Hong Kong variety show: The mastermind behind the scenes is emerging.

The top floor of an old office building in Central.

From the outside, it appears to be just a trading company dealing in the import and export of daily necessities. The receptionist smiles professionally, and the sign by the elevator lists a string of indistinct department names. But only a very few people know that deep within this office lies MI6's Hong Kong Island station, codenamed H Station.

At that moment, in the deputy stationmaster's office, Thiago hung up the secure phone call, sat in his chair for a moment, and then reached out and pressed the internal communicator on the desk: "All personnel at the station at the supervisor level and above, come to my office within five minutes."

"Yes."

A moment later, the office doors were pushed open one after another, and eight or nine core senior executives of the Hong Kong Island branch, including the action team leader, intelligence chief, and counter-espionage officer, filed in.

They stood in two rows in front of the desk, their eyes fixed on Thiago, and the whole room fell silent.

The former site administrator of H site is now in a semi-retired state due to his poor handling of the 85 incident and his advanced age.

Therefore, although Thiago still nominally held the title of deputy stationmaster, he was in reality the true head of H Station. No one in the entire station dared to disobey his orders in the slightest.

Thiago relayed Madam M's instructions to everyone verbatim, then his gaze swept across the faces of everyone present. His tone was calm but unquestionable: "I have only one requirement—the mission must be completed."

After he finished speaking, the office fell into a brief and oppressive silence.

When the team leader Harrison heard this, he frowned. He was in his early forties, with a buzz cut, a stubble on his chin, and an old scar on his arm that extended from his sleeve.

Harrison, a former British reconnaissance officer stationed in Hong Kong, was always straightforward in his words and actions. He stepped forward directly and said, "Station Chief Thiago, there's something I need to make clear first. Since we're going to take on Golden Harvest, we have to accept that the 'Distillery' will make a move. And the Distillery... is no pushover."

"I know that," Thiago said calmly.

"No, you may not fully realize the seriousness of the problem." Harrison's brows furrowed even more. "The distillery today is no longer the organization that only wielded power in Hong Kong. Over the years, relying on the expansion of the Golden Harvest business empire, its claws have long since extended to all five continents. Especially in Asia, it is the undisputed underground overlord. It has countless capable subordinates, and those high-ranking officials codenamed 'Liquor' are all infamous figures."

He paused, then lowered his voice: "If we were to confront them head-on in Hong Kong, even MI6 would probably not gain the slightest advantage."

Thiago nodded, his expression unchanged: "So I don't plan to confront them head-on. This operation is mainly about infiltration. I've already arranged for a submarine currently on a mission in the Indian Ocean to provide cover through encrypted access. Once we get the supplies, everyone will retreat and head straight back to Japan to avoid trouble on the mainland."

Upon hearing the words "all personnel retreat," Stephens, the intelligence chief standing to the side, was jolted and instinctively asked, "Station Chief Thiago, is it really necessary?"

Thiago glanced at him sideways: "What?"

Stephens is thirty-six years old, wears gold-rimmed glasses, is slightly overweight, and always speaks with a bureaucratic smoothness and sophistication.

He bowed slightly and said with a forced smile, "You know the station chief. To make intelligence gathering easier, I've started a family in Hong Kong. My wife and children are here. If I were to just leave, all this would be—"

"If you're not afraid of dying," Thiago glanced at him, his tone flat, "you can stay afterward."

Stephens' throat moved, and a layer of cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

"However," Thiago added, "you may leave now for the next mission briefing."

"No, no, no—" Stephens immediately gave an embarrassed smile, "I will obey the deputy stationmaster's orders, I will obey the orders! I was just being nosy, please just ignore me."

A few suppressed laughs rang out in the office, finally diluting the solemn atmosphere somewhat.

Once the laughter subsided, Thiago's gaze returned to Stephens: "Since we're going to infiltrate, we need backup. Stephens, how many pieces do we have at our disposal within Golden Harvest right now?"

Stephens' smile froze slightly, revealing a hint of bitterness: "Deputy Station Master, as you know, dealing with ordinary clerks is relatively easy, but Jiahe has always been excessively strict in its screening of high-level personnel, with background checks layer upon layer. Our agents who have reached the K10 (senior manager) level are now extremely rare..."

Thiago's gaze turned cold: "Is this your answer to me as the head of intelligence?"

Stephens' heart skipped a beat, but he quickly put on a smile: "How could that be! If the stationmaster has given the order, we must solve even the biggest problems!"

He lowered his voice slightly, his tone carrying a hint of smug satisfaction: "To be honest, I happen to have a potential target for defection—the head of the daily maintenance team for the server cluster at Jiahe Building."

Thiago's eyebrows twitched.

"This guy is a good person, honest, but he's just had bad luck," Stephens chuckled. "He was doing some small business a while ago, but he got swindled out of all his money and ended up with over two million in debt. He's in a real mess right now. If we're willing to spend a lot of money, taking him down will be a piece of cake."

Thiago gave Stephens a deep look, then chuckled and cursed, "You slippery fellow, do you have to make me give you the cold shoulder before you'll reveal your hand?"

"Hehe, I just wanted to give you a surprise, Station Master." Stephens rubbed his hands together.

"Alright!" Thiago's smile faded, and he made the final decision. "This mission will have unlimited resources. Tell him that if he can pull it off, he'll get three million, plus a passport that doesn't even last a day. He'll get his whole family's passports!"

Stephens' eyes lit up, and he nodded repeatedly like a lapdog: "With this number, I'm 90% confident!"

"Ninety percent isn't enough," Thiago said. "I want one hundred percent."

"Yes, yes, absolutely!" Stephens patted his chest confidently. "Stationmaster, don't worry, I've got this covered!"

Thiago nodded and then turned to the others, giving them their tasks one by one: the action team was responsible for planning the infiltration and evacuation routes, the counter-espionage team was responsible for blocking the reaction time of the local police on Hong Kong Island, and the logistics team was responsible for preparing false identities and equipment.

He arranged everything step by step, in a clear and logical manner, leaving no room for error.

Finally, he clapped his hands: "Alright everyone, let's get moving."

"Yes, sir!" The crowd responded in unison, bowed, and left the office to return to their posts.

Thiago leaned back in his chair, gazing out the window at the buildings of Central. Dusk had fallen, and the surface of Victoria Harbour shimmered with a somber light under the streetlights.

For some reason, he had a premonition that things wouldn't go as smoothly as he had hoped.

……

9 PM, Central.

A black Toyota slowly drove onto a quiet street halfway up the mountain and stopped in front of an apartment building.

Counterintelligence Director Jackson turned off the engine, sat in the car for a while, and then got out with his briefcase.

Upon entering the house, he waved to the Filipino maid who was cleaning the living room and coldly instructed in English, "Ling, you're done here tonight. Go back to your room and rest."

"Yes, sir." The Filipino maid bowed respectfully, then retreated to the servants' quarters at the back and closed the door.

After watching the other person close the door, Jackson went straight into the bedroom, locked the door behind him, and drew the heavy blackout curtains.

He then walked to the bedside table, opened the drawer, took out an old-fashioned encrypted phone from the bottom, sat down on the bed, remained silent for a moment, and dialed a number.

The phone rang three times before being answered.

Jackson lowered his voice and spoke slowly in Cantonese with a slight Hong Kong accent:

"Hey, Mr. Rum..."

Outside the window, the lights of Victoria Harbour twinkled in the night, like countless silent eyes.