In the heart of London – Surveillance at a glance…

The Falls Road, Belfast, at night was a city of shadows. The Falls Road, once the epicentre of the Troubles, still carried the scars of its past — murals of masked men, slogans painted in fading reds and greens, and the lingering tension that seemed to hum beneath the streetlights. Jake Mercer and Emma Walsh moved carefully through the narrow alleys, their footsteps muffled by the drizzle slicking the pavement.

They had tracked Thomas Reilly to a safehouse tucked behind a row of terraced houses. The building was unremarkable — peeling paint, boarded windows, a sagging roofline — but the surveillance feeds told a different story. Men had been coming and going at odd hours, carrying packages too heavy for groceries, too discreet for anything innocent.

Jake adjusted his earpiece. “Thermal shows three inside. Reilly’s one of them.”

Emma’s eyes scanned the street. “And we’re not alone. Look at the rooftops.”

Across the way, silhouettes shifted against the skyline. Armed watchers. Whoever Reilly was meeting, they had brought muscle.

The Breach

Jake signalled, and the two agents moved in. Emma took the rear entrance, slipping through a rusted gate into the yard, while Jake approached from the front. The plan was simple: corner Reilly, extract him before anyone else realised MI5 was in play. But simplicity rarely survived contact with Belfast.

The first shots rang out before Jake reached the door. A burst of automatic fire shattered the silence, ricocheting off brick walls. Emma ducked behind a dumpster as bullets sparked against the metal. Jake dove into the doorway, returning fire with controlled precision.

“Ambush,” Emma hissed into the comms. “They knew we were coming.”

Chaos in the Alley

The alley erupted into a firefight. Shadows darted between buildings, muzzle flashes lighting up the night. Jake pressed forward, forcing his way into the safehouse. Inside, Reilly was already moving — a man in his fifties, lean, with the haunted eyes of someone who had lived too long with ghosts. He clutched a folder under his arm, his face pale but determined.

“Reilly!” Jake shouted, levelling his weapon. “Don’t do this.”

Reilly hesitated, then bolted toward the back exit. Jake chased him, weaving through overturned furniture and shattered glass. Outside, Emma was pinned down, trading fire with two gunmen. Reilly slipped past her in the chaos, sprinting into the maze of alleys.

Jake followed, heart pounding, the rain mixing with sweat on his brow. The chase twisted through the Falls Road — past shuttered pubs, graffiti-stained walls, and the echoes of history. Every corner threatened another ambush.

The Whisper

Emma caught up, cutting off Reilly near a crumbling wall. She raised her weapon, breath ragged. “Stop! You’re not walking out of here.”

Reilly froze, his chest heaving. For a moment, the gunfire around them seemed to fade. He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Emma could hear.

“You don’t understand,” he whispered urgently. “Kearney’s not the threat. He’s the key.”

Before Emma could respond, a flashbang detonated nearby. The explosion threw her off balance, her ears ringing. Reilly seized the moment, shoving past her and disappearing into the smoke and confusion.

Jake reached her seconds later, pulling her to cover. “What did he say?”

Emma’s eyes were wide, her mind racing. “He said Kearney’s the key. Not the threat.”

Jake’s jaw tightened. “Then we’ve been chasing the wrong narrative. Someone wants us to believe Kearney’s dangerous. But Reilly thinks he’s holding something bigger.”

Aftermath

The gunfire dwindled as the attackers melted back into the night, leaving only silence and the acrid smell of cordite. The safehouse was abandoned, its secrets carried off by Reilly. Jake and Emma regrouped, shaken but resolute.

Emma looked down the alley where Reilly had vanished. “If he’s right, then everything we’ve been told is a lie.”

Jake holstered his weapon, his expression grim. “And lies in Belfast have a way of rewriting history.”