Alistair Thorne finished his coffee in a single gulp. The name Carpenter hung in the air between them, a ghost in the machine that suddenly made their peaceful Swiss existence feel like a mirage.
"Carpenter," Alistair said, the name sharp with a new reality. "He survived the fallout from the bridge without a scratch. He likely used the chaos to consolidate power and deflect suspicion away from George and onto the Americans for the shooting."
"Precisely," Anya said, stirring her hot chocolate. "He is insulated, powerful, and deeply embedded. The tape was only the first shot. We need proof the intelligence community can’t ignore or cover up."
"Which means we have to go back," Alistair stated the obvious.
Anya nodded. "The safe house near the Polish border where we stayed—my associate who manages those properties left a message for me through an intermediary. The original archivist who made the tape had a second stash of data."
"Where?"
"He was paranoid," she explained. "He distributed copies to several dead drops. One is in a storage unit in West Berlin, forgotten for years, waiting for someone to be brave enough to look."
They left the warmth of the café, stepping back into the biting snow. The simple life was exchanged for a purpose. They were ghosts again, but now they were hunting the phantom at the very top.
The journey back into the heart of the conflict was a reversal of their escape. They moved with a stealth refined by the previous year of hiding in plain sight. They crossed into Germany via an unofficial border crossing near Austria, posing as tourists, using their meticulously crafted Swiss identities.
West Berlin was vibrant, loud, and free, a stark contrast to the quiet paranoia of their last trip through the East. They moved through the bustling streets like shadows, seeking their target.
The storage unit was located in a grim, industrial part of the city. Alistair picked the lock under the cover of a freezing rainstorm. Inside, amidst dusty old furniture and broken lamps, they found a padlocked metal box.
Anya forced the lock. Inside, they found a stack of 5.25-inch floppy disks, a dated technology but perfect for storing sensitive data away from networked systems.
They took the disks back to a safe flat Anya had access to. Using an archaic computer, Alistair began transferring the data.
The files were an intelligence goldmine. Not only did they confirm Thorne was a deep-cover agent, but they detailed decades of compromised NATO operations, lists of sacrificed agents, and most damningly, communications indicating Carpenter was the primary handler of the entire network.
"This is it," Alistair said, the green glow of the monitor reflecting in his wide eyes. "This exposes everything. The whole structure of 'The Carpenter Ring'."
"This isn't something they can hide in the newspaper with diplomatic jargon," Anya said, her voice steady. "This is a full-blown scandal. A treason of the highest order."
They had the truth. Now they just needed to survive long enough to share it.
As if summoned by their discovery, a sharp knock came at the door.
Three quick, efficient knocks.
Not the police. Not neighbours.
"They found us," Alistair said, grabbing the disks and pulling Anya toward the back window. The quiet neutrality of Switzerland felt a lifetime away.
The game had indeed begun again, and the stakes were higher than ever. Their only objective now: to ensure the truth saw the light of day, even if they had to die in the shadows of West Berlin to make it happen.
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