The news hit like a bolt from the blue.
William Harcourt couldn't believe what he was hearing, but the facts were right in front of him.
Agent Wayne's transport had deviated from its programmed route—broken off from the European flight corridor and drifted into the African airspace.
At the same time, back at the Barcelona military base, the real Agent Samuel Wayne had just been found.
Not just him.
More than ten soldiers lay beside him—stripped of their uniforms.
Which meant one thing:
Not only had "Agent Wayne" been a fake…
Everyone who boarded that aircraft with him was an impostor.
"Damn… damn!"
William Harcourt felt the blood drain from his face. Only now did the entire pattern snap into place—why the two hostile helicopters that attacked them earlier were suddenly shot out of the sky; why Owen Shaw's abandoned base had contained such obvious breadcrumbs; why Cole Shaw himself never showed.
It was clear now.
Their real objective was never the chip components scattered across the highway.
Even if Cole and Owen had managed to steal those components during the convoy assault, evacuation would have been nearly impossible. MI6 and the military would've shut down the entire region the moment the theft was confirmed.
The safest way out was the transport aircraft.
Which meant the pilot and the escort team had to be Cole's people.
"Agent Wayne" was never Agent Wayne.
Agent Wayne was Cole Shaw in disguise.
"Fuck. Fuck! Cole Shaw—I'll get you," William hissed, the words pushed through clenched teeth. He had never felt this humiliated in his career…
At the same time—
Luke Hobbs also received the report from the base.
After hearing it, Luke just stared ahead, stunned. They had spent everything to capture Owen Shaw.
And Owen had still escaped.
"Fortunately, the chip parts aren't there," Luke exhaled, a thin thread of relief cutting through the frustration. As long as the components stayed with William, they still had a shot.
"Luke," Dominic said, voice flat, "you really think Cole Shaw would leave a gap like that?"
"The chip components have to be in his hands already."
Dominic sneered. He refused to believe Cole was stupid enough to let that vulnerability go.
Brian silently agreed.
"Shut up, Dominic. You're a prisoner—you don't get a vote," Luke snapped, fury finally bleeding through. This bastard was just rubbing salt into raw wounds.
"Luke, I didn't have a choice. Letty's in their hands," Dominic said, a bitter half-smile twisting his mouth. "This is all I've got."
BOOM!
A rocket slammed into the escort vehicle.
The blast lifted the entire SUV off the road. Metal screamed as it flipped and crashed, glass exploding across the asphalt.
A dark sedan rolled up alongside the wreck, calm in the aftermath. Its doors opened and several men in black tactical gear stepped out, weapons up.
They moved with surgical efficiency.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
In seconds, every soldier in the crippled vehicle was dead.
"The boss said leave him alive," one of the men in black reminded, jerking his chin toward Luke.
Another operative stepped up to Luke, raised his weapon—and was stopped with a hand to his forearm.
"Orders," the first man repeated.
Instead, they clubbed Luke hard across the skull with the butt of a rifle. His world went black as his body slumped against twisted metal.
Two of the men in black moved fast—Dominic and Brian were yanked from the wreck, stunned, half-conscious.
A quick strike dropped Dominic the rest of the way. Brian followed.
Both were shoved into the waiting car, doors slammed, and the vehicle peeled away into the night.
Luke lay unconscious on the ruined road, sprawled beside the overturned SUV, unable to move…
⸻⸻
Inside the Round Table base beneath the Sahara Desert.
Dade Murphy and the others were gathered in the central hall.
He stared at the group in front of him, muscles tight, every instinct on alert.
A few minutes earlier, the main gate had cycled open without warning. He'd thought Cole Shaw and the Barcelona team were finally back.
He was wrong.
Instead, an elite team had marched in—armoured vests, hard plates, tactical goggles, Colt .45-caliber semi-automatic pistols holstered at their hips. A skull emblem was embroidered on their uniforms.
There were one hundred and twenty-six of them.
Seeing that many heavily armed strangers suddenly standing in the heart of their supposedly secure base put everyone on edge. Even though the man in front had calmly announced they were Round Table personnel, Dade, Kate, and Jason still didn't relax.
"Jason… did Cole tell you anything about these guys?" Dade asked quietly.
"No," Jason Tate muttered. "I had no idea he had this many cards left to play."
He swallowed once and exhaled.
"It's a shame my Delta-Six acceleration suit isn't finished yet. If it was, we wouldn't be this damn passive."
Facing a full company of tier-one operators, they had no chance of resisting if things went sideways.
The elevator hummed.
Dade and the others snapped their heads toward it as the platform descended again.
This time, ten women emerged.
All three of them—Dade, Kate, Jason—went quiet.
The women stepped out with calm, predatory grace and crossed the hall toward them. When they got close enough, Dade finally saw the one in front clearly.
He and Jason both swallowed.
The lead woman was stunning—red hair pulled back in a neat, functional twist; fitted tactical gear hugging a lean, athletic frame; utility belt and holsters sitting on her hips like they belonged there. Black combat boots, fingerless gloves, and eyes that missed nothing.
Danger first. Beauty second.
This woman was lethal as hell.
Kate's fingers dug into Dade's arm, sharp and annoyed.
"What are you staring at?" she snapped. "You still don't recognise what they are?"
Dade blinked, snapped out of it. He stepped forward anyway, a crooked smile sliding into place.
"Hey. I'm Dade," he said. "What's your name?"
Kate immediately shoved in between them, glaring. "I didn't tell you to hit on her."
She turned her attention to the redhead. "Who are you? Are you with the Round Table?"
The woman's eyes flicked over Kate once, cool but not hostile.
"Under the Round Table command structure," she said. "Leader of the Widow Unit. Codename: Black Widow."
Kate nodded, the tension leaving her shoulders. If Cole sent them, that was enough.
The three of them—Dade, Kate, Jason—stood there with the new arrivals, no one speaking, the tension in the air thick and awkward…
⸻⸻
Meanwhile
Cole Shaw's transport swept in over the desert sky above the hidden base.
Cole keyed the encrypted control on his wrist; deep below, the camouflaged roof split open. The plane descended slowly into the concealed hangar.
Once they settled on the first-level platform, Cole led everyone out into the bay.
For Owen Shaw and his crew, it was their first time seeing the Sahara installation. Gisele Yashar stepped out, eyes widening as she took in the scale of the place.
Their expressions mirrored the looks Ross and the Expendables had worn the first time they came down here.
"Jesus, Cole… this place is insane. What'd you spend on it, a country?"
"If you like it, you can stay," Cole said with a faint smile.
Klaus just grinned and fell back into position behind Owen.
Whatever Cole offered, these people weren't about to betray Owen Shaw. Their loyalties were clear; Owen came first.
"It's outrageous watching you try to poach my crew in front of me," Owen said, half-laughing as he kicked lightly at Cole's boot.
He'd heard the subtext in Cole's words, but he wasn't tempted. He'd already grown up in the shadow of his older brother, Deckard Shaw. Now, seeing what his youngest brother had built, he realised he was trailing Cole as well.
He still had a long way to go.
He refused to stay behind forever.
Everyone loaded into the main elevator and began the descent through the levels.
Once again, they couldn't help staring at the scale of the base—steel, concrete, glass, and tech layered into the rock. It never got less ridiculous.
Soon, they reached the lowest floor.
The doors slid open.
The moment they stepped out and saw the assembled operators, everyone—Owen, Ross, Christmas, Caesar—instinctively raised their weapons.
"Easy," Cole said, lifting his hand. "They're mine."
He motioned for them to stand down, then walked forward to meet the group.
Looking over the formation of one hundred and twenty-six elite operators, Cole nodded, satisfied. Their posture, spacing, and control made it obvious—these were professionals, top to bottom.
Then he turned his attention to the Widow Unit.
He had to admit it—Black Widow and her people were flawless. No visible seams, no tells, no hesitation. They were exactly what the system had promised.
"Leader of the Widow Unit, reporting in…"