before.

As the boat approaches the islands, the water grows rougher, the speedboat bouncing over the waves. Suddenly, a black speedboat emerges from behind a small island, cutting us off. Armed figures are visible on its deck.

Ryan curses under his breath, his grin gone, replaced by a focused intensity. He grips the wheel tighter, maneuvering the boat with expert skill, weaving between the small islands at breakneck speed. The other boat is fast, but Ryan is faster, his instincts and ability to predict their moves uncanny.

"Hold on tight, Karolina," he shouts, his voice strained. "This is getting interesting."

He expertly navigates a narrow channel, barely avoiding a collision with a larger vessel. The pursuing boat is gaining on us, and the air crackles with tension. This isn't just a chase anymore; it’s a high-stakes game of cat and mouse, played out on the treacherous waters of the Venetian lagoon. The smell of salt and the fear mingle in the air, only making the danger more intoxicating. The next few moments could decide our fate.

*Ryan*

The spray stings my face, the roar of the engine a counterpoint to the frantic hammering of my own heart. Karolina’s clinging to the side of the boat, knuckles white, her face pale but determined. Damn it, she shouldn’t be here. This was supposed to be a clean getaway, a quick dash to the Duckling, but these… ’enthusiastic’ pursuers have other plans.

I try to project an air of nonchalant confidence, a casual swagger that masks the icy dread gripping my insides. "Just a little bump in the road, darling," I shout over the engine's shriek, my voice tighter than I intend. The words are for her, but also for myself, a desperate mantra to keep the panic at bay.

Inside, though, panic is a wildfire. These guys are relentless. They're faster, better equipped, and they clearly know this part of the lagoon like the back of their hand. I have no idea where Sebastian and Holly are, and the Duckling seems miles away. My carefully constructed plan is unraveling faster than cheap fishing net in a shark-infested sea.

My eyes dart to the rearview mirror… a crudely fashioned piece of metal reflecting the black speedboat, closing in, each second a nail hammered into my coffin. They’re gaining. Damn.

I can’t risk another tight turn; I need open water, speed, and a hell of a lot of luck. This isn't some Hollywood stunt; this is a desperate, deadly gamble. One wrong move, one miscalculation, and Karolina… The thought claws at me, a visceral punch to the gut. I can't let that happen.

My gaze sweeps the lagoon. A sliver of an idea, reckless and dangerous, flickers in my mind. It's a long shot, a gamble that might cost us everything, but it’s better than being caught like sitting ducks.

"Karolina!" I yell, my voice raw. "Hold on tight! We're going for a little…shortcut!"

Before she can respond, I yank the wheel hard to port, sending the boat careening towards a seemingly impenetrable thicket of pilings supporting a crumbling old wharf. The boat lurches violently, throwing us both against the side. I brace myself, expecting impact.

Instead, we find ourselves swallowed by a narrow, almost hidden channel that snakes behind the wharf, a secret passage I guess known only to those who know Venice's darkest secrets. It's risky… an incredibly tight space..

but the pursuers are following the open water. They won't expect this. I just hope we do not get stuck and that it leads somewhere good.

We shoot through the passage, the boat scraping against wood, a bone-jarring ride through a labyrinth of shadow and decay. My knuckles are white, but the pursuers are gone. We've vanished. For now.

As we emerge into slightly calmer waters, I steal a glance at Karolina. She's shaken, but unharmed. Relief floods me, a tidal wave washing over the icy dread. For now, we're safe. But the Duckling is still a long way off, and this isn't over yet. Not by a long shot.

"Remind me to choose a less... ‘scenic’ escape route next time," I say, forcing a smile, the words meant to be light, but tinged with the bitter taste of near-disaster.

I adjust the boat's course, my mind already racing, formulating a new plan, a new way to ensure Karolina reaches the Duckling safely. Because despite the adrenaline, despite the near-miss, only one thought truly matters: keeping her safe. Everything else is secondary.

The engine purrs, a counterpoint to the rhythmic slap of water against the hull. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, the tension easing slightly. Karolina is quiet, still shaken, but the color has returned to her cheeks. For a moment, a fragile peace descends, a deceptive calm in the eye of the storm.

Then, the peace shatters.

Three more speedboats, sleek and black as shadows, silently emerge from the gloom, surrounding us, cutting off any escape route. They're not just fast; they're expertly positioned, a deadly triangle of steel and menace. Armed figures rise on their decks, their silhouettes stark against the darkening sky.

The air crackles with a lethal energy, the quiet hum of the engines replaced by the low growl of powerful motors. It's over. The game is over. We've run out of time, out of luck, out of options.

I glance at Karolina. Her eyes are wide, reflecting the cold, hard truth: this time, there's no escape. There's no clever maneuver, no hidden passage, no last-minute miracle. We're trapped. Completely and utterly surrounded.

A figure in the lead boat raises a hand, a chilling signal. I know what it means. This isn't a chase anymore; this is an execution.