Page 36 of Undercover Shadow
Manifests appeared on the screen. “Tower-Meridian’s records showed significant irregularities—humanitarian aid shipments arriving thirty percent lighter than their departure weight, temperature logs with gaps of several hours, tracking systems that went dark for extended periods. My theory was that they were shipping something else entirely, possibly weapons components disguised as medical equipment.”
She paused, her expression darkening. “As you all know, at the end of December, I was abducted from the Ashcroft library by Fallon Wallace and taken into the tunnels beneath the estate. During that abduction, I learned that Fallon Wallace and Eric Weber were the same person—a woman operating under a male alias.” Sullivan stopped and looked over at Ash, and her cheeks flushed. “She was killed during my rescue.”
She sat down, and all eyes returned to me.
“The day after Sullivan’s rescue, I sent an encrypted file from Damascus.” I pulled up the relevant documents. “A coup had occurred in Syria—the president fled to Russia, rebel forces took control, and I found myself in significant danger. The file I sent contained intelligence I’d found buried in encrypted communications. It confirmed what Sullivan just said—that Eric Weber was an alias used by Fallon Wallace. I also learned her code name was Chimera. More critically, it revealed that Tower-Meridian intended to sell autonomous integrated weapon systems—or AIWS—to Russia, China, and potentially other nations.”
I let that information settle before continuing. “But there was something else in those encrypted files. Evidence suggesting that someone within MI6 was connected to Project Labyrinth. Coded communications that, once we broke them down, showedsomeone on the inside of SIS had been feeding information to the Labyrinth network.”
I paused, glancing between Typhon and Viper.
“We spent nearly two weeks analyzing the Damascus intelligence,” I continued. “Cross-referencing communications, tracking information flows, building profiles. We narrowed it down to a handful of possibilities, then zeroed in on one name: Malcolm Bennett.”
I glanced at Lex and Con. “Viper made the decision to send Bennett to work with your team investigating Orlov. The theory was that if he was the mole, he might make a move. Lex, would you update everyone on what happened at the facility?”
She stood, her expression somber. “Con and I had been tracking Viktor Orlov—whom everyone believed dead—first to Aberdeenshire, then to a facility near Inverness. Bennett joined our team mid-January.”
Surveillance images appeared on the display. “The investigation became complicated when we discovered Evelyn McLaren had been involved with Orlov’s neural interface research for at least two decades. What we eventually pieced together was that Bennett and McLaren were working together to sabotage Orlov’s system from within after learning he intended to weaponize it for mass devastation.”
She glanced down at Con, who reached up to squeeze her hand. “During our final assault on the facility, McLaren and Bennett’s countermeasure caused the neural interface to overload. The resulting explosion destroyed the facility and the AIWS prototype. Bennett was killed in the crossfire, and while Orlov survived, he has apparent severe cognitive damage—he’s either unable or unwilling to communicate beyond basic responses. McLaren’s body was never recovered from the explosion.”
Lex sat down, and I pulled up the next set of files.
“After the explosion, I continued analyzing the intelligence I’d gathered in Syria.” I shared the evidence I’d already presented to Tag—the four categories suggesting McLaren wasn’t dead—communications using her unique terminology, financial transfers through Cyprus and Malta, reactivated cells with her tradecraft, and technical signatures matching her neural interface work. “What I found suggests that Dr. McLaren survived.”
Typhon’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing.
“The communications reference someone called ‘the Architect,’” I continued. “Based on everything I’ve found, I believe that’s McLaren. However, she’s not operating independently. There are references to her communicating with someone about moving into phase two, strongly suggesting that she is not Janus.”
I paused. “Which brings us to what Tag and I discovered at Dunravin Castle. Extensive, functional tunnel networks—far more sophisticated than anyone suspected. Multiple passages, some leading toward the North Sea, others connecting inland.
“Combined with what we know exists beneath Ashcroft, Blackmoor, and Glenshadow—estates Fallon showed particular interest in—and the well-documented passages in Edinburgh, a clear picture emerges. The stone construction blocks standard electronic surveillance. Historical estate privileges prevent government inspection. Whoever is behind Project Labyrinth may be exploiting these tunnel systems for covert movement of AIWS components.”
I looked around the room. “Tower-Meridian has all but collapsed since Fallon Wallace’s death, but Project Labyrinth continues. We need to identify Janus, to locate McLaren if she’s alive, and we need to determine where components are being manufactured and how they’re being distributed before the next phase of Labyrinth is deployed.”
The room was silent for several seconds, everyone processing.
Typhon cleared his throat. “Before we discuss the next steps, I have a related update. Clive Edwards, the former executive editor of investigations for the Crown Herald News Agency, was arrested three days ago on charges relating to his association with Fallon Wallace. They include conspiracy, treason, and accessory to attempted murder. He’s cooperating fully in exchange for a reduced sentence.”
I looked at Sullivan. Clive was her uncle—one who’d betrayed his own family when she got too close to the truth. Her expression remained steeled, but I saw Ash’s hand find hers under the table.
“Anything else to add?” I asked her quietly.
“We can move on,” she responded.
Typhon stood, commanding the room’s attention. “There’s another matter I want to address. We’re bringing two new operatives into this investigation. Both are MI6 assets with specialized capabilities.”
As he spoke, I felt the mobile in my pocket buzz with a specific alert, indicating I’d received a message from Kestrel. I silenced it while Typhon continued.
“The first is Oliver Morse, code name Vanguard. MI6 operative with extensive experience in the Middle East. He speaks Arabic and French fluently, and has contacts throughout Syrian military and intelligence circles.”
Typhon’s eyes found mine. “If I’m not mistaken, Nightingale, you and Vanguard worked together previously.”
“Yes, sir,” I responded.
“The second is Ophelia Okonkwo, code name Prima,” Typhon continued. “Her father is Sir Anthony Okonkwo, British-Nigerian career diplomat. She was raised in embassies across three continents, speaks eight languages, and is trained inpsychological operations. She has extensive contacts throughout Eastern Europe and, coincidentally, met Viktor Orlov at a Moscow embassy function two years ago. Her FSB asset recently resurfaced, claiming to have Labyrinth intelligence, though that hasn’t been confirmed yet.”
“I can personally vouch for both Prima and Vanguard,” Viper added. “They are exemplary and highly professional operatives.”
