In the heart of London – Surveillance at a glance…

The streets of Belfast were a maze of old brick and new conflict. The chase was on. Jake threw the car into a hard turn, the tires squealing as he cut through a narrow alley. They were closing the gap on Sean Gallagher, who was walking, unaware, towards a local pub. Behind them, the black car with The Architect’s men was gaining.

“He’s almost at the pub,” Emma said, her eyes fixed on the surveillance feed. “They’re going to try to grab him in the open.”

“Not on my watch,” Jake muttered. He brought the car to a screeching halt, jumping out just as Gallagher was about to enter the pub.

“Sean Gallagher!” Jake yelled, his voice urgent but low.

The man turned, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He saw Jake, then his gaze shifted to the black car now pulling to the curb behind them. He saw the cold, professional faces of the men inside, and a flash of recognition, a deep-seated fear, passed over his face.

“Get in the car,” Jake commanded, his hand on Gallagher’s arm. “Now.”

Gallagher didn’t hesitate. He knew, instinctively, that these strangers were a better option than the men in the black car. He slipped into the back seat, and Jake pulled away just as The Architect’s men’s doors opened.

“Who the hell are you?” Gallagher demanded, his voice a gravelly whisper.

“MI5,” Emma said, showing him her old, deactivated ID. “We’re not here to arrest you. We’re here to save you. And the rest of the world.”

She quickly explained The Architect, Op Pigweed, and the digital parasite that was now spreading its poison. She explained that his legacy—the encrypted network he had used in the past—was being repurposed, and that he was the key to stopping it.

Gallagher listened, his face a mask of stone. “You’re mad. That network has been dead for decades. No one has the key to it anymore.”

“He does,” Jake said, glancing in the rearview mirror at the car now in hot pursuit. “The Architect has found a way to use it, and he needs you to finalise the launch. He’s not after your past. He’s after the key you hold in your head.”

They drove to a remote safe house Gallagher knew, a relic from a different time, a small stone cottage tucked away in a quiet glen. Inside, the walls were bare, and the air was thick with the scent of old wood and secrets.

“The key is not a name or a code,” Gallagher said, a haunted look in his eyes. “It’s a riddle. It’s a phrase, a personal trigger, that was only to be used if the network was compromised. The last piece of the code is in my memory.”

Just as he spoke, the lights in the cottage flickered and died. The phone line went dead. A single, chilling voice echoed through the room from a small, unsecured radio on the table.

“Hello, Sean. Or should I say, ‘The Shepherd’?” The voice was The Architect’s, calm and full of chilling amusement. “I know where you are, and I know why you’re there. The old network, so full of secrets. You see, I am not a destroyer; I am a creator. I am taking old ghosts and giving them new purpose.”

Gallagher’s face went white. “He knows my old codename,” he whispered, a new level of fear in his eyes.

“Don’t do it, Sean,” The Architect’s voice continued, a new, menacing edge to it. “Give them the key, and your family will pay the price. I have a long memory, and I am not a man who forgets. Choose wisely.”

A photograph, sent to the radio as a digital burst, appeared on Emma’s laptop screen. It was of Gallagher’s wife and daughter, sitting at a cafe, laughing. The Architect had found them.

The final piece of his plan was not technology; it was leverage. The game had changed. They raced against time, but now, a man’s family was the final prize. The operation to stop Op Pigweed had just become personal.