The rain in Brussels was a cold, relentless curtain, turning the streets into rivers of steel-gray water. From the window of their safehouse, Michael watched the Belgian capital move under umbrellas and hurried steps. It looked normal. Peaceful.
But inside Interpol headquarters, one man was quietly feeding an international crime syndicate everything it needed to stay one step ahead.
Lucien Drosset.
Senior liaison officer. Untouchable reputation. And, according to the task force's honeypot operation, Lysander's mole.
Peter entered the room, shaking rain from his coat, and dropped a thick folder on the table in front of Michael.
"That's everything Duval and Chloe pulled on Drosset bank records, travel logs, encrypted comm traces," Peter said, lowering his voice. "It's tight. No direct ties to the Syndicate. But the comms data is enough for internal suspicion."
Michael thumbed through the documents. "Suspicion isn't enough. We need undeniable proof. Enough to not just take Drosset out, but burn every bridge he's built for Lysander."
Peter nodded. "And that's why it's time, Michael."
Michael looked up. "Time for what?"
Peter gave him a pointed look. "Time you called them. From Hawaii. We need more than a task force. We need our specialists. And we need the help. So call them, leave Abed he can stay with Chloe."
Later that night, Michael stood in the corner of the safehouse's comms room, the hum of encrypted channels surrounding him. He keyed in a secure frequency one that didn't appear on any Interpol records.
The line clicked open.
A smooth, amused voice came first.
"Michael Johnson. I was wondering when you'd call. What's the game this time?"
"Neal," Michael said, "it's not a game. I need your eyes and your touch for a high-level infiltration. You're the only one who can ghost an Interpol server without leaving a whisper."
There was a low chuckle on the other end. "Flattery gets you everywhere. Count me in."
The line shifted, and a warm, slightly rambling voice chimed in.
"Hey, man! Is this the one with the Vega Syndicate's? Because I'm all in if it's got snacks."
"Hugo," Michael said with a smirk, "we'll need your logistics brain. And yeah, there'll be snacks."
Another voice cut in, elegant and edged with confidence.
"Michael. If you're asking, I assume there's a mark worth breaking. And that means you'll need me to make him want to give up everything without even realizing it."
"Sophie, you read my mind."
Finally, a calm, steel-edged tone came through.
"Michael. Send me the building schematics and Drosset's routines. I'll be in position before you land in Brussels."
"Swagger. Always direct," Michael replied.
Two days later, Brussels felt different. Neal arrived first, dressed like he belonged at a diplomatic gala, his grin disarming even the most suspicious security. His job: embed himself in a charity event where Drosset was due to appear, subtly planting tracking and surveillance devices.
Sophie moved like a phantom in the social circles Drosset trusted most, introducing rumors, shifting perceptions, making Drosset feel watched paranoid. Within hours, he was already making mistakes.
Hurley worked behind the scenes, quietly re-routing Interpol's internal communications to Chloe's secure channel, ensuring nothing leaked to Lysander during the operation.
And Swagger he was the insurance policy. From a rooftop overlooking the Interpol headquarters, he kept a long-range scope trained on every entry and exit, ready to shut down any extraction attempt Drosset might try.
The break came when Neal using a forged clearance ID slipped into Drosset's private office under the guise of returning a "misplaced" secure briefcase. Inside, he cloned Drosset's encrypted drives. Within an hour, Chloe cracked them open.
The files were damning lists of Syndicate shell accounts, shipment schedules, and detailed reports of task force operations Drosset had leaked. Every breadcrumb led back to him.
Juliet confronted him in an internal review room, Duval at her side. Drosset tried to bluff, to feign outrage, but Sophie's psychological hooks had already frayed his composure. The final blow was Michael walking in, tossing a stack of printed manifests onto the table.
"You sold out your badge," Michael said evenly. "You didn't just leak intel you gave Lysander our people's names. That's treason."
Drosset's silence was admission enough. By nightfall, he was in a secure black site, cut off from every network he'd ever touched.
With Drosset out of the way, Interpol's internal trust began to heal. Duval's reputation skyrocketed her gamble with the task force now viewed as decisive and necessary. More importantly, the leak was gone.
Peter stood in the safehouse as the team gathered, looking around at the new, expanded roster.
"This is the team that's going to take Lysander apart, piece by piece," Peter said. "No more shadows in our own ranks. No more guessing who's feeding him our moves."
Michael looked at Neal, Sophie, Hurley, and Swagger. "We start now. Lysander's running out of places to hide."
Juliet smiled faintly. "Good. I want him to see us coming."
Characters Mentioned:
Neal-Neal Caffrey
Hugo/Hurley-Hugo Reyes
Chloe-Chloe O'Brian
Sophie-Sophie Devereaux
Swagger-Bob Lee Swagger
Peter-Peter Burke
Abed-Abed Nadir