"Then who are they?" Singer demanded.

  Mallory leaned on the table, looking each man in the eye. "What if they aren't active duty?"

  Higgins frowned. "Mercenaries?"

  "Retired patriots," Mallory corrected. "Or disavowed. Men who spent their lives fighting for this country, only to come home and see a corporation like Vought turning our national defense into a reality TV show. Men who know the danger Supes pose because they've seen the collateral damage up close."

  She gestured to the photos. "Think about it. Who else has the training to breach a black site undetected? Who else has the discipline to kill sixteen super powered beings without losing a single man? Who else has the moral code to ensure not a single civilian bystander was harmed in three separate high intensity engagements?"

  Higgins stared at the photo of the destroyed gate. A slow nod travelled around the table. It made sense. It fit the profile.

  "Old warhorses," Higgins murmured. "Guys who didn't like being put out to pasture. Maybe a team that served together. Gulf War? Early Afghanistan?"

  "And they're targeting Vought," Raynor said, her eyes widening. "They're doing the job we can't do because of the red tape."

  "They're vigilantes," Singer said, but his voice lacked the usual condemnation. "Highly trained and incredibly dangerous vigilantes."

  "They're winning," Mallory said. "And Vought is scared. I have intercepts from the Tower. Edgar is locking down everything. They don't know who they're fighting. They think it's a massive conspiracy. They don't realize it's likely just a fireteam of pissed off veterans."

  The General let out a short laughter. It was a humorless sound, but there was a distinct note of pride in it. "Goddamn. If that's true, if it really is just a handful of our boys taking Vought to the cleaners... you almost have to admire the balls on them."

  "Admiring them is one thing, General," Singer said, his politician's mask slipping back into place. "Allowing a rogue paramilitary unit to conduct domestic warfare is another. If Vought finds out these are former military, they will spin this into a coup. They'll say the government is attacking them. It could start a civil war."

  "Vought doesn't know yet," Mallory said. "But we... we have an opportunity here."

  "To do what?" Raynor asked. "Arrest them?"

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  "To use them," Mallory said.

  Singer raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

  "We are fighting a losing battle against Vought's military bill," Mallory stated. "This team... this 'Phantom Platoon' or whatever they are, they are getting into places we can't. They are finding things we can't. They stripped Sage Grove clean. That means they have Vought's dirty laundry."

  "If we can get that evidence..." Singer mused.

  "Exactly," Mallory said. "But we can't just knock on their door. We don't know who they are. And more importantly, we can't let Vought know we're looking for them. Vought has ears everywhere. Half your staff is probably on their payroll, Bob. If we make a move, if we try to track them through official channels, Vought will intercept it. They'll find the team and kill them before we ever make contact."

  "So we can't talk to them," Higgins said.

  "Not directly," Mallory said. "But we can leave a door open."

  "A signal," Raynor realized.

  "Yes," Mallory corrected. "We know their pattern. They hit Vought's soft underbelly. Labs. Holding facilities. And places where Vought hides their mistakes. We can predict their next target."

  "How?" Singer asked.

  "Because I have the same list of black sites that they seem to be working off of," Mallory lied smoothly. She didn't, not really, but she knew how to play the game. "There's a Vought logistics hub in Jersey. Low security and high traffic of sensitive materials. It fits their profile perfectly. We... leave a package at that site."

  "A package?" Higgins asked.

  "A secure drive," Mallory explained. "Encrypted with a CIA handshake code. Something only a professional would recognize. We leave it in a place they're guaranteed to find if they toss the place. Inside the drive, we put a single text file. A secure, one way line."

  "You want to open a chat room with a death squad," Singer summarized dryly.

  "I want to offer an exchange," Mallory said. "They give us the evidence. We give them targets. We point them at the places Vought actually cares about. We make them our weapon."

  The room fell silent again.

  General Higgins looked at the photo of the destroyed research lab. He saw soldiers doing what soldiers did best: destroying the enemy.

  "I say we do it," Higgins said, his voice firm. "If these are our boys, they're fighting the good fight. They're doing the job we're too tied up to do. Hell, I'd buy them a beer if I could."

  "General," Singer warned.

  "I'm just saying, sir," Higgins shrugged. "Better they take orders from us than run wild."

  Director Raynor nodded slowly. "If we get that evidence first... we can stop the military bill."

  Singer rubbed his face with both hands, looking older than his years. He looked at the photos of the dead Supes. He thought about the polls, the pressure and the terrifying power of Homelander.

  "Fine," Singer said. "But this stays off the books. If this blows up, Mallory, I never authorized it. You're acting as a rogue agent. I'll deny you to the press, to Congress and to God himself."

  "I wouldn't expect anything else, Bob," Mallory said, a thin smile touching her lips.

  "Do it," Singer ordered. "Reach out to these retired soldiers. But be careful, Grace. If they're as good as you say they are, they might not want to be found. And if they're not... Vought is going to eat them alive."

  "They burned down a fortress and ghosted an entire security grid," Higgins grunted, tapping the table. "Vought's the one who should be worried. These guys are professionals."

  Mallory closed the folder. "I'll handle it."

  She turned and walked out of the Situation Room, her heels clicking on the tile floor.