U.S. Embassy, Caracas — 72 Hours Post-Moreno Save
The travel ban checkpoint waved through a single vehicle at 9:47 AM — diplomatic plates, armored chassis, and Deputy Director James Greer in the back seat looking like a man who had bypassed three layers of State Department objection through sheer force of personality.
I watched from the intelligence wing's window as Greer's vehicle pulled into the embassy compound. The SDN painted his approach in threads I couldn't quite resolve at this distance — warm gold toward the building, toward Ryan, toward the people he'd come to protect.
He's here. Despite the restrictions. Despite the danger. Despite everything I know about what happens next.
In the show, Greer was captured during a meeting with a Venezuelan contact. The specifics varied in my memory — the road, the timing, the unit that intercepted him. But the outcome was consistent: Greer in a prison camp, Ryan racing to rescue him, the crisis that exposed Reyes's atrocities to the world.
This Greer is different. More aggressive. Less trauma from Season 1 because I changed the death toll at Walter Reed. He's pushing into the field faster than canon allowed.
Which means the capture might happen faster. Or differently. Or not at all.
I have no idea which.
---
Greer took command of the Venezuela operation within three hours of arrival.
The briefing room filled with intelligence assets — Ryan, November, the analytical team, station chief, military liaison. Greer stood at the front with the particular energy of a man who'd been watching a crisis unfold from Moscow and finally had his hands on the controls.
"The situation has accelerated beyond institutional timelines." Greer's voice carried the command weight I remembered from a dozen briefings at Langley. "Moreno's survival created political pressure that Reyes is responding to with internal repression. November's sources report military movements toward the eastern prison facilities. If those camps are destroyed before we document them, we lose the evidence chain."
He's right. The political cascade from Moreno's survival compressed weeks of show timeline into days. Reyes is moving toward scorched earth because the international pressure left him no other option.
And Greer is moving toward the danger because that's what this version of Greer does.
"Sir." November's voice was carefully neutral. "The travel ban limits our operational movement. Any field operation outside the embassy compound puts personnel at risk of detention."
"I'm aware." Greer pulled up a map on the briefing room's main display. "Which is why I've arranged a meeting with Miguel Ubarri — Reyes's chief advisor. He's been showing signs of wanting to defect for weeks. I'm going to give him the opportunity."
Ubarri. The contact meeting. In the show, this was the setup — Greer going to meet a potential defector, getting intercepted en route.
But in the show, it happened differently. The specific road, the specific unit, the specific timing — all details that my meta-knowledge might or might not have preserved accurately.
"The meeting location?" Ryan asked.
"A safe house outside the capital. Ubarri's people arranged it." Greer highlighted a route on the map. "Convoy departs at 1800, meeting at 2100, return by midnight."
The route crossed three checkpoints and two communication dead zones before reaching the safe house coordinates. Standard Venezuelan military patrols intersected two of the route segments. An ambush could be staged at any of four chokepoints.
I have to do something. Feed intelligence. Adjust the route. Create margin for error.
"Sir." I raised my hand. "The route analysis shows some concerns."
Greer turned to look at me. The gold thread between us pulsed — the connection built through a dead man's apartment and a hospital siege and months of what he probably thought was mentorship.
"Hatfield. Go ahead."
---
I laid out the vulnerabilities without revealing their source.
"The primary route crosses a checkpoint at kilometer eighteen that shows inconsistent patrol patterns. Venezuelan military schedules are published, but the actual deployments have been erratic since the Moreno incident. The checkpoint could be reinforced without notice."
Greer studied the map. "Alternative?"
"The secondary route avoids the checkpoint but adds forty minutes and crosses a communication dead zone near kilometer thirty-two. If something goes wrong in that zone, the embassy loses contact for approximately fifteen minutes."
"Too long." November's assessment was immediate. "Fifteen minutes of silence is enough time for a full convoy takedown."
"Agreed." Greer pointed at a third option. "What about this route? The mountain road."
The mountain road wasn't on my vulnerability assessment because I hadn't analyzed it. It was a secondary route that my meta-knowledge didn't include — a path that existed in this timeline but hadn't featured in the show's geography.
"I don't have data on that route," I admitted. "The terrain analysis suggests limited ambush positions, but the road condition reports are three weeks old."
"Fresh eyes, then." Greer made a decision. "We take the mountain road. November, get current intel on the route condition. Hatfield, run the communication coverage analysis. If we're going to use an unverified route, I want to know exactly where we lose contact."
He listened. He adjusted. He chose a route I didn't analyze because it wasn't in my meta-knowledge.
Which means I don't know if it's safer. I just know it's different.
"I'll have the analysis within two hours," I said.
Greer nodded. He clapped his hand on my shoulder as the briefing broke up — the weight of approval, the warmth of trust.
"You've got good instincts, Hatfield. I should've pulled you into the field months ago."
The words hit harder than they should have. The gold thread pulsed with his sincerity.
He trusts me. He's adjusting his plans based on my intelligence. And I still don't know if it's enough.
---
The convoy departed at 1800 as scheduled.
I watched from the intelligence wing's tracking station as the three-vehicle formation left the embassy compound and turned toward the mountain road. The GPS beacon showed their progress in real time — green dots moving steadily away from the safety of diplomatic territory.
Ryan stood beside me. His attention was fixed on the same display, the same moving dots, the same stretching distance.
"He shouldn't be out there," Ryan said quietly. "Not personally. We could have sent November alone."
I know. I know better than you how much danger he's in.
"Greer makes his own decisions."
"He does." Ryan's jaw tightened. "That's what worries me."
The green dots continued their progress. Kilometer eight. Kilometer twelve. The route analysis showed clear terrain — no checkpoint intersections, no communication dead zones, no obvious ambush positions.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the show's capture scenario doesn't apply to this timeline. Maybe the route change was enough.
The dots reached kilometer twenty-three. Still moving. Still transmitting.
I allowed myself a breath.
---
The convoy reached the safe house at 2047. Thirteen minutes ahead of schedule.
Greer's voice came through the secure channel: "Position confirmed. Beginning contact meeting. Check-in at 2200."
The intelligence wing settled into waiting mode. Ryan returned to his analytical work. November coordinated with his local assets. I ran communication coverage scenarios for the return trip, building redundancy into the check-in schedule.
He made it. The meeting is happening. Maybe the route intelligence worked.
The 2200 check-in came on time. Greer reported that Ubarri was cooperative, providing preliminary intelligence on the tantalum mining operation's connection to the prison camps.
Progress. Actual operational progress without the capture scenario.
The 2300 check-in showed the convoy returning via the same mountain road. Position confirmed at kilometer forty-one. Clear route ahead.
It's working. Whatever capture scenario the show depicted, I've disrupted it enough that—
The GPS signal cut out at 2317.
All three vehicles. Simultaneously. Kilometer twenty-nine — a stretch of road that my analysis had shown as low-risk, a segment that wasn't on my vulnerability list because my meta-knowledge didn't extend to mountain roads that didn't exist in the show's geography.
November's phone rang. A fragmented transmission — static, shouting, the distinctive sound of automatic weapons.
Then silence.
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