After Castle sent his detailed report to Lockheed Martin's CEO, he wasted no time forwarding the same dossier to other key partners like Boeing, Northrop Grumman, General Electric (GE), and Pratt & Whitney. He knew that the more stakeholders got involved, the less pressure he would personally face from British intelligence.
These corporate giants, all with vested interests, wouldn't sit quietly while foreign intelligence operatives tampered with their projects. And with this many heavyweights "teaming up" to confront Britain, Castle was certain that the Brits would soon have their hands full. As for Turkey? Castle couldn't care less about their reaction.
Castle, along with the ever-enthusiastic Ramsey and the now thoroughly corrupted Ramsey's little sister, laughed and schemed in the supercomputer lab. Even the once-serious Ramsey was starting to enjoy the chaos, eager to see what fireworks would unfold next. This was a far cry from Castle's previous reckless antics; he was learning to fight smarter, not harder.
Of course, not everyone was thrilled. The small, bespectacled prodigy working under Castle was visibly frustrated. He had been the one who proposed the "big toy" project in the first place—a cutting-edge simulation system. Now, the overwhelming workload had left him stressed and irritable. He had secretly hoped the latest drama with foreign spies would provide an excuse to escape from the lab. Unfortunately, Castle's decision to hand over the case to the defense contractors had crushed those hopes.
The prodigy grumbled in dismay,
"Rick, I thought we'd finally get a break from this madness. I mean, yeah, I came up with the idea, but I didn't think it would turn into this. Even with Jarvis and the supercomputer, finishing the program is a nightmare!"
Castle shot him a mischievous grin.
"Don't play innocent! We're buried in work because of your brilliant idea. You've got no one to blame but yourself."
Ramsey stifled a laugh, watching the two bicker like a comedic duo.
The prodigy groaned.
"Uncle Rick, come on! I didn't realize it'd be this complex. Sure, Jarvis caught the bugs in the code, but without the hardware, I'm stuck. We can't move forward until the simulator is built."
Castle wasn't moved by the complaints. In fact, he was determined to "push" the prodigy harder. The fact that the boy had already developed such a sophisticated program only proved that he was a genius—one who hadn't reached his full potential due to a lack of pressure.
Castle crossed his arms and chuckled.
"Stop whining and focus. We've got three months until Beckett gives birth, and by then, I won't have time for this project. That means we've got to finish everything before then. Oh, and by the way, the hardware's almost done. Should be ready in about ten days. Surprise!"
The prodigy's eyes widened in shock.
"Wait, what? You're telling me the simulator hardware is nearly finished? Why didn't anyone tell me?"
Castle laughed heartily.
"Come on, kid. Did you think I'd let you slack off? I've had Ivan and the rest of the crew helping out. Sure, the Pentagon and Lockheed told me not to involve them, but I've got my ways. As long as nobody finds out, who cares?"
With a team of burly Russian bodyguards doubling as laborers, Castle had managed to assemble the multi-axis high-load flight simulator in record time. The prodigy's horrified realization that he was now the bottleneck drew another round of laughter from Castle.
Meanwhile, across the Atlantic at MI6 headquarters on the banks of the Thames, M—the formidable, silver-haired director of British intelligence—was seething as she read a classified report. The past two years had been a series of disasters for her.
It began with Edward Bailey, a rogue scientist whom MI6 had secretly imprisoned for decades. After escaping from a high-security mental facility beneath the Tower of London, Bailey detonated a red mercury bomb in Britain, causing over 200,000 casualties. The political fallout was immense, forcing the entire cabinet to resign.
Although M had narrowly avoided being ousted, the government's need for her expertise in intelligence saved her position. However, the incident left her reputation tarnished. Determined to restore MI6's credibility, she had invested heavily in grooming a new "00" agent, James Bond, hoping he would bring prestige to the agency.
Instead, Bond had proven to be an infuriating liability. His tendency to resort to brute force over diplomacy had shocked even his superiors. Assigned to track down Le Chiffre, a financier for terrorists and African warlords, Bond's mission had turned into a chaotic spectacle. He gambled millions of pounds in Montenegro, recklessly pursued leads across continents, and caused collateral damage wherever he went.
Though Bond eventually killed Le Chiffre and recovered over a billion dollars in winnings, MI6 gained little else from the mission. The larger criminal network behind Le Chiffre remained hidden, leaving M deeply frustrated.
Now, a month ago, M had been ordered to assist Rolls-Royce in a covert operation to acquire advanced engine technology from the U.S. Initially, the mission was straightforward—until new intelligence arrived. Lockheed Martin had reportedly developed a revolutionary optical camouflage technology, and British engineers embedded within the company had sent back details of the project.
The British defense minister and prime minister were ecstatic. They immediately summoned M and demanded she secure the technology at any cost.
"This is vital for the future of our nation's defense capabilities," they had told her. "We cannot allow the Americans to keep this to themselves."
With pressure mounting from the highest levels of government, M had dispatched one of her top agents to New York. But now, instead of a successful covert operation, she was staring at a report informing her that the agent had been killed—and that MI6's involvement was on the verge of being exposed.
M clenched her jaw. The Americans would not take this lightly. If the defense contractors retaliated, Britain's diplomatic and industrial relations could suffer severe consequences. The situation was spiraling out of control faster than she had anticipated.
"Bloody hell," M muttered under her breath. "Just what I needed—another crisis."
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