The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 154

The United States. Knox's headquarters.

Two in the morning.

The only lights left on in the massive skyscraper came from the executive suite on the top floor. David Lancaster stood before the sprawling floor-to-ceiling windows, a lukewarm cup of coffee in his hand, gazing out at the sleeping metropolis.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He checked the caller ID and answered it.

"Speak."

The voice on the other end was grim, tinged with a deep, hesitant dread. "Mr. Lancaster... the tracking signals for those two... have vanished."

David's grip on the phone tightened slightly.

"Vanished? What about the mission?!"

A tense silence hung over the line...

"I asked about the mission."

"It failed," the voice whispered. "They're... dead. The last known location was the base of Wells Peak. We used satellite imaging and located... two bodies."

David said nothing.

He stared out the window, watching the red aviation warning lights blinking atop distant office buildings. On and off, on and off, like a silent countdown.

"Sir?"

"Bring the bodies back," he ordered, his voice perfectly smooth, devoid of any discernible emotion. "Find a quiet place and give them a proper burial."

The man on the other end paused, clearly shocked that his boss wasn't demanding heads to roll.

"Yes, sir..."

David hesitated for a fraction of a second. "And... bury their ashes together."

Another heavy silence stretched across the line before a low, "Understood," echoed back.

"Target acquired," a hushed voice crackled over the radio.

David stepped out of a black Mercedes. He wore a dark grey cashmere overcoat and gold-rimmed glasses, carrying an ordinary-looking briefcase. Two assistants flanked him—one pulling luggage, the other holding documents.

The plainclothes detectives locked their eyes onto him.

"All units, heads up. The target is entering the terminal. Prepare to move in," Captain Wyatt Young whispered into his radio.

They watched as David strolled into the main concourse. Instead of heading for the VIP lane, he walked right up to the standard check-in counters. He waited in line, checked his bags, and got his boarding pass—just like any other traveler.

The plainclothes officers scattered into the crowd. Some pretended to scroll on their phones, others faked waiting in line, while a few hung back, murmuring into their comms.

"He's checked in. Destination... Argentina in South America."

"Copy that. He's definitely making a play for Antarctica. Do not lose him," Wyatt ordered.

David finished at the counter and turned toward the security checkpoints.