The water taxi cut through Venice's morning mist like a blade through silk, its wake disturbing the ancient reflections that danced on the canal's surface.
The Chameleon sat in the passenger compartment, watching the city's impossible architecture slide past while his mind focused on the challenges ahead.
He had twelve hours to collect his operational identities from Michelangelo and return to Monaco before Kozlov's container arrived.
Twelve hours to prepare for an operation that should have taken weeks.
The taxi driver navigated the maze of waterways with practiced ease, avoiding the tourist routes in favor of narrow channels that most visitors never saw.
This was the Venice that existed beneath the postcard facade: a working city where real people lived and worked, where ancient buildings housed modern businesses, and where someone like Michelangelo could operate without attracting unwanted attention.
The workshop was hidden in the basement of a converted palazzo near the Arsenale, accessible only through a series of increasingly narrow passages that would confuse anyone unfamiliar with the route.
The building's official records listed it as storage space for a legitimate art restoration business, which provided perfect cover for Michelangelo's actual work.
The Chameleon paid the taxi driver and made his way through the labyrinthine streets, checking for surveillance with the automatic caution of someone who had survived by being perpetually paranoid.
Venice's tourist crowds provided excellent cover, but they also made it difficult to spot potential threats among the constant flow of people.
The entrance to Michelangelo's workshop was unmarked, hidden behind a door that looked like it led to a storage closet.
The security system was state-of-the-art despite its innocent appearance: biometric scanners disguised as decorative elements, pressure plates that could detect the weight and gait of approaching visitors, and cameras so small they were virtually invisible.
Michelangelo's voice came through a hidden speaker as the Chameleon approached the door.
"You're early. And you look like hell."
"The timeline accelerated. I need the documentation now."
"I figured as much when I got your message. Come in, but be careful, I'm working on something delicate."
The door opened silently, revealing a staircase that descended into what had once been the palazzo's wine cellar.
The space had been completely transformed, turned into a workshop that combined cutting-edge technology with old-world craftsmanship. Holographic displays showed three-dimensional models of documents, while traditional printing presses sat alongside laser engravers and chemical baths.
Michelangelo himself was a study in contrasts a man in his sixties who dressed like a bohemian artist but possessed the technical skills of a master engineer.
His real name was lost to history, buried beneath decades of false identities and carefully constructed legends. He had been creating perfect documents since before the digital age, adapting his methods as technology evolved while maintaining the artistic standards that made his work legendary.
"Your timing is terrible," he said without looking up from the document he was working on. "I've got three other clients with rush orders, and the Monaco police have been asking questions about unusual printing supplies."
"What kind of questions?"
"The kind that suggests someone is looking for a forger. Nothing specific yet, but they're definitely fishing." Michelangelo finally looked up, his eyes sharp despite his casual demeanor. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
The Chameleon considered the implications. If law enforcement was actively searching for document forgers in the region, it could mean that someone had connected his previous operations to falsified identities. Or it could be unrelated, part of a broader investigation into criminal activities around the Grand Prix.
Either way, it represented a significant security risk.
"I'll be more careful," he said finally. "How much time do you need?"
"For what you're asking? Normally, I'd say three days minimum. You want three complete identities with full documentation: passports, driver's licenses, credit cards, medical records, and employment histories. That's not something you rush."
Michelangelo led him deeper into the workshop, past workstations where various documents were in different stages of completion.
The attention to detail was extraordinary; every element from paper composition to ink chemistry was precisely matched to the originals.
The holographic displays showed microscopic analysis of security features, while computer programs simulated aging processes to make new documents appear authentically used.
"But," Michelangelo continued, "I've been working on your identities for the past month, ever since you first made contact. The basic documentation is complete, I just need to add the final security features and run the authentication tests."
He stopped at a workstation where three sets of documents were laid out with surgical precision.
Each identity was complete down to the smallest detail, not just official documents, but the kind of personal items that made an identity believable.
Credit cards with realistic wear patterns, business cards with slightly faded printing, even receipts and ticket stubs that suggested a lived-in history.
"Marcus Grey, British art dealer," Michelangelo said, indicating the first set. "Educated at Cambridge, gallery in Mayfair, member of the Royal Academy. His passport shows travel to all the right places: New York, Paris, Hong Kong. The kind of sophisticated international presence that would appeal to Monaco's art community."
The documentation was flawless. The passport bore entry stamps from a dozen countries, each one perfectly authentic down to the specific ink and stamp designs used by different border control agencies.
The driver's license showed appropriate wear for someone who had owned it for several years, and the credit cards had the kind of subtle scratches and discoloration that came from regular use.
"Antoine Dubois, French racing enthusiast," Michelangelo continued, moving to the second identity. "Born in Lyon, works in automotive journalism, has press credentials for major racing events. His documentation shows a passion for Formula One that goes back decades, ticket stubs from Monaco races dating back fifteen years, press passes from circuits across Europe."
The French identity was equally convincing, complete with a press card that would provide access to restricted areas during the Grand Prix weekend.
The attention to detail extended to personal items a worn leather wallet, a vintage Omega watch, even a lucky coin that Antoine supposedly carried to every race.
"And Dr. Michael Grayson, American philanthropist," Michelangelo finished, indicating the third set. "Medical degree from Johns Hopkins, specialization in pediatric trauma, currently on sabbatical to establish his foundation. His documentation includes medical licenses, hospital ID cards, and correspondence with major humanitarian organizations."
The American identity was the most complex, requiring medical credentials that could withstand professional scrutiny.
Michelangelo had created not just the basic documents but an entire professional history, published papers in medical journals, conference attendance records,and even a medical school yearbook photo that had been digitally inserted into the original publication.
"The quality is exceptional," the Chameleon said, examining each document carefully. "But what about the timeline? You said three days minimum."
"For the final authentication, yes. But I can give you working versions now, documents that will pass casual inspection and electronic verification. The deep-background elements can be completed remotely and uploaded to the relevant databases over the next few days."
Michelangelo moved to a secure cabinet and withdrew three sets of documents, each one sealed in a protective envelope. "These are your operational versions. They'll get you through airport security, hotel registration, and basic background checks. But don't try to use them for anything that requires deep verification until I give you the all-clear."
The Chameleon accepted the envelopes, feeling the weight of the new identities in his hands. Each one represented months of preparation and thousands of euros in materials and expertise. More importantly, each one was a potential lifeline if the operation went wrong and he needed to disappear quickly.
"There's something else," Michelangelo said, his tone becoming more serious. "I've been hearing rumors about increased security around high-value targets in Monaco. Private military contractors, electronic surveillance, the kind of protection that suggests someone is expecting trouble."
"What kind of rumors?"
"The kind that come from people who sell security equipment to very wealthy, very paranoid clients. Someone has been buying military-grade surveillance systems, encrypted communication devices, and personal protection equipment. The orders are being placed through shell companies, but the delivery addresses all trace back to Monaco."
The information was troubling but not entirely unexpected. If Kozlov was planning to accelerate his trafficking operations, it made sense that he would also upgrade his security measures. The question was whether the increased protection was specifically related to the container shipment or part of a broader security enhancement.
"Any idea who's behind the purchases?"
"Nothing concrete, but the timing suggests it's connected to your current operation. The orders started coming in about two weeks ago, right around the time you began your surveillance activities."
Two weeks ago.
That was when the Chameleon had first begun his digital investigation into Kozlov's operations, using methods that should have been undetectable. If Kozlov had somehow become aware of the surveillance, it could mean that the entire operation was compromised.
Or it could mean that Kozlov was simply being cautious during a high-value operation, taking extra precautions to protect his most valuable shipment.
"I'll factor it into my planning," the Chameleon said. "Anything else I should know?"
Michelangelo hesitated, then moved to another workstation where a different kind of document was being prepared. "I've been working on something else an emergency identity that's not connected to your current operation. Clean documentation, no operational history, the kind of identity you could use if everything goes wrong and you need to disappear completely."
The emergency identity was simpler than the operational ones, a Canadian businessman with a modest background and unremarkable history. But the documentation was just as thorough, complete with financial records and employment history that would stand up to extended scrutiny.
"I hope you never need it," Michelangelo said, sealing the documents in a separate envelope. "But given what I'm hearing about Monaco, it seemed like a prudent precaution."
The Chameleon accepted the emergency identity, understanding the implications. Michelangelo was concerned enough about the operation to prepare for complete mission failure, the kind of catastrophic exposure that would require abandoning all current identities and starting over from scratch.
It was not a comforting thought.
"The payment will be transferred within twenty-four hours," the Chameleon said, preparing to leave. "Same account as usual."
"Make it forty-eight hours," Michelangelo replied. "If this operation goes as badly as I think it might, I may need some time to relocate my workshop."
The water taxi was waiting at the designated pickup point, its driver reading a newspaper with the studied indifference of someone who had learned not to ask questions about his passengers. The return journey to Marco Polo Airport would take forty minutes, leaving just enough time to catch the afternoon flight to Nice.
As Venice's ancient skyline receded behind them, the Chameleon reviewed the documentation one final time.
Three identities, each one perfect in its own way, each one representing a different approach to the challenges ahead. Marcus Grey would provide social access, Antoine Dubois would offer operational mobility, and Dr. Grayson would supply moral credibility.
But beneath all the carefully constructed personas lay the same fundamental truth he was a killer preparing to kill again, and no amount of documentation could change that reality.
The container was already en route to Monaco, carrying its cargo of stolen children toward an auction that would destroy their lives forever.
Viktor Kozlov was preparing for what he believed would be another successful operation, protected by wealth, connections, and upgraded security measures.
Neither the children nor their captor knew that death was coming for them all, carried in the hands of a man who could become anyone he needed to be.
The hunt was entering its final phase, and the Chameleon was ready to strike.