Chapter Thirteen: Shadow Games

Kinshasa was no longer just a city. It was a chessboard—and every piece was stained with blood.

Michael sat in a dimly lit café on the Gombe waterfront. To the world, he was just another man in a trench coat sipping bitter coffee while watching boats glide along the Congo River. But beneath the table, his hand rested on a silenced Walther PPK, and in his ear, a voice whispered updates from a Kestrel operative tailing the Congolese defense minister.

"Target's entering the InterContinental. Chinese security escort. They're armed."

Michael replied calmly. "Don't engage. Track only. We need the guest list."

He tapped the encrypted tablet beside his coffee. A holographic map unfolded with flashing red and green indicators—CIA movements in Lubumbashi, Russian arms drops near Kisangani, French advisors embedded within the Congolese gendarmerie.

And in the heart of it all: Operation Zakar, beginning to spin beyond even his control.

Three hours later, he met Mireille in a hideout near the Rwandan border.

She looked different. Leaner. Sharper. Her eyes no longer held idealism—they burned with fury and purpose.

"They killed Mweze," she said, her voice cold. "I want in, fully. No more middle ground."

Michael studied her for a long moment. Then nodded.

"You'll be part of the war council," he said.

That night, the plan shifted.

No longer just psychological warfare.

No longer just slow rot.

Now: infiltration of the Presidential Guard. Sabotage of the national grid. Strategic collapse of fuel logistics in the capital.

The coup had entered Phase Two.

Elsewhere, Morgan was on the move.

The CIA's Wraith Cell had touched down in Brazzaville. They weren't after N'Shonda. They were after Michael. The American spook knew exactly what Michael was doing—and he wanted to stop him before Nigeria could claim Congo as its proxy.

Morgan sent two Wraiths into Kinshasa.

One vanished in Matete.

The other died in a crossfire at a trainyard in Limete.

Michael left the Wraith's body hanging from a billboard with a message burned into his chest in French:

"This is not your chessboard. Leave."

It made headlines.

And it made Morgan furious.

The French, too, escalated.

DGSE deployed an agent known only as Élodie—a phantom with a history of seducing and eliminating high-value assets. She was embedded as a World Bank economist and sent a discreet message to Mireille.

"Let's meet. We both want the same thing."

Michael intercepted it, analyzed the sender's metadata, and smiled coldly.

"She's DGSE. Let her meet you. We'll turn her."

Mireille looked at him, doubtful. "You sure?"

"I'm sure of one thing," Michael said. "Every intelligence agency wants this country. But they don't have me."

Back in Abuja, whispers turned to applause.

Michael's reports were clear. Fuel riots were weeks away. The President's private doctor had been turned. The army's third division had pledged silent allegiance.

One more move, and Kinshasa would fold.

But then came the shock.

Mweze was alive.

Or at least... someone claiming to be him was posting videos from Brazzaville—declaring Michael a traitor and enemy of African unity.

Michael stared at the footage in silence.

His lips barely moved.

"Phase Three begins now."

Author's Note:

If you've made it this far into Shadows of Authority, I hope you're enjoying the blend of espionage, political warfare, betrayals, and power plays that fuel Michael's rise. The world of shadow intelligence is one of blurred lines and ruthless ambition—and it only gets darker from here.

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