As Ethan stood by the wreckage of Cavill's car, his mind briefly flickered back to the information Iris had uncovered earlier. Cavill wasn't just a businessman with questionable ties; Iris had generated a detailed dossier on him, digging through layers of encrypted files, offshore accounts, and hidden transactions.
According to what she had pieced together, Cavill was far more dangerous than anyone had realized. He operated as a high-level broker, a facilitator of sorts for all manner of illegal activities—human trafficking, drugs, arms dealing, and even covert mercenary contracts. He never got his hands dirty directly, always working from the shadows, making connections between the powerful and the unscrupulous.
It had been this revelation that pushed Ethan to make the decision: Cavill needed to be tracked, and whatever package he was after with Mendoza had to be linked to something far larger. It was no longer just about intel—it was personal now.
Ethan stepped back from the wreckage, his pulse finally beginning to slow. The forest was still, but the echoes of the chase still hung in the air, the scent of burning rubber mixing with the earthy smell of the trees. The job wasn't done yet, and as Ethan slid back into his Aston Martin, his thoughts shifted back to the conversation he'd overheard between Cavill and Mendoza.
That package. Whatever it was, it was important enough to drive these men to this remote location.
"Iris," Ethan said, his voice cutting through the silence inside the car, "before I entered the office, Cavill and Mendoza mentioned a package. Do you have any idea what they were talking about?"
Iris's voice came through, calm and steady. "I was monitoring their communications while you approached. Mendoza's men arrived at La Vela de Coro port two hours before your engagement with Cavill. They took something from a ship, what I believe to be the package in question, and headed toward the mansion. However, after you entered the office, they diverted unexpectedly."
"Diverted where?" Ethan asked, eyes narrowing.
"There's a secluded warehouse just off the main route. The diversion coincided exactly with your intrusion into the office room with Mendoza and Cavill. I believe the package was taken there."
Ethan's eyes flicked to the HUD as Iris highlighted the warehouse location, entering it into the car's GPS. It wasn't far, tucked away along a forgotten road deeper into the countryside.
"Understood," Ethan muttered, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel. He floored the accelerator, the Aston Martin roaring back to life as it sped down the forest road toward the new target.
...
The warehouse loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the moonlit sky. Ethan approached cautiously, slowing as he saw a car parked haphazardly by the entrance, its trunk wide open. The headlights of the Aston Martin swept over the scene, revealing the bodies of two men lying face down on the cold, dusty floor near the truck. Both had gunshot wounds, their blood pooled beneath them.
"Looks like Mendoza's men," Iris remarked. "Package isn't in the car. We're too late."
Ethan's hand instinctively moved toward his Glock. He stepped out of the car, scanning the area. The place was deathly quiet, save for the faint hum of the engine and the occasional creak of metal from the wind.
Just as he took another step forward, a motorbike burst out from the far end of the warehouse, its engine growling as it shot toward the exit. The rider, clad in black, raised a gun and fired in Ethan's direction.
Ethan ducked, rolling behind the cover of the truck. Bullets pinged off the metal, but before he could return fire, the motorbike was already speeding away, disappearing into the night.
"Iris, track that bike," Ethan said, quickly rising to his feet. His gaze followed the fading taillights, but just as he was about to give chase, the sudden roar of engines surrounded him.
"Already on it," Iris responded. "The rider's heading south, but—"
Her voice cut off, and her tone shifted. "Sir, incoming—three vehicles, closing in fast."
Two Land Rovers and a sleek Alfa Romeo pulled up from behind, trapping his Aston Martin in the middle. The heavy SUVs blocked the sides, while the Alfa Romeo slid into position at the back, cutting off any escape route. The doors of all three vehicles burst open simultaneously, and armed men spilled out, their guns trained on Ethan.
From the Alfa Romeo, a woman stepped out—her posture confident, her eyes locked onto Ethan. She raised her hand, signaling her men to hold their positions.
"Step away from the vehicle!" she called, her voice firm and authoritative, but not aggressive. "Hands in the air. We don't want trouble, but we'll take you in if necessary."
Ethan's mind raced. These weren't Mendoza's men. Their approach was too calculated, too professional. Whoever they were, they didn't know who he was—yet.
"Iris, ideas?" he muttered under his breath, as he slowly raised his hands, standing by his car.
"These people aren't associated with Mendoza," Iris replied in his earpiece. "No identifiers yet, but they're using tactical formations consistent with government or intelligence agencies. Recommend non-engagement. However, I've mapped several escape routes if needed."
Ethan subtly glanced at the woman again. She wasn't dressed like a field operative, more like a handler—someone in charge. He knew if he stayed any longer, they'd find out who he was, and that couldn't happen.
"Last chance!" the woman called out, her tone now more urgent. "Step away from the car!"
Ethan's decision was made. "Iris, let's make our move."
"Understood," Iris replied.
In one fluid motion, Ethan dropped into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut as the woman shouted orders to her men. The Aston Martin roared to life, tires squealing as Ethan threw the car into reverse, slamming into the front of the Alfa Romeo. The smaller car spun out, creating the gap he needed. He yanked the wheel hard, spinning the Aston Martin 180 degrees in a cloud of dust, and floored the accelerator.
The Land Rovers revved to life behind him, quickly moving to give chase.
...
"Iris, options," Ethan said calmly as he sped down the narrow road, the headlights of the Land Rovers glaring in his rearview mirror.
"Several routes available," Iris replied, her voice steady. "But they're sticking close. Standard military-grade pursuit patterns. I suggest leveraging city infrastructure—manipulating traffic systems, detours, and surveillance to your advantage."
Ethan's eyes flicked to the HUD as Iris began overlaying potential escape routes onto the windshield. The two Land Rovers were gaining, but he knew they wouldn't have the same agility as his Aston Martin once he hit tighter streets. Still, their pursuit tactics were flawless. Whoever they were, they weren't amateurs.
The road ahead split, one path leading toward a more urban area. That was where Iris would have the upper hand.
"I'm overriding traffic systems now," Iris informed him. "I'll turn all lights green for you and reroute traffic to block the Land Rovers."
Ethan smirked. "Do it."
He sped toward the intersection, the lights turning green just as he arrived. The streets were now almost empty, but as Ethan shot through the crossing, the light behind him switched back to red, trapping the first Land Rover behind oncoming traffic.
The second SUV pushed through, but now only one remained close enough to pose a real threat. Ethan took a sharp left, gliding smoothly into narrower streets. The Land Rover followed, its bulkier frame struggling to navigate the tight corners at the same speed.
"They're closing the gap again," Iris reported. "But we've got a detour ahead. Take it, and I'll erase any trace of your passage."
Ethan knew what that meant. Iris was designed to interface with citywide surveillance systems—erase footage, scramble logs, and manipulate electronic tracking. No matter how well-equipped his pursuers were, they wouldn't find him if they couldn't trace him.
He spotted the narrow alley Iris had highlighted, its entrance hidden behind a row of parked cars. Without hesitation, he swerved sharply, pulling the Aston Martin into the tight passage, the car barely fitting between the walls. The Land Rover hesitated for just a second too long, giving Ethan the window he needed to disappear.
He sped through the alley, then onto another road lined with trees, pushing the car to its limits. Behind him, the Land Rover struggled to keep up, unable to navigate the winding path with the same precision. Ethan glanced in the rearview mirror as the SUV vanished behind a bend, its headlights flickering out of view.
"They've lost visual," Iris confirmed. "Initiating camera wipe. Surveillance systems won't have a trace of your escape."
Ethan allowed himself a brief moment to exhale. The MI6 operatives—if that's who they were—wouldn't be able to retrace his steps. Iris had seen to that. But this raised more questions. Why was an intelligence agency involved in this chase? And how were they connected to the package?
...
Ethan took a steady breath as the last remnants of the chase faded into the night. The narrow road stretched before him, illuminated only by the dim glow of distant street lamps. His heart rate had finally settled, but his mind raced with questions about the intelligence operatives. Whoever they were, they were too well-coordinated to be mere mercenaries. It was clear now that this package was more important than he had initially realized.
As the Aston Martin hummed beneath him, Ethan slowed the vehicle to a halt on the edge of a forested road, far from prying eyes. The tension in the air seemed to dissipate as he stepped out of the car, his boots crunching softly on the gravel beneath. Glancing around to ensure he was alone, he stored away the Aston Martin.
Wasting no time, Ethan browsed the inventory panel once more, and summoned the modified Range Rover.
Sliding into the driver's seat, Ethan adjusted the settings and felt the familiar power of the vehicle as it roared to life beneath him.
"Iris," he said, his tone more focused now, "take me to the last known location where you lost track of the motorcycle."
"Coordinates are set," Iris responded, her voice smooth as ever. The Range Rover's navigation system lit up, displaying a glowing path through the winding countryside.
With a low growl, the engine propelled the vehicle forward, gliding smoothly onto the road. Ethan's eyes flicked to the HUD as it began calculating the fastest route to their target.
As he approached the location Iris had marked on the HUD, her voice cut in, calm but urgent. "Sir, I'm detecting multiple vehicles at the site ahead. They're moving slowly, canvassing the area."
Ethan's grip tightened on the wheel. "How many?"
"Five. They appear to be MI6 operatives, based on vehicle patterns and communications chatter I intercepted earlier. It looks like they're searching for something."
"Or someone," Ethan muttered, pulling the Range Rover to a stop a safe distance away. "Iris, access the onboard surveillance systems. I want eyes and ears on what they're doing."
"Already on it," Iris replied.
Ethan parked the Range Rover and killed the engine. The onboard HUD screen flickered to life as Iris displayed a live feed from the surrounding highway and security cameras she had tapped into, as well as from the satellite she was commandeering. The screen split into multiple angles: agents patrolling the perimeter, scanning the area for any trace of the motorcycle or its rider.
"I'm cycling through available feeds, Sir," Iris replied smoothly. "The MI6 agents have secured a two-block radius around the last known location of the motorcycle. Their leader, the same woman from earlier, is coordinating their movements. There are additional agents present—at least five vehicles parked on site. Two operatives belong to Mossad, currently blending in with the MI6 team."
Ethan observed the scene, his fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. The woman leading the group—calm, composed, and clearly in command—was directing her team with precise hand signals. Her posture was firm, her eyes constantly scanning for any signs of a lead.
"She's thorough," Ethan muttered, watching the agents systematically sweep the area. "But they're looking for something they won't find."
"Indeed," Iris responded. "Shall I run facial recognition software on all operatives present, Sir?"
"Do it," Ethan replied. "I want to know who exactly we're dealing with."
Iris began processing the data, cross-referencing the agents' faces with the intelligence databases she had already hacked into. As the feeds continued to display the agents' movements, a few profiles began popping up on the HUD: MI6 agents, several with deep ties to counterintelligence and black ops. The Mossad operatives were particularly interesting—highly trained, no doubt, and carefully chosen for whatever role they were playing in this mission.
"They've been tasked with a high-level operation, Sir," Iris confirmed. "I'm accessing agency servers now. These MI6 agents were dispatched under orders related to an international counterterrorism effort. The Mossad agents are working with them, though their mission objectives are unclear from this data."
Ethan leaned back in his seat, watching the MI6 agents continue their sweep. He could see the woman issuing instructions, her voice calm but firm, as the teams fanned out across the area. They were clearly well-equipped, with tactical vests, earpieces, and state-of-the-art surveillance tech.