Shadows of Loyalty

Chapter 5

The encrypted message came through at 3:17 a.m.

Secure location. 0600 hours. You and Gary only. Do not speak to anyone. – M

Quinn stared at it for a few seconds, jaw tight. When Mason called a meeting like this, it meant something was about to shift—hard. He messaged Gary and got a quick reply: “On my way.”

The location turned out to be a shuttered government storage facility outside Langley. Security was minimal by design. The inside was cold, sterile, and silent, save for the hum of an overhead fluorescent light. When Quinn and Gary stepped inside, Mason was already waiting—arms crossed, phone in hand.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, voice low. “We’ve got a bigger problem than I thought.”

“You mean besides the mole?” Gary muttered.

Mason nodded grimly. “I dug deeper after yesterday’s ambush. Whoever this is, they’re high-level. I mean deep—possibly working inside Intelligence Logistics or even Tech Command. That would explain how they had your mission schedule.”

Quinn folded his arms. “You said you were bringing in help.”

“I did.” Mason stepped aside and gestured toward the far end of the room.

Footsteps echoed. A man entered the room with a confident stroll, smooth as silk but with that dangerous air of someone who’d seen—and possibly done—everything. He wore a tailored three-piece suit, a fedora, and lightly tinted gold-rimmed glasses. His round face was clean-shaven, lips curled in an amused smile, and his eyes—calm but unnervingly observant—sized them both up like he already knew everything about them.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted, his voice a velvety rasp. “Pleasure. Calvin Murdock.”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed immediately. “You’re the Calvin Murdock? The rogue who sold out his own team in ’09?”

Murdock chuckled and tipped his hat. “Allegedly. Don’t believe everything you read in classified reports, Agent Reeds. The truth is always more complicated.”

Gary blinked. “Wow, you look like a Bond villain.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Calvin said smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks. “Mason and I go way back. I owe her a favor… or ten.”

Mason stepped in. “Calvin has already started digging. He’s made progress—and he says he’ll need support.”

Quinn crossed his arms. “Support? From who?”

Calvin’s smirk deepened. He sauntered over to the laptop and with a flick of his fingers, pulled up a file.

“Well, I have a companion I’d like to bring into this operation. She’s... efficient. Unique skill set. And frankly, I trust her with my life.”

Mason raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

The screen blinked, and then a photograph appeared.

Quinn’s breath caught. The woman in the image looked like she belonged on the cover of an action thriller—icy blonde hair in a choppy bob, sharp cheekbones, piercing hazel-green eyes with a thousand-yard stare. Her posture was straight, rigid even, dressed in black tactical gear that looked molded to her athletic form. She had a scar cutting down her left eyebrow and the kind of expression that dared you to challenge her.

“Aleksandra Volkov, she goes by Sasha” Calvin said, tapping the screen. “Codename: Silver Fox.”

The screen filled with her file: Born January 21st, 2000 – Smolensk, Russia. Orphaned at birth. Indoctrinated into a covert Russian black ops program known as Zver’ by age six. Assassin by age ten. Confirmed kills: classified.

Gary let out a low whistle. “You wanna bring in an ex-Russian Spy to help us find a mole inside the CIA?”

Calvin’s grin turned wolfish. “Ex-Russian Spy? Oh, Gary, no. Spy implies politics. Sasha’s something else entirely. You have no idea what that program did to her. She’s a weapon. One they couldn’t control. Which is why she’s mine now.”

Quinn stared at the screen, eyes fixated on her cold expression. “How the hell do we trust someone like that?”

Calvin’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I thought you’d ask that.”

He hit another key. The screen changed to a grainy surveillance feed—live.

Sasha sat tied to a chair in a grimy warehouse, surrounded by six armed men. Her face looked calm. Too calm.

Quinn tensed. “What the hell is this?”

Calvin leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “Her audition.”

The laptop screen flickered to life again. This time, it showed a dimly lit warehouse—concrete walls, rusted steel beams, and a single hanging lightbulb illuminating the center of the room. In the spotlight sat Sasha, tied to a metal chair, arms bound behind her back. Her face was smeared with dirt and blood, tears streaking down her cheeks.

She trembled, speaking in broken Russian, voice high-pitched and cracking. “Pozhaluysta, ya ne znayu, chto vy govorite...”

(Please, I don’t know what you're talking about...)

One of the masked men stepped forward and punched her hard across the face. Her head snapped to the side. Blood dripped from her lip.

“Where is Murdock?” the man demanded in English.

“I don’t know him!” Sasha sobbed, struggling against the restraints. “I swear! Please!”

Another blow. Then another. They didn’t hold back.

Gary's hand slowly rose to his mouth, his expression one of horrified disbelief. “Jesus... they’re torturing her.”

Quinn’s brow furrowed. “They’re going to kill her.”

Calvin chuckled softly, never taking his eyes off the screen. “Not even close. She’s got them right where she wants them.”

On the feed, one of the men gripped Sasha by the throat and violently pushed the chair back, causing the front legs to lift. The chair teetered dangerously at the edge of a drop-off—a ledge that fell several feet into what looked like jagged concrete below.

Sasha gasped, panicked, her voice breaking. “Fine! Fine! I’ll tell you where he is!”

The man smirked and eased the chair back onto all four legs, releasing her throat.

Sasha coughed and shook, then whispered, “He’s in a warehouse meeting with CIA agents... there's been a breach in their system. Their trying to find the mole.”

Quinn’s eyes widened.

Gary looked stunned.

Mason turned sharply toward Calvin. “What the f**k?! She just compromised everything!”

Calvin remained eerily calm. He didn’t blink. “Watch.”

Back on the screen, the leader of the group let out a low laugh and turned to one of his men. “Call Perkins. Now.”

The man moved to a corner and pulled out a burner phone, dialing.

The one who’d questioned Sasha leaned down and whispered, “You’ve been most helpful, girl. Shame I have to kill you. Nothing personal. No witnesses.”

Sasha’s breath hitched. “Please... please, don’t...”

But before he could pull the trigger, the man at the corner cursed under his breath. “No signal.”

Calvin slowly pulled out his phone and stepped away from the others. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He dialed a number. On the screen, the man with the phone froze as it began to ring in his hand.

He looked down, confused, then answered. “...Hello?”

Calvin’s voice was smooth as ever. “Give the phone to the girl.”

The man hesitated, looking around, then turned to Sasha. “They want to talk to you.”

He held the phone up to her ear.

Calvin’s voice came through crystal clear. “Mission accomplished. Eliminate all targets—except one. Keep one alive. We need answers.”

The sobbing stopped. Sasha’s face shifted.

Suddenly calm. Eyes dead.

Her voice turned flat, cold, efficient.

“Affirmative.”