"Then we plan for speed," I say. "In, identify targets, set charges, out. No margin for error."
Isabella appears beside us, examining the satellite imagery with that analytical focus she brings to everything. "Staging separate shipments through Rotterdam makes sense from a chemical standpoint. My delivery system requires separate compounds: individually inert, lethal when combined. Keeping them separated during transport reduces risk of accidental activation. If they're bringing them together at Rotterdam for final distribution to buyers..."
"They become functional weapons," I finish. "Ready for buyers to take delivery and deploy against targets of their choosing."
"How much could they have?" Luc asks quietly.
Isabella's quiet for a moment, calculating. When she speaks, her voice is steady but her knuckles are white where she grips the edge of Papa's desk.
"Based on the production volume I saw in Emil's lab: the equipment, the synthesis batches he had running, and what Brenner described at the East 70th event about buyer quantities... they have enough compound for multiple deployments. My delivery system was designed for precise medical application in controlled environments. Same aerosolization technology weaponized for enclosed public spaces..."
She pauses.
"I can't give you exact numbers. That depends on deployment method, environmental factors, target density. But enclosed spaces like metro cars or office buildings during peak hours? The potential is catastrophic."
A heavy weight settles over the room. People are depending on us getting this right. People who'll never know how close they came to weaponized death delivered through an aerosolized system elegant enough to win scientific accolades.
"We can't afford to miss," I say quietly. "We hit Rotterdam, we eliminate every compound, and we make damn sure nothing leaves that facility functional."
Isabella's hand brushes my arm, brief and grounding. "We'll get it done."
Luc settles back in Papa's chair, attention shifting between us. Something changes in his expression. Recognition, maybe. Or concern.
"I can handle equipment acquisition," he says carefully. "My network operates across New Orleans, Chicago, New York, and Europe. I can arrange transport logistics, weapons if we need them beyond what Remy's contacts can provide. And my knowledge of Rotterdam's port infrastructure gives us an advantage when we're planning approach routes and exit strategies."
"What's the cost?" I ask, because nothing's free in this world. "Your contacts won't provide equipment and logistics without something in return."
"Favors owed, debts repaid." Luc shrugs. "Call it a brother helping a brother."
"And if there's a leak?" Isabella asks quietly. "If whoever knew about New York also knows about ops in Europe?"
Luc's face goes tight. "My New York network is separate from European ops. Different chains. But you're right to be cautious."
"That's exactly the problem," I say. "We thought operational security was airtight. Someone still made Isabella in New York."
"Which is why we go dark," Luc says. "Minimal communication, tight operational circle. Just family and Remy's vetted contacts. We'll use my network for equipment and logistics, but no third parties on the ground with us."
Isabella's attention shifts to the satellite imagery, tracing potential approach routes with one finger. "When do we leave?"
Luc checks his tablet. "Brenner said a few weeks until first shipment reaches buyers. But we need to move before the components leave Rotterdam for distribution. Every day we wait increases the risk they disperse."
I make the final decision. "Day after tomorrow then. All three of us fly into Amsterdam, ground transport to Rotterdam. Hit the target before buyer pickups start and everything scatters across Europe."
"And Lazarev?" Her voice is even, but I hear the concern underneath. "If he's buying through that shell company, he might be at the Rotterdam facility when we hit it."
"Then we deal with him." I don't look away. "One way or another, this ends in Rotterdam. The weapons, the vendetta, all of it."
My phone buzzes. Text from Fitz:
Starting internal audit now. Will take time to trace communication patterns. Proceed with Rotterdam planning. I'll advise when I have findings.
Answers aren't immediate, but they're realistic. Finding a mole won't happen in hours.
"What is it?" Isabella asks.
"Fitz. Starting the audit, but it'll take time." I pocket the phone. "We're on our own for Rotterdam planning."
Luc's jaw sets. "Then Rotterdam becomes even more critical. We can't rely on Cerberus infrastructure for any of us."
