Washington, Omega Headquarters
The core members of Omega had returned to headquarters. Owen, his face dark with tension, went straight to his office, leaving the others—who had been preparing to celebrate—awkwardly dispersing.
"Conference room. Five minutes."
Leaving that one sentence behind, Owen disappeared into his office. The others returned to their stations, taking advantage of the short time to deal with personal matters.
Five minutes later, when Owen entered the conference room, everyone else was already present.
"Ghost, update Becky on the Syndicate situation."
Owen nodded toward Ghost. Ghost gave the group a brief look and began, "According to Borbon's confession, the Syndicate only recently approached him. They promised to help him find buyers for his chemical weapons. The liaison for the Syndicate was one of his subordinates—Sasha Mashkov, the one who appeared at the transaction site. Before that, they'd never even heard of the Syndicate. In fact, their cooperation hadn't even truly begun before we intervened."
Ghost relayed the key intelligence he and Heartbeat had extracted—using techniques that were, frankly, inhumane. Borbon had confessed everything down to the color of his mother's underwear.
The others listened in silence. During the interrogation, they'd been just outside the door. They hadn't seen what went on inside, but the screams that occasionally echoed out left little to the imagination.
Dumb Sweet, the only one who hadn't gone to Bosnia, shrugged to show she was good with the information. Though not part of the field team, she knew Ghost and Heartbeat's capabilities well—and trusted anything they extracted.
"At present, we've only confirmed that Harcourt Morton is a member of the Syndicate. All contact with Borbon was handled by him. Unfortunately, Morton has vanished. We've lost track of him…"
Ghost finished summarizing, and Owen turned to Dumb Sweet with a nod. She began presenting what she knew.
"As for the Syndicate, we have almost no actionable intelligence. Based on information passed along from the Director of Intelligence's office, the name 'Syndicate' has only appeared a few times in CIA and NSA reports, and always with very low priority. The prevailing theory is that it's either a defunct operation or never existed at all—possibly just a codename. But Owen is convinced, so I followed his lead and compiled this…"
As she spoke, the main screen filled with dozens of images—portraits with names and nationalities listed below. Some were marked "Missing," others "Deceased." Among them: Harcourt Morton.
Seeing everyone focused on the screen, Dumb Sweet continued, "This is only a partial list of operatives reported missing or dead in recent years from various countries. We're not saying they're all Syndicate, but all are suspects. It would be best for everyone to memorize these faces."
Owen glanced around the table and added, "I can't disclose the source of this intel, but I can assure you the Syndicate is real. Their mission is unclear, but their members are mostly retired or defected agents from different nations. They're extremely dangerous."
No one questioned his source.
Ghost continued, "We couldn't get more from Borbon. His interaction with the Syndicate was superficial. We'll need to look elsewhere."
"I suggest bringing in the CIA," someone proposed. "They're more experienced with foreign intelligence operations—"
"No."
Owen shut it down instantly. "We absolutely can't do that. The Syndicate is made up of spies. Maybe not many in number, but each of them is extremely capable. Even CTU had someone turned by them. We can't be sure other agencies aren't compromised. For now, this investigation must remain secret—and strictly within Omega."
Since external help was off the table, tech would have to fill the gap. Dumb Sweet closed her laptop and said, "They've already pulled the bounty from the dark web. We don't know if they're going underground or if they've already found a buyer. I had the data team start running facial recognition on Harcourt Morton last night. We'll update you the moment there's a hit."
Owen nodded. For now, that was the best they could do.
President Palmer had tasked them with finding evidence of U.S. surveillance on other countries, and Omega hadn't uncovered that yet. Their only lead was Harcourt Morton. Based on the Syndicate's history, the organization was a master at hiding in the shadows—like a venomous snake lying in wait. Owen didn't want to alert it prematurely.
"Alright, that's it for the Syndicate. Now, second order of business."
Everyone looked toward Owen again.
"This one's about the external liaison officer. Becky brought this up before the last mission. We need someone for that role."
Dumb Sweet picked it up: "Exactly. We need someone to handle external contacts. The intel group gathers intelligence. The operations team executes missions. But we need a liaison—someone who can negotiate with foreign and domestic powers, operate in black and white zones, and navigate all kinds of factions."
She continued, "Ideally, this person should have global contacts. When the operations team is abroad, the liaison could preemptively reach out to local governments or factions to smooth things over. In emergencies, they could leverage those networks to assist the field team."
Everyone nodded in agreement. Thinking back, if they'd had someone in that role during the Bosnia mission, they might've connected with the local resistance before landing, eliminating the need to find a guide. This time, luck had been on their side. If they hadn't saved Herman by chance, the mission might've gone very differently.
"If anyone has recommendations, submit them. Just remember, above all else—this person must be trustworthy."
Owen emphasized this last point. He took the integrity of Omega very seriously. The last thing he needed was someone stabbing them in the back after risking their lives on the frontlines.
It wasn't the kind of decision they could make on the spot, so everyone agreed to keep an eye out for candidates privately. Owen raised a finger and said, "Now, third order of business."
Everyone turned to him again. This time, his expression was serious.
"In the Bosnia mission, everyone did great. But especially Night Owl and the Diviner. You two were an enormous help and meshed with the team seamlessly. So, I'm officially announcing…"
He paused for dramatic effect, locking eyes with Fred and Bayev. Then a smile spread across his face.
"Night Owl, Diviner—you've passed your probation. Welcome to the core Omega team\~\~\~"
A round of cheers broke out. People laughed, clapped, and exchanged hugs.
"Man, congrats!"
"Hahaha! This calls for drinks!"
Voices rose in celebration, and somewhere in the back, Fred's dramatic yelp could be heard: "Boss, I swear my heart almost gave out!"
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