The raid on Drakon Freight had sent shockwaves through Europe's intelligence community.
By morning, news of a "mysterious explosion" at the warehouse had already leaked to local media. Speculation ran rampant terrorist involvement, organized crime retaliation, even whispers of black ops. The Slovak authorities, caught completely off-guard, issued a press statement that only added fuel to the fire: "No evidence of foreign interference has been confirmed at this time." That only made people look harder.
Back in Paris, a hastily convened emergency meeting was held at Interpol headquarters. The task force's covert assault, though tactically brilliant and richly rewarding in intelligence, had inadvertently exposed cracks in international cooperation.
Agent Isabelle Duval sat across from her superiors in a private chamber, the briefing folder still warm in her hands.
"You acted without formal clearance from local law enforcement," the European Commissioner for Organized Crime snapped, voice echoing off the polished walls. "We now have diplomatic inquiries pouring in not only from Slovakia, but from Austria and the Czech Republic. Do you realize how precarious this makes our position?"
Duval didn't flinch. "Had we gone through the formal process, the Vega Syndicate would've cleared that facility hours before. We had one chance and we took it."
A senior analyst seated beside the commissioner interjected. "Interpol does not greenlight operations without full jurisdictional alignment. This task force was created as an intelligence-sharing initiative, not a strike team."
Duval leaned forward. "Then perhaps it's time to reevaluate that. Because while the bureaucracy argues over paperwork, the Vega Syndicate moves weapons, drugs, and human beings across borders without a second thought. If you want results, we need flexibility. Controlled, yes. Accountable, always. But decisive."
Her words hung in the air. The commissioner sat back, jaw clenched. He didn't disagree he simply didn't want to be the one to endorse such a precedent.
"You have one week," he finally said, voice low. "To justify this operation. Deliver actionable intel that leads to arrests or disruption of syndicate assets. Otherwise, your access to task force operations will be suspended."
Duval stood, nodding once. "Understood."
Back in Bratislava, the villa was no longer a quiet hub it had become a political hot zone.
Peter was livid.
"You realize what you've done?" he snapped at Michael, slamming a stack of printed news clippings onto the table. "Interpol's under fire, diplomatic channels are flooded, and now we're being treated like rogue operatives!"
"We did what we had to do," Michael replied coolly. "The alternative was letting the shipment vanish."
Peter paced. "We're not a unilateral strike force, Michael. There are rules. Our enemies might not follow them, but we have to, or this alliance fractures."
Juliet stepped in, arms crossed, her voice calm but firm. "We didn't blow the mission. We exposed a critical network. The political backlash? That's the cost of doing what no one else had the spine to attempt."
Peter rubbed his temples. "You're not wrong. But politics aren't about right or wrong—l they're about optics. If we don't clean this up, they'll shut us down."
Michael approached the board where the name LYSANDER had been written in red marker. "Then we give them a bigger win. We use what we found. Track down one of Lysander's top lieutenants. Hit him fast and publicly. Give the suits their victory headline."
Magnum smirked. "They want optics? Let's give them a show."
Duval entered then, tossing a slim dossier onto the table.
"Here's your chance. Satellite imagery cross-referenced with intercepted comms puts one of Lysander's logistics coordinators codename "Gavrik" in a coastal villa outside Split, Croatia. He's the one who set up Drakon's European routes. If we grab him, we cut off a key arm of the operation."
Juliet raised an eyebrow. "Is Croatia going to let us just walk in and take him?"
Duval's expression was grim. "No. But I have a back channel with one of their internal security chiefs. If we're fast and surgical, we won't need formal permission."
Peter exhaled slowly. "This is it. Our shot to flip the narrative."
Michael nodded. "Then we hit Gavrik. Hard. Quiet. Clean."
Later that evening, as the team prepared to redeploy, Chloe sent a discreet message from the Honolulu office.
Encrypted Message:
> From: Chloe
To: Michael, Juliet, Duval
Priority: HIGH
"Interpol servers show a leak. Someone flagged the Drakon Freight raid to a contact in Luxembourg someone with syndicate ties. Whoever it is, they're on the inside. You can't trust every channel anymore."
End Message
Michael stared at the message, jaw tightening.
They had known this was coming.
But now, the war wasn't just with the Vega Syndicate.
It was with the very systems meant to protect them.