Chapter 06

Chapter 06

Tarzan Protocol

The city calmed.

That was the problem.

Kofi watched from the edge of the forest as military convoys rolled past the highway checkpoint, heavier now, quieter. No sirens. No flags. The Council had stopped reacting publicly.

They were preparing something private.

Tarzan Protocol meant one thing: disappear completely.

No networks. No elders. No faith leaders. No allies whose homes could be burned because of him. When institutions failed and communities were endangered, you went primal—movement, instinct, terrain.

Kofi melted into the green.

The forest swallowed sound. Footsteps softened. Radios lost signal. GPS died the moment the canopy thickened. Here, training manuals were useless. Survival was memory, breath, and patience.

He followed an old smuggling route known only to hunters and ghosts. By dusk, he reached a ridge overlooking a hidden airstrip—dirt-packed, camouflaged, active.

The Council’s exit plan.

Three aircraft. Armed escort. Foreign markings hastily covered.

Kofi observed for hours.

No heroics. No jumps.

Just waiting.

At nightfall, he moved.

He sabotaged fuel lines with slow leaks. Disabled communications with magnets and water. Planted no explosives—explosions brought witnesses.

When the first plane attempted takeoff, the engine coughed and died.

Shouting. Panic.

Security fanned out into the trees.

That was their mistake.

Kofi moved like the forest itself—silent, unseen. One by one, men went down, not dead, just removed. Sleep agents. Pressure points. Fear did the rest.

By the time reinforcements arrived, the airstrip was unusable.

From a ridge above, Kofi watched the Council’s members argue under floodlights.

No escape.

Somewhere far away, Ethan Hunt would have already stolen a plane.

Kofi turned away.

“Different jungle,” he whispered.

The real extraction wasn’t physical.

It was political.

And it had just failed.

The Council was trapped.

And a cornered system was the most dangerous enemy of all.