Located on the northwest part of the main island of Malta in Anchor Bay and built into the craggy, curved landscape, all twenty buildings and their contents remained untouched, frozen in time. The set had evolved into a prime tourist attraction and amusement park, complete with tours, cast members that sang and interacted with visitors, sunbathing on the beach, multiple restaurants, and even a large hall called the Rough House. It was the last building that was the location for their luncheon, as Aleksei had reserved the entire hall due to its view of the cove that opened into the Mediterranean beyond.

But you’re not going to make it there, Zack thought, staring at the US Navy ScanEagle UAV feed on the HD monitor. The UAV belonged to the Arleigh Burke–class guided-missile destroyer USS Carney, which coincidentally was on a port call in Valetta and also happened to be their exfiltration from the country once the operation was over.

Zack and the team had been in Malta for the past month, establishing a base of operations in a rural farmhouse in the northern part of the island. All four men had also grown short beards and absorbed enough sunlight—except Charles, the only African American of the four—to reasonably pass for native Maltese. Zack, Griffin, Charles, and Noah had all explored the island, mastering the main roads, the back roads, and even the narrow streets of Valetta. Within two weeks, they could navigate without a map from the densest urban centers to the expansive plains on the western half of the island.

The farmhouse itself was owned by a wealthy CEO with ties to the gaming industry and a brother who was a senior executive and lifelong diplomat at the US State Department. Once he’d understood why, the ask had been an easy one for the CEO to oblige.

Ironically, the farmhouse no longer resembled a farmhouse but a luxurious, spacious building with multiple bedrooms, an open main-floor plan, and an external second-story balcony that wrapped around the front and side of the home to provide a stunning view of the ocean less than a quarter mile away. Near the end of Triq Tad-Dahar Road, it was also within two miles of Popeye Village.

The large family room had been transformed into the operations center, and Zack looked up as Griffin came down the stairs, outfitted in his tactical gear, complete with khakis, a gray long-sleeved shirt to blend in with the rocky terrain, tan Oakley tactical boots, and a tan Kevlar vest with multiple pouches. Even without a weapon, Griffin was a fearsome individual. While every member of the team had a month’s growth of beard, Griffin’s made him look like some kind of ancient Norse warrior. At least we’ll be wearing tan balaclavas made of neoprene.

“Everything running like clockwork, Zachary?” Griffin asked as he walked over to the table and stared at the monitor.