CHAPTER 5: THE FIRST MOVE
The crack inside wasn't just between Tokyo and Berlin.
It was deeper than that.
It was the slow unraveling of an operation that, until now, had looked bulletproof.
From my vantage point inside a quiet antique bookstore near Calle de Alcalá, I watched the police perimeter expand, more riot vans filling the streets. Raquel was on the move. The trap she thought she was building was closing... but not around me.
It was closing around her.
Still, inside the Mint, things were becoming unpredictable.
And unpredictable meant danger.
"Rio," I said through the comms. "How bad was the feed disruption from corridor six?"
"Minimal. I isolated the rogue ping. It didn't make it outside."
"Arturo?"
"He's quiet. But he's planning something. You can see it in his eyes."
"Keep him isolated. And listen double encrypt all camera feeds near the press room and vault. No chances."
"On it."
I closed the laptop, turned to the storefront glass. Outside, civilians gathered behind the barricades, smartphones raised, livestreaming history.
A woman in a red coat stood near the front, eyes locked on the Mint.
Raquel.
Still chasing shadows.
Inside, Tokyo was pacing. Faster than usual.
She hated chaos that wasn't hers.
She cornered Nairobi by the printers.
"He can't keep doing that," Tokyo hissed.
"Doing what?"
"Breaking protocol. Beating hostages. Making threats without your approval. He's spiraling."
Nairobi looked up from the sheet she was checking. "He's Berlin. Spiraling is his baseline."
"It won't be funny when someone dies."
Nairobi gave her a long look. "He's your boss inside these walls. You want to challenge him? Do it. But don't ask me to back you. I've got three billion reasons to stay neutral."
Down in the tunnel, Moscow coughed into a rag. Blood.
"Shit," he muttered.
Denver noticed. "You good, viejo?"
"Old lungs. Dusty holes. You do the math."
"Take a break."
"Can't afford it. You want that tunnel ready when the clock runs out, we dig."
Denver took the drill. "Then let me take the next hour. You sit. Drink."
Moscow hesitated. Then nodded.
Sometimes being a father meant knowing when to let your kid carry the weight.
Upstairs, Arturo was slipping again.
He had managed to pick the lock on his storage room.
Crawled into the maintenance ducts.
And now, he was ten meters above the press floor, looking down through the ventilation grates, memorizing everything hostage positions, cameras, guard rotations.
He had no plan. Just desperation.
And desperate men are the most dangerous.
At 12:04 p.m., the first police call came through.
A landline. Wired direct.
It rang in the security hub. Rio picked it up, then patched me in.
Raquel's voice.
"This is Inspector Murillo. We'd like to begin official communication."
"Hasn't this already been official?" I replied, calm.
"You're holding seventy people hostage. You've assaulted federal employees. You've hijacked the Spanish Mint."
"All facts. And yet, here you are still negotiating."
"You know this won't end the way you think."
"It already has. We're not stealing money, Inspector. We're printing freedom. And right now, your people are helping us do it."
A pause.
"You're delusional."
"I'm just the mirror," I said. "You don't like what you see? Change your reflection."
Click.
I ended the call.
In the hall outside the breakroom, Berlin caught Rio alone.
"You like Tokyo, don't you?"
Rio's eyes flicked up. "What?"
"You two think I don't notice? The glances? The long disappearances?"
"She's... not yours to manage."
Berlin stepped closer. "Everything in this Mint is mine to manage. Including loyalty."
Rio clenched his jaw. "You hit a hostage again, I'm going to tell the Professor myself."
Berlin smiled.
But it didn't reach his eyes.
In the printing room, Nairobi called for a pause.
"Lunch break. Ten minutes. Then back at it."
The hostages sat. José approached her again.
"I've been thinking," he said. "You're doing this for your son. What happens if you die before you see him again?"
She gave him a tired smile. "Then I hope he sees what I tried to do. That I wasn't the monster the papers made me."
José didn't press further. Just handed her a sandwich from his own lunch bag.
She didn't say thank you.
But she didn't say no either.
Arturo made his move that night.
Crawled through the vent system.
Dropped down silently into the records room.
Took a hostage with him—a young woman named Monica.
Gun to her head, he forced her through the hallways.
Straight to the eastern exit.
Where Tokyo was waiting.
"Drop it," she said.
Arturo spun. Gun trembling. Monica sobbing.
Tokyo didn't blink.
"Shoot her, and I shoot you. Simple math."
"I'm getting out," Arturo snapped. "I don't care what your crazy Professor said."
"You're not a leader, Arturo. You're just scared."
"I should've been the one running this. Not you psychos."
He turned the gun to his own head.
Tokyo didn't move.
"Do it," she said.
He didn't.
She took one step forward. Then two. Then ripped the gun from his hand.
Monica collapsed.
Arturo screamed.
Tokyo hit him. Hard. Then dragged him back.
Later, in the safe room, she pulled Monica aside.
"You okay?"
Monica nodded. Shaking.
"You ever need protection from him again, come find me. You don't owe that man anything."
Monica looked up.
And for the first time, Tokyo saw it:
Loyalty.
The real kind.