Meanwhile, at MI6 headquarters in London…
Luke arrived at MI6 headquarters under direct orders from the SDD commander. He was escorted to a secure conference wing, where he met William Harcourt, the MI6 operations chief overseeing European counter-intelligence.
Luke stated his purpose bluntly.
Harcourt leaned back, amused. "You SDD lot are in a mess. You've been outplayed by two mercenary leaders, and now you want MI6 to clean it up?"
Luke's jaw tightened. He swallowed his pride. "Team Leader Harcourt, if these two mercenaries were ordinary operators, ICPO wouldn't have lost men and materiel like this. We need your help."
He forced his temper down. You need him right now—swallow it.
"We'll assist," Harcourt said finally, "but MI6 leads this operation. That's non-negotiable."
Luke frowned. They'd already lost men and leverage. Handing control to MI6 felt like handing them the win—but with Cole and Owen Shaw still ahead of them, he had little choice.
"Fine," Luke said, exhaling. "You're in charge."
⸻⸻
That night, Harcourt and a full MI6 team turned the SDD's forward base into a joint operations hub.
Harcourt scanned the room, visibly irritated by the presence of Dominic Toretto and Brian O'Conner.
"Luke," Harcourt said, voice sharp, "you're telling me two internationally wanted fugitives now have front-row seats to a classified MI6 briefing?"
Luke stood, slamming a hand on the table. THUD.
"Dominic and Brian were brought in under my authority. They've already paid their dues for this. You don't get to override that."
"If you push this, I'll go straight to the commander and have MI6 removed from the task force. Don't forget—the capture mission started with us."
Luke's tone made it clear: Harcourt could take the credit, but not control his men—or the civilians risking their necks for Letty.
Harcourt's eyes narrowed. He leaned back slowly. "Very well, Commander Hobbs. Just don't come crying to me when this explodes in your face."
He turned, lifting the tablet that contained contact data recovered from Dominic—Owen Shaw's last known network trace. Harcourt began triangulating the signal.
Moments later, a ping.
"Northern Europe," an analyst confirmed. "Coordinates match one of the flagged locations from the stolen chip list."
"Perfect." Harcourt smirked. "They're going after the second chip component. MI6 will handle this from here."
He glanced at Luke. "Tell your fugitives to stay out of our way. This is our op now."
⸻⸻
Meanwhile, inside Owen Shaw's base, Cole Shaw stood over a holotable, comms earpiece lit.
"You on site?" Cole asked, a faint grin forming.
Dade's voice came through, calm but edged. "Already here. Cold as hell, boss. You sure Hobb's team's gonna bite?"
"They will. Plant the phone inside. Make them chase ghosts—waste their night."
"Copy." Dade disconnected.
Cole waited, patient as ever.
Minutes later, his phone buzzed. A coded text from Dominic. MI6 had assumed operational command.
Cole scanned it, smirked. MI6… Hattie's home turf. They should know better.
He slipped the phone back into his jacket. They're underestimating me—and that'll get them killed.
The second chip was already secure. The third was the final piece—housed inside a fortified military installation in Barcelona. Once collected, the Night Shadow System would be complete.
⸻⸻
Northern Europe.
An MI6 transport jet sliced through grey clouds before descending over a snow-coated airfield. Agents moved briskly, outfitting with assault gear as Harcourt briefed them.
"According to the signal, Owen Shaw's people are inside this facility," an operative reported.
"No signs of large-scale intrusion—it must be a covert strike."
Harcourt smirked. "Mercenaries think they can storm a NATO base and live to tell about it? That's a fucking joke."
He stepped off the ramp first. Boots crunching against snow. The rest of the MI6 squad followed, rifles tight to their shoulders.
They cleared the gate with military precision, ID badges flashing, and moved into the signal corridor.
Inside, the room was empty. Silent.
A lone cell phone sat on the table. Nothing else.
Harcourt's smile faltered. We've been played.
The phone BUZZED.
He answered.
"William," Luke's voice came through—tight, angry. "It's a diversion. They hit a base in southern Europe. Owen's team's gone—took the chip and vanished."
Harcourt's jaw clenched. "Son of a bitch."
He killed the line and barked, "Pack it up! We're heading back now!"
⸻⸻
Barcelona.
Owen and Cole regrouped in a shuttered warehouse. Maps, laptops, and field schematics covered a table between them.
Owen tapped the map. "Last chip's in Barcelona. Locked military zone. We can't storm it outright."
"Intercept, then," Cole said. "Let them move it, we hit the convoy mid-transfer."
Owen nodded. "That's my play. But we'll need Dominic. He's the only one who can get in clean."
Cole smirked. "And when he does, MI6 won't trust him anymore. They'll see him as compromised—exactly what we want."
The two brothers reviewed every route, every contingency, cutting civilian risk and tightening their timing until dawn.
⸻⸻
Elsewhere — SDD Base.
The room shook with shouting.
"You set us up!" Harcourt roared, slamming his fist against the wall.
Luke squared off with him. "Bullshit. You walked right into their trap because you were too arrogant to verify intel."
Dominic stood silent, jaw tight.
Harcourt turned on him, pulling his sidearm. "You fed us false data! You're their mole!"
Before he could fire, Luke grabbed his wrist and forced it down. Metal Clanged as the gun hit the floor.
"That's enough," Luke snapped. "You shoot him, and this alliance ends here."
Harcourt glared. "It already has."
The MI6 and SDD teams split—lines drawn, cooperation dead.
An MI6 tech stepped forward hesitantly. "Sir, we've lost all trace of Owen and Cole Shaw. What's our next move?"
Harcourt's breathing slowed. He thought for a moment, then looked up with something dark in his eyes.
"We find them through their bloodlines," he said. "Run full intelligence on the Shaw family—parents, siblings, known associates. If they have any weakness left, that's where it'll be."
"Yes, sir."