Location: Heathrow Airport, London

  Time Remaining: 10 minutes

  Chaos rippled through Heathrow Airport as the FBI and special forces worked relentlessly to disarm the elusive remaining bombs. Tension hung thick in the air, but despite the palpable anxiety, their movements were precise. Every agent knew the weight of the moment—time was slipping away. The countdown clock ticked relentlessly in the background, each second like a countdown to disaster.

  Inside the command center, Section Chief James Mercer was the calm in the storm, issuing rapid-fire orders. He was surrounded by agents, analysts, and tech specialists, all working tirelessly to keep the operation on track. Agent Sarah Coleman and Agent Daniel Briggs flanked him, their focus unwavering, coordinating teams scattered across the airport and beyond. Sweat beaded on Mercer’s forehead, but his demeanor remained steely, his mind always three steps ahead, even as the clock continued to wind down.

  “Status report, Briggs,” Mercer asked, his voice low but sharp.

  Briggs quickly scanned his screen. “All three planes have been contacted and grounded at secure airfields. Greek authorities are sweeping them now, but so far, no sign of explosives. We’ve got bomb squads on every flight just in case, but…” He paused, brow furrowed. Something didn’t add up.

  Coleman’s voice cut through the tension. “Chief, I’ve got MI5 and Interpol coordinating on the ground in Athens, but we’re running out of time. If there’s anything, we need to find it now.” Her tone was tense, but determination never left her eyes.

  Mercer nodded, his jaw tight. “Good. Stay on it. We can’t take any chances.” His mind raced. They were so close, but the clock was a constant reminder of how little time they had left.

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  As the minutes ticked down, the pressure in the room intensified. The team worked in quiet synchronization, each person driven by the same urgency. Then, suddenly, a loud beep broke the silence. It was a new incoming transmission—a live video feed. Everyone in the room froze. The familiar image of Mr. Black filled the screen, his devilish mask hiding his face but not the sinister grin lurking beneath it. He stood in a dimly lit warehouse, shadows creeping over him like a cloak.

  Mercer’s pulse quickened as the screen flickered to life, his mind preparing for the worst.

  “Bravo, my dear FBI. Bravo!” Mr. Black’s voice echoed across the command center. “You’ve done exceedingly well. All ten bombs disarmed, and not a single casualty. Or should I say… all seven?” He emphasized the number, a cold mockery in his tone.

  Mercer’s eyes narrowed. A chilling realization crept up on him. “Seven? What is he playing at?”

  Mr. Black’s voice grew almost amused, as though he were savoring the moment. “Oh, didn’t I mention? There were never fifteen bombs. Just a little… miscommunication on my part. In truth, you were only ever hunting down ten bombs, and those three planes? Well, let’s just say… I do enjoy a good prank. Those planes were as safe as can be. No bombs, no danger. Just a wild goose chase.” He leaned closer to the camera, his voice lowering to a menacing whisper. “But don’t get too comfortable. The game isn’t over… not by a long shot.”

  The feed flickered, and Mr. Black’s image zoomed out. Behind him, a large map of Europe filled the screen, dotted with red markers indicating various locations. He didn’t explain the significance of the map, leaving the implication hanging in the air like an ominous threat. The map lingered for a few seconds before the feed cut abruptly, leaving the room in stunned silence.

  Mercer’s stomach churned. This wasn’t just a game—it was a twisted game of cat and mouse, and they were being baited. He glanced at Sarah and Daniel, their expressions reflecting the same realization: they were being manipulated, and they had no idea what Mr. Black had in store next.

  “We need to keep moving,” Mercer said, his voice steady but with a cold edge of urgency. “Get back to the search teams. Check every corner of this airport. And I want updates on those planes—no one leaves until we’re sure.”

  Coleman and Briggs moved quickly, but Mercer’s mind kept racing. Mr. Black had just thrown them off course, making them waste precious minutes chasing false leads. But the map—those red marks—it was a reminder that this wasn’t over. In fact, it might just be beginning.

  As the team scrambled to regain their focus, Mercer stood at the helm, his mind already calculating their next move. They were running out of time, but he wasn’t about t

  o let Mr. Black win. Not this time.