| Describe in detail what you need | Dick Francis style dialogue and narrative from my new novel the pathogen protocol: “they are using grooms they intend to transport bioweapons with the racehorses as cover and in the guise of veterinary supplies. It’s a sophisticated operation, and we need someone inside—someone who can navigate the world of racing without arousing suspicion.” Fynn’s mind raced, and not just from the revelations. He could feel the familiar adrenaline, an echo of those early morning gallops before the sun broke over the horizon, his senses sharp and alive. “You want me to infiltrate? They’ll never suspect me,” he replied, the mention of his time in the yards and the friendships he had cultivated lending an air of confidence. |
| How many pages | 1 |
“They're using grooms they intend to transport bioweapons with the racehorses as cover and in the guise of veterinary supplies. It’s a sophisticated operation, and we need someone inside—someone who can navigate the world of racing without arousing suspicion.”
Fynn’s mind raced, and not just from the revelations. He could feel the familiar adrenaline, an echo of those early morning gallops before the sun broke over the horizon, his senses sharp and alive. The scent of freshly cut hay mingled with the earthy aroma of horses, awakening memories of his youth, nestled deep in the yard’s stables.
“You want me to infiltrate?” he replied, the challenge igniting something deep within him. “They’ll never suspect me.” He leaned back in the chair, a modest grin on his face, the mention of his time in the yards and the friendships he had cultivated lending an air of confidence. Memories flickered like the images of racehorses parading past the grandstands: the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat—a world so blissfully simple yet fraught with unseen dangers.
The man across from him, a shadowy figure cloaked in a regulation suit, didn’t flinch at his bravado. “You understand what’s at stake, don’t you?”
Fynn leveled his gaze, the intensity of the moment thickening the air. “It’s not just about the horses. It’s about lives. How do I fit into this madness?”
“Let's just say, the racing community is an excellent cover. Those grooms are trusted, and you have a history there. You know their routines, their habits—how to blend in. We need you to gather information, figure out who leads this operation.”
Fynn felt the weight of the task settle upon his shoulders. He had spent years crafting a life on the periphery of that world, cradled in the warmth of friendship and loyalty. “And if I get caught?”
The agent leaned forward, his expression unyielding. “Then you become the very weapon they’re smuggling. We cannot let that happen, Fynn.”
Silence enveloped them, the hum of the surrounding café fading into a distant backdrop. Fynn’s instincts churned—could he really step back into that life, knowing the dangers lurking beneath its surface? The thrill of the race, the sound of hooves pounding on the turf, called to him like a siren's song.
“You can trust me,” he finally said, a resolve hardening in his chest. “Who do I report to?”
“Stay low, stay smart. Contact me through the usual channels. I’ll make sure you have the resources you need.” He slid a small card across the table—simple black with just a number etched in silver.
As Fynn pocketed the card, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was stepping into a labyrinth, its walls lined with treachery. But the call of the racetrack was strong, and the chance to thwart a plot so insidious danced before him like a mirage. He sighed, a mixture of excitement and trepidation coursing through him.
“Let’s do it, then. I’ll need a few days to get back in the swing of things, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”
The agent's expression softened momentarily, a flicker of human emotion amidst the steel facade. “You were born for this, Fynn. Just remember, it’s a game of trust and betrayal—don’t forget who the real enemies are.”
With a final nod, Fynn stood, the familiar feeling of the turf beneath his feet igniting a fierce determination. He would return to the world he loved, but this time, with a purpose greater than he could have ever imagined. And he would race through shadows, not just for the glory, but for the very survival of those unsuspecting souls—both on the track and beyond.
As he stepped out into the fading afternoon light, Fynn couldn’t help but feel a rush, a thrilling anticipation. This was not merely a mission—it was the next chapter of his life, unfolding like the starting gates swinging open for the race ahead.