Mystery ~ MV1

008. New Risks

[Agent A]

The Monaco podium loomed above the crowd, and I couldn't help the small grin that spread across my face as Max stood atop it, champagne bottle in hand and pure joy radiating from his face.

The statistics hadn't let us down - obviously I knew they wouldn't - he'd controlled the race perfectly from pole position, managing the gap with the precision of a surgeon while simultaneously dealing with a small battle from one of the Ferrari drivers.

I positioned myself near the front of the crowd, my camera raised more out of habit than necessity. And I noticed Max's eyes scanned the sea of faces until he found me, his grin widening slightly.

I couldn't help myself – raising my hand I put up different numbers: 45.3; at him, watching his eyes light up with recognition of the statistic I gave him last night, before he shook his head with a small chuckle, it appeared. Clearly remembering our late-night discussion of probability and pole position conversion rates when we both should've been asleep.

When he looked back up, I deliberately raised my camera, catching the exact moment when victory, recognition, and pure happiness merged on his face when he noticed I was pointing it at him.

It was the kind of photograph that could win awards – if I were actually a photographer.

Focus, Sydney, I chided myself sternly. You're not here to take pretty pictures of race car drivers, no matter how charming they are when discussing aerodynamic load variables.

The opening notes of the Wilhelmus, the Dutch national anthem, began to play, and I told myself this was my chance.

With everyone's attention fixed on the podium, I waited until max looked away before slipping away from the crowd, my mind already shifting back to the intelligence I'd gathered yesterday. The manifest numbers were still bothering me – something about that 127.4-kilogram discrepancy felt significant.

I moved silently through the back alleys of the paddock, my footsteps masked by the distant anthem and the quiet steps I took. The service corridors here were like a labyrinth that threaten to get me lost for days, but I'd memorized the layout on my first day: three right turns to the Mercedes hospitality area, then a left toward their secondary storage-

"The Dubai shipment needs to be ready by Tuesday. Do I need to send a clock so you get the time right? You're not paying me enough to fix your mistakes copain."

I froze.

That voice.

That impossibly familiar French accent that had haunted me since Budapest eight months ago.

My blood ran cold as I carefully peered around the corner.

Tavi Jospin stood fifteen meters away, her signature platinum blonde hair and bangs now longer than the bob she once had, one hand absently toying with what I knew would be her favorite ceramic blade – the same one that had left an eight-inch scar across my abdomen months ago in Budapest.

She had an artistic flair- if you could call it that- with her knives that I found unnecessarily theatrical and dramatic. Give me a clean, quick solution any day over her tendency for dramatic showmanship.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about my mess," she purred to someone I couldn't see, her voice carrying that dangerous playful edge I knew too well. "I'm a big girl, je peux gérer ma merde."

I pulled back before she could spot me, pressing myself against the wall as my mind raced.

How had I missed this? Luke ran background checks on every member of the paddock staff, traced connection patterns, analyzed security footage to make sure we knew if anyone else was going to be a liability. I even double checked what he showed me

Tavi's presence changed everything – she wasn't just a hired gun, she was a psychopath with elite operative with connections to at least three major criminal organizations. But it didn't make sense, even as big as a thorn as Vega was in my side- he was no where near the high ranking criminals Tavi tended to hang out with.

Her presence ruined how easy I thought this would be. Because if she was here, there was something I was missing.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I muttered under my breath, a habit from my training days as I started listing out with my fingers. "Failed to account for external variables, didn't consider potential operative overlap, assumed complete intelligence..."

Luke should have known about this. He was usually thorough to a fault- a guy I trusted completely to have my back and get me the information needed - how had he missed this? She slipped through cracks that never should've formed, leaving me blindsided.

The conversation in the Mercedes office yesterday suddenly took on new meaning.

They hadn't been talking about a local contact for the Dubai shipment – they'd been referring to Tavi. She specialized in ensuring high-value cargo reached its destination, usually leaving a trail of artistically arranged crime scenes that looked more like renaissance paintings than professional hits. She took the line of dramatics and subtle and danced along it with a cocky smirk on her face.

I forced my breathing to remain steady as I heard her heels click on the concrete, moving away from my position and into a dark corner.

My mind automatically calculated the statistical probability that her presence was a coincidence:
less than 0.02%.

The fact that she was here, now, meant this operation was significantly larger than we'd originally suspected.

The sound of the anthem faded away, replaced by the roar of the crowd as the podium ceremony concluded.

Soon the paddock would be flooded with people again, making both surveillance and covert movement more difficult. I needed to update headquarters, adjust my approach, factor in Tavi's likely interference patterns...

The scar on my abdomen seemed to burn with the memory, remembering how she'd smiled while delivering that particular "masterpiece" as she'd called it. Her theatrics were her undoing in that situation but she never cared of the risk as long as she made her mark.

Where I saw efficiency, Tavi saw artistry. Where I calculated odds, she choreographed chaos. We were opposite sides of the same deadly coin.

The sound of approaching voices snapped me back to reality. I needed to move, to plan, to think. Tavi's presence meant the stakes had just increased exponentially, and I couldn't afford any distractions.

I pushed all the outside thought of mind. Some thoughts were harder to get rid of the other, especially since I saw the distraction's face everywhere around me in the paddock.