In the heart of London – Surveillance at a glance…

Location: London, England
Objective: Covertly monitor MI6 officer Charles Mercer, suspected of unauthorized contact with Eidolon assets.

It began with a coffee cup.

Emma had seen him before—Charles Mercer, an MI6 liaison seconded to a counter-narcotics program, nominally clean. She spotted him on CCTV footage days after the London Bridge operation, speaking briefly with an Eidolon-linked courier. Not in official capacity. No report filed. Just Mercer, a paper cup, and a fifteen-second exchange in a dead zone.

Now she and Jake were in motion.

06:37 GMT — Blackfriars Underground Station

Jake adjusted the earpiece beneath his scarf, watching Mercer emerge from the turnstiles wearing a slate-grey suit, barely wrinkled. A subtle tic—a touch of the left cuff, a glance behind. Cautious. Trained.

Emma walked parallel, mirrored by Mercer’s stride across the platform. She whispered, “Left side pocket. Device bulge. Too flat for a phone.”

Jake’s voice crackled in her ear. “Could be a transmitter. Or a burner data chip. Don’t lose him.”

They boarded separately but stayed close. Mercer rode calmly, checking his watch twice. At Embankment, he exited swiftly.

07:02 — Northumberland Avenue

Mercer passed the statues like they were invisible, weaving through pedestrian traffic with ease. Jake watched from a café window, half-buried behind a newspaper. “He’s heading toward Whitehall. You thinking a rendezvous?”

“Or a drop.” Emma fell in behind Mercer, keeping a ten-meter distance. Her coat bore the badge of a private courier—plausible enough in government circles.

Then Mercer slowed.

He stopped beside a lamppost and crouched—tying his shoe. But his hand didn’t go to his laces. It reached inside the post’s maintenance flap.

Emma leaned closer, camera pen active. “He just planted something. Small. Magnetic.”

Jake blinked. “Tracker? Relay device?”

“Encrypted chip. Eidolon uses that model for dead drops. Short-range, burst transmission only.”

Mercer walked on.

07:21 — Vauxhall Bridge

They didn’t follow directly. Instead, Emma rerouted through Lambeth, cutting ahead, waiting where Mercer would surface next: a security checkpoint not far from MI6 headquarters.

Jake connected the threads from his laptop. “His employee badge was scanned yesterday into a sublevel not typically accessible to external liaisons.”

Emma’s pulse quickened. “Level Four?”

Jake nodded. “Advanced telemetry division. Eidolon’s wheelhouse.”

Emma positioned herself across the street as Mercer approached the checkpoint. He nodded to the guards. Smiled.

Then it happened.

He was flagged.

A second guard stepped forward. Subtle. Firm. Mercer was ushered aside.

Jake’s voice surged. “They found the chip. Someone’s already onto him.”

Emma crossed the street with purpose, flashing a badge—one tied to MI5’s internal affairs.

07:34 — MI6 Substation

Inside a glass-walled interview room, Mercer sat pale and quiet.

“I don’t know what you think you saw,” he said.

Emma leaned forward. “You met with an unregistered courier. You left a data chip in a public relay post. Your security clearance pinged Eidolon markers buried deep in the telemetry logs.”

Mercer blinked slowly. “I didn’t activate those systems.”

Jake entered with a tablet. “You didn’t have to. They activated themselves. Eidolon’s protocols were dormant until your badge touched them. That means you’re a trigger. Not an agent.”

Mercer exhaled, eyes trembling. “You think I wanted this?”

Tess entered, silent until now.

“No,” she said. “But Eidolon doesn’t need consent. It just needs access.”

Aftermath — 08:10

Mercer was transferred to a containment site beneath Thames House for deeper evaluation. Not a mole—but something else. An unwitting carrier. Eidolon had embedded code in his credentials, possibly years ago.

Emma stood on the bridge as sun split the sky. “This isn’t infiltration anymore,” she said to Jake. “It’s infection.”

Jake stared into the river. “Then we better start immunizing the system. Before it spreads.”