CHAPTER 26: [26] OPERATION: FALLEN TYRANT

"So we’re really doing this."

"Cold feet already?" Pierre spread the blueprints wider across the weathered wooden crate, the papers crackling under his palms. The faded ink lines seemed to come alive in the dim light, revealing every detail of Hardy’s monument with startling clarity. "Because I can always find another woman who’s not afraid of a little danger."

Raven snorted, settling onto a stack of moldy fishing nets that compressed beneath her weight with a soft squelch.The abandoned shack groaned around them, a constant complaint against the sea wind. Moonlight filtered through grimy windows, casting silver, shifting patterns across the schematics. A rat scurried across the far corner, disappearing into a hole in the wall.

"Please. I’ve stolen from crews that would skin you alive for looking at them wrong." She leaned forward, her blue eyes catching the light as they swept over the town square blueprints. "A pompous Navy captain doesn’t exactly keep me up at night."

Pierre traced his finger along the statue’s foundation markings, noting the structural support points. The paper felt rough beneath his fingertips, the ink slightly raised where the draftsman had pressed harder. "Look at this. Hardy’s monument isn’t just oversized ego—it’s poor engineering. The foundation’s only eighteen inches deep for a thirty-foot bronze statue."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning it’s already unstable. Add the right kind of stress in the right places..." He tapped three specific points on the blueprint. "And gravity does the rest of our work for us. Physics becomes our accomplice."

Raven’s lips curved upward. "I like where this is going. But bringing down a statue is one thing. Getting away clean is another." She pulled out a piece of charcoal and began sketching patrol routes over the existing blueprints. "Security changes shifts at six, ten, and two. That gives us a four-hour window where the guards are either tired from a long shift or still getting their bearings. I’ve been watching them for three days now – they’re creatures of habit."

"Which shift would be ideal?" Pierre asked.

"Two AM. Night watch is skeleton crew, and they’re more worried about pirates coming from the water than troublemakers already on land." Her hand moved confidently across the paper. "Plus, Hardy’s got that prosthetic leg. Cold night air makes it ache—his file mentioned chronic pain issues. He’ll be dead asleep on painkillers by then."

Pierre studied her additions to their makeshift battle plan, noting how she’d identified vulnerabilities he hadn’t even considered. "You’ve thought about this before."

"I think about everything. Occupational hazard." She set down the charcoal and stretched, her joints popping softly as she extended her arms above her head. "But you’re right about the foundation being the weak point. Question is, how do we exploit it without bringing half the town down on our heads?"

"Explosives are out. Too loud, too much collateral damage." Pierre pulled Hardy’s personnel file from his jacket, flipping through the pages. "But what if we don’t need to blow anything up? What if we just... encourage the statue to fall over on its own? A gentle nudge in the right direction."

"I’m listening." Raven leaned forward, elbows on knees, her mismatched red and white hair falling across her face.

"Hardy weighs two-ten. In full ceremonial gear, two-thirty, maybe more." Pierre’s gaze went distant, his fingers tracing invisible lines in the air. "The statue is what, eight times life-size? The weight multiplies exponentially." He scribbled a few numbers, then tapped the blueprint. "We’re talking about nearly a ton of bronze, held up by ego and a few flimsy bolts."

Raven’s eyes lit up as she caught his meaning, the blue irises practically glowing in the moonlight streaming through the dirty window. "You want to turn it into a giant lever."

"Exactly. Apply pressure at the right angle, and that shallow foundation becomes a fulcrum instead of an anchor." He pointed to the statue’s raised sword arm, which was depicted in a dramatic pose slashing downward at imaginary enemies. "We don’t need explosives. We just need leverage."

"Human strength and the right chemical assistance." Raven Raven reached into her travel pack. She produced a small glass vial filled with a liquid so clear it seemed to steal the moonlight, bending it within the glass. It looked as harmless as water, and somehow, that was more threatening.

"Aqua fortis. It un-makes metal. A few drops on the right stress points, let it work overnight, and those support bolts won’t be supporting much of anything. The metal will weaken, crack, and give way under its own weight."

Pierre stared at the vial. "Where the hell did you get that?"

"Picked it up from a scientist in Port Klinko." She rolled the vial between her fingers. "Cost me three months’ worth of stolen jewelry, but acids are useful in my line of work." She held the vial up to the moonlight, watching the liquid swirl inside with an almost hypnotic quality. "Locks, hinges, inconvenient iron bars—amazing how many problems dissolve when you apply the right solution."

"That’s... actually brilliant." Pierre leaned back against the shack’s wall, which creaked ominously under his weight. "But we still need contingencies. What if Hardy shows up early? What if the guards change their patrol route?"

"Then we adapt. That’s what separates professionals from amateurs." Raven stood up and began pacing the small space. "First rule of any job—always have an exit strategy. Second rule—always have a backup exit strategy. I never go into a situation without knowing at least three ways out."

"And if both exit strategies fail?"

"Then you make a new one on the spot." She stopped pacing and fixed him with that intense blue stare that seemed to pierce right through him. "But that’s not going to happen, because we’re not going to let it happen. We control every variable we can, prepare for the ones we can’t, and trust our instincts for everything else."

Pierre listened, the knot of uncertainty in his gut slowly loosening with every word she spoke. She didn’t talk about plans; she talked about inevitabilities.

The chaos of guard patrols became a simple clockwork mechanism. The solid fortress of the Navy base became a series of doors waiting for the right key.

"You really have done this before."

"More times than I care to count. Though usually for money, not..." She gestured vaguely at the blueprints, her silver rings catching the moonlight. "Whatever this is."

"Justice?" Pierre suggested with a hint of a smile.

"I was going to say ’stupidity,’ but sure. Let’s call it justice." Raven turned, looking out of the window. "It’s been a while since I did something just because it was right."

Pierre looked at the complex web of plans and contingencies they’d woven across the blueprints. Guard rotations, chemical sabotage, mechanical engineering, psychological warfare—it was more sophisticated than anything he’d ever attempted. The moonlight illuminated their handiwork, transforming simple charcoal marks into a battle plan worthy of the greatest strategists. "We should call it something."

"Call what something?" Raven asked, arching an eyebrow.

"This. Our plan. Our..." He searched for the right word, fingers drumming lightly on the crate. "Our operation."

Raven raised an eyebrow highert. "You want to name our criminal conspiracy?"

"Why not? Every great operation has a codename." Pierre studied Hardy’s arrogant pose in the statue blueprints, the way the bronze figure stood triumphant over fallen enemies, sword raised in victory over cowering forms. "He thinks he’s a king on a throne. We’re going to make him fall."

"Operation: Fallen Tyrant?" Raven suggested.

"Operation: Fallen Tyrant."