United States — inside the IMF headquarters.
Director Theodore Brassel's face was tight with strain. Between the Ellingson worm fiasco and tonight's assault at Hillland College, his calendar had never looked worse. Both incidents fell under his remit. The worm had been stopped, but the fallout still sat on his shoulders; the Hillland matter was far worse. Professor Smith was dead and the Rabbit's Foot was missing.
He'd been roasted by his superiors already; now he had a month to recover the device or answer for its loss.
"Sir," John Musgrave said as he stepped in, "it's been confirmed—the attackers were the Expendables and affiliated mercs."
A small part of Theodore's chest lifted at having a lead, but it was tempered by the next line. "We have a trace. Ninety percent probability: Owen Davian."
Davian. That name tightened the room. He'd been on Langley's watchlist for years. If Davian was the employer, the Rabbit's Foot had crossed national borders and legal jurisdictions—Berlin, not here—making a straight-up takedown impossible. The only practical option was covert work: off-book assets, local partners, a surgical recovery.
Theodore waved John out. When the door closed, he opened the dark web feed Langley used to track the merc market: teams, ratings, open contracts. He frowned when he saw it. The Expendables' slot—top of the heap—had been replaced by a new entry. The team listed under the top spot was labelled The Round Table. The roster was familiar: the old Expendables' names, but the leader column now read a single, unfamiliar codename: Arthur.
Whoever this Arthur was, they'd absorbed Ross's unit. That changed the tactical picture. Ross's autonomy had gone. Whoever led The Round Table now held the decision-making power over the team that had taken the Rabbit's Foot.
Theodore closed his laptop and stared out at the city lights. He muttered, "Ethan, I'm going to need your help," before tapping the secure line that would wake up the man in the field.
⸻⸻
United Kingdom — Owen Shaw's manor, late night.
Owen listened to the report from his three operatives, Klaus, Adolfson and Letty. Shock crossed his face—he hadn't expected Cole's reach to extend this far, nor for his younger brother to have folded the Expendables into his banner. Owen had sent support because he was worried; now he realized how far Cole had already moved. It was gratifying and worrying at once.
"Strictly confidential," Owen said at the end of the briefing. "No one leaks Cole's name."
They acknowledged it and dispersed to their tasks.
⸻⸻
Berlin — a fortified manor.
Owen Davian sat with a glass of red wine cooling in his hand. He'd been given bad news: his plan to harvest the worm-taken funds had been foiled; nearly seven hundred million dollars that should have been coming his way had vanished. The worm had been funnelled, the last instalment seized, and whatever remained had been transferred elsewhere.
Worse: the Expendables he'd hired to retrieve the Rabbit's Foot had been absorbed under a new leader—some mysterious Arthur—which meant his contractors no longer answered to him. The Rabbit's Foot had been snatched from the lab; its location was unknown.
Davian slammed the glass into the ashtray until it shattered. "Find Ross and get it back," he snarled to his men. "Find whoever leads this Arthur. Find them all—no matter what. I want that device back."
⸻⸻
Dawn — Shaw Manor, outskirts of London.
The next morning.
The estate was quiet except for the thrum of rotor wash fading into the distance.
Kate and Dade arrived shortly after sunrise. Cole met them in the main hall and set the secure case on the table between them. The Rabbit's Foot rested inside its coded safe.
"Dade, can you crack the code?" Cole asked.
"Needs some time," Dade said, already opening his laptop and hooking into the lock interface. Lines of encryption began to scroll across his screen.
Cole nodded and stepped aside, checking his tablet. "These are the coordinates of our next destination. Once you finish the decryption, we move."
He glanced out through the tall windows toward the empty fields beyond the manor. "The Rabbit's Foot is in our hands now, which means everyone will be coming for us. We can't stay here long."
Turning back, Cole handed Christmas the system-generated coordinates. "Prep the gear. As soon as Dade's done, we leave for the base."
Christmas gave a curt nod. "Clear."
The sound of typing filled the room, steady and precise, as dawn light spread through Shaw Manor.