THE NAMES HE NEVER SPOKE — PART 3 — The Hunt Begins — A political thriller about power, secrets, and the cost of truth.
Short story series — Part 3 of 4
Story: S A Spencer
Author of Popular Fictions: The Pink Mutiny, The Black Waters, Dream In Shackles
📣 Caught up in the blackout? Make sure you’ve read Part 1 and Part 2 first — and get ready for the fallout in Part 4.
The Hunt Begins
The sun rose
over Varosia like a bruise — purple, swollen, and heavy with the remnants of
the storm. The detention centre was still in lockdown, but the atmosphere had
shifted. The frantic urgency of the night had curdled into something colder.
Fear.
Lira Sen sat
alone in her temporary office, the USB drive still plugged into her laptop.
Darian Vale’s recorded message replayed in her mind.
Follow the
money. Follow the promises. Follow the man who built his campaign on greatness.
Chancellor Arion
Kestrel.
She rubbed her
temples. The implications were enormous. If Vale’s claims were true, the ruler
of Varosia wasn’t just complicit — he was central. The blackmail ring, the
smuggling network, the coercion… all of it had helped build the political
machine that swept him into power.
A knock at the
door jolted her.
“Dr Sen?” It was
the warden. “We need to talk.”
Lira closed the
laptop quickly. “What’s happened?”
The warden
stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. Her face was drawn, her eyes
bloodshot.
“Vale hasn’t
been found,” she said quietly. “No body. No trace. Nothing.”
Lira swallowed.
“Someone removed him. We saw the footage.”
The warden
hesitated. “About that… the footage is gone.”
“Gone?”
“Deleted. Wiped
clean. Every backup.”
Lira felt a
chill crawl up her spine. “By who?”
The warden
didn’t answer.
She didn’t need
to.
The Survivors
By midday, Lira
was back in the city, weaving through the crowded streets of the capital. The
storm had passed, but the air still felt charged, as if the city itself sensed
something was wrong.
She headed to a
safehouse run by a local advocacy group — a discreet apartment where several
survivors of Darian Vale’s network were staying under protection.
A young man
named Jace opened the door. He was twenty‑one, wiry, with dark circles under
his eyes.
“Dr Sen,” he
said, voice trembling. “Is it true? Vale’s dead?”
Lira hesitated.
“He’s missing.”
Jace’s face
paled. “Missing is worse.”
Inside, three
other survivors sat huddled on the couch. They looked up as Lira entered — fear
etched into every expression.
A young woman
named Mara spoke first. “We saw the news. They said it was a power failure.”
“It wasn’t,”
Lira said gently. “Someone came for him.”
Jace swallowed
hard. “The Syndicate?”
“Maybe,” Lira
said. “Or someone higher.”
Mara’s voice
cracked. “He told us… he told us he had protection. That someone powerful was
watching over him.”
Lira knelt
beside her. “Do you know who?”
Mara nodded
slowly. “He called him the Kingmaker.”
Lira’s breath
caught.
“Did he ever say
a name?”
“No,” Mara
whispered. “But he said the Kingmaker was the reason he could do whatever he
wanted. That the Kingmaker needed him. That they were building something
together.”
Lira felt her
pulse quicken.
A populist
leader. A secret network. A man who promised to “make the country great again.”
The pieces were
aligning.
Too neatly.
The Warning
As Lira left the
safehouse, her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She answered
cautiously. “Hello?”
A distorted
voice replied. “Dr Sen. You need to stop.”
Lira froze. “Who
is this?”
“You’re digging
in places that will get you killed.”
Her grip
tightened. “If you know who I am, then you know I won’t stop.”
A pause.
Then: “Vale
wasn’t the only one with insurance.”
The line went
dead.
Lira stood on
the footpath, heart pounding, scanning the street. Cars rolled past.
Pedestrians hurried by. No one looked suspicious.
But someone was
watching.
She could feel
it.
The Palace
Chancellor Arion
Kestrel sat in his private office, staring at the storm‑streaked windows. His
chief of staff hovered nearby, shifting nervously.
“Sir, the media
is asking for a statement about Vale’s disappearance.”
Kestrel didn’t
respond.
“Sir?”
Kestrel finally
turned. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression brittle.
“Do they know
he’s gone?”
“Not officially.
The detention centre is maintaining that he’s in secure isolation.”
Kestrel exhaled
slowly. “Good. Keep it that way.”
His chief of
staff hesitated. “Sir… if Vale talks—”
“He won’t.”
“But if he
does—”
Kestrel slammed
his fist on the desk. “He won’t.”
Silence.
The chief of
staff swallowed. “What about Dr Sen?”
Kestrel’s jaw
tightened. “She’s a problem.”
“Should we…
handle it?”
Kestrel stared
at the floor for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“Do it quietly.”
The Shadow
Lira returned to
her apartment just after sunset. The city lights shimmered across the harbour,
but the beauty of the view did nothing to ease her tension.
She locked the
door behind her.
Checked the
windows.
Checked them
again.
Then she opened
her laptop and replayed Darian’s message.
Follow the
money. Follow the promises.
She opened a new
file and began tracing campaign donations, offshore accounts, shell companies —
anything that connected Kestrel to Vale.
The pattern
emerged quickly.
Too quickly.
Millions
funnelled through dummy corporations. Payments disguised as consulting fees. A
private fund used to silence whistleblowers. And a series of encrypted
transfers to the Ravello Syndicate.
Lira leaned
back, breath shaking.
This wasn’t just
corruption.
It was a system.
A machine.
A partnership.
A knock at the
door made her jump.
She froze.
Another knock.
“Dr Sen?” a
voice called. “It’s building security. We need to check your smoke alarms.”
Lira’s blood ran
cold.
Building
security didn’t work after hours.
She closed her
laptop silently.
Moved to the
kitchen.
Grabbed the
heaviest object she could find — a cast‑iron pan.
The knocking
grew louder.
“Dr Sen, please
open the door.”
She didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
A whisper came
through the crack beneath the door.
“You should’ve
stopped digging.”
Lira’s heart
slammed against her ribs.
She backed away
slowly.
The door handle
rattled.
Then—
A violent crash.
The door
splintered inward.
A figure in a
hooded jacket stepped through the frame.
Lira raised the
pan.
The figure
lunged.
🔔
📣 Enjoying the chapter? Parts 4 continue the mystery, the conspiracy, and the storm that’s about to break over Varosia.
📬 Subscribe now (Click on Follow on the LEFT side bar to get instant updates the moment a new episode is published. No spam. Just suspense.
⚖️ Disclaimer
The Names He Never Spoke is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations, events, and settings are entirely imaginary or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to real-world governments, institutions, or political movements is purely coincidental.
This story contains mature themes including psychological manipulation, political corruption, and trauma. It is intended for adult readers and may not be suitable for all audiences.
The views and actions depicted in the narrative do not reflect those of the author or publisher. This series is designed for entertainment and literary exploration only.
S A Spencer- I will bring more stories for your entertainment. Please follow me on Facebook and Twitter so that you know when a new story comes.
Do you like this story? Let your friends also read this.
Download this thriller -FREE for a limited time
Comments
Post a Comment