The Sheikh's study reeked of burning incense, musk, and smoldering fury. The room, usually pristine and composed, looked slightly disordered now : papers scattered, a glass shattered on the floor, and the curtains parted as though someone had thrown them open too violently.
He sat still, unnaturally calm in a high-backed leather chair. But his knuckles, white against the carved wood of the armrests, betrayed the storm boiling beneath his skin. Across from him, two guards stood motionless, heads slightly bowed. A third man, younger and bloodied from a long ride, stood trembling.
"Say it again," the Sheikh murmured.
The messenger swallowed hard. "They escaped. Through the tunnel under the garden. We... we found one of the exits near the southern dune. There were tire tracks, but the wind's already begun to cover them."
The Sheikh's eyes remained fixed on the messenger. "And Malick?"
A pause.
"Gone. His body wasn't found. But there was blood. Lots of it."
The Sheikh stood slowly. Walked to the window. The desert beyond was quiet, painted in gold by the early sun. He stood there, unmoving, for so long the guards began to shift.
Finally, he spoke.
"Find him. Dead or alive. And bring me the head of the man who opened that tunnel."
The order sent the room into motion. The guards snapped into action. The messenger fled. The Sheikh remained by the window.
His empire was bleeding.
Sonia clutched the satchel tightly as they barreled down the desert road in Yusuf's old truck. The files inside shifted with every bump : names, routes, dates. Enough to destroy dozens of powerful men.
Ali, seated beside Yusuf in the front, watched the rearview mirror constantly.
"Do you think they'll follow us this far?" Sonia asked.
"He won't stop until we're dead," Yusuf muttered.
Ali didn't respond. His thoughts were still tangled in the memory of Malick's final glance. The chaos, the shots, the way he'd stood his ground. It haunted him. Had he really fallen? Or had he vanished, planning to disappear for good?
He couldn't shake the doubt. But there was no time to turn back. Not now.
"Where are we heading?" Sonia asked.
"Oman. I have a contact near the border who can get us a boat," Yusuf said. "From there, maybe Europe. Maybe Africa. Anywhere but here."
Back at the compound, the Sheikh walked barefoot across the cracked courtyard. Servants kept their heads low. One unfortunate soul dropped a tray and was dragged away before the copper goblets even stopped rolling.
His world had always been held together by silence, by fear. But cracks had begun to show.
He stopped before the crumbling fig tree where the traitors had once gathered. Its gnarled limbs reached toward the sky like the hands of a beggar.
"They think this is the end," he whispered.
A man stepped forward. Tall. Dressed in gray robes. The Sheikh's spy.
"We traced one of the USB drives," the man said. "They're attempting to upload the contents. But they need a stable connection. We believe they'll stop in a town near the coast."
The Sheikh turned slowly.
"Then burn it. The town. Everyone in it if necessary. Make it look like a tribal dispute."
The man hesitated.
"Do it."
And he vanished into the compound.
Ali, Sonia, and Yusuf arrived in a small border town by dusk. The smell of salt rode the breeze, and the ocean shimmered in the distance. Yusuf's contact, a scarred fisherman named Basim, met them behind an abandoned warehouse.
"Too dangerous to leave tonight," Basim warned. "You stirred up a hornet's nest. Sheikh's men already passed through."
"Can you get us out tomorrow night?" Ali asked.
Basim hesitated. "If the sea is calm. And if you bring nothing that shines."
Sonia sat on an overturned crate and pulled out the files.
"We can't wait," she said. "We need to send this now."
Yusuf nodded. "I saw a café near the main road. They had satellite Wi-Fi."
Basim raised an eyebrow. "It'll be watched."
Ali looked at Sonia. "We go in and out fast. Upload everything. Leave no trace."
The café was small, lit by flickering lanterns and an old generator. A few locals drank tea in silence. Sonia slipped into a corner, laptop in hand, and connected to the satellite link.
Every click felt like thunder.
Ali watched the door. Yusuf leaned against the back wall, pretending to doze.
The files uploaded slowly.
1%.
3%.
11%.
Sweat beaded Sonia's brow. She felt the weight of every second.
A black SUV rolled past the café.
Ali stiffened.
The progress bar inched forward.
23%.
39%.
Then the screen froze.
"Signal's jammed," Sonia whispered. "They're close."
"Move," Ali hissed.
They left the laptop behind and exited through the rear, sprinting through alleyways. Yusuf led them through a broken drainage tunnel that emptied near the docks.
Basim was already prepping the boat.
"We leave now," he said.
The Sheikh sat in a tent pitched near the ruined café. A laptop screen flickered before him.
"They tried to upload the files," the spy said. "We intercepted the signal. But not all of it."
"How much?"
"Enough to raise questions. Not enough to prove anything."
The Sheikh exhaled slowly.
"Then we are not yet broken."
He turned to the map on the wall.
"They are headed for the sea."
He circled a cove.
"Intercept them here. And if you fail… send the drone."
The boat cut across the dark water, silent except for the waves.
Sonia sat with her knees drawn to her chest, clutching the satchel.
Yusuf manned the rudder, eyes scanning the horizon.
Ali stared up at the stars.
"What if we make it?" Sonia whispered.
"Then we expose everything," Ali said. "We tell the world."
"And if we don't?"
Ali was silent.
"Then we die trying."
Suddenly, a flash of light blinked across the water.
"Incoming," Yusuf shouted. "Boat. Fast. No lights."
Ali grabbed the pistol they'd taken from the compound. "How far?"
"Two minutes. Maybe less."
They had nowhere to run.
Sonia turned to Basim. "Hide the files. If they catch us, someone has to get them out."
He nodded and slid the USB into a false panel under the engine.
The enemy boat drew closer.
Shots cracked the silence.
Ali returned fire.
Sonia screamed as Yusuf ducked.
Basim veered sharply. The boat jerked, tossing them against the sides.
More shots.
Then, a bright light in the sky.
A drone.
"They're going to bomb us," Yusuf cried.
Ali raised his gun and fired again.
The drone hovered.
And then:
An explosion lit the water.
Not from above.
From the enemy boat.
Something had detonated early.
Debris rained across the waves.
The pursuing vessel was gone.
Silence fell again.
They were alone.
And alive.
The Sheikh received the news before dawn.
"Their boat escaped," the spy said. "Yours exploded. Malfunction. Sabotage. Maybe luck."
The Sheikh sat down slowly.
"Then they live."
"Yes."
"Then let them run."
"Sir?"
The Sheikh smiled faintly.
"Because now, the hunt begins."
He looked up.
"And this time, I won't just destroy their bodies. I'll break the idea they represent."
He turned to a second screen.
Malick's photo stared back at him.
"He thought he could vanish. But blood remembers."
A pause.
"Find the sister."
The spy bowed and left.
Far across the sea, on the southern edge of the Mediterranean, Ali stepped onto foreign soil for the first time in years. Sonia at his side. Yusuf behind them.
They had made it.
But the story was far from over.
Because behind them, an empire was still watching.
Waiting.
Plotting its revenge.