The night settled heavily over London, casting long shadows across the narrow streets as Frost and Blake prepared for their next move. They had little time to waste. The Black Hand's plans were unfolding at an alarming pace, and the clock was ticking.
Back at the station, the atmosphere was tense. Officers moved with purpose, their expressions grim as they combed through documents, maps, and reports. Frost and Blake stood over a large map of London, marking the locations where they had seen Black Hand activity over the past few weeks. The web of danger was closing in.
Blake rubbed his temples as he stared at the map. "It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack. We know the Black Hand is moving men and resources through the East End, but we can't pin them down. Every lead ends up being a dead end."
Frost's gaze was cold and focused as he studied the patterns on the map. "We're not going to find them by waiting for them to make a mistake. We need to get ahead of them."
Blake nodded. "But how? We've hit every informant, every contact we have, and we're still coming up short."
Frost remained silent for a moment, thinking back to his conversation with Mercer. There was something that hadn't sat right with him, something nagging at the back of his mind. Mercer had mentioned France, but he had also hinted at something bigger, something more dangerous. It wasn't just about the Black Hand's operations in London anymore—this was about control on a much larger scale.
"We need to go straight to the source," Frost said finally. "If we want to stop them, we need to take the fight to their doorstep. We need to find Thorne."
Blake raised an eyebrow. "Thorne? You really think we can get to him? He's been one step ahead of us this entire time."
Frost's jaw clenched. "We have to try. If we can cut off the head of the snake, the rest of the organization will fall apart. Thorne is the key to all of this."
Blake sighed, but he nodded in agreement. "Alright. But how do we find him? The man is a ghost."
Frost thought for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. "We lure him out."
Blake looked skeptical. "How? He's too smart to fall for a trap."
"We don't set a trap," Frost said, his voice low and deliberate. "We create a situation that he can't ignore. Something so big, so important, that he has no choice but to come out of hiding."
Blake frowned. "And what exactly do you have in mind?"
Frost's gaze hardened. "We find out what he wants more than anything. And we take it from him."
---
Hours later, Frost and Blake were in the East End, moving through the shadows with purpose. They had gathered what little information they could, piecing together a picture of Thorne's operations and his key assets. It was a dangerous gamble, but they had no other choice. If they were going to stop him, they needed to hit him where it hurt.
Their target was an old warehouse near the docks, a place that had been flagged in several recent reports as a hub of Black Hand activity. It was well-guarded, but not impenetrable. And according to their sources, it held something—or someone—of great value to Thorne.
As they approached the warehouse, Frost signaled for Blake to stay low. The area was crawling with guards, men who were clearly on high alert. Frost's mind raced as he calculated their next move. They needed to get inside without being detected, but the tight security made that nearly impossible.
Blake glanced at Frost, his expression questioning. "How do you want to play this?"
Frost's eyes scanned the perimeter, looking for weaknesses in the guards' patrols. "We split up. I'll create a distraction on the far side of the warehouse. You get inside and find out what they're hiding. We'll meet back here in thirty minutes."
Blake nodded, though there was a flicker of concern in his eyes. "Be careful. These men won't hesitate to kill you if they catch you."
Frost gave a thin smile. "I'll be fine. Just make sure you find what we need."
With that, they parted ways, Frost moving silently toward the far side of the warehouse while Blake slipped into the shadows. The tension in the air was palpable, the quiet hum of the city drowned out by the pounding of Frost's heart. He had been in dangerous situations before, but this was different. This time, the stakes were higher than ever.
Frost crouched behind a stack of crates, watching the guards as they moved in their patterns. He timed his movements carefully, waiting for the perfect moment. When one of the guards turned his back, Frost made his move, slipping through the narrow gap between two shipping containers and disappearing into the darkness.
He reached the far side of the warehouse without incident, but now came the hard part. He needed to create a distraction that would draw the guards away from the entrance without alerting them to his presence. It was a delicate balance—too much noise, and they would be on high alert. Too little, and they wouldn't leave their posts.
Frost scanned the area, his eyes landing on a stack of barrels near the edge of the dock. They were filled with something—likely fuel or oil—and they were positioned dangerously close to a set of old, rusted machinery. It was risky, but it might just work.
He moved quickly, using a small piece of metal to create a spark near the barrels. Within seconds, the smell of burning fuel filled the air, and a thin trail of smoke began to rise. Frost retreated into the shadows, watching as the fire slowly spread to the machinery.
It wasn't long before the first explosion rocked the dock.
The guards immediately sprang into action, shouting orders as they rushed toward the fire. Frost used the chaos to his advantage, slipping back toward the entrance of the warehouse. He could only hope that Blake had made it inside and found what they were looking for.
As he reached their designated meeting spot, he saw Blake emerge from the shadows, his expression grim but determined.
"Did you find it?" Frost asked, his voice low and urgent.
Blake nodded, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "I found something. You're not going to believe this, Frost. They're not just planning a revolution. They're planning a takeover—a global one. And it starts in Paris."
Frost's mind raced as he absorbed Blake's words. A global takeover. It was worse than he had imagined. The Black Hand wasn't just after control of London or even England—they wanted to reshape the world order. And Paris was the first domino in their grand plan.
"We need to move fast," Frost said, his voice tight with urgency. "If they're starting in Paris, we have to stop them before they can carry out their plans."
Blake nodded, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "Frost, this is bigger than anything we've ever faced. Are we really prepared for this?"
Frost met his gaze, his expression steely. "We don't have a choice. If we don't stop them now, no one will. We need to be ready for whatever comes next."
Blake took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. "Alright. Let's do this."
They made their way back to the station, their minds racing with the weight of what they had uncovered. The stakes had never been higher, and the battle ahead was more daunting than ever. But they couldn't afford to falter now.
The future of London—and the world—depended on it.
To be continued…