A taciturn Breton trained in the DGSE's action service, Erwan Le Garrec operates where France cannot officially exist. He favours infiltration and manipulation over direct elimination, killing only when no other option remains.

A black belt in karate and polyglot (German, Russian, Japanese, Arabic), he blends into any environment. His absolute composure and mastery of asymmetric strategy make him an invaluable asset in the grey zones of the Cold War.

Trained at Saint-Cyr and a former member of the 13th RDP, Éléonore Vauclair does not operate in the chaos of close combat. She observes, calculates and executes — with a CheyTac M200 Intervention capable of engaging targets beyond 3,000 metres. She has never missed. Her file records shots through high wind, in total darkness, through multiple obstacles.

Recruited by the Action Service for surgical eliminations no one else can accomplish, her presence is never disclosed to the rest of the team. She deploys only when the DGSE has determined that no other option remains. When Éléonore Vauclair had a target in her sights, that target was already out of chances.

Thirty years in intelligence. No medals, no official file. Marc Dufresne exists between the lines — in decisions nobody claims, in operations the State never conducted. Missions in Africa, the Middle East, the Balkans. Several times listed as missing. Several times presumed dead. He came back every time. The others, rarely.

He was the one who recognised Erwan Le Garrec as a rough diamond. He did not compliment him. He pushed him, tested him, put him in danger. He recruited Loïc Kerjean and Ange Casanova to protect them — not out of affection, but because assets that rare must not die needlessly. His voice is low. His silences carry more weight than his words. In front of him, a liar already knows he is condemned before opening his mouth.

"His name exists in no file. He is a shadow among shadows."

A veteran of the 1st RPIMa, Loïc Kerjean is not a bodyguard. He is a predator with a single mission: keep Erwan Le Garrec alive. His boxer's build, shaved head and piercing blue eyes mask what matters most: he thinks before he strikes. And when he strikes, it is to finish.

A master of close-quarters combat — Krav Maga, Penchak Silat, boxing — he carries a Colt Python .357 Magnum maintained with near-religious care, and a blade concealed in his right boot for when even the revolver is no longer an option. He has operated in Africa, the Middle East and the Balkans, on missions the State will never acknowledge.

In intelligence circles, they say of him: "You will never hear him coming. You will never see him fire. But you will understand too late why you should have been more careful."

Born in Corsica into a family shaped by the code of honour, Ange Casanova grew up between island traditions and the pull of arms. A former special forces sniper, he accumulated missions across the Middle East, Eastern Europe and Africa — some classified as "lost causes" by his handlers. He came back. The others did not.

Unlike his comrade-in-arms Loïc Kerjean, Ange does not build walls. He strikes before the threat arrives. Colt .44 Magnum on his hip, compact Uzi under his jacket, combat knife at his belt: his arsenal is simple. His speed of execution is not.

In intelligence circles, his reputation is unambiguous: "He doesn't hesitate. He fires, he strikes, and he vanishes."

His real name has never been spoken. Nobody asks. Le Vieux is nearing the end of his political career. His face bears the marks of several decades at the summit of the State. His grey eyes remain remarkably sharp despite his age. He speaks little. When he enters a room, silence settles naturally. Not through intimidation. Through habit. Everyone knows that when Le Vieux speaks, every word counts.

He belongs to a species now almost extinct: statesmen. He doesn't think in weeks, or in elections. He thinks in decades. Where his ministers see a crisis, he sees a historical balance of power. Where the services see an operation, he sees France's higher interest. He is neither cruel nor cynical. But he accepts that certain necessary decisions are morally unbearable.

He is the one who authorised Alain Lemoine to become officially a traitor for ten years in order to obtain a source at the very heart of the Soviet system. He knew the human cost. He signed anyway. That decision will probably haunt him until the end of his life.

"History only remembers victories. It always forgets those who had to be sacrificed to achieve them."

Average height. Discreet build. Ordinary face. When he enters a room, nobody turns around. That is precisely what made his strength throughout his career. Alain Lemoine belongs to that generation of intelligence agents whose presence never leaves a mark. In Lisbon in 1973, he dismantled a Bulgarian network and left the country disguised as a priest, microfilms hidden inside a Bible. That mission forged his internal legend for good.

Under the direct authority of the President of the Republic, he agreed to become a false traitor. Operation ORPHÉUS required him to feed the KGB carefully selected intelligence to build his credibility. For ten years, he lied to his colleagues, his superiors, his friends, his family. He even accepted being hated by those he was protecting. When Marc Dufresne hunted him through the streets of Paris, Lemoine knew he could never reveal the truth.

Behind the spy hides a father. He keeps his daughter's drawings. He has written his wife a letter she must only open after his disappearance.

"I don't want her to see me as a traitor. Or as a hero. Just as a man who took a path he could no longer leave."

MIT-trained with a double specialisation in cybersecurity and artificial intelligence, Julien Mauriac was spotted while working at a Boston-based cybersecurity start-up. Internal legend has it he proved his abilities by penetrating the Ministry of the Armed Forces network in a single night. He has never confirmed it. The DGSE recruited him without waiting.

Unlike field agents, his weapons are encryption algorithms, data streams and electronic surveillance systems. He is the one who decrypts enemy communications, provides real-time analysis, and sees disasters coming long before anyone wants to hear about them. Ill at ease in rigid military circles, his sharp cynicism irritates his superiors as much as it lightens the atmosphere.

He knows that without field operators, his data is just lines on a screen. But he would like to be given more weight in strategic decision-making.

Commandant at the DGSE and direct deputy to Colonel Morel, Gwenola Beaumer is the filter between clandestine action and the State. She does not give operational orders. She decides whether the operation exists. Nothing important crosses the threshold without her approval.

Cold intelligence, precise memory for the most sensitive files, absolute resistance to political pressure. She knows exactly what she is sacrificing when she signs. Her sentences are short. No pathos, no lyricism. A former black belt in judo, a competitive archer: she learned to fall without breaking, and to make others fall without brutality.

She is in love with Erwan Le Garrec. She will never tell him. She always calls him Le Garrec, maintains irreproachable distance, and will sign against him the day the State requires it. That day will be her silent tragedy.

"It is not a mistake. It is a choice."