PART 1: THE MEETING AT ROUTE 66 DINER

Chapter 1: The Traveler and the Nameless Girl

Caleb Donovan hated the silence of the desert, but he needed it.

As a Delta Force Sergeant recently returned from an 18-month undercover operation in the Middle East, Caleb carried scars invisible to the naked eye. The sound of bombs still rang in his head, and the smell of gunpowder seemed embedded in every pore. He took a two-week leave, driving a beat-up 1969 Ford Mustang along Route 66, trying to find some peace for his soul.

The dashboard clock read 2:00 PM. The scorching Nevada sun made the asphalt steam. Caleb pulled into a roadside diner with a neon sign flickering “Dusty Diner,” the “D” completely burnt out.

The door chime jingled, signaling a customer. The air inside was cool thanks to the AC running at full blast, thick with the smell of burnt roasted coffee and baked apple pie. The place was deserted, save for two truck drivers slumped over in a corner and an old man reading a newspaper at the bar.

Caleb chose a table near the window, where he could observe the entire parking lot – an occupational habit hard to break.

“Welcome. What can I get you?”

A soft female voice rang out. Caleb looked up.

Standing before him was a young waitress, about 25. She wore a faded light blue uniform, an apron tied around her waist. Her shiny blonde hair was neatly bunned at the nape of her neck, revealing a pale neck. She had delicate features, a high nose bridge, and large hazel eyes, but they held a vague, resigned sadness. The nametag pinned to her chest read: Sarah.

“Give me a black coffee, no sugar. And a beef sandwich,” Caleb said, his gaze drifting past her.

But just as she turned to write down the order, Caleb’s eyes froze.

The breeze from the AC blew gently, loosening a few stray hairs at the back of the girl’s neck. Hidden behind her left ear, Caleb saw a distinct dark red crescent-shaped birthmark. And right below that birthmark, concealed by the slightly loose collar of her uniform, was a tiny, exquisite tattoo in dark blue ink.

A roaring tiger, but without eyes.

Caleb clenched his fist under the table. His heart skipped a beat, not from romantic flutter, but from a soldier’s reflex to danger.

He knew that tattoo.

It wasn’t art. It was the Mark of Shere Khan – the symbol of a notorious underground assassin organization in Eastern Europe that the CIA and Delta Force had been hunting for the past 5 years without ever catching the leader. Members of this organization were likened to ghosts, with no identity, no past.

But this girl… Sarah… she looked too ordinary. Too harmless. Her face was completely unfamiliar. Caleb had a super-recognizer ability; he was certain he had never seen this woman in any wanted files.

When Sarah brought the coffee out, Caleb deliberately knocked over the sugar jar to keep her there longer.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sarah hurriedly bent down to clean up.

“No, it’s my fault,” Caleb said, observing her every move.

Her hands. The index and middle fingers of her right hand had very small but characteristic calluses. Calluses of someone who frequently used handguns and knives. But the way she held the cleaning cloth was clumsy, trembling like a weak girl.

She was acting.

“Have you worked here long, Sarah?” Caleb asked casually.

“Uh… about 3 months,” she replied without looking him in the eye. “I moved here from California.”

Her voice was a bit shaky, with a hint of a Midwest accent, not Californian.

“California, huh? Nice place,” Caleb sipped the bitter coffee. “I just passed through there too.”

Just then, a siren wailed in the distance, tearing apart the desert silence.

Sarah startled, dropping the tray. Her face changed color, turning as white as a sheet. Her resigned hazel eyes suddenly became sharp and panicked for a split second before she hastily hid it.

Caleb looked out the window.

Not an ordinary patrol car. Five black SUVs, with no license plates but equipped with special red and blue strobe lights of federal forces (FBI or Marshals), were rushing in at breakneck speed. Sand dust billowed up, blindingly surrounding the small diner.

“Damn it,” Caleb muttered.

Sarah didn’t pick up the tray. She backed away, her right hand unconsciously reaching for her apron waistband, where a steak knife was.

“They’re here for you, aren’t they?” Caleb asked, his voice calm but commanding.

Sarah spun around to look at him. This time, she was no longer the shy waitress. She stood up straight, her aura changing completely. She looked like a cornered beast, ready to bare its fangs.

“Who are you?” She asked, voice icy.

“I’m just a soldier who wants to finish his coffee,” Caleb placed a $20 bill on the table. “But it seems in 5 minutes, this place will turn into a war zone.”

Chapter 2: The Truth in 5 Minutes

A loudspeaker boomed outside, tinny and threatening.

“Attention inside! This is the FBI. We have surrounded the entire area. Subject Natasha Ivanova, surrender immediately! We know you’ve had plastic surgery, but you can’t change your DNA!”

Natasha Ivanova.

Caleb was stunned. This name was a legend in the intelligence community. A female double agent, accused of stealing tactical nuclear weapon activation codes and selling them to the black market. She was presumed dead in an explosion in Berlin 6 months ago.

Sarah – or Natasha – smiled faintly. A bitter and desperate smile.

“They aren’t the FBI,” she said quickly, eyes darting around for an escape. “They are The Syndicate’s cleanup crew. If I step out there, I die.”

“Why should I believe you?” Caleb asked, hand still resting on the table, but muscles tensed ready for combat. “You are an internationally wanted criminal. That birthmark and tattoo… you are Shere Khan’s people.”

“I was Shere Khan’s people,” Natasha retorted, fiery eyes looking straight at Caleb. “But I betrayed them to save 20 children in Berlin. That explosion was created by me to fake my death. I had surgery to change my entire face, lived hiding in this corner… but they still found me.”

She looked out the window, where men in black armed to the teeth were getting out of the cars.

“Listen, soldier. You seem like a good man. Lie down under the table and pretend to be a victim. Don’t interfere. This is my grudge.”

Saying that, Natasha tore off the restrictive apron. She kicked hard at a table leg, breaking off a sharp wooden stake – a makeshift weapon.

The diner door burst open. A flashbang grenade rolled in.

BOOM!

Blinding light and a deafening explosion made everything reel. The two truck drivers screamed in panic.

In the white smoke, Caleb saw Natasha dash off. She wasn’t running away. She rushed straight towards the back kitchen door.

But the back door was blocked. Two special ops soldiers kicked the door in, submachine guns in hand.

Natasha reacted lightning-fast. She threw the wooden stake into the face of the lead man, then slid across the floor, kicking hard at the second man’s shin. He fell, gun flying. Natasha grabbed the gun, but she didn’t shoot. She used the gun butt to knock him unconscious.

“Why not shoot?” Caleb wondered. A cold-blooded assassin wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

Another man rushed in from the front door, aiming at Natasha’s back.

Caleb didn’t have time to think. Soldier’s instinct kicked in. He couldn’t stand by and watch a woman – even a criminal – be executed like this, especially when she had just spared the enemy’s life.

Caleb grabbed the thick glass sugar jar on the table, throwing it hard with the force of a professional baseball pitcher.

Crash!

The sugar jar smashed into the soldier’s helmet, making him stagger and fire into the ceiling.

Natasha turned around, looking at Caleb with utter surprise.

“I told you to lie down!” She shouted.

“I don’t like taking orders from others while drinking bad coffee,” Caleb smirked, rushing forward, shoulder-checking the dazed soldier, slamming him to the floor. He disarmed him skillfully.

“You’re right, Natasha,” Caleb said, checking the magazine. “These guys aren’t FBI. The FBI wouldn’t use armor-piercing rounds and wouldn’t shoot civilians. They just shot and wounded the old man at the bar.”

Natasha looked at the old man clutching his shoulder and groaning. Her eyes flashed with anger.

“We’re trapped,” she said. “3 at the front door, 2 more coming at the back. And a sniper on the opposite hill.”

Caleb looked at the girl with an angel’s face but the soul of a fierce tiger. He realized he had just stepped into a deadly swamp. But strangely, he felt more alive than ever.

“Do you have a plan, Miss Mask?”

Natasha looked around the shabby diner. Her gaze stopped at the exposed gas pipe running along the ceiling and Caleb’s Mustang parked right next to the glass window.

“Do you love that car?” She asked.

“That’s my second wife,” Caleb grimaced.

“Too bad,” Natasha smiled, a radiant and dangerous smile, completely different from her resigned look earlier. “Because we’re about to divorce it.”

Chapter 3: Dance of Fire and Blood

“Hold on tight!” Natasha shouted.

She pointed the submachine gun at the ceiling, shooting the gas pipe apart. The strong smell of gas immediately filled the space.

“You’re crazy!” Caleb roared, understanding her intention immediately.

“Get behind the bar! Fast!”

Caleb dragged the wounded old man and pushed the two drivers behind the solidly built brick bar. Natasha pulled the pin on a smoke grenade she had just taken from the dead soldier’s body, throwing it into the middle of the room to blind the sniper team.

Then, she took the Zippo lighter from the old man’s pocket – something he had left on the counter.

“Count to 3,” she said, looking at Caleb.

“One… Two…”

Natasha lit the lighter, threw it towards the gushing gas stream, then dived behind the bar with Caleb.

BOOM!!!

A terrifying explosion shook the desert. The roof of the diner was blown off. Glass windows shattered, flying dozens of meters away. The fire flared up violently, creating a wall of fire separating the inside from the outside.

The soldiers outside were knocked back by the shockwave.

“Let’s go!” Caleb coughed violently, dusting dirt off himself.

A large section of the wall behind the diner had collapsed due to the explosion. His Mustang, though dented and with broken windows, was still in a favorable position for escape.

Caleb helped the old man and the two drivers out, pointing them in the direction of the town.

“Thank you, son,” the old man wheezed.

Caleb turned back. Natasha was standing next to the Mustang, gun in hand, keeping watch. Half of her face was smudged with black smoke, but her eyes shone like stars.

“Does the car still run?” She asked.

Caleb jumped into the driver’s seat, turned the key. The V8 engine roared like a wounded beast but still full of power.

“It’s an American car. It doesn’t die easily,” Caleb shouted. “Get in!”

Natasha jumped into the passenger seat. The Mustang revved, shooting off into the dust cloud, leaving behind the blazing diner and the mercenaries scrambling to get up.

On the endless highway, Caleb floored the gas pedal. The speed reached 100 mph.

“You owe me a new car,” Caleb said, eyes looking straight ahead.

Natasha leaned her head back on the seat, tearing a strip of cloth from her sleeve to bandage the wound on her arm.

“If we survive tonight,” she said softly, turning to look at him. “I’ll buy you a whole showroom.”

Caleb glanced at her. Under the late afternoon sun shining through the broken window, he saw the birthmark behind her ear glowing red. And he realized, this woman didn’t just have surgical beauty. She had a deadly attraction, a mystery he yearned to explore.

But first, they had to shake off the 3 armored SUVs roaring in pursuit behind them.

PART 2: THE FINAL IDENTITY

Chapter 4: Desert with No Exit

Twilight fell over the Mojave Desert like a curtain of blood. The 1969 Mustang, now looking like a running pile of scrap metal, still roared along the jagged dirt road. Caleb had been forced to turn off the highway to avoid roadblocks.

Behind them, The Syndicate’s three armored SUVs still clung on relentlessly. Heavy machine gun fire from the roof of the enemy car rained down rat-tat-tat, churning up the ground around Caleb’s car.

“We can’t run like this forever!” Natasha shouted, gripping the handgun she had taken. “The car is running out of gas!”

Caleb looked at the gas gauge touching the red line. He gritted his teeth, yanked the steering wheel hard to the left, plunging into a narrow canyon called “Devil’s Gorge” – a maze of red rock where he had trained for survival years ago.

“Hold tight!”

The car swerved, scraping against the rock wall, sparks flying, then slipped into the darkness of the canyon. The treacherous terrain forced the bulky SUVs behind to slow down.

Caleb stopped the car in a hidden alcove, where the rock wall formed a natural shelter.

“Get out. We walk,” he ordered.

They left the car – the loyal companion – behind and climbed up the rock face. As night fell completely, the desert cold began to invade.

They found a small cave high up, enough to observe below. Caleb and Natasha sat leaning against the rock wall, panting.

In the dim moonlight, Caleb looked closely at Natasha. Her pale makeup had washed away, revealing her real skin and the exquisite surgical lines that still retained a hint of determination.

“Why didn’t you kill those soldiers?” Caleb asked, handing her the remaining water bottle. “Shere Khan is famous for leaving no witnesses.”

Natasha took a sip, wiped her mouth. “That’s why I left the organization. I was trained to be a weapon, not a monster. Five years ago, I was assigned to assassinate a diplomat. But when I got there… he was reading a bedtime story to his daughter. I couldn’t pull the trigger.”

She looked down at her hands. “I stole the organization’s blacklist – the list of government officials protecting them – and fled. The explosion in Berlin was for me to erase the identity of Natasha Ivanova. I used all my savings for surgery to change my face, voice, even sand down my fingerprints. I thought I had succeeded in becoming Sarah, a normal waitress.”

“But you kept the tattoo,” Caleb pointed to her neck.

Natasha touched the tiger tattoo. “This is the only thing reminding me of who I am. That I am not weak Sarah. That I am a tiger, and tigers never submit to taming.”

Caleb was silent. He saw the utter loneliness in her eyes. A woman with no past, no future, hunted by both sides.

“Will you turn me in, Sergeant?” Natasha asked, voice sad. “You are a soldier. Your duty is to catch criminals.”

Caleb looked deep into her eyes. He remembered the feeling when she rushed out to block the bullet path for him, when she saved the people in the diner.

“I am a soldier,” Caleb said slowly. “My duty is to protect the innocent. And from what I saw today, you are not a criminal. You are a victim.”

Natasha smiled. For the first time, her smile reached her eyes.

“Thank you, Caleb.”

Chapter 5: The Final Battle

The next morning, the sound of helicopter blades woke them up.

The Syndicate didn’t give up. They had mobilized armed helicopters to search.

“We have to get to the transmitter station on the mountain peak,” Caleb said, pointing to the antenna tower in the distance. “There I can contact Delta Force base. If I can call the Colonel, he will send a support team.”

“That’s an open stretch of road,” Natasha worried.

“I’ll provide covering fire. You run to the tower and send the signal.”

They began to move. But just as they stepped out of the canyon, the helicopter spotted them.

Thwack thwack thwack thwack!

Heavy machine gun bullets tore up the ground right at their feet.

“Run!” Caleb shouted, pushing Natasha forward.

He found a large rock as a fulcrum, raised the assault rifle (taken from the soldiers yesterday), and aimed at the helicopter’s tail rotor.

An unequal gunfight ensued. Caleb was wounded in the shoulder, blood staining his shirt red. But he continued to return fire fiercely, drawing fire towards himself to give Natasha a chance to climb the tower.

Natasha climbed the transmitter station. She used her hacker skills to hotwire and broadcast an emergency distress signal on an encrypted military frequency.

“Mayday! Mayday! This is Sergeant Caleb Donovan. Code Delta-9. Requesting emergency support at coordinates…”

Just as the signal was sent, a sniper from the helicopter hit the transmitter station. A small explosion threw Natasha onto the tower floor.

“Natasha!” Caleb screamed.

The helicopter swung its gun turret toward the tower, preparing to finish her off.

Caleb was out of ammo. He looked around, and saw a Jeep of the mercenaries rushing towards them.

He dashed out from cover, not to run away, but to charge straight at the Jeep. He jumped onto the hood, punched through the windshield, dragged the driver out, and took control of the vehicle.

Caleb floored the gas, driving the Jeep straight towards the low-flying helicopter.

It was a suicide move. But it panicked the helicopter pilot, causing him to swerve sharply. The helicopter lost balance, its rotor hitting the cliff face and exploding into a giant fireball.

Chapter 6: The Perfect Disappearance

Two hours later.

Three US Army Black Hawk helicopters landed on the mountain peak. The Delta Force team swooped down, cleaning up the remnants of The Syndicate.

The commanding Colonel walked over to Caleb, who was being bandaged by medics.

“Well done, Sergeant,” the Colonel patted his shoulder. “You destroyed a major branch of the world’s most dangerous criminal organization. But… you said there was a woman with you?”

Caleb looked toward the distant horizon, where the highway stretched endlessly.

“There was no one, Colonel,” Caleb lied, face unchanging. “Just me.”

“But we found traces of two people…”

“That woman… she died in the explosion at the diner. What you see is just a hallucination from my concussion.”

The Colonel looked at Caleb for a long moment, then nodded in understanding. He knew Caleb was the best soldier, and if he wanted to hide someone, God himself wouldn’t find them.

A week later.

Caleb received a package sent to his apartment in Texas. No sender name.

Inside was a car key and a postcard.

The postcard printed a picture of a tiger running free in the jungle. On the back was written just a single neat line:

“Thank you for giving the tiger a chance not to bare its fangs. Your new car is in the showroom downstairs. Black, as you like. – S.”

Caleb smiled. He looked out the window.

Natasha Ivanova was dead. Sarah had disappeared. But somewhere out there, there was a woman living a truly free life, a life she had to trade blood and tears to reclaim.

And Caleb knew, one day, if destiny allowed, the soldier and the tiger would meet again. Not in a hail of bombs and bullets, but perhaps in a peaceful coffee shop somewhere, under the brilliant sun of freedom.

THE END