So do four men with automatic weapons.
We're caught between pursuing vehicles and armed hostiles ahead.
This is how ops fail. This is how people die.
Then Luc's extraction team arrives.
Two vehicles screaming in from side streets. Doors flying open. Former Dutch special forces moving with lethal precision.
Gunfire erupts.
Luc's team engaging Lazarev's men. Suppressing fire creating corridor.
"Move!" someone shouts.
I grab Isabella, run through the firefight. Rounds cracking past. She doesn't slow, doesn't flinch.
We hit the extraction vehicle. Doors slam. Tires scream.
And we're gone.
The driver takes us through Rotterdam at speeds that would terrify anyone who wasn't running for their lives. Behind us, pursuit vehicles try to follow. Luc's second team cuts them off with tactical precision.
We make it to a secondary safe house—industrial building in the port district that Luc held in reserve.
Inside, Luc's waiting.
"Talk," he says.
I give him everything. The facility recon. Getting made. Six guards plus Lazarev. The hit team at the apartment. The running gun battle.
When I finish, he's quiet for a long moment.
"The leak is worse than we thought," he says finally. "They knew which safe house. Knew you'd be there tonight. Knew Isabella was with you."
"Which means someone in our chain is feeding them real-time intelligence."
"Or they've compromised our communications." Luc pulls out his tablet. "Either way, this op runs dark from here."
"Can we still hit the facility?" Isabella asks.
Both Luc and I look at her.
"After what just happened," she continues, "they'll expect us to abort. They'll think they scared us off. Which means security might relax slightly. Not much. But enough."
I process that. She's right. Lazarev showed his hand tonight. He's hunting us, which means he thinks we're running.
"We hit them at midnight," I say. "Full tactical assault. No stealth. Luc's team provides suppressing fire. We breach, neutralize guards, Isabella identifies compounds, I set charges, we extract before emergency response arrives."
"That's not an op," Luc says. "That's a war."
"Yes."
He looks at Isabella. "You understand what you're walking into?"
"I understand." Her voice is steady. Hard. "And I understand what happens if we don't destroy those compounds. So we go in, we finish this, and we make sure my research never kills anyone."
Luc studies her for a long moment. Then nods. "Tomorrow night. Midnight. We end this."
