In the sky above, the two Black Hawks maintained a tight watch on the surrounding area. The boarding process went smoothly—no enemy movement detected within a kilometer radius.
Once the Chinook reached cruising altitude again, the three helicopters turned and headed toward the USS Carl Vinson.
…
USS Carl Vinson – Aircraft Carrier
With the steady thud-thud-thud of the rotor blades echoing over the deck, the three helicopters landed one by one. As the final Chinook settled onto the deck, Owen was the first to jump out of the cabin.
Not far off stood General Edis, wearing his Navy cap and flanked by a few aides. Behind Owen, the rest of Omega, along with Chris and Borbon, disembarked in turn.
"General, sir," Owen saluted.
"You did outstanding work," General Edis returned the salute, genuine admiration in his eyes.
Owen stepped aside, allowing Edis to spot Chris further back.
"My boy, welcome home," General Edis said warmly, opening his arms for a hug.
Chris, tears brimming in his eyes, collapsed into the general's embrace. Tears streamed down his cheeks as waves of emotion crashed within him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't calm himself down.
Only those who had lived through utter hopelessness could understand the meaning behind such simple words: Welcome home. For Chris, that phrase had once been the greatest luxury he could imagine.
General Edis patted Chris on the shoulder, holding him until he settled down a bit before releasing him. Chris stood on the solid deck, feeling the hardness beneath his boots. It all felt surreal—but he was finally home. The Carl Vinson was his home.
As Chris stepped aside, Edis shifted his gaze to Borbon. Their eyes met.
Borbon had already resigned himself to his fate. He knew what awaited him.
Seeing the fallen general looking so dejected, General Edis allowed a smile to touch his face. Taking a few steps forward, he stopped and said, "General Borbon, I'm Edis. We've spoken many times on the phone. I didn't expect our first meeting would be under these circumstances."
Borbon turned his head away.
Edis let out a hearty laugh—his old adversary now a captive under his command. For a military man, it was indeed a satisfying outcome.
"Take him away," he ordered.
A few soldiers came forward and dragged Borbon away. Borbon resisted briefly, but after taking two hard punches to the gut, he quieted down.
Chris was escorted to the infirmary by the ship's medical officers, while General Edis turned his attention to the members of Omega, letting his gaze linger on each of their faces. Even just standing there casually, Edis could sense the aura that set them apart.
A quiet confidence laced with lethal edge—Edis was certain that these men were on par with any elite special forces under his command. That calm, controlled, dangerous presence was unmistakable.
"Thank you, gentlemen," Edis said sincerely. "I'll be calling Director Bauer later to personally commend your performance."
He wasn't exaggerating. Omega hadn't just rescued Chris—they'd also captured Borbon, arguably the more significant outcome. This unintentional turn of events could have the greatest impact.
Borbon was a major figure in the Serb militia. Capturing him could accelerate the end of the war—perhaps even bring both sides to the negotiating table.
"We're just doing our job," Owen replied, then added, "But we'll need a favor from you, General. We need an interrogation room. We've got urgent intel to extract from Borbon—immediately."
"Of course," Edis said without hesitation.
…
That afternoon, Ghost and Heartbeat handled the interrogation—this was firmly within their area of expertise.
Heartbeat, with his master's degree in psychology, was a seasoned expert in interrogation techniques. Not a single micro-expression escaped his trained eyes.
Ghost, on the other hand, was driven by pure interest. Tormenting enemies gave him a way to vent all his pent-up negativity. His methods could be aggressive, but paired with Heartbeat, the results were devastatingly effective.
This mission marked Omega's first overseas deployment—and it had gone exceptionally well. Their primary objective had been to extract Chris and repair ties with the Navy. But if they could also dig up information on Harcourt Morton, even better.
Surprisingly, that was exactly what they found.
Harcourt Morton had connections to MI5, and Owen had long suspected there might be British involvement. The UK's ambiguous stance had always been a thorn in their side.
And the truth was both expected and shocking.
Syndicate.
The name resurfaced once more.
Owen glanced over the interrogation transcript Ghost handed him and saw Ghost's confirming nod.
Memories surged—CTU had previously gathered minimal intel on the Syndicate, but Owen personally knew far more.
Syndicate had originally been a UK espionage program. Due to various complications, it was ultimately abandoned by the British government. But someone had secretly continued it behind closed doors.
The group's leader—Owen couldn't recall the name exactly—was supposedly a British agent. What stuck with him the most was that every member of the Syndicate was a spy from a different country: defectors, operatives gone rogue, or missing-in-action agents.
In other words, this wasn't a conventional terrorist organization. These were trained professionals—spies with crisis management skills and mental resilience far beyond average soldiers. Fooling them was nearly impossible. And coordinating such a diverse group? A nightmare.
…
"Nikki, we're heading back…"
With everything wrapped up, and after contacting "Dumb Sweet" (a nickname or code), Omega prepared to return.
By late afternoon, they were airborne, leaving the Carl Vinson aboard a military transport. The cabin was unusually quiet—even Fred, normally a chatterbox, kept silent.
Owen sat on a cushioned bench, mind still preoccupied with the Syndicate. The organization felt familiar yet alien.
Much of what he remembered came from his past life—fragments from old movies. But in this world, he'd encountered it for real. Nina had once mentioned the Syndicate and even told him that he was one of their persons of interest.
Then—radio silence. He'd tried to dig deeper, but found nothing. The Syndicate had vanished like it never existed. Even with the bits and pieces he vaguely remembered, it hadn't helped.
What was the full story again?
As the aircraft hummed through the sky, Owen wrestled with his thoughts, trying to recall more. All he could summon were disjointed fragments.
______
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