The night air in Karachi carried a strange mix , the salt of the Arabian Sea, the exhaust fumes of idling buses, and the fried-spice aroma from a roadside dhaba. For the uninitiated, it was just noise and chaos; for Kamil, it was camouflage.
He stepped off the rickety intercity bus at the Sohrab Goth terminal, blending into the stream of passengers, many of them half-asleep and clutching their bags. His travel was deliberately low-profile , no flights, no agency-issued cars. The mole inside the agency meant any traceable movement was a liability.
His phone buzzed with a message from Anaya, the tech analyst still stationed in Lahore.
"Tracker is on the move. Shipment van left Kiamari port 20 mins ago. Headed east. Two escorts. Possible diversion point is Saddar."
Kamil's jaw tightened. Saddar's maze of lanes was perfect for a disappearing act. "They'll try to vanish it before sunrise," he muttered, shouldering his worn leather satchel and moving toward the street where a swarm of motorbike taxi drivers were circling for customers.
By the time Kamil reached Saddar, the streets were half-lit by flickering shop signs. He found a vantage point near a shuttered electronics shop and scanned the road. His earpiece crackled softly.
"Shipment van just turned into Shahrah-e-Liaquat," Anaya reported. "Five blocks from you. And Kamil," she paused, "I've got chatter on an encrypted channel. Someone's feeding live updates to an unknown recipient."
"The mole's working overtime," Kamil said. "Can you pinpoint?"
"Not yet. Signal's bouncing through two proxies."
A pair of headlights cut across the intersection. The white van slowed for a moment, then accelerated, its escorts , two dark SUVs , flanking tightly. Kamil stepped out, flagged a passing motorbike taxi, and hopped on.
They tailed the convoy into a narrower street where streetlights were dead. Perfect ambush territory. Just as Kamil reached for the pistol inside his satchel, a blinding flash erupted ahead — a fireball tore through the lead SUV, flipping it onto its side. The van screeched, reversing wildly. Gunfire echoed off the buildings.
Kamil hit the ground, dragging the driver with him. Whoever had attacked wasn't part of his team.
Out of the smoke, three masked men emerged, moving with military precision. They weren't after destruction , they were securing the van. One of them barked an order in Pashto, and the cargo doors were yanked open.
Inside were not weapons. At least, not the kind Kamil expected. Crates filled with unmarked vials glinted under the flickering light.
"Kamil," Anaya's voice was urgent in his ear, "satellite feed just confirmed , those aren't arms. They're bio-agents."
His gut turned cold.
The masked men loaded the crates into a waiting pickup. One of them glanced in Kamil's direction, almost as if he knew exactly who he was.
And then they were gone, swallowed by the night.