
“Infiltrate that party and find the traitor,” the voice in his ear pierce crackled. “He’s a dead man. Don’t you worry.” Thomas Redford said back. The helicopter’s whisper faded into the night as it banked away, leaving Redford crouched in the tall grass at the edge of the estate’s sprawling property. The cliffside loomed behind him, a jagged precipice plunging into the roaring surf below. Ahead, the estate sprawled like a fortress carved of old money and decadence, its towering walls and turrets silhouetted against the moonlit sky. He knelt in the shadows, his dark tactical gear blending like magic into the landscape.
Through the night-vision scope of his suppressed pistol, he spotted the first guard—a sniper perched in a tower nestled in the tree line. The man scanned the grounds with the meticulous precision of someone accustomed to quiet shifts. Thomas adjusted his grip, his breathing steady as a metronome. One pull of the trigger, and the silenced pistol let out a whisper of death. The guard slumped forward, his rifle clattering to the floor of the tower.
Thomas crept forward, low and silent as a panther, scaling the ladder to the sniper’s perch. He hauled the body out of view and hefted the sniper rifle, its weight natural in his hands. The moonlight caught the glint of the glass as he peered through the scope. Below, guards patrolled in pairs, their routes tight and methodical. Cameras swiveled lazily, catching overlapping angles of the estate’s grounds.
“Thorough,” Thomas muttered, scanning for gaps in the patrol patterns. A pair of guards stood near the main gate, sharing a cigarette and oblivious to the fallen man above them. He adjusted the rifle’s aim, squeezing the trigger twice in quick succession. The silence remained unbroken, save for the muted sound of the bodies meeting the earth.
Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, Thomas descended and moved like a shadow toward the estate. He hugged the treeline, using the natural cover to evade the cameras’ sweeping eyes. A lone guard rounded the corner ahead, his flashlight beam punching through the dark with a threat of an early night. Thomas slipped behind him, one hand clamping over the man’s mouth while the other drove a knife clean and fast into his side. The guard crumpled silently, his flashlight rolling into the underbrush.
Thomas’ advance slowed as the number of patrols thickened closer to the castle. Each step forward became a heavier risk, the guards moving in tighter formations. He cursed under his breath, scanning for alternatives. That’s when he saw it—the rocky cliffside that flanked the castle, its sheer face dotted with crags and ledges. Thomas smiled, the cool air turning his chuckle into a fog. “Love me some rock climbing.”
He doubled back, keeping low until he reached the base of the cliff. The wind howled here, whipping at his gear as he reached for the climbing hooks clipped to his belt. The climb started with a cruel introduction—wet stone that slipped under his grip and the chasm below daring him to fail. But Thomas had danced on the edge of death too many times to misstep now. This thrill came to make him feel that much more alive— that much more focused. He couldn’t wait to find the traitor and make them pay.
Halfway up, he paused on a narrow ledge, catching his breath and scanning the castle walls. A single window was cracked open just above him, the curtains inside swaying gently, an invitation he’d gladly take.
Reaching the window demanded patience; his muscles quivered with strain, each hold chosen with the care of a gambler placing a final bet. At last, he swung himself up and over the sill, landing silently on the wooden floor of an empty room.
The space was sparse, likely a servant’s quarters, with nothing but a narrow cot and a small dresser. Thomas didn’t waste time. He unclipped his tactical harness, shedding his gear piece by piece. His pistol, climbing tools, and sniper rifle were bundled tightly and hung over the edge of the windowsill, concealed against the building’s exterior.
Reaching into the pack slung across his back, Thomas pulled out the final piece of the evening’s ensemble: a sleek black tuxedo jacket. He slipped it on, adjusting the lapels as though he hadn’t just scaled a cliff and dispatched half a dozen men in the past hour.
In the mirror above the dresser, he caught his reflection. The man staring back at him was ready for the party, every bit the polished guest the host expected to see. But behind the sharp lines of the suit, his eyes burned cold and calculating.
Thomas smirked, smoothing his hair. "Showtime."
With a silent step, he eased the door open and slipped into the corridor beyond, the faint hum of music and conversation drifting down from the grand ballroom above.
The ballroom was a kaleidoscope of elegance and excess, chandeliers scattering golden light across the polished floors and tuxedoed waitstaff moving with practiced precision. Thomas Redford adjusted his cufflinks as he blended into the crowd, his demeanor relaxed.
He made his way toward the heart of the room, nodding politely to those who caught his eye. A blonde in a backless emerald dress offered him a playful smile. Thomas stopped for a moment, his grin doing what words didn’t need to.
“Evening,” he said, his voice smooth as the drink he was about to order. “Tell me—does a dress like that come with a warning label? You’ve surely put a kink into a few necks. Including mine.” Thomas rubbed his neck.
She laughed, leaning in just enough to make the exchange linger. “You’re quite forward aren’t you?”
Before he could answer, a voice crackled in his ear. "Redford, focus. You're not here to play. You need to focus."
His smile didn’t falter as he muttered, “I am,” and winked at the blonde. “Excuse me. Duty calls.”
As he turned, his gaze landed on the traitor: a familiar face framed by silvering hair, standing near the bar with a whisky in hand. Thomas’ heart beat a little faster, but his outward expression remained impassive. Speaking to the voice in his ear, he murmured, “I see our friend. I’m just getting ready to celebrate.”
Thomas strolled to the bar, taking his time. He leaned against the polished wood and caught the bartender’s attention. “Whisky,” he said, naming the same brand the traitor was sipping. The kind he always sipped after a mission accomplished.
When the drink arrived, Thomas pulled a small vial from his pocket. His movements were subtle, practiced; the poison was slipped into the glass with the fluidity of a card trick. He waited, biding his time as he watched the traitor’s every move.
The moment came as the man turned to shake hands with someone. Thomas stepped in smoothly, switching the glasses with the same nonchalance he’d use to pick up his own drink. The traitor never noticed.
Thomas walked away, drink in hand, as though nothing had happened. He spotted the blonde again near a corner of the room, her emerald dress catching the light. This time, he approached with purpose.
“Where were we?” he said, his smile returning.
She laughed again. “I think you just darting off.”
“I was,” Thomas said, leaning in as though he were sharing a secret. “But I’ll settle for keeping you company instead.”
Their banter carried on for a few minutes, Thomas balancing charm with his calculated awareness of the room. Then, the sound of commotion interrupted the party—a sharp cry, followed by frantic calls for help.
“Medic! Someone get a medic!”
Thomas glanced toward the bar, where a crowd had gathered. The traitor was slumped against the counter, his face twisted into a pale mask of pain. Chaos rippled through the room as guests backed away in shock.
Thomas turned back to the blonde, his expression calm. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, taking her hand and leading her away.
They slipped into a quieter corridor, the muffled screams and hurried footsteps fading behind them. Thomas stopped, leaning casually against the wall as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“I think we’ll have better luck finding a drink somewhere less crowded,” he said, flashing her a disarming grin.
This story was for the weekly prompt over at the Men's Adventure Fiction Discord. Join the wrecking crew over there for all kinds of conversation, motivation, and elevation.
Further- Noah Redford's Fire in the Tall Grass comes out February 25th.
Under the guise of helping a woman find her husband and a son reunite with his father, Redford plunges into the darkest part of the Congo… soon he realizes that there is more to the story. Guerrilla warfare and a deadly race to an ancient relic find the former ace in this thrilling Noah Redford Adventure!!

So damn good! I can't wait for Thomas Redford's return!!!