Chapter 166. Playing the Mole

The “nibble” from Macau was followed by a deliberate, surgical bite. Roland Cross’s digital bloodhounds had found the ‘Chimera’ files. The probes became a sustained d******d. The phantom was being consumed.

Now came the most delicate, dangerous phase of the operation: the human verification. A deal of this magnitude, even for shadowy consortiums, required a human source, a confirmation from inside the castle walls. They would need to turn someone close to Anton. And Sabatine knew exactly who their target would be: the compromised, terrified CFO, David Cho.

Cho was in a secure holding room in the Rogers Industries tower, under the guard of Leon’s most trusted men. His family was still missing, a sword hanging over his neck. He was the perfect pressure point.

“We don’t just let them get to him,” Sabatine explained in the bunker, his voice a low monotone as he outlined the play. “We become them. We feed Cho the ‘confirmation’ they’re desperate for, but through a channel they think they control. We make him our unwitting messenger.”

The plan was a hall of mirrors within a house of cards. Sabatine would play the mole. Not a defector, but a desperate man making a pragmatic, treasonous choice to save his own skin—and, in his mind, Anton’s empire.

They constructed a secondary, even more secret layer of ‘Chimera’—a handful of files detailing the immense, personal financial risk Anton was taking, the potential for catastrophic personal debt if the deal fell through. The implication was clear: Anton was betting everything, and if the board or the authorities found out before it was sealed, he’d be destroyed. It was a narrative of a CEO gone rogue to save his company, a story of tragic, overreaching genius.

“They’ll believe it because it’s what they would do,” Anton said, his voice cold. “And because they want to believe I’m that desperate.”

Sabatine would then stage a “breakdown.” He would visit Cho in his holding room, ostensibly to interrogate him about the missing funds. But the performance would be for any hidden cameras or audio devices the enemy had inevitably placed in the room after Cho’s initial compromise.

Jessica watched, her arms folded, as Sabatine rehearsed the lines in the bunker’s empty side room. He shed his usual controlled demeanour. His shoulders hunched, his eyes took on a haunted, frantic glint. He paced, running a hand through his hair.

“He’s going to burn it all down, David,” Sabatine muttered to the empty chair representing Cho, his voice a strained whisper. “This ‘Chimera’ thing… it’s not a salvation, it’s a suicide pact. He’s leveraged everything—the company, his personal trust, everything. If the board gets wind of it before the Asian transfers clear next week, they’ll have him arrested. The company will be liquidated.”

He stopped, turning to the ‘chair,’ his expression one of agonized loyalty warring with self-preservation. “I can’t… I can’t watch him destroy himself. Not after everything. But I can’t go to the board. They’ll see me as part of it. I’m trapped.” He let a genuine tremor enter his voice, born of the very real fear of what they were attempting. “There are… other people. People who might be able to stop the deal quietly. Make it go away. But they need proof. The full Chimera files. Not just the fragments.”

He was impeccable. The performance was layered with truths—his fear for Anton was real, his feeling of being trapped was real. Only the proposed solution was a lie.

Anton, watching from the doorway, felt a chill that had nothing to do with the bunker’s air. He was seeing a side of Sabatine he knew existed but had never been directed at him: the consummate intelligence operative, building a persona with the skill of a master playwright. It was awe-inspiring and terrifying.

“He’ll believe you,” Leon said, his voice a low rumble. “The question is, will they?”

“They will,” Sabatine said, dropping the act and straightening, his usual focus snapping back into place. “Because Cho is desperate to save his family. He’ll cling to any lifeline. And my performance will give him one: give the scary people what they want, and maybe they’ll give him back his daughters and make this whole nightmare go away. He’ll be convincing because he’ll believe he’s doing the right thing.”

The execution was set for that evening. The holding room was swept one final time—not to find bugs (they left a few obvious ones as a gift), but to plant their own, far more sophisticated ones. Sabatine wore a wire, but its true purpose was not to record Cho; it was to broadcast Sabatine’s ‘breakdown’ with perfect clarity to the listeners they knew were there.

He walked into the sterile, softly lit room where David Cho sat at a small table, looking like a man already in his coffin. Cho’s eyes were red-raw, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Sabatine didn’t sit. He stood over him, letting the silence stretch, his own face a mask of grim exhaustion. He let Cho see the cracks.

“They’re still draining the accounts, David,” Sabatine said, his voice flat. “We can’t stop it. Your code opened every door.”

Cho flinched as if struck. “My girls…”

“We’re looking,” Sabatine said, the lie coming easily because the effort behind it was real. Leon was looking, with every resource. “But Anton… he’s not focused on that right now. He’s focused on a Hail Mary that’s going to get us all killed.”

He began to pace, just as he’d rehearsed, the frustration bleeding into his tone. He let the story spill out in jagged pieces—the insane scale of ‘Project Chimera,’ Anton’s personal financial exposure, the ticking clock. He painted a picture of a brilliant man sprinting towards a cliff edge.

“He won’t listen to me,” Sabatine said, stopping and leaning on the table, bringing his face close to Cho’s. The CFO could smell the fear on him—real fear, just misdirected. “He’s in too deep. The only people who can stop this now are the ones with the power to make a deal of this size disappear. The people who… took your family.”

Cho’s eyes widened in horror. “No… you can’t mean…”

“I mean there’s a way out of this for everyone!” Sabatine hissed, his performance reaching its peak. He was vibrating with a desperate energy. “If they have the full Chimera proof, they can expose it anonymously. Force Anton’s hand. The deal collapses, but he’s not ruined. The company survives. And they get what they want—they humiliate him, they stop his rise, and they have no reason to hurt your family anymore. They win their way, we save the company. It’s the only play!”

He was so convincing, the logic so twisted yet compelling from inside the prison of fear, that even Leon, listening in the bunker with a stone-faced expression, felt a brief, irrational jolt of doubt. Was this the real plan? Was Sabatine actually cutting a side deal? The operative’s mask was perfect.

Cho stared at him, tears welling. He was a financial mind, not a spy. He saw a lifeline—a way to save his daughters and the man he’d betrayed. The conflict was agony on his face. “He’ll hate me. He’ll think I betrayed him again.”

“He’ll be alive to hate you,” Sabatine whispered, the words a venomous gift. “And his company will be intact. That’s the job, isn’t it? To protect the company? Even from its own CEO?”

It was the final, devastating push. Cho broke. A sob racked his frame, and he nodded, a quick, jerky motion of surrender. “What do you need me to do?”

Sabatine laid out the simple instructions: Cho was to request a private, encrypted call with his ‘handlers,’ tell them he had a source with the full Chimera files, a source motivated by saving Anton from himself. Sabatine would provide the data packet. The bait was set on the hook, and the hook was in the mouth of the terrified fish.

Back in the bunker, Sabatine stripped off the wire. His hands were steady, but a fine sweat coated his skin. The emotional expenditure had been colossal.

Anton was waiting for him. He didn’t speak. He just looked at him, his eyes holding a turbulent mix of pride, fear, and a dazed kind of wonder.

“Well?” Sabatine asked, his voice hoarse.

“You were… flawless,” Anton said quietly. “For a moment, even I wondered.”

Leon grunted from his console. “Cho made the call. The request is in play. The package is ready for delivery.” He turned to look at Sabatine, his normally impassive features showing a trace of what might have been respect. “You play a convincing rat.”

Sabatine met his gaze. “It’s not a role I ever wanted.” He looked back at Anton. “But for you, I’ll play any part they need to see.”

The trap was now double-spring. The digital phantom had been sampled. Now, the human confirmation—a tragically loyal man turned pragmatic traitor—was offering the full feast. They had played the mole so convincingly the earth itself seemed to believe it.

All that was left was to see what manner of predator took the bait.

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