Chapter 281: Countdown!!!
Present
Star Harbor looked calm on the surface.
The streets carried their usual rhythm, vehicles moving through mist settled lanes, people unaware of the storm quietly building beneath their feet. The sea breeze drifted through the city as if nothing had changed, as if danger had not already taken its place among them.
But inside the Sterling Security Operations Room, the illusion of peace had already shattered.
Large digital screens stretched across the walls, each one alive with motion. Drone feeds swept across the skyline, diving through streets, hovering over rooftops, locking onto moving vehicles and still objects alike. Algorithms scanned faces in real time, matching patterns, cross checking identities, flagging threats within seconds.
The hum of systems filled the room.
The agents worked without pause.
And at the center of it all stood Miles Sterling, watching everything unfold with eyes that had already seen where this was heading.
An agent stood up suddenly.
"Sir... we have the numbers."
Miles did not turn immediately.
"Go ahead."
The main screen shifted.
A feed appeared, taken from a public CCTV camera near the logistics facility.
The timestamp read early morning.
The footage rolled.
One van.
Then another.
Then another.
The sequence continued.
The agent spoke, his voice steady but tense.
"Sir, this is from the only accessible route leading to the logistics facility. Seventeen vans passed through this point since morning."
The number lingered in the air.
Seventeen.
The screen transitioned again.
Drone images filled the display.
Different parts of the city.
Different angles.
Each frame marked with coordinates.
Each van identified and tagged.
"All seventeen vans have been located," the agent continued. "Some are abandoned. Others are stationed with individuals matching the flagged profiles from airport surveillance."
The faces appeared.
Split screens.
Criminal records.
Assassins.
Each one a threat on their own.
Together... something far worse.
Miles stepped closer.
His eyes moved from one frame to another.
Calculating.
Mapping.
Then they stopped.
One location.
Near the Atelier.
"There..." he said quietly.
His voice carried enough weight to silence the room.
He leaned slightly forward.
"He has covered the entire city."
A pause.
Then his tone dropped.
"I am afraid those vans are not just transport. They are a living disaster. Most likely loaded with explosives."
The words settled heavily.
Monica exhaled slowly.
"This is bad..."
Charles stepped forward, already moving through updates.
"Boss, villa security has been reinforced. All family members are accounted for. Mr. and Mrs. Keller are at the Atelier. Your siblings, Mr. Timothy, and the guests from Citadel are at Pearl Villa."
Miles nodded once.
Then he pulled out his phone.
Dialed.
The line connected instantly.
"Hello?"
"Olivia," Miles said, his tone direct, "are you at home?"
"Yes," Olivia replied, immediately sensing something was wrong. "You sound tense. What is happening?"
"I need you to go to the villa. Right now. It is about the safety of the family."
There was a brief silence.
Then her voice sharpened.
"What is the threat?"
"You will get the details shortly. Just move. And listen... if you need weapons, the villa security will provide them."
On the other end, the sound of a door opening echoed.
"I am leaving now," Olivia said, her tone fully changed, serious, focused.
"Take care."
The call ended.
Miles lowered the phone.
His gaze returned to the screens.
"There are two vans positioned on both exit routes from this base," he said.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"If we leave, we will be seen."
Charles stepped closer.
"Boss?"
"How many agents do we have outside?"
"Enough to engage the groups near the vans," Charles replied.
Miles nodded slightly.
"Good. Do not engage yet."
Charles frowned slightly.
"Boss?"
"Make them blend into the crowd," Miles continued. "Position them near each van. No sudden movements. No exposure. They wait for my command."
He turned.
Facing the entire room now.
"Taking down people is easy. But we are dealing with trained assassins. And more importantly, we cannot risk triggering those vans."
Charles nodded.
"Understood."
"Move."
Charles turned immediately, issuing orders.
Monica stepped closer to Miles.
"Boss... we should inform the Graveyard."
Miles shook his head slightly.
"No time. They will not reach here in time."
"We cannot just sit and wait," she insisted.
Miles’ eyes remained fixed on the screen.
"We are not waiting blindly."
His voice dropped.
"We are waiting for him."
Monica looked at him.
Miles continued.
"It took him four years to come back to me."
A faint, cold memory flickered in his eyes.
"That day... I had seventeen bullets in my magazine."
He paused.
"And I emptied all seventeen into his father."
The room felt colder.
"One van for each bullet."
Silence.
"This level of planning cannot be done in two days."
He exhaled slowly.
"Jax only learned about me recently. He could not have orchestrated something like this."
His eyes narrowed.
"This is not his game."
Monica’s expression shifted.
"You mean..."
Miles nodded slightly.
"Rehman Nawwar."
The name alone carried danger.
Miles continued.
"Jax might not even know he is part of this."
The realization settled across the room.
This was bigger.
Far bigger.
And then
A sound.
Sharp.
Clear.
Miles’ phone rang.
Unknown number.
Every movement in the room slowed.
Every eye turned toward him.
The storm...
had finally decided to speak.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Every sound in the operations room faded into the background.
Miles Sterling picked up the call, but he did not speak.
He did not need to.
Silence itself was an answer.
On the other end, a voice came.
Calm.
Mocking.
"So... you choose silence?" the voice said with a faint chuckle. "Strange... the Ghost of Graveyard making no noise at all."
A few agents exchanged glances.
The room tightened.
Miles’ eyes did not move.
"Rehman..." he finally spoke, his voice low and controlled. "Old habits die hard, do they not? It is almost poetic. The man leading Al Qiyan now has no fingers left to pull the trigger."
A soft laugh echoed through the call.
"Good. You recognized me. That saves time," replied Rehman Nawwar. "And yes... Ghost might have taken my fingers. But he left me my thumbs."
A pause.
"And that is all I need."
His voice sharpened.
"To press a button... and erase your entire city in seconds."
A flicker passed through the room.
No one spoke.
Rehman continued, almost amused.
"I heard Star Harbor has never faced a proper terror attack. Such a peaceful place. Such a lucky place."
Then his tone dropped into something darker.
"It will be the first."
"And the last."
"And how lucky you are, Miles Sterling... to witness it."
Miles let out a quiet chuckle.
Not forced.
Not loud.
Just enough.
"That is a bold claim," he replied. "Coming from you."
Rehman’s laughter returned.
"What is bold about truth?" he said. "The Ghost of Graveyard... living like a normal man... in a port city... running businesses... surrounded by a loving family... building a life after retirement..."
His voice lingered on the words.
"What do you think happens... when the world finds out?"
Silence.
But this silence was different.
Every agent in the room was listening.
Meanwhile, systems worked in the background, tracing signals, chasing the origin of the call.
Rehman spoke again.
"Do you want to know how I found you?"
Miles said nothing.
"You remember Sheikh? One of those treasure hunters," Rehman continued. "I heard a story. A businessman from Star Harbor traded an entire oil plant for Sheikh with a prince."
A faint laugh.
"And that is where I found you."
His voice grew colder.
"You have a face I could never forget. I searched for you for years."
A pause.
"And now... I finally have you."
The tension in the room grew heavier.
Rehman’s tone shifted again.
Mocking.
Cruel.
"So tell me, Ghost... how does it feel? Living peacefully? Retired? Was it Paris that broke you?"
A laugh followed.
"Did that little heartbreak make your legs weak?"
Monica clenched her fist.
She could feel it.
The shift in Miles.
The temperature around him dropped.
Miles finally spoke again.
His voice had changed.
Cold.
Precise.
"Paris?" he said quietly. "I heard you grew up there... with your mother."
Rehman’s laughter stopped.
Miles continued, his words sharp and deliberate.
"She gave her life to save yours... from another terrorist group. I have seen her grave."
A pause.
"In that cemetery in Paris."
Rehman did not respond.
"My memory is very clear," Miles went on. "Your father used to visit her grave often."
Another pause.
Then the strike came.
"So tell me... why are you throwing away the life your mother gave you? Not once... but twice."
The room held its breath.
Miles’ eyes hardened further.
"I let you live once," he said. "Because of her. I believed you would choose a different path."
His voice dropped lower.
"But this time... I am certain."
A beat.
"If your mother were alive today... she would have ended your life herself."
The silence after that felt heavier than any explosion.
Then
Rehman laughed.
But it was not the same laughter.
"You..." he exhaled, then chuckled again. "She was weak. A coward."
His tone turned dark.
"But my father was not."
A pause.
"Seventeen bullets."
Miles’ expression did not change.
Rehman’s voice sharpened like a blade.
"And now... my thumb rests on a detonator."
The words came slowly.
Measured.
"For seventeen vans."
A flicker passed across multiple screens as agents looked at the mapped locations again.
Each one marked.
Each one real.
"Each filled with Chinese CL 20," Rehman continued calmly. "Enough to erase everything."
His voice turned almost soft.
"Ghost... today you are finished."
"And your loved ones... with you."
Then a faint laugh.
"But that would be too easy."
Miles finally asked, his voice steady.
"What do you want, Rehman?"
There was a pause.
A satisfied one.
"Now you are asking the right question."
Rehman’s tone became almost playful.
"You have two hours."
The room tensed.
"Come to me."
A faint echo of amusement followed.
"I have prepared a battleground just for you. It has been a long time since I watched something... entertaining."
Coordinates flashed onto Miles’ phone.
A location.
Precise.
Calculated.
"And yes," Rehman added, "do not forget to bring that madman... Kyle."
His voice lowered.
"I hear he has something I might want."
The ticking began.
"Your time starts now."
A whisper.
"Tick... tock."
The line went dead.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Every screen still active.
Every system running.
But no one spoke.
Because everyone understood one thing.
This was a countdown to ashes..