The intel Chloe pulled from Drosset's drives painted a picture that was as dangerous as it was precise: a sprawling, seemingly legitimate corporate complex in Trieste, Italy.
Officially, it was Vanguard Maritime Logistics, a shipping coordination firm that handled cargo across the Adriatic. Unofficially, it was one of Lysander's primary laundering and smuggling hubs where weapons shipments, stolen technology, and illicit funds passed like clockwork under the cover of legitimate trade.
Hitting it would be a declaration of war.
And that was exactly the point.
Michael stood at the head of the table, a holographic projection of the Vanguard complex spinning slowly between them.
"This is a coordinated hit," he said, looking from face to face. "We take the complex, seize their servers, and cripple their shipping schedules. If we pull this off, Lysander will lose millions and his routes will be exposed."
Neal leaned back in his chair with a faint grin. "And I'm guessing you don't want to exactly knock on the front door."
Juliet smirked. "We're counting on you to make the front door open for us."
Hurley tapped a stack of printed manifests. "I've mapped out the cargo schedules. We've got a two-hour window tomorrow night where the main yard is nearly empty perfect for insertion."
Sophie studied the hologram. "You don't want brute force for this one. You want them to invite us in. I can set up a cover that gets Neal and me inside the corporate offices without tripping a single alarm."
Bob Lee Swagger, checking his rifle case, finally spoke. "And when the invite runs out, I'll be covering your exit from two rooftops away."
The next evening, under the guise of "international trade consultants," Neal and Sophie walked into Vanguard's marble-floored lobby. Sophie's dress was immaculate, her voice dripping with charm as she spoke rapid-fire Italian to the receptionist, casually sliding forged credentials across the counter.
Neal, in a tailored navy suit, played the attentive associate every movement calculated, every smile calibrated.
Within minutes, they were escorted upstairs to meet with the "logistics director," a mid-level Syndicate asset who had no idea he was entertaining two of the most dangerous con artists on the planet.
While Sophie distracted him with fabricated tales of "lucrative shipping contracts in South America," Neal slipped a microdrive into the office's terminal, allowing Chloe and Duval to ghost into Vanguard's internal network from a van parked three blocks away.
Hurley's voice came over comms, calm but focused. "We're in. Pulling live server data now. I've got shipping manifests, bank ledgers holy crap, they're laundering through six different shell charities."
Juliet, crouched in a maintenance tunnel beneath the complex, checked her watch. "Keep pulling. We've got ten minutes before their network activity monitor starts asking questions."
On the rooftop across the street, Swagger adjusted his scope. "Got eyes on your exit routes. Two guards by the west gate, one moving along the upper balcony. No snipers."
Everything was running smooth until Neal caught the flicker of movement in the glass reflection behind Sophie. A security chief was entering the office, his expression sharp, suspicious.
"Michael," Neal whispered into his mic, "we've got company."
Down below, Michael and Juliet moved fast. They slipped through a service entrance, climbing two flights of stairs in near silence. By the time the security chief reached for his radio, Juliet's arm hooked around his neck, pulling him into unconsciousness.
Neal didn't even break his smile as Sophie poured another glass of wine.
With Chloe confirming the download was complete, Michael gave the word.
"Time to go."
Sophie stood, thanking their "host" graciously. Neal slipped a final tracking device under the desk insurance for the next move.
But as they exited, the building's fire alarm blared. Vanguard's private security began flooding into the corridors.
Swagger's voice came over comms. "You've got two SUVs blocking the south gate. One's loading up might be hard drives."
Michael's tone was ice. "Take the tires."
Three precise shots cracked from the rooftop, disabling the SUVs before they could move. Juliet took point, guiding Neal and Sophie through a service stairwell. Hurley remotely unlocked the maintenance gate on the west side, giving them a clean exit into the alley where Duval was waiting with the van.
Back at the safehouse, the team gathered around Chloe's terminal as she sorted through terabytes of fresh intel.
"This isn't just Vanguard's books," Chloe said, eyes wide. "This is a full routing plan for Lysander's Mediterranean operations. Ports, cargo IDs, payment chains… everything."
Peter allowed himself a rare smile. "Then we've just moved from chasing shadows to dictating the board."
Neal leaned casually against the wall. "I've always liked games where we set the rules."
Juliet glanced at Michael. "We just painted a target on our backs."
Michael's jaw tightened. "Good. Now Lysander knows exactly who's coming for him."