25. Hornet
Our convoy arrived at the coalition headquarters in Shere just after noon. The English countryside stood in stark contrast to our purpose—rolling green hills and ancient stone walls surrounding a facility designed specifically for international intelligence cooperation.
Kima rested her head against my shoulder as we approached the main gate. She hadn’t slept during our drive, reviewing Dr. Carrington’s file instead. “It feels strange being back here,” she murmured. “It’s almost as though we’re outsiders.”
“Technically, we’re now liaisons,” I corrected, stroking her hair. “And I doubt anyone will view us any differently.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Typhon makes his own rules; we know that. But Nemesis, for as much as she likes order and protocol, can be unpredictable.”
My thumb brushed the back of her hand. “Then, we’ll follow protocol when we need to.”
“Hornet. Delfino.” Ares, head of the US task force and Nemesis’ husband, greeted us at the front door. “Good to see you both again.”
He waved us into the main command center, a place where both Kima and I had spent endless hours. The coalition teams had assembled in full force. All five task forces were represented as was Unit 23 by both Typhon and Oleander. Just inside the room’s entrance stood Razor Sharp, Gunner Godet, and Irish Warrick, who stepped forward first.
“Delfino, Hornet,” he said. “Thank you for arranging this meeting. The Minerva Protocol has been a whisper in intelligence circles for years.” He gestured to open seats and led us over to them. “Aldrich’s decision to bring you in has stirred considerable interest.” Given the man was known to speak very little, I was stunned by his enthusiastic welcome.
“And we’re anxious to hear how you think Romanov picked up where Operation Argead left off,” Kima said as we walked. Her fingers squeezed mine briefly before we separated to take our seats. Typhon acknowledged us with a single nod as we settled in a row behind him.
“Now that we’re all present”—Nemesis cleared her throat—“let’s get started.” Her gaze swept the room, landing briefly on Kima and me before moving on. “Irish has compiled a comprehensive briefing on Operation Argead. I believe this provides critical context for understanding SMO Romanov.”
Irish, who’d remained standing, moved to the central display. “Argead was sophisticated but fundamentally traditional in its methodology,” he began, pulling up organizational charts. “At its core, it was about money and influence—intelligence officials corrupted through financial incentives, blackmail, or both. The carnage they left in their wake is what led to a yearslong investigation.”
“What made it different from a standard corruption network?” Typhon asked.
“Scale and institutional penetration,” Irish replied. “They recruited at every level, from field agents to agency directors. They weren’t just buying individuals; they were systematically compromising entire operational structures.”
Razor stood and stepped forward. “They specialized in ‘voluntary funding contributions’—essentially bribes that allowed certain interests to manipulate international intelligence agencies.”
“Exactly,” Irish continued. “They used Interpol as a clearinghouse, directing operations to protect certain criminal enterprises while targeting others.”
“Based on what?” I asked.
“Who paid more,” Gunner replied simply. “Interpol’s leadership was compromised at the highest levels. When we took them down, we thought we’d eliminated the threat.”
“But Russia saw an opportunity,” Irish added. “They studied our takedown of Argead and adapted. SMO Romanov is Argead 2.0, but with state backing and a different primary objective.”
“Information,” Typhon interjected. “While Argead was primarily about profit, Romanov focuses on acquiring intelligence assets—both human and digital.”
“The diplomats we rescued in Montenegro,” Kima noted.
“Precisely,” Irish confirmed. “They’re collecting people with specialized knowledge, staging deaths or disappearances, then extracting what they know.”
Nemesis took control of the display. “The intelligence gathered suggests Romanov operates through diplomatic channels, using immunity to move people across borders without scrutiny.”
“As Jekyll discovered,” I said, glancing at Kima.
Typhon’s expression tightened at the mention of Jekyll’s name, but he didn’t speak.
“Delfino?” said Nemesis, motioning to the front of the room. “What we need to determine now”—Nemesis continued when Kima stood and approached—“is how Dr. Carrington fits into their operation. Why her, specifically?”
“She designed Minerva’s security architecture,” Kima explained. “If they can extract what she knows, they potentially gain access to an independent global intelligence network.”
“The attack on the villa in Montenegro, and Jekyll’s subsequent death, demonstrates the lengths they’ll go to in order to protect their operation,” I added.
“Our mission is to find Dr. Carrington before the Minerva Protocol council has to respond to Vasiliev’s demand for the release of Ilya Sokolov.”
Everyone in the room raised their head when Wren Whittaker walked in. The woman was one of the most unassuming people I’d ever met, particularly considering she was regarded as the greatest spy who’d ever lived.
Seconds later, the front door swung open with enough force to hit the wall. Blackjack stood at the entrance to the command center, his face tight with barely contained emotion. But it was the figure beside him that caused the room to fall into shocked silence.
Reaper.
He looked different than when I’d last seen him—thinner, with several days’ worth of beard and dark circles under his eyes, suggesting he hadn’t slept properly in some time. But what truly struck me was his expression as he surveyed the room, his gaze locking briefly with mine before shifting to Wren.
“Hello, Reaper. Blackjack,” she said, greeting both men. “Excellent timing. I’ve just received critical information from NSA Director Vera Watkins.”
The room fell silent again.
“It concerns Agent Beaudoin—Amaryllis,” Wren continued. “Vera asked me to inform the team that, based on their latest intelligence, the NSA now presumes her to be dead.”
My chest tightened at the news, and Kima’s posture stiffened—the only indication of her reaction.
“What evidence do they have?” Gunner asked, his expression grave.
“Overheads identified what appears to be a shallow grave at the coordinates of her last known location,” Wren replied. “They’re sending a team, but initial analysis suggests?—”
“She’s not dead,” said Reaper, his voice low and absolutely certain.
“How can you be sure?” Kima asked.
“Because she contacted me yesterday,” he responded, entering and squaring his shoulders.
While most in attendance hadn’t met Amaryllis, a ripple went through those of us in the room who had worked with her.
“Explain,” I said, getting up from my seat and moving closer to where he stood.
“Shortly before the attack at the villa, she received intel about a traitor within Minerva who’s been feeding information to Romanov for months,” Reaper said.
“Right before Jekyll died, he was trying to tell me the same thing,” Kima said in a tone of voice low enough that she might not have been heard if the room hadn’t gone deadly silent.
“He was also able to get a partial message to me when I was in captivity,” Reaper continued. “He said the corruption goes to the very top of Minerva.”
My mind raced, connecting the fragments of conversations and strange behaviors we’d witnessed. The careful way Aldrich had controlled information, her insistence on finding Dr. Carrington quickly, her evasiveness about Mercury and Jekyll’s relationship.
“If what you’re saying is true,” Typhon stated, “then Vasiliev’s communication about exchanging Dr. Carrington was a deliberate misdirection.”
“This is what I’ve been working on since Montenegro,” Reaper said, moving to the table and placing a small device at its center.
He activated it, and a holographic display illuminated above it, showing what appeared to be transmitter locations across Eastern Europe.
“These are active Romanov communication nodes,” he explained. “I’ve been tracking their movements.”
“And?” Kima pressed.
“I believe Carrington is at the Western Naval Base, located along the northwest coast of the Black Sea in Odesa,” Reaper said, zooming in on a specific location.
“Wait,” said Kima. “In Ukraine?”
“That’s right,” Reaper confirmed.
“Which means she’s hiding instead of being held captive,” said Kima.
“Why didn’t you bring this to us sooner?” I asked, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
His expression hardened. “I didn’t receive the intel until a few hours ago. Then I had to ensure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
“Meaning?” Typhon asked.
Reaper hesitated. “I have a name.”
Before he could continue, Blackjack stepped forward, placing a secure drive on the conference table.
“Before you say anything else,” Blackjack said, “there’s something everyone needs to see first.”
Nemesis nodded at Wren, who plugged the drive into the main system. The central display illuminated with a file directory.
“What are we looking at?” Irish asked, leaning forward.
“Evidence,” Reaper answered, his voice tight with controlled anger.
Wren opened the first file, and a surveillance photo filled the screen: Dr. Eleanor Aldrich—Prism—standing in what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, passing documents to a man I recognized immediately from the briefing files. Nikolai Vasiliev. Head of SMO Romanov. The timestamp showed it was taken just three days ago.
The room fell silent once again as the implications registered. The founder of the Minerva Protocol herself was collaborating with the very organization we were fighting against.
“That’s impossible,” Kima whispered when I walked over to her.
Wren opened a second file containing encrypted communications between Aldrich and Vasiliev, discussing the “elimination of Mercury” as a “necessary precaution” with explicit mention of staging evidence of her death.
Reaper’s voice cut through the shocked silence. “It should be clear that the name I was about to give you was Eleanor Aldrich.”
“Where is Amaryllis?” Kima asked.
Pain was immediately evident in Reaper’s hooded expression. “I don’t know. She staged her own abduction the day of the attack. I’ve only received encrypted messages since—until yesterday.” He pulled out his cell and held it out for Kima and me to see. The timestamp was from a few hours ago.
Aldrich is coming for me. She knows about the proof. Trust no one from Minerva. Save Mercury first. —A
Reaper’s expression hardened. “She’s alive. And she has evidence that will bring down Aldrich and Romanov both. We need to find her before Aldrich does.”