A jolt of turbulence jolted Reed awake. Overhead lights flickered, casting shadows on worried faces. A murmur rippled through the passengers as the plane rocked again. Reed blinked hard, shaking off the fog that clung to him like a shroud. The last thing he remembered was leaning back in his headrest, his eyes heavy from exhaustion after 24 hours of no sleep.
He had been posing as a photographer at the Governor’s daughter’s wedding—one of those New Orleans affairs that bleed into dawn, a chaotic mix of flash, fast adjustments and the city’s crazy revelry. He hadn’t planned to sleep on this flight to Vienna, but the fatigue was absolute and he was under before he could resist.
He stretched his legs out and looked down, his heart racing. The camera manual—a thin booklet that had fallen from his fingers while he dozed—was perched precariously on his lap. He breathed a sigh of relief as he snatched it back. This wasn’t just a manual; it was a lifeline, disguised as a book.
Reed looked around the cabin. 16B was still sitting there, eyes closed but motionless, like he was sleeping. The flight attendant who had been watching him with an interested gaze earlier was nowhere to be found. For now.
The plane lurched again and the captain’s voice came over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re experiencing turbulence. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened.”
Reed barely registered the announcement as he was too busy wondering what he might have missed in the manual. If this was PPI’s way of guiding him, then there was more to this than a covert photo shoot. The mission to photograph Secretary Kessler and get him the code was suddenly secondary, a cover for something bigger.
Vienna was still hours away but now it wasn’t just about getting there. It was about survival.
His eyes snapped to the overhead lights as it flickered on, followed by a crackle from the intercom. The captain’s voice came through, steady but with an edge that made Reed’s gut tighten.
“Ladies and gentlemen, due to unforeseen circumstances, we will be making an emergency diversion to Bratislava, Slovakia. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened.” A murmur of confusion spread through the cabin as passengers shifted uneasily. Reed’s heart was racing. Bratislava? This wasn’t on any of his contingency plans. He looked at 16B who was now fully awake, eyes alert. And slowly turned his head in Reed’s direction. Their eyes met and Reed knew: this wasn’t a coincidence.
The captain continued over the intercom, “Your safety is our top priority. Arrangements have already been made to secure transportation to your final destination. You will receive more instruction once on the ground. Customs and Immigration agents will be providing additional information. Thank you for your cooperation.”
The flight attendant emerged from the galley; his smile gone. His gaze swept the cabin like a sniper before landing on Reed. Another jolt of turbulence hit the plane and Reed’s grip on the manual tightened.
He leaned back, pretending to be interested in the pages. The coded alert replayed in his mind—a signal from an out of sync operative calling for subtle coordination.
“Unexpected, isn’t it?” a voice muttered across the aisle. Reed turned just enough to see a pale, worried-looking woman clinging to the armrest. Her knuckles were white. He nodded reassuringly, hiding the storm inside.
Bratislava meant delays, missed connections and a complete overhaul of his escape plan. Vienna and Secretary Kessler seemed further away with each passing second. But this diversion wasn’t an emergency change of plans—it was deliberate.
Reed looked at 16B again. The man was staring right at him. “Looks like a bumpy ride,” the man said, his voice low and casual. He looked at the camera then back at Reed. “You must be a pro with that kind of gear?”
Reed blinked but kept his smile in place. “You could say that.”
The man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card, passing it to Reed with a nonchalant air. Reed took it, looked at the clean design and tucked it into his pocket. Box Gallery it read. The tagline below said An Eye for the Unexpected. The address and phone number were unmistakable—coordinates every PPI operative knew by heart. This wasn’t a gallery; it was a PPI safe house.
“Good eye.” Reed said, making the exchange seem like small talk. The man in 16B nodded once, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. The plane jolted again and 16B sat back, closed his eyes as if the moment had passed. But for Reed the revelation had landed like a weight in his chest. This wasn’t just an unexpected diversion or a suspicious flight attendant—it was bigger. He was a pawn in a larger game and Vienna wasn’t the end point. It was the starting point for something much more complex. The man who gave him the card was connected—how deeply Reed didn’t know.
The plane started its descent and the captain’s voice came over the speakers. “We’ll be landing in Bratislava shortly.”
Reed’s heart skipped a beat as he closed the manual and tucked it under his arm. Whatever was waiting for him in Slovakia he needed to be ready.
The plane began its descent into Bratislava, the engines humming as the murmurs in the cabin grew uneasy. Before Reed could think his next move the flight attendant emerged from the galley and strode towards him.
“Mr. Sawyer,” the attendant said, his voice clipped and professional, “I need you to step aside for a routine PPI inspection.”
Reed’s mouth opened in shock. The phrase sounded harmless—but to him it meant something far more sinister. Why PPI? Was the attendant hinting at Reed’s connection to the organization? Or was this something else entirely?
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Reed stood slowly; camera instruction manual tucked under his arm. “Of course,” he said smoothly, letting a hint of compliance show as he stepped into the aisle.
“We’ll need to verify a few things,” the attendant said, his tone firm as he gestured Reed towards the galley. Leaning in his voice dropped to a whisper. “PPI checks are essential but not all forums are secure.”
Reed’s mind raced. The “forum”—a clear reference to Pro4uM.com’s dual nature? It was known that not all intel on the site was trustworthy. The warning was subtle but clear: even trusted procedures could be traps.
“Mr. Sawyer,” the attendant said again, his calm cracking. “We need to do this before landing.”
“I’m ready,” Reed said, though the question remained: ready for what—and for whom?
Reed had taken five steps when the seatbelt signs flashed on and the intercom came to life: “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve begun our descent into Bratislava. At this time, we’d like to ask everyone to please return to your seats, fasten your seat belts, and ensure your tray tables are stowed and seatbacks are in the upright position. Flight attendants, please prepare the cabin for landing and take your seats.”
The flight attendant looked at Reed. “Please return to your seat. We’ll continue the inspection after landing.”
As Reed turned back, he caught a glimpse of the briefest of glances between the flight attendant and 16B. It was swift—so quick it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else. But Reed’s training kicked in.
Years behind the lens had taught him to catch the smallest changes in a person’s expression—the faintest flicker of recognition, a hesitation in the eyes. This was one of those moments. The glance wasn’t just a glance; it was a signal.
Are they working together? The thought shot through Reed’s mind, colliding with cryptic clues and coded warnings. The flight attendant’s professionalism, the PPI reference, and now this glance—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit. Reed’s training came back: Trust no one completely. Even the familiar can betray you.
Was 16B orchestrating this with the flight attendant? Was this diversion to Bratislava part of a bigger plan that was set in motion before he even boarded? Or were they both agents manipulating him from different angles?
Reed’s mind spun with questions. On paper the mission was straightforward: fly to Vienna, photograph Secretary Lucien Kessler at an exclusive diplomatic event and subtly pass on a coded sequence hidden in the way he directed the session. It was classic PPI—an exchange masked as routine. But now with the diversion to Bratislava and the cryptic interactions on the flight Reed felt the weight of what wasn’t being said.
Settling back into his seat Reed went through the mission file in his head. Every detail was committed to memory: expected lighting conditions, attire, the address to pick up the equipment—
Wait.
The address.
His hand shot to his pocket and he pulled out the card 16B gave him. He looked at the printed address. It matched.
Relief flickered—brief, fragile. A confirmation they were on the same side. Or were they?
The question hung in the air, uncomfortable and persistent. What was bothering him were the omissions—the unspoken elements PPI was known for leaving in its instructions. The gaps felt deliberate, calculated, as if designed to leave room for the unexpected. Now with 16B’s involvement and the flight attendant’s cryptic warnings Reed felt like he was assembling a puzzle he never knew existed.
Is this still the PPI I thought I knew? The question surfaced, unwanted but refusing to be ignored. He remembered when PPI first recruited him, presenting itself as a silent guardian, stepping in where bigger agencies failed. It had promised honor hidden in secrecy—serving without recognition but with the knowledge justice was being done.
A memory flashed: training days at PPI, shadowy rooms filled with agents speaking in code and sharing stories that walked the line between truth and myth. He had been so eager then; driven by the belief he was joining an organization that protected without the politics and red tape. A mentor, Hudson, once told him, “We don’t get the glory but we make sure others do. We’re the difference between a headline and a footnote.” It was like being a commercial photographer. Nobody remembered the photographer who shot car ads for Toyota; he was just a footnote, an anonymous craftsman cashing a check.
Reed’s thoughts froze. Was that still the PPI he was with? Or had its noble mission twisted under ambition, shadowed by the corruption it vowed to defeat? The diversion, 16B’s cryptic message and the PPI-trained flight attendant’s obscure words pointed to a mission that was far from straightforward.
The idea of Kessler as a decoy began to take shape. If the Secretary was just a lure, the real target was deeper, hidden beyond what PPI trusted him to see. The thought stung, biting like a betrayal.
Reed exhaled slowly, forcing clarity into his thoughts. He’d joined PPI to be on the right side, to do meaningful work without getting caught up in the big games of world powers. But now with the pieces moving around him like chessmen in someone else’s game he couldn’t shake the feeling he was a pawn in a game beyond his control. He looked down at the camera instructions, open in his hands. He reminded himself who he was—an operative trained to see beyond the obvious, to capture what others missed. If PPI’s purpose had changed, if their true intentions were compromised, he knew he would have to play this out on his own terms.
For the first time he wondered if the operative in 16B was as in the dark as he was, another pawn in a game they both didn’t fully understand.
Reed’s resolve hardened. Whether he was being set up or not, he would see this through. He would get to Vienna, confront Kessler and find out the truth. If the mission had deeper motives, he would do what PPI trained him to do—adapt, survive and uncover the real story hidden in plain sight.
The descent continued, Bratislava airport lights twinkling through the small window—a promise of safety or the start of a new trap.
His muscles tightened as the landing gear engaged, the plane shaking to a stop. This was it. Time was up and the game was about to get serious.
The tires screeched on the tarmac; passengers jolted into their seats. The engines roared as the plane slowed, noise masking whispers. Reed’s heart raced, pressure mounting.
In the chaos 16B turned his head, his eyes on Reed. His lips moved, almost inaudible over the confused noise of the aircraft. “They know you’re here,” he said, each word sharp.
The engines purred as the plane taxied. Reed’s eyes bounced between the flight attendant, standing rigid by the galley, and 16B, sitting up straight, eyes forward. The cabin lights flickered, as if on the verge of failure. The captain’s voice came over the intercom, calm but hollow: “Welcome to Bratislava, Slovakia. We’re about an hour early due to the diversion. Please remain seated until we reach the gate.”
An hour early. Reed’s hand went to his phone, still in airplane mode, silent for 12 hours. There had to be a message, an update—something from PPI or someone else. His fingers itched as he turned it on, eyes on the screen as notifications downloaded. One message jumped out: “If Kessler falls, it’s failure. Watch the shadows, but move only in the light.”
Reed’s breath hitched, almost a groan, as the message sank into his chest. The airport lights shone outside the window, casting long, dark shadows. He held the camera instruction manual and the phone, his muscles coiled as the plane stopped moving. The world outside was dark and full of question marks.
