Chapter 33: Shadows Beneath the Nile

Cairo, Egypt – Basement Chamber, El-Gomhouria Bank Headquarters

The subterranean vault beneath one of Egypt's oldest banks wasn't on any blueprint. It wasn't even Egyptian. Built by foreign engineers during the Cold War, the hidden chamber had hosted kings, criminals, and diplomats alike. But tonight, it hosted a meeting that could tilt the balance of the global economy.

Archer Grey sat at the head of a long obsidian table, fingers tapping methodically. Around him were envoys from seven nations—some in sharp suits, others in traditional garb, but all with the same expression: dread mixed with greed.

A hologram of Tavara's central bank hovered in front of them, next to satellite imagery of Nairobi, São Paulo, Beijing, and Johannesburg.

"The destabilization of Tavara's monetary system," Archer said, his voice like ice, "is phase one."

"And phase two?" asked a South African magnate, his accent clipped. "You promised returns."

"You'll get them," Archer said flatly. "But we must first eliminate resistance. Damien Blackwood is rallying allies faster than expected. Vaughn in Chicago, May Lin in Hong Kong, even contacts in the Kremlin."

A diplomat from Delhi frowned. "You said his father was neutralized."

Archer's eyes narrowed. "I said his father disappeared. Not that he was dead."

The room fell into stunned silence.

Then a woman stepped forward from the shadows—cloaked in desert robes but speaking with a Parisian accent. "I've located Alastair Blackwood. He's in Morocco. Off-grid. But still pulling strings."

Archer's jaw clenched. "Then burn the strings."

Chicago, USA – Vaughn Aerospace HQ, Private Lounge

Damien sat across from Caden Vaughn, both sipping dark whiskey. Floor-to-ceiling glass framed the glowing skyline beyond, and inside, the room pulsed with low jazz and tension.

"I'm not here to beg," Damien said. "I'm here to warn."

Caden smirked. "And I'm not here to listen. Unless there's profit."

Damien slid a dossier across the table. Inside were photos—military-grade drones being shipped from a base in Argentina, routed through black-market channels with fake Vaughn Aerospace serial numbers.

Caden's smirk faded.

"They're framing your company," Damien said. "And you're either going down with them… or you rise with us."

Caden downed his drink. "Tell me what you need."

"Satellite access. Stealth tech specs. And a secure route to Hong Kong."

Caden laughed softly. "You sure don't ask for small favors."

"I don't have time for small games."

Just then, Nora entered. She was on a video call with a contact from Senegal—code name "Falcon"—one of Tavara's most elite cyber agents, operating out of Dakar.

"We have a match on the encryption signature," she said quickly. "It originated in Phnom Penh, Cambodia—cross-linked through São Paulo, then bounced to Madrid."

Caden blinked. "Who has that kind of infrastructure?"

Nora locked eyes with Damien. "Only two people I know. You... and Archer Grey."

Marrakech, Morocco – Desert Perimeter, Abandoned Fortress

Alastair Blackwood stood on the fortress rooftop, cloak billowing against the desert wind. His silver hair gleamed under the moonlight as he peered through a scope toward the approaching convoy.

He knew Archer had found him. But he had one advantage—he hadn't stayed dead for thirty years by being predictable.

Behind him, a rusted iron door creaked open.

"Sir," came a voice, "they're five minutes out."

Alastair lit a cigar.

"Let them come."