“I need proof,” Jack said, typing furiously. “The original manifests from the port of La Guaira. If Wickham signed them personally…”

Jack didn’t flinch. He pointed to a transaction flagged on screen: a shell company called Puerto Libre Holdings had moved $47 million through a chain of Caribbean banks in under three weeks. “This isn’t drug money,” Jack said. “It’s too clean. Too structured. Someone is buying military-grade drones—and they’re not for surveillance.”

“Eagle Eye, this is Nomad. I have hostile pursuit. Request immediate dust-off.”

Jack froze. Wickham had someone inside Langley. Someone who could kill his credentials remotely.