The cassette recorder clicked off, its message hanging in the air like smoke. Voss was dead—and the voice on the tape wasn't from Atlas.
It was NATO.
Jimmy and Klara stood frozen in the townhouse bedroom, staring at the small black device that had just turned their entire mission inside out. The voice was calm, amused, and confident in its betrayal.
Over the radio, Graves demanded a report. Klara confirmed the kill: clean, suppressed, professional. Execution-style. The assassin had been there just minutes before.
And then the message played again.
“You’re just a little too late… Voss had such valuable information… Atlas isn’t the only problem…”
Whoever this was, they knew Hart. Knew his name. Knew what the team was chasing. And they weren’t afraid.
This wasn’t just a warning—it was a declaration.
Phase III wasn’t a Soviet operation. It wasn’t even fully Atlas. It was something deeper, something festering inside the very organization meant to protect the free world.
And now, it was personal.
Powell’s warning came through fast: an anonymous tip had gone out to the Belgian police. Two unidentified agents spotted entering Voss’s home—matching Jimmy and Klara’s exact profile. They had minutes before local authorities—and possibly something worse—locked down the scene.
There was no time left to analyze. No time for doubt.
Klara grabbed the ledger—the last link to Atlas’s financial web—and they slipped out the back, fading into the streets of Brussels as sirens closed in.
They hadn’t just uncovered a conspiracy.
They were now targets of it.