Page 1 of The Fixer

PROLOGUE

Chicago had a new lifestyle club that put the others to shame. The famous—or infamous, depending upon your point of view—Baker Street in London had branched out to Chicago. Like Baker Street in the U.K., Club Southside was the American headquarters for the covert operations group known around the world as Cerberus.

CHAPTER ONE

JAKE

The airport terminal buzzed with the frenetic energy of endless movement. Travelers hurried to their gates, families reunited with hugs and tears, and airport staff shouted directions over the din. Jake Sands slipped through the chaos, his posture relaxed but his sharp dark eyes locked on the man in a charcoal suit moving twenty feet ahead.

The target, Pavel Lebedev, was known for brokering illicit deals with anyone willing to pay. Today’s job? Confirm Lebedev had acquired stolen nanotechnology and stop him before he disappeared. Jake’s earpiece crackled as his handler’s voice came through.

“Lebedev’s heading toward Terminal B. Stay on him. We’ve got no room for error.”

Jake didn’t respond. He preferred silence to chatter during operations. Lebedev glanced over his shoulder, and Jake casually adjusted his jacket, pretending to check his phone. Years of undercover work had taught him to blend seamlessly into any crowd.

But Lebedev’s pace quickened. Jake’s pulse ticked up. Something was off. When the man turned abruptly into a side corridor markedAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY, Jakehesitated for a fraction of a second before following. His gut told him this wasn’t just a shortcut.

The noise of the terminal faded as Jake slipped into the restricted area. He was certain that opening that door had tripped an alarm, but nothing had sounded. Still, it was best to assume he had a limited time in which to get done what he needed to. The fluorescent lights above flickered, casting an eerie glow on the deserted hallway. His footsteps echoed faintly on the tiled floor, but Lebedev was already out of sight.

Jake’s instincts screamed danger as he reached the end of the corridor and stepped into a dimly lit loading dock. The air smelled of diesel and oil, the only sound a faint hum of machinery. Metal crates and pallets created a labyrinth of shadows.

A sharp movement to his left drew his attention. Before he could react, a figure lunged at him from the darkness. Jake spun just in time to block the blow, the attacker’s fist grazing his jaw. Another assailant appeared, this one armed with a metal pipe, swinging it with brutal force. Jake ducked, the pipe slamming into the wall behind him with a deafening clang.

“Two against one,” Jake muttered under his breath, his lips quirking into a grim smile. “Fair fight.”

The first attacker rushed him again. Jake grabbed a nearby wrench from a workbench, swinging it hard into the man’s ribs. The attacker crumpled with a grunt, but the victory was short-lived. The second man came at him, pipe raised, while a third emerged from the shadows, brandishing a knife. Three against one wasn’t too bad, but he’d liked his odds better at two against one.

Jake stepped back, his mind racing. He spotted a stack of crates overhead, precariously balanced on a forklift. A plan formed.

The man with the pipe swung again, and Jake sidestepped, grabbing a heavy chain hanging nearby. In one smooth motion, he looped it around the attacker’s arm and yanked, sending the man sprawling to the ground. The knife-wielding assailant charged, slashing wildly. Jake dodged, feeling the blade graze his shirt.

He leapt onto the forklift, shoving the controls into gear. The crates teetered dangerously. “Heads up, boys,” he called, jumping clear as the stack came crashing down. The heavy boxes struck the knife-wielder, knocking him out cold.

The man with the pipe scrambled to his feet, but Jake didn’t give him a chance. He delivered a swift kick to the man’s chest, sending him sprawling. The first attacker, clutching his ribs, tried to crawl away. Jake strode over and delivered a well-aimed punch, ending the fight.

Breathing hard, Jake scanned the room for Lebedev. The man lay slumped against a crate, unconscious, a small flash drive clutched in his hand. Jake pried it loose, tucking it into his pocket. He could feel the burden of it, not just physically but in the implications it carried.

Sirens wailed faintly in the distance, growing louder. Jake straightened, glancing at the fallen attackers. Something about the ambush felt wrong—too planned, too desperate. Lebedev was supposed to be cautious, not reckless.

LYNDSEY

The lab of the think tank for which she worked, hummed with quiet energy, the sound of precision instruments and soft clicks of keyboards creating a rhythmic backdrop. Dr. Lyndsey Marrinstood at a gleaming workbench, her attention fully absorbed by the microscopic world projected onto the screen before her. She adjusted the controls with a steady hand, her green eyes narrowed in concentration.

On the screen, a cluster of nanobots moved in synchronized precision, their programming guiding them to mimic the repair of damaged tissue. If her calculations were correct—and she was sure they were—these microscopic devices would revolutionize regenerative medicine. Lives would be saved, and impossible recoveries would become routine. But for now, every test had to be flawless.

Lyndsey’s hair was pulled into a loose bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She absentmindedly pushed them back, her focus unwavering. The lab environment was reflected in her demeanor: meticulous, sharp, and entirely no-nonsense. She didn’t have time for distractions, much less for the personal threats she knew her work attracted.

“Run phase three diagnostics,” she said aloud, her voice clear and calm. The lab’s AI system chirped in acknowledgment, displaying the results on a secondary monitor.

As the results populated, Lyndsey allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction. The nanobots were functioning better than expected, their success rate a promising ninety-three percent. She exhaled, ready to document the findings and head home for the night.

Her computer chimed—a new email. Lyndsey glanced at the screen, her brow furrowing. The subject line read:URGENT: Your research is compromised.The sender’s address was a random string of letters and numbers.

She hesitated. A cyberattack was always a possibility, and she’d taken every precaution to secure her work. Still, the timing was unnerving. Against her better judgment, she clicked it.

The message was brief but chilling:They know. Leave now.

Lyndsey’s heart pounded as the lab’s overhead lights flickered. Her fingers moved instinctively, encrypting the active files on her computer and backing them up to a secure drive. The lights steadied, but an unnatural silence fell over the lab as the gentle hum of the security system ceased.