Chapter 03

Chapter 03

Knight Protocol

The safe house was not safe.

Kofi knew that the moment he stepped inside.

It was too clean. No dust on the windowsills. No noise from neighbors. In a city where life pressed against walls and leaked through doors, silence was a warning.

He ushered Bako in anyway. Time mattered more than comfort.

“Sit,” Kofi said.

Bako dropped into a chair, breathing hard, sweat soaking through his tailored shirt. The man had spent years moving money and weapons, but none of that trained you for running.

“You don’t understand what you’ve done,” Bako said. “They will burn entire districts to find me.”

Kofi locked the door and checked the windows.

“Then talk fast,” he replied.

Bako swallowed. “The president doesn’t run the country. The Council does. Generals, business families, foreign advisers. The president is just the mask.”

Kofi paused.

Masks.

He turned slowly. “Names.”

Before Bako could answer, the lights went out.

Complete darkness.

No hum. No flicker. Power failure—or something worse.

Kofi moved instantly, drawing his pistol and stepping away from the window.

Outside, engines roared.

Too many.

The door shook under the first impact.

“They’re here,” Bako whispered.

Kofi grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up. “Then we leave.”

“There’s no back exit.”

Kofi glanced at the far wall. Brick. Old. Weak.

“Then we make one.”

Gunfire shredded the door. Wood splintered. Screams echoed from the street.

Kofi fired twice into the lock, kicked the door open just enough to throw a flash grenade into the hallway.

The explosion lit the night white.

They moved through smoke and confusion, vaulting a low wall into a compound lit by burning tires and shouting men. Armed civilians. Not soldiers.

Militia.

Kofi cursed under his breath.

This wasn’t a clean operation anymore. It was politics—and politics had rules you couldn’t shoot your way through.

They ducked into a courtyard where an old man stood with a lantern, blocking their path.

“You bring death to my house,” the man said calmly.

Kofi lowered his weapon.

Knight Protocol.

Honor. Respect. Elders.

“I bring danger,” Kofi said. “But not by choice.”

The old man studied his face, then nodded once.

“Follow me.”

They moved through back passages and prayer rooms until they emerged behind a mosque, where armed men hesitated—no one wanted to fire here.

Vehicles screeched nearby, but the crowd had grown. Too many witnesses.

Protection through presence.

The old man disappeared.

Minutes later, Kofi and Bako were swallowed into a convoy of funeral vehicles moving slowly through the streets.

No sirens. No haste.

Bako stared at Kofi. “You planned this?”

“No,” Kofi replied. “I’m adapting to it.”

The convoy crossed into a neighboring district before splitting apart.

At the final drop, Bako grabbed Kofi’s arm.

“They will hunt you now,” he said. “Not just as an operative—but as a symbol.”

Kofi stepped back into the shadows.

“Then they should learn,” he said quietly, “that symbols don’t surrender easily.”

As dawn broke, Kofi vanished into the waking city.

Knight Protocol had worked.

But war was coming.