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The CIA briefing room was a place of practiced silence, a room that had seen unspeakable secrets and listened without flinching. Now, the silence held a different charge, as agents and analysts waited on edge for the next revelation. Ben Russo, a seasoned CIA operative with years of counterintelligence under his belt, sat at the end of the table, expression hardened. A veteran of many crises, Russo had seen his share of political fallout, but this was personal—and far more dangerous. Russo cleared his throat, drawing the room’s attention to the thick file in front of him.
“Alright, here’s the bombshell.” He tossed the file onto the table, its contents spilling out—photos, emails, notes from surveillance. “Turns out, we’re not just dealing with celebrities with a taste for foreign money. Lovato’s been sleeping with Secretary of Defense Mattis. This wasn’t just a fling; she’s got him on a damn leash.”
Chris Harmon, the FBI’s Counterintelligence Chief, a man known for his cautious approach to crises, felt his jaw slacken as he processed the words. He’d been briefed on Hollywood’s entanglements before, but never one that reached into the nation’s defense department. “Jesus Christ, Ben, you can’t be serious,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. Harmon’s eyes darted to the file, the pieces starting to come together in his mind—the North Korean funds, Glamour Records, Lovato’s trips overseas. “Are you telling me she had access to Mattis, our Secretary of Defense, and everything that comes with him?”
“Dead serious,” Russo replied, his voice like ice. “If she’s in bed with Mattis, God only knows who else she’s compromised.” Russo’s grim expression left no room for doubt, and the words hung heavy in the air, a dangerous reality that no one in the room could ignore.
Tina Morales, a cryptologist from the NSA, straightened in her chair, her usual calm veneer fractured. “This is…this is beyond reckless,” she muttered, rifling through the photos and briefing notes in front of her. She raised her gaze to Russo, anger simmering in her eyes. “You’re telling us that the woman funding North Korean arms has access to the man in charge of ours?”
Russo nodded, his face a stony mask. “Exactly. And if Mattis let his guard down even once, even in passing, she might’ve walked away with enough information to do serious damage.”
Morales exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “You’re kidding me. This is the goddamn Secretary of Defense we’re talking about, not some rookie soldier. We’ll need to dig through every message, every call, every detail to understand what we’re dealing with.”
Russo leaned forward, his face a tight mask of disbelief. “Jesus Christ, it’s like the goddamn Profumo affair all over again,” he muttered. “The same reckless arrogance, the same foreign entanglements. Only this time, we’re not talking about some British minister and a showgirl—we’ve got a Secretary of Defense tangled up with a pop star, feeding intelligence straight into the hands of North Korea. If this blows up, it’ll make Profumo look like a damn footnote.”
The room fell silent as each person contemplated the depth of the potential breach, the consequences stretching beyond borders and into classified corridors.
After a moment, Harmon found his voice, a mix of frustration and dread lacing his words. “Alright, then. What’s our next move?"
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The FBI’s Counterintelligence Division headquarters was steeped in tension, each corner filled with analysts, agents, and experts who knew the weight of what they were dealing with. Chris Harmon paced the room, his face flushed with frustration as he reviewed the latest findings. Every file, every image and audio transcript seemed to tighten the noose around the nation’s security, and Harmon knew that if this mess wasn’t contained quickly, the fallout would be unimaginable.
“Alright, bring me up to speed on what we have on Mattis,” Harmon said, his tone curt as he turned to Ben Russo. Russo, a man who’d seen his fair share of close calls in national security, wore an expression of grim resolve. He flipped open the thick file on the table, revealing a series of photos and heavily redacted travel logs.
“Here’s where things get dicey, Chris,” Russo began, pulling out a document showing travel records for Mattis from the last eighteen months. “We’ve got travel logs that place him in Monte Carlo around the same time Lovato was there with that entourage from Glamour Records. He was supposedly incognito, using a government-sanctioned alias. Now, normally, this wouldn’t be a red flag—he’s been granted those freedoms for security purposes in the past. But combine that with the intel we’re getting out of North Korea…”
“Wait a second,” Harmon interrupted, a fire sparking in his eyes. “You’re saying they were there together?”
“Not officially, but we’ve got corroboration through NSA chatter,” Russo replied, his tone low. “The transmissions indicate that North Korean agents were monitoring them at the casino. There was also a signal from an operative at the same hotel, using one of those damned laser microphones to eavesdrop.”
Tina Morales, an NSA cryptologist, cut in, visibly irritated as she sifted through the NSA’s decryption files on North Korean transmissions. “And here’s where it gets worse,” she said, pushing a stack of papers toward Harmon. “If Mattis leaked any sensitive information—even inadvertently—we could be dealing with a fallout we haven’t seen since the Cold War. These aren’t just rumors; North Korean transmissions suggest they’ve managed to bypass tech barriers, thanks to those missile schematics we’re suddenly realizing are missing.”
Harmon slammed a fist onto the table. “Damn it all to hell! It’s bad enough they’ve stolen our EMP tech, but a connection with the Secretary of Defense? How the hell did it come to this?”
Morales shook her head, frustration etched across her face. “We trusted Mattis to keep his guard up, to not let his personal life get tangled with the country’s security. If he let slip even the smallest detail around her, there’s no telling what she might have passed on. And Demi Lovato…” She scoffed, shuffling through surveillance photos of Lovato and Mattis at a gala. “I can’t believe we’re actually saying her name in a briefing on national security, but it’s clear she’s more than just a celebrity caught up in this mess.”
Russo leaned back, crossing his arms as he surveyed the faces around him. “There’s one more layer to this. Apparently, there’s evidence that suggests Mattis wasn’t her only target. Glamour Records has a few other contacts who have been involved in ‘philanthropy’ projects across Eastern Europe—funding routes that look suspiciously like fronts for Russian and North Korean arms programs.”
Harmon’s eyes narrowed. “And we have Lovato’s name mixed up in all of it? Jesus… It’s like she’s some twisted saint to them. We’re looking at an entire financial pipeline with her at the center.” His gaze moved to Morales. “Tina, what’s the latest decryption telling us about this?”
Morales exhaled sharply, glancing through the most recent files. “We’re decoding transcripts that include her name in North Korean communications. They’re not even trying to hide it; she’s being referenced as if she’s an asset of theirs. It’s clear they view her as indispensable.” She slammed the file shut, her tone turning bitter. “If there was any hope of this not being an international scandal, that hope is dead. We’re looking at American celebrity culture being manipulated as a soft power tool by our adversaries—and worse, they’ve managed to slip right through our defenses.”
Harmon grimaced, pulling himself back from the abyss of frustration and focusing on what needed to be done. “Alright,” he said, voice steady but tense, “we need to take action now. First, we re-evaluate every interaction Mattis had while in Lovato’s circle. Then we need a warrant on Glamour Records. We’re tearing into their financials, every single cent.” He turned to Morales and Russo, his face hard. “If she’s passing on our military secrets, even by association, there’s going to be hell to pay. And I’m not letting any damn celebrity or Defense Secretary throw this country into chaos.”16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOfPO54C5wO
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In the dimly lit interrogation room, Agents Baker and Grant stared down the Glamour Records executives, whose defiance was barely holding up under scrutiny. Tommy Harker, the CFO, a tall, wiry man with graying hair and a nervous tic in his right eye, shifted uncomfortably under the sharp gaze of Agent Baker, whose stone-faced expression promised no reprieve. Beside him sat Jenna Lee, Glamour’s Head of PR, her impeccably polished demeanor now showing signs of strain. She kept her arms crossed, her jaw clenched, as though a wall of defiance alone could shield her from the implications of her role in the company’s murky dealings.
Baker leaned forward, his fingers laced together, voice sharp. “Mr. Harker, Ms. Lee—this isn’t just a PR crisis, and I don’t think you’re really grasping the stakes here. We’re talking about funding linked to a sanctioned regime, and both of you signed off on it. Not to mention, we’ve found a guest on your premises with a particular interest in American defense policy. Care to explain?”
The mention of Lebedev—a wealthy, controversial Russian oligarch with known ties to North Korean and Russian elites—elicited a visible flinch from Harker, and Lee’s expression darkened. They’d been warned that Glamour’s ties with overseas financiers might attract attention, but not on this level. Harker’s face broke into a cold sweat.
“I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” Harker stammered, casting a desperate look at Lee as though seeking confirmation or an escape. “Lebedev is… he’s just a business associate, one of many. He has nothing to do with our North Korean connections.”
“North Korean connections?” Grant smirked, folding his arms. “Funny you should be so specific, Mr. Harker. Let’s focus on Lovato’s dealings with North Korea for now. You were aware of her contacts, her financial exchanges, yes? And her affair with Secretary Mattis?” Grant let the question hang, watching as both executives exchanged tense glances.
Jenna Lee finally spoke, her tone icy. “Yes, we were aware of Demi’s, uh, interests. As for her personal life, it’s hardly our concern—”
“Oh, cut the bullshit, Ms. Lee,” Baker interrupted, his voice cold as steel. “She was under your payroll, and you knew she had Defense personnel in her pocket. That *is* your concern. The same way it’s your concern that her so-called philanthropic funds were funneled into sanctioned projects in Pyongyang.”
A strained silence followed. Lee’s hands gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles whitening. “We aren’t in control of every single client’s actions,” she shot back defensively, her voice growing sharper. “Glamour Records isn’t some foreign policy apparatus. Our contracts don’t—”
“You’re damn right they don’t, because they’re supposed to be legal,” Baker fired back, his patience thinning. “But here you are, bending over backward for Lovato, brushing off multiple red flags to make a profit.”
Harker broke in, desperate to shift the blame. “Look, Lovato’s been a loose cannon for a while. We all know she’s an eccentric—one of those stars who thinks they can change the world with their bank account. I didn’t think her relationship with Mattis was…that serious.”
Grant scoffed. “Serious enough to potentially compromise national security. How many other warning signs did you ignore, Mr. Harker? How many foreign dignitaries, ‘business associates,’ and ‘guests’ did you turn a blind eye to because it kept your pockets lined?”
Harker’s face turned red, but he kept his gaze lowered, unwilling to meet the agent’s eyes. He knew they had him pinned.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKXztzDGH1d
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The SIAC’s covert briefing room was shrouded in tension, the kind that clung to the walls and left each operative in rigid silence. The dim light from overhead cast a pallor over the assembled agents, analysts, and military liaisons seated around the room, each one of them bracing for the revelations they sensed were coming. The man at the head of the table, codenamed “Aegis,” a seasoned veteran with a background in covert operations, adjusted his reading glasses, his face a stony mask as he reviewed the latest decrypted communications from North Korea.
He let out a long, slow breath before speaking, his voice low and controlled. “We’ve pulled everything we could from this file, but it doesn’t get any easier to hear.” Aegis paused, looking up at the team before reading aloud, “Our asset has shown extraordinary results.” The words hung in the air, each syllable a gut punch.
One of the NSA operatives shifted in his seat, his face twisted in disbelief. “Christ,” he muttered, “that can only be Lovato. They’re calling her the asset now?”
Aegis met his gaze with a grim nod. “Looks that way. They used her, plain and simple. And our Defense Secretary waltzed right into it.” He closed the file and removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No wonder the Taeyang II was spotted off the Falklands,” he said bitterly. “She’s been feeding them all the leverage they need.”
An uncomfortable murmur rippled through the room as the implications sank in. North Korea’s second aircraft carrier, the Taeyang II, had recently made its presence known near the South Atlantic—a tactical nightmare no one had seen coming, all facilitated by a Hollywood star’s inexplicable connections to American defense personnel.
Colonel Grant, representing Military Intelligence, leaned forward, his face pale. “You’re telling us Mattis didn’t suspect a damn thing? Not even a whiff of this?”
Aegis looked back at him, his mouth a tight line. “Apparently not. He thought he was getting involved with a celebrity, a thrill, maybe even a thrill for his ego. Meanwhile, she’s been transferring tech funds through Glamour Records. North Korea’s been siphoning classified capabilities through her connections.” He turned a page, visibly disgusted. “And her ‘nonprofit’ contributions to Pyongyang were conveniently labeled as humanitarian aid.”
“Son of a bitch,” muttered one of the younger analysts, disbelief mingling with fury in his voice. “We thought those were empty PR stunts. How could she even have that kind of access?”
Aegis’s voice dropped even lower. “There’s more.” He read another decrypted message aloud, his tone betraying no emotion. “Her funds will advance our operation with ‘the guidance of the honorable sŏnjwa and be returned with interest.’” His eyes swept the room. “That’s a direct reference to Kim Jong-Un. He’s blessing her involvement. And here we are, still scrambling to piece this mess together while she’s practically wearing a goddamn medal in Pyongyang.”
A wave of shock reverberated around the table. An Army major clenched his fists, barely containing his anger. “This is treason, plain and simple.”
Aegis held up a hand to silence him. “Yes, and we’ve been probing Glamour Records’ finances, especially her little covert trips with Mattis to Europe. North Korea seems to have traced all that leverage right back to Lovato’s bank account. They’re calling her an asset, not a target.” His jaw clenched. “If Mattis shared anything sensitive with her, and they have a record of it…”
His subordinate, a young analyst fresh to SIAC, leaned forward, his face stricken with worry. “Sir, if this goes public—if it turns out Mattis compromised national security through a celebrity…” He swallowed. “We could be looking at open conflict. This won’t stay in the shadows.”
Aegis’s face darkened. “Exactly. That’s why we’re keeping this in the room. No leaks. The last thing we need is a media firestorm blowing this whole thing wide open before we’re ready.”
The tension was electric as Colonel Grant’s voice cut through. “So, what’s our move, Aegis? We can’t just wait and watch this play out.”
“We mobilize every available channel to nail down Lovato’s remaining assets,” Aegis said without hesitation, his eyes hard as steel. “I don’t give a damn if it’s Pyongyang or Moscow—trace every lead. We need everything she knows, everything she’s funded, and we need it now.”
“Understood,” muttered one of the agents. But as they exchanged wary glances, the truth loomed over them: they had never faced a situation like this before.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtBULCPlK2U
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The heavy oak door to Mattis’s office shut with a soft but decisive click as CIA Agent Ben Russo entered, his eyes immediately locking onto the Secretary of Defense. Russo was carrying a thick file and an air of unyielding purpose that instantly set the tone. Mattis, seated behind his broad, imposing desk, glanced up and met Russo's gaze, his face composed but with a flicker of discomfort in his eyes.
Without preamble, Russo crossed the room, setting the file on Mattis’s desk with a thud. "Secretary Mattis, we need answers. You know damn well this affair has national security written all over it," he said, his voice edged with barely concealed frustration. There was no respect for rank or deference in his tone; Russo was there as a man on a mission.
Mattis’s face hardened. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing slowly over his chest. “Agent Russo,” he replied in a measured, controlled voice, “I don’t owe you any personal details.” His eyes held a warning, but Russo didn’t flinch. Instead, he narrowed his gaze, refusing to back down.
“This is beyond personal,” Russo cut in sharply, his jaw tight. He leaned over the desk, his voice low but filled with intensity. “Did you talk about classified operations with her? Because now, that’s a matter of life and death.”
Mattis sat in silence for a moment, his face betraying no emotion, though his mind was a swirl of conflicting thoughts. He felt the accusation’s weight, the stark reality that a relationship he’d thought was contained could have spilled into dangerous territory. He finally responded, his tone a careful blend of defiance and discomfort. “I’m not some reckless fool, Russo,” he said. “I know the difference between pillow talk and national security.”
Russo’s eyes hardened. “And yet, here we are. You’re a decorated Marine, Mr. Secretary. You’ve been in more classified briefings than anyone else in this town, so you know the stakes. Demi Lovato is now tied to some of the most brazen acts of espionage we’ve seen in years, and the entire nation is at risk.”
Mattis clenched his jaw, his face now etched with a mix of anger and guilt. “Are you insinuating that I’m somehow responsible for this mess?”
Russo let out a bitter laugh, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “With all due respect, sir, I’m not insinuating anything. I’m outright asking you if you were compromised.” He paused, his gaze unrelenting. “This is no longer about the Department of Defense, or even your career, Mattis. This is about ensuring our enemies haven’t gained a foothold where we never thought possible.”
Mattis felt the familiar surge of pride rise in him, the instinct to defend himself as a patriot, as a man who had dedicated his life to the country. But Russo’s words struck a nerve, digging into his conscience. A cold weight settled in his gut as he thought back to moments that, in hindsight, had seemed harmless but were now tinted with suspicion.
“Demi didn’t…ask me about specific operations,” he said finally, his tone defensive but the words sounding hollow, even to him. “She never pried into that sort of thing.”
Russo raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “And you think she needed to?” he countered. “Sometimes all it takes is a few dropped comments, a hint of where we’re sending troops next, or how we’re handling surveillance in hot zones. She didn’t need to be an expert; she just had to listen.”
Mattis felt a flash of anger, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. “I am not that careless, Agent Russo. I’ve been a soldier too long to let my guard down like that.”
Russo leaned forward, lowering his voice to an icy whisper. “Then you better hope to God you’re right, sir. Because if anything you said to her ends up in the wrong hands, this country isn’t going to forgive—or forget.”16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWi5oVKjoDA
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The NSA’s cyber-ops command center was dim, the only light coming from rows of monitors casting a blue glow across the room. The tension was thick, nearly suffocating, as Chief Analyst Sandra Morales hunched over her workstation, fingers moving rapidly across her keyboard. She was exhausted but too deep into the task to stop. Her team had been combing through endless files linked to Glamour Records’ financials and communications, decrypting encrypted files that seemed to lead to an ever-growing list of disturbing discoveries.
Morales leaned closer to the screen as a new set of files began to decrypt, displaying complex financial transfers routed through a labyrinth of offshore accounts. The numbers didn’t lie; these transfers went directly from Demi Lovato’s corporate accounts to obscure fronts with North Korean affiliations. “This…this is no longer just charity funds and business expenses,” Morales muttered, her tone dark. The implication of the cash flow left no doubt: it was intentionally structured to avoid detection, and for a purpose far beyond typical celebrity ventures.
One of her team members, Chris Ward, leaned over, frowning as he scanned the data. “So we’re looking at Lovato’s funds directly supporting North Korean interests?” he asked, more to confirm what was becoming painfully obvious.
Morales let out a heavy sigh. “It’s worse than that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She pulled up an encrypted folder within the Glamour Records files, a thick set of blueprints for what appeared to be advanced stealth technology and nuclear propulsion designs for submarines. The designs were sophisticated—too sophisticated to be a coincidence.
The stark realization hit her like a punch. “Goddamn it,” she hissed, her voice shaking with frustration and fury. “These bastards are more embedded than we thought.” She rubbed her temples, unable to tear her eyes from the screen. “They’ve got her cash flow funding next-gen sub tech—this isn’t just some isolated incident. We’re talking catastrophic compromise here, and Mattis feeding her intel only makes it worse.”
Chris, looking more and more disbelieving, muttered, “All because of some pop star?”
“Yeah,” Morales snapped, a mix of bitterness and disbelief coloring her tone. “A pop star who’s got her hands on our goddamn military secrets and, from the looks of it, is stupidly reckless enough to be North Korea’s biggest benefactor.” She took a deep breath, exasperation radiating from her. “They’ve made her into something of a saint over there, Chris. Lovato’s in their propaganda as the Western ally who’s empowering their military advancement. And if these files are right, we’re looking at an enemy arsenal built with American dollars.”
Ward shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Christ, Morales, how far does this go?”
Morales tapped the screen with one manicured nail, her eyes hard. “Deep enough that every time we dig, we keep hitting new layers. If this connection to Mattis gets out, the fallout will be unstoppable. We’re talking government scrutiny, and we’ll be lucky if it doesn’t shake D.C. to the core.”
Just then, a junior analyst rushed over with another decrypted file. “Chief, we’ve got more,” he said, voice tense. “This one’s a list of weapons requests—and coordinates for delivery. They’re not just planning for tech; they’re setting up locations in international waters. It’s like they’re readying for some kind of launch sequence.”
Morales swallowed, feeling the weight of the enormity of what they’d uncovered. “Then we’ve got to stop this right now. Send this data to Russo’s team at the CIA—every bit of it. And get a briefing set up. We’re pulling every goddamn resource we have until we dismantle every part of this operation.” She paused, steeling herself, eyes hardening. “Because if we don’t, they’re not just gonna sink us financially—they’ll be gunning for military parity, if not more.”
Morales’s eyes flew over the latest decrypted intel from British sources, her face draining of color as she took in the new data. “Jesus Christ…” she muttered, barely able to believe what she was reading. “The Taeyang II isn’t just any carrier—it’s got a nuclear reactor powerful enough to keep it moving fast and undetected. Lovato didn’t just bankroll this thing; she provided the funds for advanced missile tech too. The planes they’re launching off that deck are outfitted with weapons systems that make ours look like antiques.”
She slammed a fist onto her desk, the sound echoing through the command center as agents glanced over in shock. “She gave them long-range air-to-surface missiles that can evade radar,” Morales growled. “Our damn satellites didn’t even catch the launch prep. Lovato’s playing at a whole other level, and every time we dig, we find another way she’s compromised us.” Her voice dropped to a low hiss as she turned to her team. “I want every goddamn piece of intel on her and Glamour Records decrypted, cataloged, and sent up the chain. If she’s handed the North Koreans something deadlier than what we’ve got, we’re in a world of hurt.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtkc1c0W8Mv
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In an unexpected and intense development, British MI6 intercepted yet another ominous sighting—this time, a third North Korean aircraft carrier sailing provocatively through the Persian Gulf. Known as the Cheong-San, this massive carrier dwarfed its counterparts. A refurbished behemoth from Soviet Cold War-era designs, the Cheong-San boasted an array of lethal advancements, carrying over 70 fighter jets equipped with advanced missile capabilities and boasting a formidable array of anti-ship and anti-aircraft defenses. Its radar tower bristled with cutting-edge jamming systems, making it nearly undetectable by most standard radars.
Back in the MI6 operations room, Agent Fiona Moore watched the radar images with a mixture of disbelief and frustration as they tracked the Cheong-San’s approach into one of the most geopolitically volatile regions on the planet. The British intelligence team had been scrambling to pinpoint the Taeyang-II in the South Atlantic, only to be blindsided by this new monster cutting across the Persian Gulf.
“Unbelievable,” Moore muttered, a hint of anger in her voice. “Bloody thing is practically a mobile fortress. And it’s sailing right into the goddamn Persian Gulf. This isn’t a show of force—it’s a bloody declaration.” She slammed her hand on the desk, her mind racing through the implications of such a blatant power play. “Seventy aircraft—stealth-enhanced, no less. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, they’re practically begging for a conflict.”
Her superior, Director Malcolm Shaw, leaned in close, studying the images on the screen. “And where the hell is the American response? They must be seeing this too.” He swore under his breath, pacing in frustration. “We thought the Falklands sighting was trouble enough, but this... They’re testing us, Fiona, and not just with a goddamn fishing boat.”
Fiona nodded, her tone hard. “Not only that. This isn’t just a North Korean affair anymore. They’ve got Russian propulsion tech, American radar schematics, and who knows what else Lovato and her backers slipped to them. The Cheong-San is a Frankenstein monster of international military tech—something we never saw coming.”
Another analyst broke in, voice tight with alarm. “Sir, the Americans have caught wind of it. We’re receiving a dispatch—they’re coordinating with CENTCOM, but this could blow up fast.”
Shaw looked at Moore, the weight of the situation sinking in. “I want all hands on this. Every shred of intelligence, every radar feed, every bloody satellite we can commandeer.” He pointed to the screen where the Cheong-San’s location flashed in red. “We cannot afford to underestimate them again. Make sure Washington knows just how much we’ve got riding on this, and I want it encrypted. And I mean airtight. No leaks.”
As the MI6 team scrambled to track the Cheong-San and relay intelligence to allied forces, Moore felt a shiver of dread run through her. It was as though the carrier itself carried with it the wrath of a hostile nation and the twisted ambition of those who had financed and equipped it.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhP3Np3Le5J
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The CIA’s war room was tense, filled with analysts and senior agents, all staring at the live satellite feed showing the Cheong-San, North Korea’s third aircraft carrier, looming dangerously close to the Kuwaiti coast. The lights were dim, the air heavy with the weight of a worsening crisis, and the flickering images on the screen threw shadows across the tense faces gathered around the table. Agent Russo leaned forward, eyes locked on the grainy image of the massive warship just 400 yards from Kuwaiti waters.
“Christ,” Russo muttered, shaking his head. “This is a goddamn nightmare. Kuwait? They’re in our ally’s backyard now! This isn’t just posturing—this is a goddamn escalation.”
Agent Morales was visibly shaken, her hand clenched tightly around a pen she was holding. “I don’t get it. What the hell are they thinking? This close to Kuwait? The Gulf is a tinderbox, and North Korea knows it! This—this is just asking for it.”
Russo’s face hardened. “We know what they’re thinking. This is a blatant taunt, and it’s aimed directly at us.” He took a breath and forced himself to think logically. “The Cheong-San wasn’t even supposed to be operational, let alone lurking in the Persian Gulf. And now we’ve got intel that they’ve reconfigured the damn thing to carry next-gen stealth bombers and long-range anti-ship missiles.”
One of the junior analysts, barely old enough to be trusted in a room like this, piped up nervously, “But how? How did they get this tech so fast? And… how does Lovato fit in?”
Russo’s voice was cold as steel. “Because someone gave it to them. And we’ve got reason to believe that someone isn’t just North Korean.” He slapped down a file on the table. “We intercepted another series of coded transmissions just hours ago. And guess who keeps coming up in the decrypted logs?”
Morales’s face twisted with anger. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Don’t say it.”
“Demi Lovato. And get this—Dua Lipa. They’re showing up in the messages again, clear as day.” He tapped his finger on the file in frustration. “Look, I don’t give a damn how deep their pockets are or how ‘innocent’ their little act might seem. This… this is treason. Plain and simple. And we’re sitting here because a couple of pop stars decided to play war with one of the most dangerous regimes on the planet.”
The tension in the room was suffocating. Morales leaned back, exhaling a shaky breath. “Jesus Christ. You’re telling me that two pop icons are potentially the brains behind the funding of North Korea’s entire navy? You know how insane that sounds?”
Russo’s expression was grim. “I know exactly how insane it sounds. But here’s the goddamn reality, Morales—the Cheong-San isn’t some rust bucket floating around for show. It’s armed to the fucking teeth, and it’s here, off the coast of Kuwait, barely a stone’s throw from our military bases in the region. This thing isn’t just a threat—it’s a goddamn declaration of war.”
Morales flipped through the file, her anger flaring up with each piece of intel she saw. “And you’re saying that Demi Lovato, the same girl who sang about heartbreak, has her fingerprints all over this mess?”
Russo’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. And we’re going to be the ones to clean it up. Listen, we’re not dealing with a tabloid scandal here, Morales. These are people who, somehow, got their hands on classified U.S. military specs, funneled millions in cash, and now have practically handed North Korea the key to the goddamn Gulf. We’ve got another intercepted message talking about long-range ballistic capabilities on this damn ship. This isn’t just a carrier anymore—it’s a floating nuclear platform.”
“Goddamn it,” Morales spat, slamming the file shut. “We can’t afford to wait. If that ship takes one wrong turn…”
Russo nodded grimly, his eyes hardening. “This isn’t a wait-and-see situation. Get a team ready. I want assets in the field monitoring every movement of the Cheong-San. And get the president briefed—we’re not taking any chances with this. Not when we’re staring down the barrel of a full-scale crisis.”16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHc4L9LUYKQ
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In the cramped briefing room, a hushed silence fell as U.S. Federal Marshal Anthony Costello scanned the document in his hands, the weight of it sinking in. He held a freshly signed warrant bearing the full names of Demetria Devonne Lovato and Dua Lipa—a charge for conspiracy, espionage, and a host of other offenses that made the blood drain from his face. His colleague, Deputy Marshal Sarah Daniels, let out a low whistle, her brow furrowed as she took in the gravity of it.
“Christ almighty,” Daniels muttered, shaking her head. “We’re bringing in Demi fucking Lovato for espionage. How the hell did we get here?”
Costello slapped the document down on the table, the grimness of the situation beginning to set in. “We’re here because some high-profile, high-maintenance pop stars decided they’d fucking bankroll North Korea’s damn navy, that’s how. Don’t even try to wrap your head around it, Daniels.”
Special Agent Richard Hanover entered, briefing papers tucked under his arm, his face an unreadable mask. He pointed to the signature at the bottom of the warrant, which had been stamped by Judge William E. Martindale, known for his zero-tolerance approach to national security threats.
“Well,” Hanover began, looking from Costello to Daniels, “Judge Martindale isn’t fucking around, and neither are we. We’re greenlit to move in immediately. Orders are to have them under full surveillance by nightfall and prepared for takedown at dawn.”
Costello nodded, passing copies of the warrant to the team. “Alright, people, this isn’t gonna be some easy celebrity escort. These women have international eyes on them, they’ve got contacts, and I wouldn’t put it past them to have armed security at the ready. Double-check your fucking ammo and keep the gear light and low-profile. We’re not out for a shootout, but we’re not risking anything on this. We move in teams of three, eyes on Lovato and Lipa twenty-four-seven.”
One of the junior marshals, Tyler Reeves, raised a skeptical eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight: we’re supposed to quietly nab a multi-platinum singer and an international pop star who are tied into some global fucking conspiracy? That’s got disaster written all over it.”
Daniels slapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to make him wince. “Then get your shit together, rookie. You’re either in or out, and if you’re in, I don’t wanna hear another word of doubt.”
Reeves grunted, his mouth setting into a determined line. “In. Just saying, this is fucking insane.”
Hanover cut in, giving him a cold look. “Trust me, we know. If they get any hint we’re coming for them, the whole operation could be blown. If you think it’s insane now, wait until they realize we’re not asking for autographs.”
In the locker room, Costello and Daniels loaded their sidearms, each slide clinking ominously as they double-checked their chambers. Costello tucked an extra magazine into his vest pocket, his face set. “God help us if we get ambushed by the paparazzi on this.”
Daniels laughed without humor, her fingers dancing over her weapon as she tested the weight. “Paparazzi? Shit, the damn news stations will be swarming once this hits. Just wait until they see the real story on these pop stars.”
As the team filed out, Costello glanced back at the warrant one last time. “Alright, Lovato, Lipa… you’re ours now.”16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIfzJvRFoUu
