January 21, Modern Era Year 4

2310 Hours

Tail Aviv, Re'em

Tail Aviv buzzed around Fleethoof, the sounds of crowds of ponies, carriages, and the new automobiles filling the air with the din of a thriving metropolis. It seemed like Re’em was adopting foreign technology faster than Equestria was. Towering skyscrapers dotted the skyline around him as he peered out the window of the hotel room. He counted the lights in each, silently whittling away time. It was such a shame; any other time he would have marveled at the beauty of the vast exotic city. Unfortunately, he was on the job. They had been in Re'em for less than a day, but already he was eager to put distance between himself and the city.

“Activity in the building?”

Shining Armor’s voice spoke with murmured words beside him, each one reigned in and controlled. It sounded as if he was trying to avoid talking to him as much as Fleethoof was doing the same. He turned his eyes across the street to the hexagonal building made of steel and glass. The Mossad Headquarters was dark without so much as a flashlight to break the wall of blackness through the windows. A high concrete fence ran around the perimeter of the property, and the only gate was lit up like a Hearth’s Warming tree. Even from this height, he could see the specks of several guards patrolling around the entrance and on the grounds.

“Same patrol patterns on the ground,” he replied. “Still nothing in the building.”

“Hmm.” Shining didn’t sound pleased.

“They don’t wanna make this easy for us,” said Rook from across the room. The Ranger was busying himself with packing rappelling gear into saddlebags for the team.

“Most of the windows are covered up with blinds,” Sharp Shot reported while peering down at the Mossad Headquarters through his binoculars. “I can’t see shit.”

Shining Armor reclined back against the wall with a grunt and crossed his hooves over his chest. “So we’re walking blind in the dark, huh…”

Sharp lowered his binoculars and glanced up at the captain. “Yeah, about that, I had some concerns about the ‘getting in’ part. More specifically, the ‘how do we get in without getting killed’ part. As in, how do we get in without getting shot full of holes and buried somewhere in the desert?”

“Why don’t we just walk up to the front door and ask politely?” Rook quipped with as dry a tone as the stallion could manage.

“If we do that, I’m volunteering you first.” Sharp turned back to the two captains. “No, but really, I’d like to not die.”

Midnight Dasher sat up from her prone position on a nearby couch. “I second that motion.”

Fleethoof heard Shining Armor shift his weight beside him and felt the eye of his comrade burning into the back of his skull. He was waiting for a response. Shining didn’t seem to be any more certain than he felt. Without a word, he reached over and took the binoculars from Sharp with his telekinetic magic, beginning to scout the building more closely.

“Well, the front gate is out of the question…” reasoned Shining, scratching one option off the very short list. “We could try to scale another section of the wall and slip past the guards out front. We could try to get in through the sewer system, assuming it isn’t all locked up as well.”

“We could go in through the roof,” Fleethoof offered.

“Har har, very funny. We don’t all have wings, you know,” Shining retorted.

“We don’t need wings. The building across the street is taller. We could zip-line down from there to the roof. We just need to fly the ropes down, secure them to something, and we slide on down. Six, maybe seven of us tops. The others can provide overwatch for guard patterns on the ground.”

Shining turned his body to face Fleethoof, his hooves still folded over his chest. “And what about the guards?”

“I see one pony on the roof.” Fleethoof did another pass over the roof to confirm his statement. “I think most of the security is based on the lower levels. I don’t think they’re anticipating a rooftop break-in.”

“Let me see.” Shining lifted the binoculars again. Dammit, Fleethoof was right. “Okay, so that might work… But we still have other options.”

“Put it to a vote then.”

“The roof sounds like the safest way to me,” Sharp Shot murmured beside the two officers.

Fleethoof cast a complacent glance at Shining. “That’s two.”

“I vote roof.” Midnight added her vote to the mix. “I think anypony with wings will say the roof.”

“Cent, Rook?” Shining asked, peering over his shoulder at the Rangers in question.

“I don’t give a shit,” Rook said amidst slipping into his vest. “Whichever way gets us killed less.”

Centurion voiced his ballot in the same manner as his compatriot. That just left all the wingless members of Skyfall Unit, and Shining Armor already knew which way they would vote.

“Okay, roof it is then… Anypony have any objections to heights?” Nopony spoke up. “Anypony? Nopony at all? We still have the sewer option on the table.”

Fleethoof smirked and stashed his binoculars. “Looks like we’re going up and over. All right, let’s get geared up, ponies! The sooner we get in there, the sooner we get out.”

Shining glanced across the expanse of space at the other rooftop, then peered down at the street twelve stories below, already feeling light-headed. “Celestia have mercy…”

Standing on top of the roof with warm air whipping around his body from the coastal gales, Fleethoof almost forgot that it was snowing back home. He shuffled his hooves closer to the edge of the towering building. The lip of the roof kissed the tip of his boots, ushering him to take that final step into free fall. He peered over the precipice at his target below. The roof of the Mossad building was mostly dark. It would provide the perfect cover for their descent.

“Can you see the guard, Midnight?” he asked.

Beside him, the Thestral nodded. “Just left of the door.”

Fleethoof made a soft sound of acknowledgement. He turned to the rest of the group, watching as they made the final preparations to the ropes. They had tethered them to the ventilation shafts of the roof they were on and were triple checking to make sure they were secure. Shining Armor paced back and forth, taking slow, deep breaths as he went. The unicorn looked positively green.

“We all set?”

Sharp Shot ran the length of the nylon ropes over to him and Midnight. “Good to go, boss. Hey, uh, you sure these’ll hold us, right?”

Fleethoof tested the weight of the rope in his hooves. While not the most ideal material, the steel cable was sturdy and rigid. It should last long enough for a one-way trip. Or so he hoped.

“They should be fine. We’ll have to find another way out, but you’ll get down there alive.”

“Oh gee, that makes me feel so much better…”

“Just wait for our signal.”

With that, Fleethoof passed one of the cables to Midnight and stood on the edge with her again. He pulled his set of night vision goggles down over his eyes, drew in a few lungfuls of air, and dove, dropping like a missile down and then veering up. His wings burst from his back with a powerful flap, propelling him through the air like a shark in the water. Just behind him, he could hear the leathery flap of Midnight’s wings keeping close. The two ponies zeroed in on the target roof with lethal precision, coming in closer… closer…

“He’s to the right of the door!”

Fleethoof followed Midnight’s directions. In the green tint of the goggles, he picked out the shape of the guard just to the side of the doorway. He adjusted his trajectory, coming in hot right on top of him. The pony turned in time to see a set of hooves make contact with his face. Fleethoof bucked the guard back, his head smacking into the hard rooftop with a dull thud, rendering him unconscious in the blink of an eye.

The second his hooves touched down on the solid roof, Fleethoof went to work winding the rope around another air duct. Once his and Midnight’s lines were secure (he gave each an experimental tug just for good measure), he pulled a flashlight from his saddlebags and flickered it several times to the others. The dark silhouette of a pegasus shot off the roof, Valiant joining them a few moments later.

Then came the others. One by one, the ponies without the ability of flight slid down the makeshift zip-line, soaring across the gap of street several stories above the earth. Sharp Shot landed first, collapsing into a heap the moment his hooves touched down and all but vomiting on the spot. Without his rifle, the sniper was useless at a range. The Rangers arrived next, looking as unflappable as ever, the kind of aloofness that only came with seasoned experience. They hit the roof and immediately set to getting the door open with a crowbar. The others remained on the opposite roof, setting up reconnaissance positions overhead.

Shining Armor arrived last, dropping to a crouch when he landed. The stallion was shaking and his chest heaved with each labored breath. Fleethoof saw a thin sheen of sweat across his brow, but said nothing of it. He waited until Shining had collected himself again before moving on the door. Centurion and Rook had broken the lock and were peering inside in a scene similar to foals spying on something they shouldn’t see.

“What do you see?”

“Stairs,” came Rook’s blunt response.

Fleethoof resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Anything else?”

“Lots of stairs. That’s it.” Rook pulled back and pulled his neckerchief up over his muzzle, partially obscuring his face. “No contacts though. We’re clear.”

“I’ll be damned… It looks like your plan worked,” Centurion said with a trace of impression in his voice.

“They do that sometimes, but ponies always seem to be surprised when they do.” Fleethoof smirked at his quip and nodded to the ponies. “Now Just Cause said the archives would be somewhere on the eighth floor. There’s a lot of power being consumed on that floor around the clock, so it’s gotta be there. We just need to find it.”

“Plan?” asked Midnight, her voice lowered to a hush.

“We locate a fuse box and trip the power long enough for us to find a security room and get the cameras down. Then we find the archives, get the goods, and get the hell outta Dodge.” Fleethoof looked around at the group of ponies. “Any volunteers?”

“Rook and I’ve got the security,” Centurion said.

Valiant raised a hoof and said, “I studied the schematics Minister Cause was able to pull on the building. There’s a utility room just below the roof that should have a panel that controls camera feeds.”

“Sounds good. Get on it, Val.” Fleethoof turned to the Rangers at the door next. “After you. Rangers lead the way.”

“You fucking know it,” Rook muttered and yanked the door open. He disappeared down the darkness of the stairs, flanked closely by Centurion.

Fleethoof rushed in next, following his night vision as he descended the concrete stairs. It was a few flights down from the roof before they came to anything. A heavy metal door with words written in Re’emian sat isolated and alone to the side of the landing they were on. Fleethoof stared at the word, trying to make heads or tails of it.

“It’s the utility room,” Rook explained after he struggled with it for a full minute. “I know Re’emian. Better get your ass in there, little pegasus.”

Valiant nodded and ducked inside once the Rangers had pried the door open for him. The door gave way with a loud groan of metal that made Fleethoof cringe, but once Valiant had disappeared within, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was still quiet inside the building. Their entry had gone unnoticed so far.

He peered down the edge of the stairs, down into the gaping pit of darkness that was the stairwell. He couldn’t see more than three floors down before it dropped off into black nothingness. The lack of hoofsteps echoing around the stairwell inspired confidence though. So long as no guards were around, he could breathe easy.

“Okay, let’s keep heading down to the eighth floor while Val does his thing,” said Fleethoof. “He’ll radio us when he’s ready. Keep moving.”

The operators hustled down the stairs, their equipment shifting and shuffling sounding like an earthquake in the stillness of the night. It made Fleethoof very self-conscious about their presence. They had to leave as little of a signature as could be. The first floor they passed was marked with a large number ’12’ painted on the wall. Good, they weren’t that far off. They descended further and further, each floor they passed making Fleethoof’s heart beat that much faster. Each step he took, he realized he was getting closer and closer to Alaric—and to Cadance.

“Captain, the security feed is running to somewhere on the sixth floor,” Valiant’s voice spoke in a whisper through his headset. Fleethoof nodded to himself. The others would be hearing the same thing he was.

“Got it. Standby for the kill command,” he replied.

Shining Armor turned to Centurion and Rook. “You guys go to the sixth floor. Call Valiant, tell him to kill the cameras just before you go in. Try to find the security room fast, then wipe the recordings.”

“Quit worryin’, Cap’n. We’ll get it done,” Centurion said and tapped Rook on the shoulder. The two ponies hustled ahead of the group while they passed the ninth floor.

Fleethoof hugged the last turn tight, his hooves sprinting down the stairs until he saw the door. Then he saw the large ‘8’ painted beside it. His breath caught. This was it. With a motion of his hooves, he stacked up on the side of the door while the others took their positions. Shining Armor stood just opposite of him in the doorway. The two exchanged a brief hard look before they deliberately tried to focus on something—anything—else.

Down below, Centurion and Rook jumped down the last three steps and rushed the door. The giant ‘6’ betrayed the floor. The two stallions pressed their backs to the hard concrete, breathing hard to catch a second wind, and then Rook placed his hoof on the door handle and nodded to his partner. Centurion nodded back.

“All right, kill the cams.”

“Standby…” A few seconds passed. “Okay, they’re down. Move fast!”

Rook threw the door open as fast as he could. The two ponies scurried into the dark corridor, crouching low as they moved and sticking to the shadows. The sixth floor looked like offices of some kind. Large glass cubicles made up the bulk of the space the hallway wrapped around. Desks, computers, file cabinets, the entire facade of a regular office space. The Rangers knew better.

Centurion took the lead down the hall, pausing at each door they passed to let Rook translate what was written on the placard next to each. They passed by several private offices for administrators, two bathrooms, and a janitor’s closet. Then they came to the black metal door. Centurion, used to their routine of stopping for a second and then rushing on, went to run forward. He was stopped by Rook pulling him back so hard, he nearly fell to the floor.

“Here,” he hissed through his teeth. He eyed the keycard reader beside the door and muttered a curse under his breath. “Hey, pegasus, this door’s got some sort of electronic lock. You got any wires up there for that?”

“One second… Yeah… Yep, try it now.”

As if on cue, the little red light on the card reader went out. Centurion eyes the black door, then looked to Rook for confirmation. While Centurion took position beside the door, Rook slid a hoof into his saddlebags and produced a small black handgun. Centurion raised a brow.

“I wasn’t about to let some stuffed shirt political tell me what to do.”

With a nicker, Centurion grasped the door handle. He counted down three with a wave of his hoof, then pulled the door open. It released with a click, and the two ponies charged into the room. Two Re’emians dressed in black suits had been sitting at the computer terminals, working at a feverish pace while staring in bewilderment at the rows of black monitors around the rooms. They were taken by surprise when two stallions ran inside, one tackling a guard to the ground while the other drew a pistol on the second and ordered him to surrender in Re’emian.

Centurion grunted as he struggled against the thrashing Mossad agent, landing two hard blows against the stallion’s stomach and doubling him over before locking him in a chokehold. The ponies writhed about on the floor while Rook took the other guard’s cuffs and restrained him, then took his radio. Centurion fought on the ground with the guard, yelping when his head made contact with the edge of the terminals. He growled and tightened his hold around the Re’emian’s neck until his opponent’s struggling grew weaker and weaker, and then he slipped gently out of consciousness. Centurion heaved a sigh and rolled back onto his hooves to restrain the unconscious guard.

“You sound out of breath,” Rook teased. “Maybe you should’ve brought a gun, too.”

“Go fuck yourself. You’d better not kill anypony, or I swear I’ll tan your hide myself.” Centurion leaned over one of the terminals and stared at the blank monitors. “All right, we’ve got security down. Go ahead and turn the cams back on.”

“Roger.”

Within a minute, all of the monitors flickered back to life. Night vision views of nearly every corner of the Mossad Headquarters came into view. The grainy, high contrast pictures showed ponies walking practiced paths up and down the corridors, some in pairs. Centurion and Rook gawked at the amount of guards patrolling around the hallways and offices. There was a lot more security than they realized.

“Uh, Phantom leaders, be advised: we’ve got a hell of a lotta guards.” He changed a few of the monitors to start observing the eighth floor. “Looks like about half a dozen on your floor alone. Can’t see anything like the archives from the cams though. Move at your discretion.”

Fleethoof’s voice came through the radio calm and clear: “Copy that. We’re oscar mike.”

From one of the monitors, the Rangers watched as the door to the stairwell slid slowly open, and a line of dark silhouettes slipped inside.

The long dark corridors did not inspire confidence in Fleethoof’s heart. They were now in the actual Mossad Headquarters—the Mossad, one of the most dangerous intelligence agencies in the world. And they were about to steal from them. That knowledge alone was enough to put his heart in the cold vise grip of fear. Actually being in the lion’s den was another story. Fleethoof glanced up at a camera hanging from the wall. At least they didn’t have to worry about those anymore. The cameras were on their side now.

The eight other members of Black Wraith followed close behind him. They slunk through the shadows, doing their best to avoid making a sound and the large glass offices. Fleethoof slid up alongside a corner and pressed his back to it, sucking in a deep breath, and then peeking his head around the edge. A guard was walking away from him, his back to his position. Fleethoof quickly motioned for the others to cross, keeping an eye on the guard until they had made it safely past. Then he rolled across the floor and across to the other side.

Searching for the Archives in the darkness was a near impossible feat. Couple that with his inability to read Re’emian and Fleethoof was at an impasse. Well, aren’t we just seven flavors of fucked… he thought with despair when they approached another door with a nameplate written in the foreign language.

“Anypony know Re’emian?” he asked. Nopony spoke up. “I didn’t think so… So we check every room then.”

Midnight Dasher slid up to the door and sat back on her flanks, freeing up her hooves to produce her set of lockpicks from her tactical vest and set to work on the lock. The others kept a lookout; Fleethoof and Shining Armor watching either end of the hall. Neither made any attempt to interact with the other. The stretch of silence tightened Fleethoof’s stomach into a knot. The tension was palpable in the hall. He was half expecting a patrol to come around and catch them by surprise at any moment. What would they even do in a situation like that? What contingency did they have without their weapons? Take them down and subdue them before they made a sound was their only option, but how possible was it to do without somepony raising an alarm first?

Fortunately, he didn’t need to worry about that. The door clicked as the tumblers released. Midnight wore a victorious grin as she pulled the door open, revealing a storage closet filled with boxes of paper and other office supplies. The way her face dropped like a rock made Fleethoof snicker.

“Strike one. Let’s move on.”

“Do you think one of these computers will have the files we need, boss?” Sharp Shot asked, peering into one of the glass offices.

“No. They’re gonna be keeping them locked up somewhere.”

“Phantom leaders, be advised: you’ve got two contacts approaching to your twelve o’clock.”

Centurion’s voice through his headset sent chills down Fleethoof’s spine. His head snapped up in the direction they were heading. Just ahead, the hallway split into a three-way intersection again. In the low lights coming from the ceiling, he could just make out two shadows fast approaching.

Oh, shit! Fleethoof hurried forward. A set of hooves other than his own moving with him surprised him; Shining Armor was following close at his side. They reached the corner just as the two guards came into view. Fleethoof wasted no time, flapping his wings and throwing himself into one of the guards. The pony yelped, then as silenced as Fleethoof wrapped a hoof around his neck and pinned him to the ground. Behind him, another thud hit the ground. He glanced over his shoulder to see Shining dragging the unconscious second guard back towards the storage room.

Fleethoof grit his teeth and struggled against the flailing guard. The stallion beneath him was desperately bucking and thrashing his hooves, trying to score a hit to loosen Fleethoof up enough to throw him off. Fleethoof held on all the tighter, keeping him held down under his weight. The pony’s hooves began to scramble for the gun on his hip, trying to pry it from its holster beneath his suit. Fleethoof grabbed the Mossad agent’s hoof just as he freed his weapon and slammed it into the floor twice, sending the pistol sliding across the floor.

The guard’s fighting slowly began to weaken as he wheezed for air. His motions became more sluggish and confused, and then he fell still. Fleethoof let go after another moment had passed, wanting to make sure he was out cold, but not wanting to kill him. When the body didn’t move any more, he grabbed the pony and hoisted him over his back, carrying him to join his friend in the storage room.

“What was that?” Midnight asked in amazement.

“Knockout spell,” replied a cool Shining Armor. “Puts a pony down for four hours.” He fixed Fleethoof with a hard gaze. “Think we can accomplish our mission in four hours without any more surprises?”

Fleethoof clenched his jaw to resist snorting, lest they alert any other guards.

“Phantom leaders, we found a blueprint of the building, break,” Centurion said. “I think we may have a possible location for the Archives. We can guide you there. Over.”

“Please do,” Shining replied. “I don’t feel like spending all night checking these rooms.”

“Copy. Proceed down the hall to your twelve.”

Shining nodded to himself and took point. Following his lead and Centurion’s instructions over the radio, the operators crept through the shadows past several more doors. Every now and then, a flashlight would shine through the glass walls of the offices between them and the roving security. Fleethoof’s heart would stop whenever the beam would pass over them, watching it dance on the walls before turning away, and then they would move faster. He didn’t mind one bit. The faster they got in, the faster they got out, and time was not on their side—it never was.

“At the end, turn the corner and walk about fifty meters to the door. That’ll be it.”

“Copy.” Shining Armor picked up the pace, his hooves making muted thumps on the carpeted floors.

Fleethoof was doing his best to move as evenly as possible to keep his gear from banging together and making any noise. He glanced back at the others, making sure they were all still present. All of them were moving just like he was—save for Midnight Dasher, who was walking around without a care in the world. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. Something wasn’t right. He fell back to her side, studying her from head to toe with scrutinizing eyes.

“You know, if you wanted to undress me with your eyes, there’s a much better time and place, Fleety,” Midnight said with a wry smirk pointed at him.

“I’m trying to figure out how you’re moving so silently with such ease.”

Midnight just rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “Maybe I’m just really good at this stealth business.”

“Yeah, or maybe you’re compromising one aspect for another.” Fleethoof stopped Midnight with a hoof on her chest. His hoof sank through the malleable fabric of the vest without any resistance. He stared down at her chest with narrowed eyes as the realization dawned on him. “You took the plates out of your vest?” Midnight’s lack of a response was all he needed. “Midnight, what the hell were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking about how to move more easily without getting caught,” she remarked.

“You’ve got no protection!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What if you get shot?”

Midnight released an indignant huff and puffed out her chest with a pout. “I won’t.”

“You don’t know that! You’ll be killed!”

“I’ll be fine, Fleet.”

“Hey,” Shining whispered in a sharp hiss back to them. His pointed glare told Fleethoof he was in no mood for their banter. “Are you two done?”

“Yes, we are,” Midnight said, then turned to Fleethoof with adamant resolve in her eyes.

Fleethoof relented with an irritated sigh and said, “I don’t want you doing this again, understood?”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

Fleethoof growled and muttered several profanities under his breath as he and Midnight hurried to catch up to the others. They had gathered outside a frosted glass door with more Re’emian words fixed to the panes. Fleethoof cocked his head as he studied the calligraphy.

“That’s them,” Rook’s voice spoke this time. Fleethoof scrunched his nose, trying to figure out how he could know that. Sharp Shot must have seen his reaction because he tapped the pegasus’ shoulder and motioned to a camera pointed right at the door. “I’m bringing up the cameras inside now. Standby for— whoa…”

Whoa? Whoa what? Fleethoof wondered. Shining Armor gave voice to his mental question over the radio.

“You’re gonna want to get in there and see for yourselves.”

Shining Armor tugged at the door handle. The metal frame rattled in place but refused to budge. He grunted and tugged on it again to the same effect. That was when he noticed the keycard reader beside the door. “Aw hell… The door’s electronically locked. I’m betting this glass is bulletproof too. We need to get it open.”

“Hey, Val,” Fleethoof spoke up next over the comms. “Think you can find the power to this thing and shut it down?”

“So long as it’s a magnetic lock, sure. Hang tight.”

Silence overtook the ponies in the hallway. They waited, and they waited. Each second that slipped by felt like an eternity to the anxious Fleethoof. His wings were bristling, ready to dive through the door into the Archives. He kept staring at the unassuming glass door. This was it. This was the only thing keeping him from finding Alaric—and Cadance. The little red light on the keycard reader glared like an ominous signal in the dark, mocking him with its presence. He glared at that light. Soon it would be gone. All he had to do was be patient.

Fleethoof glanced down at his watch; the face read 12:03. They hadn’t been here that long. He shuffled his hooves on the carpet and peered between the others. Shining Armor was standing beside the door looking like he was doing everything he could to keep from pacing. He turned his gaze to Midnight next with a look of disbelief. The Thestral locked gazes with him and gave him a pressing look.

“…What?”

“I can’t believe you took the plates out…”

Midnight made a point to exaggerate her rolling eyes. “Really? We’re breaking into the Mossad and you’re worried about my fashion sense?”

“It’s not your fashion sense I’m worried about. It’s your common sense.”

“Okay, I think I got it. Try the door now,” Valiant said.

Shining glanced at the keycard reader; sure enough, the light had gone out quietly. He pulled the door handle. The door yielded this time, swinging outward to permit them entrance. Fleethoof couldn’t keep the enormous grin off his face. They were in!

“Everypony move fast,” Shining ordered, keeping the door held open while they hurried inside.

Fleethoof rushed past Shining, making the briefest second of hard eye contact before the moment had passed. The door led to a plain white corridor with lights set into the ceiling illuminating the way with cones of pure white light. The hall was short—maybe fifteen feet in length—before coming to another door. This one also had a keycard reader, but like its twin outside, the light was off. Fleethoof licked his dry lips and rested a hoof on the door handle. This was it. He pushed the door in and stepped past the threshold.

“…Whoa…”

One by one, the ponies made their way into the Archives. The room was larger than Fleethoof had been expecting, done up in dark colors with pale neon lights. Towers of computer equipment stood like monoliths around the room, buzzing and humming with life. By his count, there were twenty different servers set up, all connected to computer terminals set up around the perimeter of the room.

“Wow,” Shining gawked as he wandered around the room, his hooves making metallic stomps on the metal floors.

“Told you,” said Rook through their headsets. “Now can we please find what we need and leave?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Shining turned around to face the rest of the team. “Okay, everypony take a terminal and start searching. Everything that has Alaric’s name on it we take. Let’s move!”

The glow of the computer screen illuminated the small office. The stench of hours-old coffee perfumed the air with the acrid scent of the bitter liquid now sitting cold in its mug. The inconsistent tacking of keys was the only thing staving off silence from making its home in the office.

Chaim sighed and ran his hooves down his face, staring at the computer screen with tired eyes. He glowered at the half-finished report pulled up on the monitor. He had spent most of the night filling out new battle damage assessments for the recent string of attacks the Saddle Arabians had ravaged the border stations with. Something had whipped those horses into a frenzy and they were all too eager to take it out on the Re’emians. He had been the lucky pony to draw the short straw to go check each station and get a tally of casualties, damage done, and the other statistics and logistics.

That meant a whole lot of paperwork for him to fill out for the Archives, which meant another sleepless night stuck at the office. He turned his glare to Adira’s empty desk directly across the room from him. His treacherous partner always had his back, except when it came to forms and reports. Thank you for your love and devotion, sister dearest… he thought with a scowl.

He lifted the mug of stone cold coffee to his lips and grimaced when the foul drink touched his tongue. With a quick spit back into the cup, he sighed and rose from his chair, the plastic frame squeaking under its owner’s shifting weight. If he was going to have any hope of finishing this up with any time left to sleep, he was going to need more coffee.

Chaim strode out of his office with the mug clenched tightly between his teeth. He navigated the dark, empty hallways with practiced steps. Routine at the Mossad had become something of a formality that he had memorized: twenty steps down the hall, then a right, and all the way down to the end to the break room. He could have made this trip blindfolded. Chaim rounded the corner at a sluggish pace, his weary hooves refusing to move with any urgency and his tired mind pleading him to go to bed. He gave neither of them any satisfaction. After all, what sort of Mossad agent would he be if he didn’t stay alert at all—

Shrick.

Chaim froze with his hoof on something hard and metal. He furrowed his forehead and glanced down, trying to figure out what he had stepped on. He wrapped his hoof around smooth polymer and cold metal and brought the object up to the light. It was a Mossad pistol. Why is this lying around in the hall? he questioned and began looking around for any nearby guards that may have dropped it. It was a surprising and careless rookie mistake, one he didn’t expect from one of the night-shifters.

He stepped into the nearest office and picked up the phone and punched in the line for security. The phone rang for several seconds, but no answer came. Pursing his lips into a fine line, Chaim trudged back down the hall the way he had come until he walked into the eighth floor lobby. A single agent sat at the desk in front of the elevators, munching on a bag of potato chips while watching some late night show on a small television set.

“Hey, Ivory,” said Chaim as he approached the mare at the desk. “Would you mind calling up to security?” Ivory raised an eyebrow at him. “My phone in my office isn’t working.”

Ivory peered past him at the dozens of dark offices, each with their own phone, then shrugged and dialed the number for security control. The phone rang and rang. When it passed its tenth ring, she shook her head. “They’re not picking up,” she said.

Chaim’s lips tightened again. “That’s what happened last time.”

“I thought you said—?”

“Could you radio one of the security teams down there and ask them to swing by for a check-in? I found this laying on the floor just now.” Chaim asked and placed the gun on the desk, then began to backpedal into the office space. “It’s probably nothing, but you know how paranoid I can get.”

“Understatement of the millennium…” Ivory brought the radio to her face with her magic. “6-2, this is 8-main. Could you stop by Central and see what’s going on with them? They’re not answering their phones.”

Satisfied with that, Chaim turned and headed back for the break room. He still wanted his coffee more desperately than anything else at the moment—save for maybe his comfy bed and a good night’s sleep. But there’s no rest for the wicked… he thought with a nicker under his breath. Carrying his mug down the dark corridors, he rounded the corner, the break room in sight at the far end of the hall. Oddly enough, he still didn’t see the patrol for this side of the office. Where had those two gotten to?

Probably gone out for another snack run… Chaim rolled his eyes at the insubordination. I swear, if Adonai knew what they were up to when he wasn’t here, he’d have a coronary. But I suppose stupidity is better than a… security… breach…?

Chaim’s thoughts slowly drifted off as he stepped past the Archives. His trot slowed to a walk, then to a meander, and then a stop until he was staring at the frosted glass door with scrutinizing eyes. The light for the keycard reader was out. That’s unusual… Chaim moved up to the door and placed his hoof on the keycard reader. He tapped the little black box, half expecting the light to actually flicker back on like it did in the movies whenever you hit something. No such luck this time. He reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out his security ID, then slid it through the reader. Nothing happened; no confirmatory beep, no change of the light, no sound of the magnetic lock releasing.

A suspicious scowl made an appearance across the agent’s face. He put a hoof on the door and pushed. It opened without any resistance. Chaim switched from suspicion to defense mode in the blink of an eye. He pulled his pistol out and pressed his back to the doorframe, peering in at the second frosted door. He couldn’t see inside the Archives proper, but if security was down, then there was a very real threat of a breach. A power out would have explained away the missed phone calls and the magnetic locks, but with the lights and computers still running, Chaim doubted the explanation was something so simple.

Chaim snuck down the short hallway toward the second door. Adrenaline focused his mind to deadly precision. Part of him was urging him to go back and get a security team to check the room with him. The other part wanted to run in there right now and make sure everything was okay. Unfortunately for him, his gung-ho style won that debate. He positioned himself at the second door and brought his weapon up. One deep breath, two deep breaths… then he pushed the door open and moved in.

The Re’emian Archives was a goldmine. After Centurion and Rook released the initial firewall and securities around the mainframe, all it took was a few minutes of Midnight Dasher installing the decryption virus and the codes were broken, just as Just Case ensured they would. Fleethoof had to admit that he was impressed with Cause’s work. So far, he had proven to be an invaluable ally. Fleethoof watched with excited eyes as lines of code ran across the screens of the computer terminals, followed by a home screen. They were in.

At Shining Armor’s orders, everypony sprung to a computer and began attaching drives to take any information they found. Fleethoof dove to the nearest one and stared in awe at the amount of files stored in the Re’emian Archives. Everything was neatly organized and labeled. They had intel on everything under Celestia’s sun: espionage reports from Saddle Arabia, trade documentation from other nations, military plans, strategies, and protocols, every political action and order on and off the books, and so much more. There were even reports on Equestria-Griffon relations and projected simulations for future hostilities, as well as documents and photos of foreign leaders that would have bordered being blackmail.

“Hot damn, Re’em wasn’t holding anything back,” Sharp Shot said with a whistle. “Wish we could take all of this. It’d make one hell of a good tell-all book.”

“We’re here trying to prevent a catastrophe, not start another. Keep your hooves to Alaric’s stuff only,” Fleethoof reminded him.

“There’s a lot of stuff from when he was king.” Midnight was typing away like a madpony through the files, her beaming grin illuminated by the computer’s glow. She was in her element. “Meetings, deals, troop exchanges, you name it. It looks like he was getting pretty cozy with Mossad too. Looks like the director put an order out to secure all of his files a few days ago.”

Fleethoof nodded and said, “It would explain their reluctance to give him up. Can you find any reason why he’s protecting him?”

“Not yet. Let’s see how deep this rabbit hole goes…”

“Hey, I found something!” Sharp Shot shouted from across the room. Both Fleethoof and Shining Armor abandoned their searches to rush the unicorn’s position. “Turns out Alaric was a part of this PMC group almost twenty years ago. They were working with the Re’emian Army against the Saddle Arabians. Looks like they were damn good at what they did too. Tormented the Arabians for six years! The government adored these guys.”

“More bad news for us,” muttered Shining. “The Re’emians aren’t just protecting Alaric—they love the son of a bitch.”

“I’ll say. They wanted to award Alaric and make him an honorary Re’emian.”

Fleethoof cocked his head to the side. “So why didn’t they?”

“Because he became king of the Griffon Kingdom,” Sharp Shot said as he read further into the files. “Looks like his father died just before they could and he went home to take his throne. They’ve been keeping meticulous records on him every year since then, all neatly organized chronologically.”

“Any reports on where he is now?”

Sharp Shot clicked through a few more files, then shook his head with a frown. “Nope. The reports end just after the Second War. Looks like they didn’t wanna be friends with ol’ Alaric after he screwed the pooch.”

Of course they fucking do… Fleethoof scowled and turned on his heels. Everypony else was hard at work filtering and searching through the thousands of files for any mentions of Alaric. Even with the computer doing most of the legwork, they’d be here all night at this rate.

“Okay, grab all those files, soldier,” Shining ordered, then turned back to the others and asked, “Got anything else?” There was no response from anypony. “Keep looking. There has to be something here.”

Fleethoof returned to his computer with a heavy sigh as the machine finished its search of anything with Alaric’s name in it. He skipped past the old military records Sharp Shot had just showed him, perusing through the diplomatic and economic reports between the Griffon Kingdom and Re’em during Alaric’s reign. Trade between the two countries nearly tripled in those years, not that it came as any surprise. Alaric and the Re’emian government seemed thick as thieves. The revelation made Fleethoof taste bile rising in his throat.

Hope this manhunt doesn’t spark some sort of diplomatic crisis, he thought with a grim expression. The last thing Equestria needed was another enemy. He had just begun copying the trade and diplomacy reports when his headset crackled back to life.

“Phantoms, you’ve got incoming from the hall. One agent, looks like he just noticed the keypad…” Rook’s voice spoke evenly through the radio. “Yeah, he’s coming in. Weapon drawn.”

Fleethoof leapt and bounded over to the door again. Shining Armor took up position on the other side of the door and met his hard gaze with an equally cold eye. He didn’t nod or give any sort of gesture, but the unspoken body language between the two was enough to know the plan: subdue the inbound threat fast and hard. Fleethoof took a deep breath and steadied himself.

“He’s stopped just outside the door…”

He’s waiting to breach and take us by surprise… Time seemed to slow down while Fleethoof waited for his enemy to make his move. He ran his tongue over his dry lips, counting each second down. On the fourth, the door sprung open, smacking Shining Armor in the nose with an audible thump. The unicorn groaned and staggered backwards just as the Mossad agent stepped into the room. The first thing Fleethoof saw was the gun. That was all he needed.

The moment the gun came through the door, Fleethoof grabbed the pistol by the slide and laid a sucker punch across the stallion’s face. The hit stunned him enough for Fleethoof to twist the gun and pry it loose from the agent’s grasp. However, before he could take his enemy down, the stallion turned his stagger into momentum and brought a hind leg up into Fleethoof’s jaw, kicking him just below his chin. Fleethoof stumbled back, the gun clattering to the floor with the sound of metal hitting metal.

Shining Armor sprung into action, lunging at the Mossad agent and wrapping his hooves under his chest like a tackle. The two slammed into the wall, Shining pinning the agent to the surface. He grunted when he lifted the stallion and slammed him into the floor, using his weight to pin him. However, the agent managed to slip a hoof between them and land two hard strikes just below Shining’s ribcage, knocking the wind from his lungs with a heavy gasp, then buck him backwards into one of the servers with a slam and clatter of metal.

Fleethoof dove onto the agent as he was getting to his hooves again. The two tumbled about on the floor in a mess of bodies and flailing hooves. Fleethoof took an elbow to the end of his nose and saw stars. He felt his hoof make contact with the side of the stallion’s skull, then punched his side until the agent groaned and doubled up. Shining was up and running over to help Fleethoof subdue his opponent, but the agent made another lunge with his rear hooves, catching Shining Armor between his legs. Shining yelped and nearly collapsed to the floor. Fleethoof was losing his grip on the squirming agent—and then the pony slipped out of his blazer, leaving Fleethoof clutching an empty pile of fabric.

The Mossad agent scrambled to his hooves, starting to get his bearings. Fleethoof’s heart hammered against his ribs like a drum. He couldn’t let the agent see their faces! If he identified them as Equestrians, they were done! Fleethoof flapped his wings, using the added momentum to throw himself at the agent just as he made his turn to find his attackers. He wrapped the blazer around the pony’s head and collapsed with him onto the ground, tying it like a makeshift mask around the pony’s face while he gave muffled shouts and struggled to break free.

“Take him down! Take him down!” Fleethoof hissed through gritted teeth to Shining.

Shining Armor’s horn glowed with magic, then a thin bolt of energy arced like lightning from his horn and struck the Mossad agent in the chest. The glow encompassed his body and the pony went rigid, his muscles tensing, and then he relaxed into a heap on the floor. Fleethoof slowly unraveled the blazer from around his face. The stallion lay unconscious on the floor.

“Goddess damn, these Mossad agents don’t play nice,” Shining wheezed, still trying to catch his lost breath.

“You’re not getting a Purple Heart for getting kicked in the nuts,” Fleethoof said and got back up on his hooves. He peered down at the agent that had found them, then he froze. He recognized that dark burgundy coat and sandy mane. Oooooh shit… “I know this pony…”

Shining Armor lifted a brow. “You do?”

“I think so. Hey, Sharp, come here and make sure I’m not losing my mind, okay?”

Sharp Shot swiveled away from his computer and trotted around the server. He glanced between the two standing stallions, then down at the one on the ground. “Oh shit! That’s that Re’emian fucker that helped us before!”

“That’s what I was afraid of…” Just to verify his fears, Fleethoof leaned down and inspected the pony’s ID badge up close. Chaim Lieb. Damn, sorry, Chaim. Nothing personal, he thought with a grimace. Sure hope he doesn’t remember what my voice sounded like. “We need to hurry this up.” With a nod, Shining agreed. “Somepony tell me we’ve got something more than old news articles and receipts.”

“Sorry, boss, looks like all the Re’emians have is his record from when he was a PMC, a ton of articles and commendations for his actions, a few Mossad personnel reports on him, and his stuff when he was king. Nothing recent.” Sharp Shot leaned back from the computer and sighed.

Shining Armor snorted and stomped around the Archives. “Come on, there has to be something for us! Don’t tell me we broke in here for nothing!”

Fleethoof licked his lips again and ran a nervous hoof through his mussed up mane. He paced the floor, his hooves making metallic clop-clops with each step. His head hurt from fighting with Chaim and the low lighting. There had to be something they were missing. Maybe the Re’emians had removed any files and stored them somewhere else? But where would they have put them? There was nowhere more safe in the entire country than the room they were standing in right now. The irony was enough to make him smirk, though it was short-lived. So what were they missing?

“Maybe there was never anything here we needed,” he dared to think aloud. “Maybe Just Cause was wrong and we just walked in here for no—”

“I think I’ve got something!” Midnight cheered from across the room.

Fleethoof let his negativity die with the sentence on his tongue. He and Shining moved to Midnight’s computer with quick strides. She had pulled up the personnel file marked with the Mossad emblem. A mare’s photo stared back at them from the glowing screen.

“What are we looking at here, Corporal Dasher?” Shining Armor asked.

“Gentlecolts, say hello to Chaniya.”

“Hello, Chaniya,” Fleethoof murmured to the grainy photograph, then fixed Midnight with a curious stare. “Why are we saying hello to this mare?”

Midnight reclined back on her haunches with a wide smile. “Because Chaniya no longer works for the Mossad.”

“And this helps us how?” Shining asked with a start.

“Because prior to her being removed, she worked as a Mossad liaison with foreign aid, specifically soldiers and mercenaries that were hired to fight for Re’em.” Midnight tapped a line of text on the screen. “Read her last assignment.”

Fleethoof leaned in closer. Chaniya’s last liaison assignment had been to Alaric’s PMC group. “Well, I’ll be damned…” he said and chuckled.

“On top of that, she was brought up on multiple disciplinary citations of fraternizing with her liaisons. Sounds like my kinda mare, hehe.” Midnight paused when neither stallion beside her laughed. She pouted and sulked. “Grumps… Anyway, she was removed from the Mossad after she went AWOL and never came back,” Midnight continued to explain. “Guess when she disappeared off the face of the earth?”

“August 9th, Solar Era 1000.” Shining Armor’s eyes began to widen in understanding. “That was a week after the war ended.”

“And more than enough time for Alaric to escape and flee here,” Fleethoof said. The blanks were beginning to fill in. He knew where Midnight was going with this. “If she was involved with Alaric, she would have the means and resources to sneak him into Re’em and then out to anywhere in the world. She could be our key to finding him.”

“And if Alaric’s kept her on the side for his own pleasure, he may even be with her,” Midnight pointed out.

Fleethoof patted Midnight on the shoulder. “That’s good work, Mid. Do you have a location on Chaniya?”

“At first, no. I didn’t think I’d be able to track her down since the Mossad didn’t have much to go on. They had a small investigation, but I guess they either didn’t think it worth the time to hunt down a lowly liaison agent or they just didn’t care. Then I began to look into her background and I found an old safe house she used to be in charge of when she was Mossad’s liaison to the Marexican government. If I had to guess one place in the world she’d be, my money’s on there.”

“Well, you know what they say about what happens in Marexico…” Fleethoof and Midnight both nickered. “Good job, Midnight. Copy that intel. Was there anything else?” Midnight shook her head. He lifted his head and said louder, “Sharp, do you have anything else? Anything at all?” No response. Fleethoof glanced down at his watch. They had been looking through the Archives for just under an hour and already had one agent almost catch them. “All right, start wrapping it up, ponies! Copy and save what you have. We’re getting out of here.”

“Phantom leader to away teams, we’re packing up here,” Shining spoke through the radio to Centurion, Rook, and Valiant. “Start making your way to the eighth floor and we’ll figure out our extraction. Recon team keep an eye out for us.”

“Copy, sir,” Valiant replied.

No response came from Centurion or Rook. Concern scrunched deep creases in Shining Armor’s forehead. “Phantom leader to security team, do you read me?”

“Not now, Shining…” Centurion’s voice rasped through his headset in a rough whisper.

“What’s going on?” Fleethoof asked. Shining could only shrug and shake his head. “Try them again.”

“Security team, give me a sitrep, ASAP. What is going on?” A long stretch of silence answered him back. His eyes narrowed to a glare, and he growled out, “Security team, respond now!”

BWEEEEP! BWEEEEP! BWEEEEP!

The shrill cry of an alarm shattered the silence in the building like a glass on a concrete floor. Fleethoof felt his heart leap up into his throat. He looked around in a panic. Beside him, Midnight had sprung to her hooves as well and was covering her sensitive ears, a look of excruciating pain contorting her features. Sharp Shot was spinning around in his chair, his head snapping to and fro to locate the sound. Both ponies looked as distressed as Fleethoof felt—save for Shining Armor. The Captain of the Guard looked livid.

“Centurion, Rook, what the hell was that?!”

“Shinin’, I’ll explain later! We’re headin’ your way now. Just get ready to run!”

Shining Armor gnashed his teeth together and let loose a series of irate snorts. Fleethoof had never seen him so worked up before. “Everypony ignore the alarm and grab the drives! Move, move, move! We’re getting the hell outta here!”

Fleethoof rushed back to secure the drive attached to his computer before making sure they were shutting down. The last thing they needed was to remain logged in with their decryption programs running. The scene inside the Archives and become chaos and pandemonium. Everypony was scurrying to secure the files and cover their tracks. He still had no idea what had happened, but whatever Centurion and Rook had done, it had screwed them.

Now they had to face the entire Mossad coming to kill them. They had no weapons, they had no backup, and they had no way out. All Fleethoof could do was give an incredulous laugh. And this was going so well… Fuck me…

If Fleethoof had thought the dark hallways were a confusing maze before, they were an impassable labyrinth now. The alarm continued to wail through the building like a knell signaling their coming deaths. It would only be a matter of minutes before Mossad agents flooded the building and trapped them like rats. They had to get out before that happened.

Fleethoof and Shining ran through the dark at the head of the pack, looking for any familiar landmarks to navigate with. The sound of stomping hooves caught Fleethoof’s pricked ears. He could see the beams of flashlights bouncing around through the glass walls of offices.

“Guards! Get low!”

The operators dropped to a crouch as the guards ran by in a blur. Going to secure the Archives… he realized. They passed by without a glance in their direction. Once the coast was clear, the ponies sprung up to their hooves and sprinted for the stairs. Fleethoof’s breathing came in short and harsh. His lungs sucked in as much oxygen as he could in shallows breaths while he bolted just behind Shining Armor. His head was on a constant swivel, keeping an eye out for any more guards. They might have been caught, but they hadn’t been found yet.

It took a little bit longer than he would have liked, but Shining eventually found the way to the stairs again, yanking the door open in a hurry and nearly colliding with another pony. “Hooves! Show me your hooves!” he ordered. The pegasus on the other side looked just as started as they were—he also happened to be wearing the same uniform as them. “Celestia dammit, Sergeant Valiant!”

“Sorry, sir! I was just coming to find you!” he said in his defense. At Fleethoof’s motion, the pegasus rejoined the ranks of the others.

“Where the hell are Centurion and Rook?” the pegasus captain asked.

Shining shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know.”

As if they had heard Fleethoof’s question, a door somewhere below them flew open with enough force to slam into the concrete wall with a resounding bang that echoed in the stairwell. Hooves thundered up the stairs toward them until the two ponies in question came dashing up. Rook was splattered with blood, and Centurion had a trickle of red running down a laceration on the back of his head.

“Run, you sons o’ bitches, run!” Centurion shouted.

The door slammed open again. Down below, shouts and calls in Re’emian chased after them. Fleethoof felt ice water run through his veins. The guards were hot on their heels. Without even saying a word, he turned and ran, everypony else already following the Rangers’ lead and making a mad dash down the corridors. Fleethoof had no idea where any of them were going; he doubted any of them knew either. But anywhere was better than here.

Somewhere else in the black hallways the pounding of heavy hooffalls of the other security team searching for them seemed to come from all side. They had to have found the Archives broken into by now. Just Cause hadn’t warned them of what would happen if they were caught. Would the building be locked down and sealed tight? Would they even have an option of escape now? All he said was to handle it however they saw fit.

So we treat it like we’re trapped, Fleethoof thought. In the flurry of signs and rooms rushing past them, he caught sight of an elevator sign out of the corner of his eye, the little symbol of a pony stepping into a box unmistakable.

“Wait! This way! This way!” Fleethoof pushed to the head of the group and took a sharp turn.

Another sign directed him around another corner, then down the long hallway. He followed the signs until they rounded a large archway and ran into the eighth floor lobby. A row of four elevators sat in wait for them. Fleethoof breathed a sigh of relief—then skidded to a halt when the agent behind the desk rose to her hooves in shock. The agent reached for something, but Rook moved faster, drawing down on her with his pistol.

“Don’t move or I paint the wall with your brains!” he ordered, freezing the agent in her tracks. “I’ve got her. Get the elevator.”

Fleethoof was caught between a desire to scold the Ranger for disobeying Minister Cause’s direct orders to relinquish all weapons and thanking him for doing so. He put his internal conflict aside and ran to the elevators, hitting both up and down buttons. Whichever car came first they’d use as their escape. His mind was a flurry of dire thoughts while they waited, scrambling for any semblance of a plan. They couldn’t go out the front door, they couldn’t rappel off the roof…

So we rappel from a lower floor.

Ding! With a musical chime, the furthest elevator doors slid open. Fleethoof hurried to check the empty car, then held the door open and waved the rest of the team in. Rook held his gun on the Mossad agent and disarmed her while the others hurried into the cramped elevator, just managing to fit everypony.

“C’mon, Rook, you’re next.” Fleethoof held the door for the Ranger while he backpedaled into the elevator, leering at the agent all the time. Then Fleethoof slid into the car and hit the fourth floor button on reflex. Any floor was a good floor.

The doors slid closed with a quiet sound of moving pistons and metal, and then the car lurched downward. Rook handed the Mossad agent’s pistol to Centurion who began checking the weapon. “Well, this is a fine mess,” he muttered under his breath.

“What the fuck did you guys do?!” Sharp Shot asked.

“We had a complication with security. Somepony tried calling us. We ignored it, so they sent a team to check in on us.”

“Caught us with our pants down,” Centurion said. He pulled the slide of the pistol back, checking to make sure a round was chambered. “Didn’t know anypony was comin’ till the lock opened. Talk about a surprise.”

“We weren’t surprised,” said Rook in rebuttal. “We just didn’t have a contingency plan for this.”

Sharp Shot barked a laugh and shot the Ranger a huge shit-eating grin. “I bet you pissed your pants, didn’t you?”

“I will beat your face in, little unicorn.”

“Hey, foals,” Shining started, turning to the two with a hard look, “do you mind if this waits until after we’ve gotten to the embassy?”

The elevator doors opened with another musical ping. Shining Armor and Fleethoof turned back to the sliding metal doors—and the half a dozen Mossad agents standing on the other side. He had been wrong. Any floor was not a good floor!

“Oh shit!”

“Down!” Fleethoof shouted and grabbed the collars of the two ponies nearest him, pulling them down to the floor as the agents lifted their submachine guns and began firing into the car. Rook shouted a profanity and returned fire with Centurion, forcing the agents to break from the open door. Somepony yelped.

“Wrong floor!” Sharp Shot cried out and reached a hoof up and mashed random buttons on the control panel until the doors closed again. The sound of bullets hitting the door like pebbles being thrown at a window deafened the inside of the elevator car, and then they began moving upward.

Fleethoof took several deep breaths to slow his racing heart. He lifted his head and peered around at the others in the car. There was no blood splattered against the wall, and nopony was screaming, so they must have escaped without any injuries. He called out for a status check and was rewarded with a mixture of groans and curses.

“I’m hit,” Valiant said. “Sorta.” Fleethoof’s gaze turned to the pony in a hurry. Valiant had a hoof pressed to the side of his head, covering his ear. A trail of blood was cutting down the side of his face.

“Let me have a look. Move your hoof.” Fleethoof gently urged Valiant’s hoof away from his injury. A bullet had torn a hole through the edge of his ear, just missing his skull by centimeters. “It’s not that bad. Let me get a bandage on it.”

Shining Armor glanced up at the control panel. Sharp Shot had hit floor nine. “Better make it quick. We don’t have a ton of time.”

“Hope you always wanted your ears pierced, Val,” Sharp Shot said with a chuckle.

“I really didn’t.” He winced when Fleethoof tightened the gauze. “Dammit, Charm’s gonna kill me for this.”

Sharp Shot peered back at the pegasus with a raised brow. “Who’s Charm?”

Valiant’s ears lowered to his skull until Fleethoof ushered them back up to finish adhering the bandage to his wound. “Silver Charm. My partner. Do you really need to talk about this now?”

“Yes. You mean lover?” Sharp corrected with a smirk. “Why haven’t you introduced the lovely lady to us yet? Are you embarrassed of us?”

“You’re always an embarrassment, Sharp…” Fleethoof murmured, earning a few titters and nickers from Midnight and Valiant. Sharp gave a deadpan laugh and rolled his eyes.

“But really, why have you kept this from your old buddy Sharp Shot? You’re hurting my feelings, Vally.”

“I didn’t do it intentionally! He’s always kept so busy in the Capitol, keeping track of records and important documents. Besides, we’re a classified unit. I can’t just be bringing visitors willy-nilly!”

“Oooh, Congress worker, eh? What’s he—” Sharp Shot trailed off, staring off into space. The ears in his head began turning. When the realization was made, he stared at Valiant with stunned eyes. “…Did you say ‘he’?” Valiant nodded his head. Sharp looked at the back of Fleethoof’s head. “Did you know—?”

“Yep.”

“How—?”

“Believe it or not, Valiant’s a very open pony when you’re not making fun of him.”

Sharp turned his attention back to a nonchalant Valiant. “How long—?”

“Staff Sergeant,” Fleethoof said, his loud voice booming in the confined space of the elevator, “I appreciate your efforts to get to know your teammates better, but this is not the time nor the place for it. If you’d like to meet Valiant’s coltfriend when we get back to Canterlot, then set up a lunch date. Right now I need you to keep your head here. Understood?”

Sharp Shot grumbled, “Yes, boss…”

“Good.”

There was a period of silence as the elevator rose up past the seventh floor, then the eighth.

“Did you really not know…?” Midnight Dasher whispered to Sharp Shot.

Ding! Everypony went rigid and tense, waiting for the doors to open. Fleethoof’s breath caught in his throat. The doors slid open at their own pace, revealing… nothing. The dark emptiness of the ninth floor lobby was a refreshing sight, one that brought much needed relief to Fleethoof’s pounding heart. Rook and Centurion moved out first, clearing the lobby before the others moved out.

“Clear,” Rook called out.

“Okay, so what’s the escape plan, Captains?” Rook asked.

Shining Armor was busy checking his saddlebags for his rappelling gear. “We rappel out of the building, get over the wall, and haul ass to the Equestrian embassy six blocks away.”

“Do we have enough rope to reach the ground from up here?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” said Shining, his face as impassive as it had been since they began their mission. His eye was steeled and unreadable. “Let’s go find a window and get the hell out of here before anypony else gets hurts.”

“Phantoms, be advised: we’re tracking a lot of hostile movement on the ground. They’ve secured the yard and more agents are showing up at the gates,” Fire Wave came through on the radio.

Midnight shuffled closer and tugged on Fleethoof’s sleeve. “Fleet…”

At her shaky word, Fleethoof turned and looked at the mare, then followed her fearful gaze back to the elevators. The numbers above each one showed that two were on the move, heading up for them. The agents had tracked their movements and were coming after them.

“Time to move,” he said.

Shining Armor nodded. “Centurion, take point. Find us a window.”

Centurion nodded his head, then proceeded down the long hallways, gun raised and ready for any surprises. The offices and corridors were still and abandoned. Fleethoof considered it a blessing. It meant all of the security on this floor had probably been called to the lower levels to deal with them and secure the Archives. He slowed his gait, letting the other operators pass him by. His eyes followed each face that went by, doing a mental check that everypony was still present and all right. Midnight was the only one to linger, waiting until they were both at the rear of the group before they ran after them. Fleethoof liked playing rear security. He was able to keep an eye on everypony now.

That was when the glass walls next to them exploded as bullets smashed through them. Fleethoof ducked under the flying lead and glass shards, the glistening shrapnel spraying all over the ponies. Rook stood up and returned fire at the guard on the other side of the office cubicles, catching him in the shoulder and knocking him to the ground with a cry of pain.

“Move! Move! Move!” shouted Shining Armor.

Centurion led the group to the end of the hall and ducked right. With a loud crash, he kicked a door in on itself and ran in. One by one, the others followed inside. Fleethoof was breathing hard when he came in, pushing the doors shut again. They were in a conference room of some kind. A long oval table with chairs around it sat in the middle of the room with a whiteboard and projector off to the far side. Moonlight filtered into the room through the wall of glass that stared out into the city, covering everything in a silvery veil.

“All right, this’ll work. Everypony get your gear out.” Shining set to removing each piece of his rappelling gear. He motioned Rook over to the window. “Get two anchors hooked up, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.” Rook grabbed two magnetic anchors from the ponies’ rappelling gear and smashed one of the large glass pane windows. Shards of sparkling glass rained down on the floor and the side of the building. He began attaching the magnetized bases to the steel window frame, testing the strength of each before securing the hooks to them.

Fleethoof paced back and forth in front of the door while the others worked to hook up the ropes to the mounts, then to descenders. He slid his sleeve back to peer down at the face of his watch with a leer. It had just turned 1:50. By now, every agent in Mossad would be flooding this building trying to hunt down the daring intruders with nothing short of extreme prejudice. The ones in the elevator were scouring the floor by now, turning over every office looking for them. Time was up. They had to leave now.

“Okay, everypony hook up. We’re getting out of here.”

Shining Armor took his position at the edge of the window and attached his rope to his harness’ link. Giving the rope an experimental tug, he shuffled his hooves closer to the edge, then jumped backwards and disappeared over the edge. Fleethoof watched the nylon rope pull taut against the anchor and prepared to dive out the window in case it gave. It held strong, the magnets proving far more effective than he gave them credit for. Rook stepped up to the second rope, secured himself, and then he was gone too.

One at a time, the operators incapable of flight dropped down the side of the building. Sharp Shot looked like he was on the verge of throwing up just before he went over with a pathetic yelp of fear. Midnight stood by the door, her expression dropping.

“Hoofsteps!” she said in a low hiss.

“Go, Midnight. Go.” Fleethoof pulled her away from the door and pushed her towards the window. He peered down the ropes to the ponies reaching the bottom of it now. They had just enough rope to reach the top of the first floor, meaning it was a ten foot drop from the end to the ground. But more importantly, they were still on the rope. If the agents came in and saw the ropes, they’d cut them and the ponies would be done. He stopped Midnight with a hoof on her chest. “Wait. Do you still have that thing I got you after the incident with Clydesdale?”

Midnight stared at Fleethoof for a full second, then opened her mouth in an acknowledging ‘O’ shape. She began patting down her vest pouches until she pulled a small black taser from within. Fleethoof took the device from her and motioned back toward the window. She stood on the edge, but she didn’t jump.

“Don’t do anything stupid, pegasus,” she said as she glanced back at him. Fleethoof smirked and flicked his golden mane out of his eyes.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, bat.”

She nodded, and then she was gone, sailing through the warm night air and out of sight. Fleethoof watched her leave just as he heard the door to the neighboring office get smashed in. A ripple tensed all of his muscles like a tiger waiting for its prey to come closer. He moved a chair and shoved it beneath the handles. He then turned to face the closed doors and leveled the taser with them. Any amount of time he could buy the others to safely reach the ground would be invaluable.

The doors shook as something strong impacted them, but the chair held firm. The doors refused to budge, even after a second hit, and then a third. A fourth started scraping the chair against the hardwood floor with a terrible screech. Fleethoof sucked in a steadying breath and focused his aim. The fifth blow knocked the chair loose, and then the sixth broke open the doors. Two Mossad agents ran through the doorway.

Fleethoof pulled the plastic trigger on the taser. Four metal prongs flew from the defensive weapon and struck one of the agents in the chest. The pony made a grunting sound when he dropped to the floor, body spasming like he was having a seizure. In the same instant, Fleethoof dropped the taser and pulled the pin of the flashbang attached to his vest. He tossed it to the floor as the second agent was getting his bearings. He drew down on him while Fleethoof threw himself through the open window. There was a bright light, then a bang, and then he was falling.

Warm air hit his face and rippled over his body. Opening his eyes was a big mistake. Fleethoof saw colors soaring past him as he descended toward the ground. His wings popped open and he settled into a glide into the gardens around the building. The soft grass crunched underneath his hooves when he touched down, trotting a short distance until he slowed to a stop. Sharp Shot had just jumped from the bottom of the rope and landed on the ground with a grunt. Only Centurion remained on the rope now—and the agents above had just discovered them.

Fleethoof watched two ponies pry at the anchor with their hooves. The magnets gave, and the rope went slack. Centurion cried out as he began to plummet to the ground. With a beat of his wings, Fleethoof took to the sky again, hurtling towards the falling pony as fast as he could. He swept alongside the building to keep from crashing into it and intercepted him between the second and third floors. The impact knocked the wind from him, but he flew on, breathless and dazed, until he hit the ground again. The two of them tumbled across the grass for a moment, Fleethoof ending up on his side while Centurion drew the lucky straw and stopped on his hooves. From his wide-eyed expression, Fleethoof guessed falling to one’s death was as terrifying as he imagined it would be.

“Good save…” Centurion said amidst gasps for breath.

“Thank me when we’re at the embassy.” Fleethoof groaned when he got to his hooves, ignoring the stinging in his wing. His aching body protested the movement, but the adrenaline rush was thankfully dulling the pain and giving him his second wind. “Come on, we’ve gotta go.”

“How are we getting out of here?” Sharp Shot asked. “Not all of us are lucky enough to be able to fly, ya know.”

Fleethoof nodded to the other two members of his team. “Mid, Val, let’s lift ‘em up.”

“So how are we— Hey!” Sharp Shot was abruptly cut off when Midnight lifted him off the ground. Her leathery wings whooshed overhead as she carried the flailing unicorn over the wall and dropped him with an audible thud on the other side.

“Okay, who’s next?” she said with a casual smile when she came back.

“Touch me and you die,” scowled Rook. He was swiftly absconded by Valiant, who carried the Ranger to safety.

Fleethoof looked to Shining Armor, the two exchanging a hard, reluctant stare before the unicorn sighed and hung his head, then held his hooves out to the side. The pegasus smirked and wrapped his hooves under Shining’s legs, then lifted him with a grunt into the air. Flying with Shining’s additional weight wasn’t too arduous, just slow. He set him down on the opposite side while Midnight returned to get Centurion.

Gunshots rang out in the night. Bullets smacked into the concrete wall around the property, coming from the small army of agents rushing from the building toward them. Fleethoof did a quick check to make sure everypony had made it over, then dove behind the cover of the wall with the other ponies. Sharp Shot chucked a smoke grenade back over the wall just before they took off down the street, running as fast as they could. In the open, they would be very conspicuous, but Fleethoof knew it didn’t matter. They had already tripped the alarm and raised a red flag. All they had to do now was get off the streets as fast as possible without getting stopped.

“This way! It’s this way!” Valiant led the misfit crew down the sidewalks and dark alleys, avoiding the roads as much as they could.

In the night, Fleethoof hugged the shadows, watching their backs as they ran. His heart was pounding like it was fit to burst. Fire filled his lungs, burning and scorching his veins with each breath he swallowed. Sirens blared out from the streets around them. The police were responding to the infiltration at the Mossad. He smirked when he pictured the expressions on their faces when they realized their most secure building had been broken into. They had done the impossible. They had infiltrated and escaped the Mossad Headquarters.

The ponies kept low in the shadows until the others rendezvoused with them on the ground. All together again and with one final glance back at the towering glass building, Fleethoof darted down an alley after his team and vanished into the night.