Satisfied, Kobeni placed the frame back. When she slipped out into the hallway, the guard was gone. She almost cried with relief as the elevator doors shut behind her. The adrenaline left her legs weak. But she managed a tiny smile of pride. She had done it. Another bug, another stream of truth flowing into their hands. Maybe I'm not so hopeless after all, she thought.
Back in the safehouse van, Aki's voice came through her earpiece, cool and steady: "Good work, Kobeni. We see the feed clear." She exhaled a quiet, shaky laugh and responded, "Heading back now."
Not all operations were so tense. Some were downright devious in their simplicity. Angel, the serene young agent, spent the day monitoring the traitors' communications from a safehouse terminal, fingers gliding over multiple keyboards. At one point he intercepted a flurry of emails between two nervous conspirators discussing a suspected "data breach" in their secure network. Angel smirked and promptly drafted a fake memo from the Cyber Security Department blaming an "outside hacker" for the anomalies – complete with fabricated technical jargon. Misinformation as a weapon. The panicked traitors breathed a collective sigh of relief at the memo and even redoubled their efforts to secure the wrong systems, leaving the team's actual intrusions untouched. To sell the ruse completely, Makima authorized a public scapegoat: a hapless temp employee was "arrested" on suspicion of being the hacker's inside man. News of the arrest was circulated through official channels the very next day. The traitors, thinking the threat was contained, eagerly returned to business as usual behind closed doors – unaware that every whisper was being recorded by concealed ears. (The innocent temp, of course, would be quietly released once this was all over – a regrettable pawn in a greater game.)
In another case, Aki set a trap for a wavering mole. One mid-level analyst – a quiet man named Hayase – had been coerced into spying but was having second thoughts. Hiroshi's intel said Hayase had a young daughter and was only in this mess from blackmail. To tip him over the edge, Aki left a forged photograph on Hayase's desk one evening. The photo showed a little girl's charred backpack amid rubble – a supposed victim of a terrorist bombing enabled by leaked intel. It came with a note: "Your work did this." In truth, the image was a fabrication (no such bombing had occurred – yet). But the next morning, Aki watched from behind a one-way mirror as Hayase discovered it. The man's face went ashen; he darted anxious looks around, then hurriedly pocketed the photo, eyes brimming.
Aki trailed discreetly as Hayase fled to an empty stairwell, where the tormented analyst thought himself alone. There, Hayase sank to the steps, head in hands, overcome by guilt. "What have I done…?" Aki heard him whisper, voice cracking. The surveillance tap on Hayase's phone showed he immediately tried calling Chief Mori – likely to confess or seek reassurance – but Mori didn't answer (the team had intercepted that call and sent it straight to a dead line). Growing desperate, Hayase then dialed another number: the PSIA Internal Affairs tip line Makima had re-routed to a secure cell.
Angel, monitoring communications, alerted Aki through the comms: "He's calling IA. Hooking you in, Aki."
Aki pressed a finger to his hidden earpiece and answered Hayase's call with a crisp, neutral tone: "PSIA Internal Affairs, anonymous reporting line."
Hayase, breathing hard, stammered out, "I-I need to report… corruption. I have evidence… please… it's life or death."
Aki kept him talking, gentle but firm, drawing out details of Mori's coercion and the foreign handlers who had threatened Hayase's family. The analyst spilled his soul in that stairwell, tears mixing with relief that he might be doing the right thing at last. All of it was recorded, and more importantly, Hayase agreed to cooperate fully if it meant protection for him and his family. By the end of the call, Aki had secured another nail in the traitors' coffin: a live insider willing to testify when the time came. And all it had taken was a forged photo to tip a guilty conscience over the edge.
As dusk fell on the eve of the planned purge, the battlefield had been painstakingly shaped. Every critical location was bugged or surveilled. Key conspirators had either exposed themselves, been led into traps, or lulled into complacency. Each traitor still believed they were in control, that their "naive" Assistant Director and his motley crew of newcomers posed no threat. They congratulated themselves on neutralizing phantom hackers and indulged in bribes and backroom deals, unaware their every move was documented.
And if any did harbor last-minute suspicions, the team swiftly moved to pacify them. One corrupt embassy liaison who grew paranoid found herself seduced by a false promise of promotion overseas – courtesy of a letter forged by Power – which diverted her attention entirely. Another traitor, a deputy cabinet secretary, nearly went AWOL with a stash of data; Yoshimura's men made sure his car had an "accident" that landed him in a hospital bed under guard, conveniently unable to flee. No more loose ends.
By the time the city's lights blinked on that night, the stage was set and the trap was moments from snapping shut. All that remained was to assemble the fruits of their labor, double-check every fact and file, and ensure nothing – absolutely nothing – could slip through a legal crack. For that final review, an outsider had joined their secret war council…