Scene 1 – The Race to the Gorge
Chakothi Approach, 2:45 pm
The valley had transformed. What began as a cool, pine-scented morning had given way to the hard glare of afternoon, shadows sharpening across the ridgelines. Zayan ran with his rifle across his chest, each breath burning in his lungs. The terrain was against him—loose shale that slid underfoot, switchbacks that added kilometers to every kilometer.
Tejas had maybe twenty minutes on them. Maybe less. The rope ladder at the watchtower meant he'd descended the cliff face directly into the ravine that led to the gorge. A shortcut Phantom couldn't take without risking broken legs.
"Daniyal, where's that drone coverage?" Zayan snapped into his comm.
"Coming online now, sir. Base is scrambling a Shadow Eagle from Muzaffarabad. ETA ten minutes."
"Ten minutes might as well be ten hours." Ubaid's voice cut in, tight with exertion. "Sir, at this pace, we hit the gorge right as he does. That's a meeting engagement. He'll have the advantage—he can set up while we're still crossing open ground."
Zayan knew Ubaid was right. A meeting engagement favored the defender who arrived first by seconds. And Tejas had proven he could shoot.
"Then we don't give him a meeting engagement," Zayan said. "Haroon, you're still on the overwatch ridge. What's your line of sight to the gorge entrance?"
A pause. Then Haroon: "Partial, sir. I can see the western approach, but the gorge itself is a slot canyon. Once he's inside, I lose him."
"Then we drive him inside. Ubaid, Daniyal—you take the high southern trail. Cut off any retreat back into the valley. Haroon, you stay put. If he tries to climb out of the gorge, you put him down. I'll take the low road through the river bed. If I can get ahead of him, I can intercept before he reaches the crossing."
"Sir, that's a two-man job," Ubaid protested. "You go alone against a RAW officer with nothing to lose—"
"I'm not asking for volunteers. I'm giving orders. Move."
Zayan veered off the main path, sliding down a gravel slope toward the roar of the Neelum River below. The water was cold enough to steal breath, waist-deep in places, but the river bed was a straight line to the gorge's mouth. No switchbacks. No delays.
He hit the water with a gasp, the chill biting through his fatigues, and began to wade north.
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Scene 2 – The Gorge's Mouth
Chakothi Gorge, 3:10 pm
Tejas reached the gorge entrance and allowed himself thirty seconds to breathe. His arm had gone from painful to numb—a bad sign. Infection, maybe, or just blood loss catching up. He ripped open a field dressing and wrapped it tighter, hissing through his teeth.
The gorge stretched before him like a wound in the earth. Two hundred meters of shadowed rock, fifty meters high on either side, narrowing to a slot barely ten meters wide at its midpoint. Beyond that, the LoC—a barbed wire fence, a minefield, and then Indian-held Kashmir. Freedom.
But first, he had to survive the gorge.
Tejas scanned the cliffs above. The overwatch position Haroon had fired from was too far to cover the gorge interior. But that didn't mean Phantom didn't have other eyes.
They'll come from three directions, he thought. One through the river. Two over the southern ridge. They'll try to pinch me.
He knelt and pulled out his last two gifts from the depot—grenades he'd salvaged before rigging the fuel tank. Not enough for another booby trap, but enough to make noise.
Tejas crawled to a cluster of boulders at the gorge entrance and wedged one grenade beneath a rock, pulling the pin but holding the spoon. He looped a length of fishing line around the spoon and stretched it across the path at ankle height, tying the other end to a exposed root.
Tripwire number two. Classic. They'll expect it now. But expecting it and avoiding it are two different things when you're running.
He checked his rifle—twenty-two rounds left in the magazine, plus the spare. His sidearm had eleven. Enough for a last stand, if it came to that.
Tejas stood and walked into the gorge, the shadows swallowing him whole.
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Scene 3 – The River Run
Neelum River, 3:25 pm
Zayan had made good time. The current pushed against his thighs, but the river bed was shallower than he'd feared—mostly rock shelves and gravel bars, with only occasional deep pools. He'd covered nearly two kilometers in fifteen minutes.
The gorge entrance was visible now, a dark split in the cliff face five hundred meters ahead. No sign of Tejas. No sound of gunfire.
That worried him.
If Tejas had reached the gorge, he would have set up a defensive position by now. He would have heard Zayan coming—the river wasn't quiet. So why wasn't he shooting?
Because he wants me to come in, Zayan realized. He's not defending. He's baiting.
Zayan stopped, crouching behind a river boulder, and keyed his comm.
"Ubaid, status?"
"On the southern ridge, sir. We can see the gorge from above. No movement yet. But there's something wrong—the shadows are too deep. Even with binoculars, I can't see the floor."
"Which means he can't see us either. But he knows we're coming." Zayan thought for a moment. "I'm going to flush him. Ubaid, when you hear gunfire, you and Daniyal drop into the gorge from the southern wall. There's a game trail about halfway down—I saw it on the satellite imagery. It'll put you behind his position."
"And if he's waiting for us there?"
"Then we find out who's faster." Zayan checked his weapon. "Phantom, comms silence until contact. Good hunting."
He stepped out from behind the boulder and walked toward the gorge entrance, water splashing around his boots.
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Scene 4 – The Tripwire
Gorge Entrance, 3:32 pm
Zayan saw the fishing line a second before his boot touched it. A glint of light on monofilament, stretched across the path at ankle height. He froze mid-stride, heart lurching.
Tripwire.
He looked down. The line led to a boulder on the left side of the path. Wedged beneath the rock, barely visible in the shadows, was a grenade. The spoon was still on—he hadn't tripped it yet.
Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, Zayan withdrew his foot. He stepped back, then knelt and traced the line to its anchor. A root, not a rock. The grenade was the trap, but the root was the trigger.
He could cut the line. Or he could leave it and go around.
Zayan chose the third option. He pulled out his knife, reached under the boulder, and carefully—so carefully—pushed the grenade's pin back into place. The spoon snapped shut with a click that sounded like a gunshot in the silence.
He held his breath. No response from the gorge.
One trap. How many more?
Zayan stood and continued, stepping wide around the tripwire. The shadows deepened as he moved into the gorge, the walls rising on either side until the sky was just a ribbon of blue overhead.
Fifty meters in, he saw the first body.
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Scene 5 – The Body
Inside the Gorge, 3:38 pm
It was an Afghan militant, one of Lashkar-e-Khorasan's men. Zayan recognized the patch on his vest—the same ones they'd killed at the ambush. This one wasn't from the ambush, though. He'd been shot recently, once in the chest, once in the head. Execution style.
The body was still warm.
Tejas killed his own ally, Zayan thought. Why?
Then he saw the militant's hands. They were bound with zip ties. And around the body, scattered in the dirt, were pieces of a satellite phone—smashed, stomped, beyond repair.
The militant tried to call out. Tejas caught him, tied him up, shot him, and destroyed the phone. He's not just running. He's silencing witnesses.
Zayan keyed his comm, breaking silence. "Phantom, this is Lead. There's a body in the gorge. Afghan militant, executed. Tejas is eliminating loose ends. Be advised—he's not desperate. He's methodical."
"Copy," Ubaid whispered back. "We're at the game trail. Moving into the gorge in sixty seconds."
"Daniyal, do you have a visual on Tejas?"
A pause. Then Daniyal's voice, barely audible: "Sir… I see him. He's at the narrowest point, about a hundred meters ahead of you. He's not moving. He's just… waiting."
Zayan's blood went cold. Waiting. Not running. Not hiding. Waiting.
"For what?" he asked.
"For you, sir," Daniyal said. "I think he wants to talk."
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Scene 6 – The Confrontation
The Narrow Point, 3:45 pm
Zayan rounded a bend in the gorge and saw Tejas standing in the middle of the path, fifty meters ahead. The Indian officer had his rifle slung across his back, hands raised slightly—not in surrender, but in something closer to invitation.
"Major Zayan Malik," Tejas called out, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "I've heard of you. Phantom's golden boy. The man who's never lost a man."
Zayan kept his rifle up, sighting on Tejas's chest. "You're out of time and out of options. Surrender, and I'll guarantee you're treated within Geneva conventions."
Tejas laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound. "Geneva conventions? Between India and Pakistan? Don't insult me. You and I both know I'll never see a courtroom. I'll be 'transferred' to some ISI black site and disappear. Or worse, I'll be used as a bargaining chip while your politicians debate my fate for years."
"Then what do you want?"
"I want you to understand something." Tejas lowered his hands slowly. "I'm not here to kill you, Major. If I wanted you dead, I would have shot you at the watchtower instead of missing on purpose."
Zayan's finger tightened on the trigger. "You missed on purpose?"
"I needed you to follow me. To split your team. To come here." Tejas gestured at the gorge walls. "This place? It's perfect. No drone coverage. No satellite imagery. Just rock and shadow and two men who understand what this war really is."
"And what is it?"
Tejas's face hardened. "A lie. Both sides sell their people the same story—that we're defending something sacred. Kashmir. Honor. National security. But at the end of the day, Major, it's just men like me and men like you killing each other because someone in an office gave an order."
Zayan didn't lower his rifle. "You infiltrated Pakistani territory with Afghan militants. You were going to bomb our supply lines. And now you want moral equivalence?"
"I want you to ask yourself a question." Tejas took a step forward. Zayan didn't fire. "When this is over—when I'm dead or captured—what changes? Another Indian officer takes my place. Another ISI team takes yours. The border stays the same. The villages keep burning. And the politicians keep lying."
"Then why fight?" Zayan asked, genuinely curious despite himself.
"Because it's all I know." Tejas unslung his rifle slowly, holding it by the barrel, offering it butt-first. "I'm tired, Major. Eight years. Forty-seven missions. I've lost count of the men I've killed. And for what? A flag? A medal? A pension?"
Zayan stared at the offered rifle. It could be a trick. A desperate ploy. But something in Tejas's eyes—a hollowness, a deadness—told him the man was telling the truth.
"Ubaid," Zayan said into his comm. "Stand down. Don't engage."
"Sir—"
"That's an order."
Zayan lowered his rifle, but kept his sidearm holstered. "Walk toward me. Slow. Hands where I can see them."
Tejas took a step. Then another.
And then everything went wrong.
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Scene 7 – The Third Bullet
The Narrow Point, 3:48 pm
The crack of a rifle shot echoed through the gorge, and Tejas staggered. A red flower bloomed on his chest, just below the collarbone. He dropped to his knees, the rifle clattering on the stones.
Zayan spun, trying to locate the shooter. But the gorge was a canyon of echoes—the shot could have come from anywhere.
"Phantom, report! Who fired?"
Silence. Then Haroon's voice, strained: "Wasn't me, sir. I'm still on the ridge. I had no shot."
"Ubaid? Daniyal?"
A long pause. Then Ubaid: "Sir… it wasn't us. There's someone else in the gorge."
Zayan turned back to Tejas, who was on his hands and knees, blood pooling beneath him. The Indian officer looked up, and there was something almost like gratitude in his eyes.
"They sent a second team," Tejas gasped. "RAW doesn't leave witnesses. Not even their own."
"Who?"
Tejas coughed, blood on his lips. "Ghost unit. Didn't exist on paper. Their job… is to clean up messes." He smiled bitterly. "I was the mess."
Zayan dropped beside him, pressing a hand to the wound. Too deep. Too much blood. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're not like them," Tejas whispered. "You asked questions. Most men don't." He reached into his vest and pulled out a small data chip, stained red. "My mission logs. Everything. The orders. The names. The lies." He pressed it into Zayan's hand. "Make it mean something."
Another shot cracked overhead, closer this time. The ghost unit was advancing.
Zayan grabbed Tejas's rifle and pulled the wounded man behind a boulder. "Ubaid, Daniyal—enemy contact in the gorge, unknown number. Haroon, do you see anyone on the ridges?"
"Negative, sir. They're inside. They must have come in from the north entrance."
Tejas laughed weakly. "Told you. No witnesses."
Zayan looked down at the data chip in his palm, then at the man bleeding out beside him. An enemy. A killer. And now, somehow, an ally.
"Don't die," Zayan said, chambering a round in Tejas's rifle. "I have questions. And you owe me answers."
The gorge fell silent again, save for the drip of blood on stone and the distant sound of boots moving closer through the shadows.