Camilla's helicopter was stopped at the military base in Edinburgh, frustration exploded from her as she stared at the officer breaking the news. She wasn’t allowed to continue on to Maxley Scientific. Why? She was on the phone, making call after call, trying to cut through the layers of bureaucracy that had her pinned down. The answers were vague, the delays maddening. There was nothing obvious in the logs, no immediate threats. So what was keeping her from going?

She could understand if the Russians or Chinese were making a move—camping outside Maxley, perhaps—but they weren’t. The Ministry of Defence had their eyes on the usual suspects: the three Russian "businessmen" roaming the country with barely concealed ulterior motives. So what was the problem? The silence at the other end of the line offered no clarity, only deepened the unease pulling at Camilla’s mind.

She forced herself to refocus, mentally reviewing her last case. It hadn’t gone well. People had died. The weight of it hung on her like a shadow, clawing at the back of her mind. She’d made the mistake of mentioning it when on the phone to Harrier. Her response had been sharp, cutting through her thoughts like a blade. “Back off, Camilla. Leave it alone,” she’d warned, her voice laced with concern. She was right. There had been an investigation, and all signs pointed to a Russian operation gone bad. Ben had been miles away when Camilla was stabbed. The report said Ben was chasing a Russian spy, but the memory of that night didn’t sit right.

Camilla sighed, knowing she was only digging up old wounds because of the stifling boredom and frustration of the wait. There was no room for ghosts here, not now.

Harrier, ever the strategist, had managed to get her hands on the technical systems plans for the torpedo. She knew it would occupy Camilla, knew she wouldn’t be able to resist combing through every detail with a fine-tooth comb. The courier handed the plans over to Camilla. But there was a catch. She could take top secret plans into the officers bar and sit there with a glass of wine while she worked. Thankfully, the officer's living quarters were set up like a hotel's accommodation. Room service it was going to be, then.

She ordered a bottle of wine and six rum chasers. When the knock came, Camilla opened the door just wide enough to grab her drinks before slamming it shut. She spread the plans across the table, scanning the connections, the intricate design, the flow of components. Everything seemed to check out, but the alcohol was beginning to cloud her focus—a deliberate decision. She needed the haze, needed to escape, if only for a few hours. Eventually, she gave in.

The plans had to be locked away in the secure vault on the military base. Camilla grabbed them, her movements deliberate but shaky. She staggered toward the door, pausing just long enough to assess how badly the alcohol had affected her. A quick internal check—she convinced herself she could still walk in a straight line. No problem, she thought. Just focus.

She pushed forward, making her way across the camp to the offices. The night air was crisp, sharpening her senses just enough to help her keep it together. As luck would have it, the Commanding Officer was still inside, working late. The glow of a desk lamp spilled out from the office window, a small beacon of relief.

Camilla entered, offering a brief nod. No words were needed—the CO understood. The plans were safely locked away in the vault with a combination that only Camilla knew. The heavy door sealed them in like a buried secret. Camilla muttered a quiet thanks, her voice gravelly from the night's excess.

She made her way back into the night, the stillness imposing on her. Each step toward bed felt heavier, the adrenaline from the task fading. As she finally collapsed onto her bunk, her mind wandered back to the plans. They were safe for now. Camilla's eyes closed.

Morning came too soon. Harrier was on her immediately, her voice crisp and commanding as she rattled off instructions. She was doing her best to keep Camilla engaged, to prevent the waiting from driving her over the edge. Breakfast was forgettable, just another tick on the day’s list. The mess hall was quiet, too quiet, and Camilla couldn’t help but wonder if cutbacks were the real reason for the emptiness. Or were the soldiers on exercise? Was something brewing that she hadn’t been informed about?

Just as despair threatened to sink its claws in deeper, Jack rushed up to her. "Ben just said, get ready, ma'am."

Camilla nodded, though the news did little to ease the tightness in her chest. "Thanks," she replied, then added, "Did you know I have the plans for the torpedo?"

Jack shook his head, his expression neutral. Camilla quickly filled him in, explaining that she intended to take them along.

The offices where the vault was were locked. Camilla needed to find the camp's Commanding Officer to let her in. After a tedious search, she finally tracked him down at the married officer's quarters. Camilla wanted to chat with the CO so she accepted his offer of coffee and sat down to exchange war stories—the old ritual of building trust, of loosening tongues.

When they finally made their way to the vault, Jack intercepted them, looking flustered. "The helicopter is getting ready to go," he said, urgency creeping into his voice.

Camilla thanked the CO, grabbed the plans, and made her way back to her room to collect her things. But when she arrived, her breath caught. The door was ajar. Room service? She’d forgotten to tell them she didn’t need it, but still…

Caution flared. Camilla’s hand moved instinctively to her revolver as she crept closer, carefully peeking around the door frame. Inside, the cleaner was tidying up, but the room was a disaster zone. Clothes were strewn across the floor, papers scattered, the bed tipped over, and her chessboard lay on the ground, the pieces in disarray. Someone had torn through her life, looking for something.

Fury welled up in her, but she shoved it down, focusing instead on the immediate task. She stopped another officer in the corridor, her voice a razor’s edge. "Raise the alarm and find Jack. Now!" Camilla crouched down, picking up the scattered chess pieces with deliberate calm. She could feel the anger simmering beneath the surface, but she kept it locked in. She had to. There was no room for mistakes now.

Jack burst into the room moments later, eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay, ma'am?"

Camilla looked up, her face a mask of controlled rage. "Yes, thanks. But we need to plan on staying here a few days. Someone’s gone through my things, and I want to know who."

Jack hesitated, shifting on his feet. "Err, no, ma'am. " He didn’t like contradicting Camilla, but the urgency in his voice was unmistakable.

Camilla narrowed her eyes. "What’s going on, Jack?"

Jack’s face tightened as he explained. "Ben’s here. He’s looking for you."

Camilla’s frustration spiked. Ben? Here? Why hadn’t she been told? Just as the question burned through her mind, Ben appeared in the doorway, his presence a sudden, unwelcome weight.

Camilla shot Jack a stern look. "Go make sure everything is ready."

Once Jack was gone, Camilla turned her full attention to Ben, her voice low and dangerous. "You disappeared on me, didn’t keep me in the loop, and now there’s been a break-in. You’ve got some explaining to do, Ben!"

Ben's response was maddeningly nonchalant. "Shit happens, Camilla. I’ve got my own pressures, keeping everyone safe. Anyway, the coast is clear for you to head to Maxley. The Movers have jumped through hoops to set up a base. I’ll get a team to investigate this, but let’s focus on getting you there."

Camilla’s jaw clenched. She glared at Ben, grabbed her bags and the torpedo plans, and stormed out. She didn’t like being played, not by anyone.

The helicopter ride to Maxley was silent, tension thick in the air. Camilla’s mind raced with worst case scenarios, and the unease that had been simmering for days began to bubble over. Something wasn’t right.

When they landed at Maxley, Ben and Jack got off first, with Camilla in the middle, the two Special Ops security guards Alec and Bingham bringing up the rear. The Maxley Board of Directors stood in a neat line, ready to greet them. Camilla wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries, but she forced herself to play the game. She couldn’t afford to alienate anyone, not yet. Not until she knew who was friend and who was foe.

She was introduced first to Roger Wellington, the CEO. Camilla smiled politely, but her words were laced with a subtle edge. "Is everyone on the Board present right now?"

Wellington stiffened, catching the underlying challenge. "Yes, everyone is here," he replied, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

"Good," Camilla said. "I’d appreciate a chat with you first. Then, if the Directors could stick around, I’ll speak to them one at a time."

Wellington nodded, leading Camilla to his office.

As they entered the heart of Maxley Scientific, Camilla’s plan was clear: stretch the conversation, gauge reactions, and see who among the directors would grow restless and who would stay composed. The Chief Scientist was to be saved for later, second to last, and the Deputy Chief Scientist would be her final interrogation.

The offices reflected Wellington’s wealth. Spacious, sleek, with walls of glass that projected transparency, though Camilla knew better. A carefully curated façade, no doubt. At the entrance to Wellington’s private domain was a reception desk manned by his Executive Assistant. A woman whose sharp, no-nonsense expression made it clear she was more than just a gatekeeper. She was the line between the outside world and the power within. For some reason, Wellington didn’t introduce them. It was a small omission, but one that stuck in Camilla’s mind. She remained silent, watchful, almost a part of the office furniture, yet Camilla could feel the intensity of her presence. Why ignore such a critical member of the team?

Wellington’s office was the largest Camilla had ever seen, stretching out like a statement of control. To the right, a bar gleamed under soft lighting; beyond that, a lounge area designed for comfort, not work. In the far left corner, a massive desk dominated the space. Camilla’s eyes flicked to the artwork. A collection of vibrant, bold pieces. The interior decorator had clearly been given free rein, and no expense had been spared.

Camilla sat down on a bright red leather couch, running her fingers across the material. It was soft, immaculate, as though it had never been used. Wellington moved with ease in this environment, a man accustomed to luxury, but Camilla knew that the trappings of wealth often concealed weaknesses.

Wellington broke the silence with a casual offer. “What’s your poison?”

Camilla smirked, declining with a nod. “Not a good idea right now,” she replied, watching for any reaction, any sign of discomfort or calculation in Wellington’s demeanour. But the man remained distant, his mind seemingly elsewhere. Camilla wondered just how much control Wellington actually wielded here—and how much was orchestrated by unseen hands.

"A glass of water or coffee would be fine," Camilla said. Ben always warned her against accepting anything offered, but Camilla played a hunch. Wellington wouldn’t try anything—yet.

The conversation flowed smoothly, but Camilla’s mind was always two steps ahead. She observed everything—the way Wellington’s socks matched his tie, the careful way he chose his words. Was this a man who let others steer his life? Or was he just good at hiding his true self?

As the conversation continued, Camilla began to form a profile. This CEO might not be the force behind Maxley’s operations after all. Wellington was more of a figurehead, a face for the public. But if he wasn’t in charge, who was really pulling the strings?

Finally, Camilla shifted gears, subtly increasing the pressure. "According to the security logs, everything seems to be above board. Is there anything I should know about?"

Wellington’s response was quick, almost rehearsed. "Everything’s correct per the logs. I’ve checked them myself."

Camilla nodded, but the unease hadn’t left her. She needed more, something concrete. But for now, she’d gathered enough to keep moving forward.

As she left Wellington’s office, Camilla knew the real work was just beginning.

Next up was the second-in-command, James Carter. Camilla's strategy was simple—meet each person in their own environment, where they felt at ease, where they might let something slip.

Carter’s office was smaller, more personal, a reflection of the man himself. Photographs of his wife and three kids adorned the walls, alongside shots of him sailing—a yacht, no less, featuring prominently in three of the images. Camilla sized him up quickly. Carter was the kind of man who could handle a direct approach, so she went straight in.

“What do you think is wrong?” Camilla asked, her voice low and probing.

James sighed, leaning back in his chair, visibly frustrated. “I’ve no idea. I’m at a real loss, to tell you the truth. I manage the infrastructure here, not the actual science.”

Dead end. Camilla clenched her jaw, realizing she’d made a misstep. She should’ve taken a few days to get properly briefed by Ben. This wasn’t just frustration—it was a tactical error.

Camilla stood, cutting the meeting short. “Okay, everyone can go home, but they need to be available at a moment’s notice.” She glanced at Alec through the glass door, one of the Watchers, who caught the signal and immediately radioed Ben. Within minutes, they were all in the car, hurtling down the road to their new base.

The tension was palpable as they drove. Camilla, staring out of the window, spoke to Ben. “Let’s eat first, then have a meeting around six.”

Ben nodded, though it was clear from his expression that he didn’t fully know what to expect. But he knew one thing—Camilla was going to need answers. Fast.

Their destination: an old hotel which had been converted into a secure base. As they pulled through the gate, Camilla noticed a small gatehouse off to the right, where a security team had set up shop. The hotel grounds had all the makings of a fortress—high walls, a spacious car park, and a perimeter lined with gardens that concealed any movement from the outside. The hotel itself was grand with big Roman pillars at the front entrance.

As Camilla stepped out of the car, she was met by Eric, the Major in charge of the Movers. They shook hands firmly.

“You’ve done well, Eric,” Camilla said, her tone sharp but appreciative. She didn’t waste time on pleasantries—there were bigger things at play. Just as she made her way inside, Harrier appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

“I had no idea you were here,” Camilla said, her eyes narrowing.

“No one ever knows where I am,” Harrier replied with a sly smile. “That’s how I operate. I pop in and out, just like magic.”

Her appearance wasn’t by chance; she was there at Ben’s request, a buffer to help soften the blow. Ben knew Camilla’s patience was wearing thin, and Harrier was the best at defusing tension.

“Why don’t we show you around, get you familiar with the setup?” Harrier suggested, ever the diplomat.

“That’s a good idea,” Camilla agreed, her mind already working through potential strategies.

Eric, eager to catch up, joined them on the tour. Harrier led the way, explaining the layout. “You’re not on the top floor, Camilla. But your room’s got a great view and a big table.”

Sure enough, Camilla was satisfied with her room—a spacious executive suite with a panoramic view and a large desk for her work. The shower was generous too, a small but important comfort in the midst of all the chaos. Her room, a little oasis before the impending riot, she thought.

Camilla glanced at Eric. “Big step up from the last place.”

Eric smirked. “Yeah, that one was more beggars-can’t-be-choosers. At least the chef’s happy with the kitchen.”

Downstairs, Eric showed her the basement, where the real work happened. The meeting room had been soundproofed, and counter-surveillance systems were in place. Camilla’s office was huge—exactly how she liked it, with plenty of space to spread out her files and pin up pictures on the walls. Next door were Ben and Eric’s offices, followed by other workspaces and a fully equipped control centre with computers and monitors manned by a team of eight. The nerve centre of their operation. Harrier’s desk was situated so she could see everything going on.

Ben turned to Alec, “Status update?”

Alec, always alert, responded, “All quiet.”

Camilla, not surprised, said, “I guess that’s to be expected with the arrival of the investigation. But quiet never lasts. I have a feeling this could be a slow burn before the fireworks start. And when they do, it won’t be pretty. Hard to believe anyone would be stupid enough to challenge the British Ministry of Defence with a £400 million contract on the line. You’d have to be a complete idiot. Anyway, I’m starving—how about you lot?”

There was a chorus of agreement. For now, the battle would wait.

Dinner was set up with military precision. Roast beef, vegetables, and gravy were served in the officers’ dining room, followed by apple pie and cream. No one spoke much. Idle chatter wasn’t their strong suit—Top Secret lives didn’t allow for small talk. Harrier broke the silence with a question about Camilla’s chess pieces, while Eric mentioned his new holiday home in Spain, though he admitted he’d probably never see much of it. The moment of quiet was just that—a moment.

When dinner ended, they headed back to the basement. Now, it was time to get to work.

Camilla took her seat at the head of the table, eyes sharp and focused. “Let’s start with you, Ben.”

Ben looked relieved. This was his chance to bring Camilla up to speed. The stack of papers in front of him suggested it would be a long night. The lights dimmed, the projector whirred to life, and a man’s face appeared on the wall.

Ben started with a name that immediately set the tone. “Let’s start with Gordon Adams.”

Camilla leaned forward, a chill settling in her stomach. Gordon Adams—the head cleaner with access to sensitive areas. The description that followed wasn’t one Camilla had anticipated.

Ben didn’t flinch as he continued, “Adams is an unusual character. By day, he’s the Cleaning Manager with top-secret clearances, making sure everything’s spotlessly in order. But by night and weekend, he’s a different story. He’s a performer of sorts—likes to dress up as Spiderman. And not just any Spiderman, mind you. Crotchless Spiderman. Fully booked, too.”

Harrier and Eric couldn’t help but laugh. Camilla’s mind was racing. A man with that kind of double life was an easy target—someone who could be exploited, twisted.

“Okay, what does Spiderman get paid per gig?” Camilla asked, her voice cool.

“Roughly one hundred and twenty-five pounds each,” Ben replied.

Camilla did the quick maths in her head. “That’s around eight hundred and seventy-five pounds a week.”

Ben nodded. “Actually, more. He does four to six gigs every weekend.”

“That’s seventy-eight thousand a year,” Camilla added, the figure sinking in like a stone.

“And he earns twenty-eight thousand a year as a cleaner,” Ben confirmed. “Altogether, it’s close to a hundred grand annually.”

Camilla’s gaze sharpened. A man like that, living in both worlds, was a ticking time bomb. “A pervert like Adams could be easily compromised. What did Maxley’s background checks find?”

“Nothing whatsoever,” Ben said, his tone flat.

Camilla’s fury simmered beneath the surface. A £400 million contract, and they missed this? The kind of oversight that could cost lives. “Truly amazing. What else?”

Ben’s next words tightened the noose around the situation. “He did a gig for Alexander Berkanovski.”

Camilla shot up from her seat, adrenaline spiking. “Berkanovski!” she shouted—one of the three Russian businessmen known for espionage in the UK. Her fist slammed into the wall, a dull thud in the tense room. This wasn’t just a mistake; this was a breach. She turned to Ben, her anger tempered with sudden understanding. “I’m sorry for being hard on you, Ben.”

Ben nodded, calm under pressure. “It’s okay. I knew once you got the full picture, things would change.”

Camilla let the realisation settle. This wasn’t just an isolated perversion—this was the tip of something bigger. She pressed on, “How long has he been at this? And who’s his pimp? All these gigs—this could be part of a larger setup. What else do we know?”

Ben delivered the details with precision. “Adams was in the Army for about a year and a half, but got discharged for not taking life seriously, despite multiple warnings. Then he joined the British Police, lasted a year, and they let him go too. After that, he served a prison sentence of three years for theft. That was thirty years ago, so it might not have flagged in Maxley’s background checks. Since then, he’s been floating around with drug dealers and prostitutes. That’s our Gordon Adams.”

Camilla’s expression was steely. This was a man with deep vulnerabilities, someone who could be turned against them easily if he hadn’t been already.

She looked at Ben, her tone sharp. “Very well done, Ben. Anything else?”

Ben nodded, but his expression tightened. “That’s the worst of it on him. We’ve got a team on him twenty-four-seven. I’ll dig into how long he’s been running around as Spiderman and who his pimp is. Moving on, we’ve got Mr and Mrs Wellington. Both are swingers, open relationship. She’s bringing in a black male prostitute once a week—same guy, so far. Wellington himself had a thing with his PA until Oliver Jackson, the Operations Director, won her over. Financially, there’s nothing irregular—he’s worth nearly three hundred and seventy-eight million pounds.”

Camilla listened carefully, her mind racing with connections. The Wellingtons were playing their games, but was it just that? Or was there something deeper beneath the surface?

“Next,” Ben continued, “we have James Carter, the second in command. So far, nothing on him.”

Camilla’s eyes narrowed. “He’s got three different pictures of him in his office on the same yacht. That thing’s probably worth millions.”

“I’ll check into that,” Ben said, making a note. “Then we’ve got Johan Van der Linder, the Production Director. Solid track record, finances look fine, but he’s having a long-running affair with the same person. Tony Grenfell, the Chief Scientific Director—he’s bat shit crazy, but apparently, he’s brilliant. Every project he’s touched has been a success. He’s been headhunted three times by top organisations since we’ve been here. No relationships, no social life—he’s a complete recluse.”

Camilla let that sink in. A brilliant mind with no personal connections—dangerous, if not properly managed.

“Jonathan Chapman, Deputy Scientific Director, still lives with his parents,” Ben continued. “His brother’s a policeman with a good track record. Chapman never had a girlfriend. He’s into motorbikes and seems to live within his means. Betty Swanson, the Financial Director—sharp at her job, but she chews men up for breakfast and spends a lot of time on porn sites. Carol Cooper, aka CC, the Bookkeeper—solid with the numbers, but lonely. Nothing unusual on her. And finally, Head of Security Brian Hamilton. Ex-police, good track record, family man.”

Camilla leaned forward. “Do we know what Hamilton’s IQ is?”

“We’ll dig into his test scores,” Ben said, jotting it down.

Camilla nodded. “First thing tomorrow, then. You’re doing well, Ben. What active operations do we have running?”

“We’ve got listening equipment in the homes of all persons of interest, their cars, and all over the workplace,” Ben replied. “Ops team is on it twenty-four-seven. Eyes on Wellington and Spiderman around the clock. Manpower’s tight, though. We’re still working through the other 127 staff at Maxley.”

Camilla’s gaze darkened. She needed to process this information carefully. “Right. I need to digest all of this and figure out our next steps. Let’s have breakfast tomorrow and start the first strategy meeting at 09h00 hours. You’ve all done incredibly good work. Get an early night—tomorrow, we’re at battle stations. Except you, Harrier—I need a word.”

Eric and Ben left the room. Harrier didn’t miss a beat. “What do you need, boss?”

“Any update on Hunter?” Camilla asked.

Harrier’s eyes expanded. “He’s been offered a job at Military Command.”

Camilla leaned back in her chair, thinking quickly. “How did the background checks go?”

“Still ongoing, but we’re down to the small details. I’m confident they’ll work out. Should have it all wrapped up in a week, ” Harrier replied.

Camilla’s decision was rapid. “Get him on the next flight. He’s not ready for that job. He needs this first—needs to see how things really work before he takes on that kind of responsibility. Do we know who he’s talking to in Military Command?”

“Not yet,” Harrier said.

Camilla’s tone sharpened. “I want him here. ASAP.”

Harrier hesitated. “I get the logic, but bringing him here...”

“Letters can get lost,” Camilla interrupted. “Phone calls can be ignored. Video calls—detached. But face-to-face, that’s where the real deals are made. We can’t afford to lose him, so it’s chess, one-on-one. I’ll close it. Just work your magic, Harrier.”

Harrier smiled, offering a mock salute before leaving.

Camilla moved into her office, laying out the dossiers and images that Ben had briefed her on. The suspects were colourful, but that wasn’t unusual in operations like this.

Harrier popped her head around the door again. “Decaf coffee?”

Camilla smiled. “I’d love one.”

Harrier made the best coffee, and Camilla needed the taste without the kick. As she pinned the information on the wall in order of priority, Harrier returned with a steaming cup.

She pointed at the image of Spiderman and laughed. “I’m not sure if that’s funny or just plain sad.”

Camilla sipped the coffee, her mind turning. “Sad. He specialises in having zero integrity, which makes him dangerous. On another note, is there anything else I need to know?”

Harrier hesitated, running through the details in her mind. “No, nothing pressing. Everything’s on target. I like this phase of operations—the net’s tightening. It’s... exhilarating.”

Camilla grinned. Harrier thrived on the tension, the chase.

Alone again, Camilla stood back and studied the wall. This whole thing felt like sabotage. The motives, the players—it all pointed to outside interests, and the Russians were the likeliest contenders, with the Chinese or North Koreans next. The British torpedoes were fast and the deadliest in the game. If they worked as intended, they’d change the balance of power in the sea entirely. A burning pain came from knowing whoever was behind this had anticipated the investigation. They were ready, a step ahead, making them more dangerous.

Camilla’s mind flicked back to her conversation with Wellington. Something was off—Wellington didn’t seem to care as much as someone in his position should. Whether he was guilty or not, it was a glaring red flag. Camilla stepped out of the office, caught Harrier’s eye, and said, “Don’t forget to get an early night.”

She nodded, and Camilla headed to her bedroom. She needed the quiet, the space to think.

At her table, she unfolded her chessboard, the memories of her grandfather flooding back. His voice echoed in her mind: Birds of a feather flock together . Spiderman might just be the key to unravel everything.