The rain didn't fall in Amsterdam that night—it attacked. Each drop struck the ancient cobblestones with military precision, creating a tactical advantage for anyone who understood urban warfare. Merrick understood. Fifteen years in the field had taught him that weather wasn't just atmospheric; it was operational.

  He moved through the narrow alley with practiced efficiency, not hurrying—hurrying got you killed—but maintaining the optimal pace of someone who belonged exactly where they shouldn't be. His coat, specially designed by Division Nine's tech department, absorbed both water and infrared signatures.

  The wall he selected was tactical, not random. Brick construction. Limited sight lines from adjacent buildings. No surveillance cameras within thirty meters. He positioned himself and extracted the quantum-encrypted phone—a device that officially didn't exist.

  Merrick's fingers hovered over the screen. The message he was about to send would trigger protocols that hadn't been activated since Ankara in 2019. Three words that would mobilize sleeper assets across seventeen countries:

  COMPROMISED. FULL BREACH. THEY HAVE EVERYTHING.

  The targeting laser appeared without sound or warning—a small red constellation on his chest. The quantum phone dropped from his hand, not because of surprise, but because operatives were trained to eliminate evidence first. His hands rose slowly, deliberately.

  "Agent Merrick." The voice emerged from calculated darkness, not shadow. "Or should I say, David Lang of Division Nine?"

  The figure who stepped forward wasn't hiding; they were controlling the engagement space. Private military contractors called it "owning the room." Division Nine called it "field dominance."

  "That information had level ten encryption," Merrick said, mind racing through extraction scenarios. None looked promising.

  "Encryption is just theater," the figure replied. "A performance to make people feel secure in a world where security is fiction."

  Merrick shifted his weight imperceptibly, accessing the blade concealed in his boot. "Who authorized this operation?"

  The figure adjusted their stance—professional, measured. "The inevitable."

  The shot made less noise than a champagne cork. Merrick collapsed with precision that would have impressed his combat instructors. The figure retrieved the phone, completed the transmission, then dissolved into the rain-soaked city.

  The message bounced through seventeen routing protocols, crossing four continents in 2.3 seconds before reaching its destination: a nondescript building in Manhattan that didn't appear on any map or property record. Inside Division Nine headquarters, systems began to wake up.

  The Division Nine headquarters occupied five subterranean floors beneath an unremarkable office building in Midtown Manhattan. Unlike the gleaming glass fortresses of other government agencies, Division Nine thrived on anonymity. Their best defense was that no one knew they existed.

  Director Katherine Shaw moved through the main operations floor with the calculated precision of someone who'd spent twenty years in the field before taking command. The morning light from specialized LED panels mimicked natural sunlight—a small concession to the psychological needs of personnel who sometimes worked underground for days.

  "Conference room, five minutes," she announced, not breaking stride as she passed the analytical hub where bleary-eyed technicians had been working since Merrick's transmission arrived.

  Adrian Reeves was already waiting in the conference room, reviewing footage on a secure tablet. At forty-five, his face carried the topographical map of his career—a knife scar along his jawline from Ankara, burn tissue near his left temple from Minsk. He'd earned every mark and learned from each one.

  "Three dead so far," he said as Shaw entered. "Berlin station confirmed Heinrich didn't make his check-in. Paris reports Durand's apartment was cleaned out—professionally. And now Merrick in Amsterdam."

  Shaw placed her biometric thumb on the table's scanner, activating the room's secure protocols. Soundproof barriers engaged with a pneumatic hiss.

  "Time frame?" she asked.

  "All within six hours. This wasn't opportunistic. Someone knew exactly who to target and where to find them."

  The door opened again as the rest of the team filtered in. Maya Chen from Cyber Division, Jackson Reynolds from Tactical, and Sara Navarro, Shaw's deputy director. They took their seats without ceremony.

  Shaw didn't waste time with preambles. "At 0217 Amsterdam time, Division Nine lost Agent David Merrick. His final transmission indicated a complete security breach. Whoever killed him knew his cover identity and his Division Nine affiliation."

  She pulled up secure feeds on the main display. Three personnel files appeared alongside crime scene photos.

  "Merrick was the third." She gestured to the screens. "Heinrich in Berlin. Durand in Paris. All deep-cover operatives from the Helix Program."

  Sophia Lin leaned forward. The pale glow of the screens reflected off her glasses. "The Helix database was quantum-encrypted. It would take decades to brute-force, even with next-gen computing."

  "Then they had help," Shaw replied. "Someone with internal access."

  Reynolds cursed under his breath. "We have a mole."

  "Or we've been hacked," Chen countered. "The digital forensics from Merrick's phone show unusual network activity just before his death. Someone was pulling data remotely."

  Shaw turned to Reeves. "Adrian, you've worked with these operatives. You know their protocols, their contacts."

  Reeves nodded, already understanding where this was heading.

  "Effective immediately, you're running point on this investigation," Shaw continued. "Full autonomy, unlimited resources. Find out how our people were compromised and who's responsible."

  "I'll need to assemble my own team," Reeves said.

  "You have authorization to pull anyone you need." Shaw's expression hardened. "But keep the circle tight. Until we know how far this breach extends, trust no one outside this room."

  Lin raised her hand slightly. "Director, I've been tracking some unusual activity from a hacktivist collective called the Circuit. Their digital signatures match fragments we recovered from Merrick's phone."

  Shaw turned to Reeves. "Start there. If the Circuit is involved, find out how and why."

  "There's something else," Lin added. "The Circuit's operations are typically decentralized, but they have a core leadership group. One of them goes by 'Ghost Wire.' Intelligence suggests it's Elias Calloway."

  Reeves' expression remained neutral, but Shaw caught the momentary tension in his posture.

  "You know him," she stated rather than asked.

  "We served together. Network Zero." Reeves kept his voice level. "If he's involved, this is bigger than a data breach."

  Shaw studied him carefully. "Can you remain objective?"

  "I'll find whoever's responsible," Reeves answered. "Personal history won't be a factor."

  "See that it isn't." Shaw stood, signaling the end of the briefing. "You have forty-eight hours before I brief the Director of National Intelligence. By then, I need answers, not theories."

  As the others filed out, Shaw placed a hand on Reeves' shoulder. "Adrian. If Calloway is behind this, you bring him in. No exceptions."

  Reeves nodded once, his expression unreadable.

  When he was alone, Reeves pulled out a secure phone—not Division Nine issue—and composed a message to a contact he hadn't reached out to in years:

  THEY'RE COMING FOR YOU. CIRCUIT COMPROMISED. WATCH YOUR SIX.

  He hesitated, then added:

  THIS ISN'T YOU. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?

  He sent the message, knowing it might never reach its destination. Or worse, that it might.

  Eli Calloway had learned long ago that paranoia wasn't a personality flaw but a survival mechanism. The small apartment above a neglected bookstore in downtown Portland contained three separate exit routes and a security system that would make most government facilities envious. It wasn't comfort he paid for—it was awareness.

  The alert came through as a subtle vibration from the modified watch on his wrist. Someone had accessed a Circuit node without proper authentication protocols. Most hackers would have missed it; the intrusion was elegant, using credentials that had been valid until precisely three days ago when the Circuit had performed its monthly security rotation.

  Eli moved to his workstation—a deliberately minimalist setup with hardware that could be abandoned in thirty seconds. The intrusion had characteristics he recognized immediately: someone was using Circuit methodology against the Circuit itself.

  "Son of a bitch," he muttered, fingers dancing across three keyboards. The infiltration wasn't random. It targeted specific databases related to government operations the Circuit had been monitoring—operations connected to three deep-cover operatives Eli had known during his Network Zero days.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  His phone buzzed with an incoming message. Unknown sender, but the encryption pattern was familiar:

  THEY'RE COMING FOR YOU. CIRCUIT COMPROMISED. WATCH YOUR SIX.

  Then a second message:

  THIS ISN'T YOU. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?

  Adrian Reeves. After three years of silence.

  Eli didn't bother responding. Instead, he initiated emergency protocols, sending out a fractured alert to Circuit members worldwide. Three quick commands wiped his local drives and transferred essential data to temporary storage.

  As he prepared to evacuate, his secure line rang—one of only two people who had that number.

  "I was about to call you," he said, answering without preamble.

  "Someone's inside our systems," Maya Daniels replied, her voice tense but controlled. "Using access codes that shouldn't exist anymore."

  "I know. They're targeting intelligence operatives. Three confirmed hits."

  "Jesus." A pause. "Division Nine will be all over this. They'll think it's us."

  Eli had already reached the same conclusion. "Where are you?"

  "Coastal safehouse. About three hours from Portland."

  "Too close. They'll sweep the entire Pacific Northwest looking for Circuit connections." He made rapid calculations. "Meet me in Seattle. The Pike Place backup location. Ten hours."

  "Seattle's crawling with surveillance."

  "Exactly. We'll disappear in the noise." Eli grabbed his go-bag—always packed, always ready. "And Maya... bring the Blackbox. We need to know who accessed our systems and how."

  After disconnecting, Eli slipped on his jacket and checked the message from Adrian once more. The timing wasn't coincidental. Adrian wouldn't reach out unless Division Nine had already connected the Circuit to whatever was happening.

  Eli had spent years developing the skills to vanish completely, to become someone else in an instant. He'd need every one of those skills now.

  As he prepared to leave, another alert flashed across his screen. The intrusion into Circuit systems had escalated, but something about the pattern seemed wrong. The access wasn't exfiltrating data anymore—it was planting something.

  He had just enough time to capture a fragment of the foreign code before his evacuation timer forced a shutdown. The code wasn't focused on stealing intelligence—it was designed to make it look like the Circuit had launched a deliberate attack on those operatives.

  Someone was framing them. And doing a masterful job of it.

  Sophia Lin adjusted her glasses as she studied the digital forensics report. As Division Nine's lead technical analyst, she'd been given priority access to all data recovered from Merrick's phone.

  "This is... impressive," she said, more to herself than to Adrian Reeves, who stood by the window of the cramped analysis lab. "Whoever did this knew exactly how to breach quantum encryption. That's not something you learn on hacker forums."

  "The Circuit has resources," Reeves replied, watching a surveillance team prepare for deployment in the parking garage below.

  "This is beyond resources. This is nation-state level expertise being channeled through civilian infrastructure." She highlighted a section of code. "See this? It's modeled after the Circuit's methodology, but it's too perfect. No human coder is this consistent."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning someone studied the Circuit's attack patterns and replicated them algorithmically. It's like..." She searched for an analogy he would understand. "It's like forging an artist's signature by using a computer to analyze their brushstrokes. It looks authentic, even to experts."

  Reeves considered this. "Could Calloway have developed something like that?"

  "Possibly. He's good—one of the best. But this feels different." She hesitated. "I think someone wants us to believe the Circuit is responsible."

  "A false flag."

  "Exactly."

  Reeves' expression darkened. "Director Shaw won't accept theories. We need proof."

  "I might have something." Lin brought up a geolocation map. "The attack that killed Merrick bounced through servers worldwide, but one connection wasn't properly obscured. It left residual data suggesting a Brooklyn origin point." She highlighted a small warehouse district. "Satellite thermal imaging shows unusual power consumption consistent with server farms."

  "A Circuit safehouse?"

  "Maybe. Or someone who wants us to think it is."

  Reeves studied the location. "How confident are you?"

  "Seventy percent. It's the best lead we have."

  He nodded, decision made. "Prep a tactical team. Full spectrum gear, non-lethal primary options. I want whoever's there alive for questioning."

  "You're leading the raid personally?"

  "Someone just killed three of our people. Damn right I'm leading it." Reeves checked his watch. "We move in four hours. And Lin? Keep this between us for now. If there's a mole in Division Nine, I don't want them tipped off."

  After Lin left to make preparations, Reeves found himself staring at his secure phone. No response from Eli. He hadn't expected one.

  Whatever game Eli was playing, Reeves intended to end it. They'd been brothers once, in everything but blood. But if Eli had crossed this line—if he'd ordered the execution of intelligence operatives—then old loyalties wouldn't matter.

  Only justice would.

  The warehouse sat wedged between a defunct textile factory and an auto repair shop that hadn't seen customers in months. Perfect urban camouflage—dilapidated exterior concealing whatever lay within. Reeves studied the building through specialized optics from the Division Nine tactical van parked a block away.

  "Thermal shows three heat signatures inside," Jackson Reynolds reported, monitoring feeds from drones that had been circling the area for the past hour. "Two on the main floor, one in what appears to be a subterranean level. Minimal movement."

  Reeves nodded. "Data center configuration?"

  "Consistent with Lin's analysis," Reynolds confirmed. "Power consumption spiked twenty minutes ago. They're either processing something big or wiping systems."

  "We go now," Reeves decided. "Standard infiltration protocol. I want them alive and talking."

  The tactical team—six operatives in unmarked gear that wouldn't trace back to any government agency—moved into position with practiced efficiency. Division Nine didn't exist on paper, and neither did its operations.

  Reeves donned his communications earpiece. "All teams, execute on my mark. Three, two, one... breach."

  The operation unfolded with surgical precision. Two teams simultaneously breached the front and rear entrances while a third secured the roof access. Flashbang grenades disoriented anyone inside long enough for the teams to gain entry control.

  Reeves entered eight seconds later, weapon raised. The warehouse interior had been transformed into a sophisticated operations center. Server racks lined one wall, their cooling fans creating a steady hum. Three workstations formed a triangle in the center of the room, screens still active with scrolling code.

  But no personnel.

  "We've got no visual on targets," Reynolds reported over comms.

  "Impossible. Thermal confirmed three signatures."

  "Sir, you need to see this," called one of the tactical operatives from across the room. He pointed toward a space heater connected to a mechanical arm that swiveled periodically, creating moving heat patterns that would register as human presence on thermal imaging.

  "Decoys," Reeves realized. "They knew we were coming."

  He approached the workstations. The screens displayed what appeared to be active intrusion programs targeting government databases—exactly what they would expect to find in a Circuit operation.

  Too perfect.

  "Reynolds, get Lin on the line. I need her to analyze these systems before—"

  A high-pitched sound cut through the air. Every screen in the facility simultaneously displayed the same message:

  ACCESS DENIED. PURGE PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.

  "Everyone out now!" Reeves shouted, recognizing the signs of a data destruction sequence that might not be limited to just erasing files.

  The team evacuated with the same discipline they'd showed entering, clearing the building in under thirty seconds. From across the street, they watched as the lights inside the warehouse flickered, then went dark.

  "Sir," Reynolds said quietly. "Northeast corner, second floor of the textile factory. Movement."

  Reeves shifted his gaze. A silhouette was visible for just a moment before disappearing from the window.

  "That's our observer. They triggered the purge remotely when we breached. Reynolds, take Johnson and Patel, secure that building. The rest of you, establish a perimeter. Nobody gets in or out."

  Reeves sprinted toward the textile factory, cutting through an alley to reach the side entrance. The door had been recently forced—fresh marks on the rusted lock. He entered cautiously, weapon raised, moving through debris-strewn corridors toward the stairwell.

  A crash echoed from above—someone running. Reeves took the stairs three at a time, emerging onto the second floor as a figure disappeared around a corner at the far end. He pursued, leaping over fallen machinery and discarded fabric bolts.

  The figure—female, athletic build, wearing dark tactical clothing—reached a fire escape and slipped through a broken window. Reeves followed, emerging onto the metal landing just as she descended to the alley below.

  "Division Nine! Freeze!" he called, knowing the command was likely futile.

  The woman paused, looking up. For a brief moment, her face was visible beneath the hood of her jacket.

  Maya Daniels.

  Recognition flickered in her eyes—not of Reeves personally, but of what he represented. Government. Threat. She turned to run.

  "Reynolds, suspect heading east in the alley behind the textile factory. Female, late twenties, dark clothing. Intercept and detain."

  Reeves descended the fire escape rapidly as Maya disappeared around the corner. He heard shouts from Reynolds' team, then the sound of a brief scuffle. By the time he reached the alley, Reynolds had Maya pinned against a wall, zip ties securing her wrists.

  "Got her, sir," Reynolds reported. "She had this." He handed Reeves a small device—a remote trigger linked to the warehouse systems.

  Reeves studied Maya's face. No fear, just calculation—measuring odds, looking for advantages, timing her moves. She'd had training, but not military. More like someone who'd learned to survive in hostile environments through experience.

  "Maya Daniels," Reeves said, watching her reaction. Her eyes narrowed slightly—confirmation enough. "Known associate of Elias Calloway and the Circuit."

  "I want a lawyer," she replied evenly.

  "You're not under arrest, Ms. Daniels. You don't exist in any system right now, and neither do we." Reeves kept his voice neutral, professional. "But you’re gonna answer some questions about three dead intelligence operatives and why the Circuit decided they needed to die."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?" Reeves nodded to Reynolds. "Take her to the vehicle. Full isolation protocols."

  As they led Maya away, Reeves received an incoming call from Sophia Lin.

  "Please tell me you got something before the systems wiped," he said without preamble.

  "Better. I managed to intercept the outgoing data stream before the purge completed." Lin's voice carried the excited tension of a breakthrough. "It looks like someone was using that facility as a relay point, not a primary base. And here's where it gets interesting—the data wasn't going to any known Circuit server. It was routing to a government-secured network."

  Reeves felt a cold certainty settle in his stomach. "Which agency?"

  "That's just it—I can't tell. The destination signature is fragmented, but..." She hesitated. "Adrian, these protocols look like ours. Division Nine."

  Reeves watched as Maya was secured in the tactical vehicle, her expression revealing nothing. "Keep digging. I'm bringing in a potential source who might have answers."

  He ended the call, staring at the warehouse where someone had gone to elaborate lengths to create the perfect Circuit crime scene. They'd caught Maya Daniels, but Reeves couldn't shake the feeling that they were all pieces being moved on someone else's board.

  And he didn't like being a pawn.

  In the distance, a figure watched from the rooftop of the auto repair shop. Eli Calloway lowered his binoculars, his expression grim as he witnessed Maya being taken. The warning had come too late—she'd insisted on checking the Brooklyn node personally instead of meeting him directly in Seattle.

  Now Division Nine had her, and everything was accelerating faster than he'd anticipated. Someone wanted a war between Division Nine and the Circuit, and they were getting exactly what they wanted.

  Eli slipped away as police sirens approached, already calculating his next move. Maya could handle herself—she knew the protocols for capture. And she wouldn't break, no matter what methods Division Nine employed.

  But time wasn't on their side. Whoever had framed the Circuit for targeting intelligence operatives wouldn't stop there. This was just the opening move in a much larger game.

  And Eli had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew exactly who was playing it.