One Year Later - FBI Field Office, Miami, Florida Special Agent Maria Rodriguez was three years into her career with the FBI, working organized crime cases in South Florida. She was good at her job—meticulous, thorough, and persistent. Which is why, when she was tracking a money laundering operation tied to a Colombian cartel, she followed every lead, no matter how small. One of those leads was a consultant who'd been hired by one of the shell companies six months ago. The man had been paid $200,000 for "security consulting services," which was suspicious enough. What made it more interesting was that the payment had been made two weeks before the cartel's Miami operations coordinator had been found dead in his Brickell Avenue condo, shot twice in the chest. The consultant's name: Perseus Jackson. Rodriguez ran a background check, preparing to add him to her list of persons of interest to interview. She pulled up the FBI database, typed in the name, and hit enter. The screen flashed red.   DO NOT DETAIN - CONTACT DIRECTOR IMMEDIATELY   PERSON OF INTEREST: PERSEUS JACKSON CLASSIFICATION LEVEL: OMEGA-ECHELON ANY ATTEMPT TO DETAIN, ARREST, OR SURVEIL THIS INDIVIDUAL MUST BE IMMEDIATELY REPORTED TO THE FBI DIRECTOR FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN FEDERAL PROSECUTION FOR QUESTIONS, CONTACT: [DIRECTOR'S SECURE LINE] Rodriguez stared at the screen, her coffee cup halfway to her lips. In three years with the Bureau, she'd never seen a flag like this. She'd seen warnings for protected witnesses, for undercover agents, for classified assets. But nothing like this. Omega-Echelon. That wasn't a classification level she'd ever heard of. She read the warning again, carefully. The language was crystal clear: she was supposed to contact the Director. Not her supervisor, not the Special Agent in Charge of the Miami office—the Director. As in Raymond Chen, the head of the entire Federal Bureau of Investigation. "Hey, Marcus," she called to her partner, Special Agent Marcus Webb, who was at the desk across from her. "You ever seen a flag like this?" Webb rolled his chair over and looked at her screen. His eyes widened. "Holy shit. No. Never. What did you do?" "I just ran a background check on someone connected to my cartel case." "Well, apparently you just stepped on a land mine." Webb pointed at the screen. "See that? Omega-Echelon? And it says to contact the Director directly? Maria, that's not normal. That's not even close to normal." Rodriguez felt a knot forming in her stomach. "I was just following a lead. The guy got paid by a shell company, and then their operations guy ended up dead." "Yeah, well, according to this, you need to stop following that lead and call the Director. Like, right now." Rodriguez swallowed hard. In three years, she'd never spoken directly to the FBI Director. She'd seen him at ceremonies, heard him give speeches, but actually calling him? On his secure line? For what might turn out to be nothing? But the screen was very clear. And the part about federal prosecution if she didn't comply was hard to ignore. "Okay," she said, reaching for her phone. "I guess I'm calling the Director." She dialed the number on the screen, her heart hammering. It rang twice. "Director Chen's office, this is Sandra." "Um, hi. This is Special Agent Maria Rodriguez, Miami field office. I... I got a flag on a database search that says I need to contact the Director immediately." There was a pause, then the assistant's voice became noticeably more serious. "What name did you search?" "Perseus Jackson." "One moment, please. I'm transferring you to the Director now." Before Rodriguez could process that, the line clicked and a male voice came on. "This is Director Chen. Agent Rodriguez?" Rodriguez sat up straighter instinctively, even though he couldn't see her. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry to bother you, sir, I was just running a background check on a person of interest in an organized crime investigation, and I got a red flag that said—" "Perseus Jackson. Yes. Tell me about your investigation." "Sir, I'm tracking a money laundering operation for a Colombian cartel. One of their shell companies paid a consultant named Perseus Jackson $200,000 six months ago. Two weeks after that payment, the cartel's Miami coordinator was found dead. I was planning to interview Jackson as a potential witness or person of interest." "And you haven't made contact with him yet?" "No, sir. I was just running the background check before reaching out." She heard the Director exhale, and there was something like relief in it. "Good. Agent Rodriguez, I need you to listen very carefully. You are to have no further contact with Perseus Jackson. Do not interview him, do not surveil him, do not put him under any form of investigation. Remove him from your case file entirely." Rodriguez felt her investigative instincts rebelling. "Sir, with respect, he's connected to my case. If he witnessed something or has information—" "Agent Rodriguez." The Director's voice was firm but not unkind. "I understand your frustration. You're following a legitimate lead in a legitimate investigation. But Perseus Jackson is protected at the highest levels of national security. I cannot tell you why, because you don't have the clearance for that information. What I can tell you is that approaching him could result in an international incident that would make your cartel investigation look like a parking ticket." "Is he undercover? An asset?" "I can't answer that. What I can tell you is that the flag in the database is there for a very good reason. Other agents have ignored similar warnings in the past, and it ended their careers. Some of them faced criminal charges. You did the right thing by calling me immediately." Rodriguez absorbed this, her mind racing. "Sir, if he killed the cartel coordinator—and I'm not saying he did, but if he did—are we just going to ignore that?" There was a long pause. "Agent Rodriguez, let me ask you a question. The cartel coordinator who died—what was his name?" "Carlos Medina." "And what was Mr. Medina involved in, besides money laundering?" Rodriguez pulled up her case file. "Cocaine trafficking, suspected involvement in multiple homicides, and... there were allegations of human trafficking. Young girls from Venezuela and Colombia." "Allegations you couldn't prove?" "No, sir. Not enough evidence. The witnesses were too afraid to testify." "And now Mr. Medina is dead, and those trafficking operations have ceased?" Rodriguez saw where this was going. "Yes, sir." "Then I would suggest that whoever killed Mr. Medina—hypothetically speaking—did the world a favor. And I would further suggest that your time and the Bureau's resources would be better spent pursuing other members of that cartel who are still alive and still hurting people. Do you understand what I'm saying, Agent Rodriguez?" She understood perfectly. The Bureau was telling her to look the other way. "Yes, sir." "Good. Submit your findings on the cartel to your SAC. Leave Perseus Jackson's name out of it entirely. If anyone asks, the consultant lead was a dead end. Are we clear?" "Crystal clear, sir." "Excellent. And Agent Rodriguez? You showed good judgment today. Following protocol when you got that flag, calling me immediately instead of trying to handle it yourself—that's the kind of decision-making we need. Keep up the good work on the cartel case." "Thank you, sir." "And one more thing. Don't discuss this conversation with anyone except your partner if necessary. This is classified." "Understood, sir." The line went dead. Rodriguez sat there for a moment, processing what had just happened. Webb was watching her with wide eyes. "So?" he asked. "So we're dropping Perseus Jackson from the investigation entirely. Director's orders." "Did he say why?" "National security. That's all I'm cleared to know." Rodriguez closed the file on her screen, feeling a strange mixture of frustration and relief. "The guy we were tracking—Medina— apparently he was trafficking kids. The Director strongly implied that whoever killed him was doing everyone a favor." Webb leaned back in his chair. "So we've got a vigilante who's protected by the FBI Director?" "Apparently. And we're supposed to pretend we never heard the name Perseus Jackson." "Can you do that? Just drop a lead?" Rodriguez thought about the young girls who'd been trafficked, the ones who wouldn't testify because they were terrified. She thought about Medina's operation shutting down after his death. She thought about the Director's words: whoever killed him did the world a favor. "Yeah," she said finally. "Yeah, I can do that."

Later That Day - FBI Director's Office, Washington D.C. Director Raymond Chen hung up with Agent Rodriguez and immediately pulled up his log of Echelon-related contacts. This was the fifteenth call he'd received in the past year about Perseus Jackson. Fifteen times that agents had seen the flag and done the right thing by calling instead of proceeding with investigations. The system was working. He picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number. It was answered on the second ring. "DNI Cartwright." "James, it's Ray. Just had another Perseus Jackson flag. FBI agent in Miami, running an organized crime investigation." "And?" "She saw the flag and called me immediately. I walked her through the protocol. She's dropping him from her case." "No drama? No pushback?" "Some questions, which is natural, but she followed orders. The system worked exactly as designed." "That's the third one this month." "Fifth, actually. But who's counting?" Chen allowed himself a small smile. "The training is paying off. Every new agent class gets briefed on classified flags and the importance of following protocol. They don't know the details, but they know that certain flags are there for national security reasons and ignoring them is a career-ending mistake." "Any close calls?" "Not since we implemented the system. The last real close call was that Scotland Yard situation in London, but that was before the flagging system was fully operational internationally. Since then? Nothing. Agents see the flag, they call their directors, directors call me or you or whoever's appropriate, and we shut it down before it becomes a problem." "Perseus will be pleased. He's been complaining less about dealing with law enforcement." "Has he been behaving himself?" Cartwright laughed. "That depends on your definition of 'behaving.' He's still traveling around the world dealing with problems. But he's being more discreet about it, and he hasn't had to activate Echelon once since London." "Small mercies. Though I have to say, it's strange managing an asset by teaching our people to leave him completely alone." "He's not really our asset, Ray. He's more like... a force of nature that occasionally works in our favor. Our job is just to make sure our people don't get caught in the blast radius." "Poetic. I'll use that in my next briefing to the Senate Intelligence Committee." Chen made a note in his file. "Any word on whether he actually was La Cebra?" "Officially? No confirmation. Unofficially? The pattern of La Cebra hits stopped about six months after the CIA incident. Either Perseus Jackson was La Cebra and decided to retire that identity, or it's the world's biggest coincidence." "Do we care?" "Not really. As long as he keeps being more helpful than harmful, we've got bigger problems to worry about." Cartwright paused. "How's Agent Rodriguez taking it? Having to drop a legitimate lead?" "She'll be fine. I made it clear that the guy Perseus allegedly killed was a human trafficker, so it's not like she's protecting a murderer who killed an innocent. She's a good agent— she understands that sometimes the world is more complicated than we'd like it to be." "The world is definitely more complicated with a four-hundred-year-old warrior-saint running around playing judge, jury, and executioner." "True. But at least now we have a system in place so our people don't stumble into his business anymore. I'll take that as a win." "Agreed. Thanks for the update, Ray." "Anytime. Let's hope this was the last Perseus Jackson call I have to take this year." "Don't count on it." Chen laughed and hung up. He updated his log, noting that Agent Rodriguez had followed protocol perfectly and the situation had been resolved without incident. Then he leaned back in his chair and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. A year ago, this exact situation would have resulted in an arrest attempt, an Echelon activation, and a massive interdepartmental crisis. Now? A phone call, a brief conversation, and everyone went back to their jobs. The system worked. Finally.

That Evening - Miami Beach Perseus was sitting at an outdoor café near South Beach, enjoying a Cuban coffee and watching the sunset over the Atlantic. His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: "Agent in Miami looked you up. She called it in. System worked. You're clear. - JC" Perseus smiled and deleted the text. James Cartwright, keeping him informed like always. Good man. He thought about Agent Rodriguez, whoever she was. Young, probably. Ambitious. Trying to do the right thing and take down a cartel. She'd stumbled onto his name and instead of charging ahead, she'd followed protocol. That took discipline and trust in the system. He hoped she'd stay that way—idealistic but pragmatic, dedicated but flexible. The Bureau needed more agents like that. His phone buzzed again. Another text: "Stop killing cartel members in my jurisdiction. - Ray" Perseus laughed out loud and typed back: "No promises. But I'll try to be more discreet." The response came immediately: "That's all I ask. Stay safe out there." Perseus pocketed his phone and finished his coffee. Tomorrow he'd leave Miami, head somewhere else. There was always another monster to deal with, another wrong to right. But at least now he could do it without having to explain himself to well-meaning federal agents every few months. The system finally worked. And that was worth celebrating with another coffee. He caught the waiter's eye and ordered a second cafecito. Today had been a good day. Tomorrow would probably be complicated—it usually was—but for now, he'd enjoy the sunset and the coffee and the small victory of a bureaucracy that had finally learned to leave him alone. It had only taken them seventy-eight years. But hey, who was counting?