Page 15 of A Ballad of Blackbirds and Betrayal (Dynamis Security #4)
“Try telling her that,” Cal replied with a snort. “I suggested she take maternity leave last week. She reconfigured my security clearance to lock me out of my own systems for three hours to demonstrate what happens when she’s not working.”
Despite everything, Sabrina felt her lips curve upward. The brief glimpse into the personal lives of these people—their connections, their partnerships, their very human quirks—humanized them in ways that made the lethal skills they possessed all the more remarkable.
“Gentlemen,” Atticus said, turning to the two men Sabrina hadn’t met. He reached for the coffee mug on the nearest surface and took a long sip, grimacing slightly at what must have been stone-cold liquid. “Status.”
The silver-haired man straightened, adjusting the cuffs of his immaculate shirt with a fastidiousness that seemed at odds with the crisis unfolding around them. “All field teams recalled and positioned. Satellite surveillance online and monitoring Mitchell’s known locations.”
“Air support?” Atticus asked, absently wiping a coffee drop from his wrist with the handkerchief he always seemed to have handy—a small, old-fashioned detail that Sabrina found unexpectedly endearing.
“Two choppers ready, pilots on standby,” the man confirmed in his British accent. “Gear prepped for full tactical engagement.”
“Griffin specializes in extraction and air operations,” Nate explained to Sabrina, his hand resting on Eden’s shoulder in a casual display of connection that spoke volumes about their relationship.
Small, jagged scars crisscrossed his knuckles—the marks of someone who’d fought his way out of more situations than could be counted.
“Former British SAS. Call sign Merlin. If you need to get in or out of somewhere impossible, he’s your man. ”
Griffin nodded to her with professional courtesy. “Dr. Wells. Welcome to the madhouse.” He absently straightened a pen on the desk beside him, aligning it perfectly perpendicular to the edge—another hint of the precise, ordered mind beneath the calm exterior.
The darker man stepped forward, features sharp and hawkish beneath desert-tanned skin.
Unlike the others in tactical gear or business attire, he wore a simple gray henley and cargo pants, with well-worn hiking boots that had seen countless miles.
A thin silver chain with a small Star of David pendant was barely visible at his neck, his fingers occasionally touching it as if for reassurance.
“Perimeter security at the demonstration site is extensive but manageable,” he reported, his voice carrying the musical lilt of his Middle Eastern origins. “Three access points with potential for covert entry.”
“Sabrina, meet Reza,” Eden said. “Infiltration specialist. He can get through security systems the rest of us didn’t even know existed. We call him the Prophet because he knows things.” Eden tapped Reza good-naturedly on the arm.
“Former Mossad?” Sabrina asked.
“Different agency,” Reza replied with a thin smile, his fingers momentarily leaving the pendant. “One that doesn’t officially exist. Atticus offered me a better retirement plan.”
“Let’s focus,” Atticus said, bringing them back to the crisis at hand. He rubbed at the tension in the back of his neck—a gesture so human and vulnerable that Sabrina felt an unexpected surge of tenderness toward him. “Cal, what’s in those files?”
“Everything,” Cal replied, scanning rapidly as data populated his screens.
His foot tapped a constant, jittery rhythm against the floor—the physical manifestation of the caffeine coursing through his system.
“Molecular structures, test results, delivery protocols, and—hello, what’s this?
” He highlighted a folder labeled DEMONSTRATION .
“Looks like location coordinates and a timeline.”
“Put it on the main screen,” Atticus directed.
The wall display shifted to show satellite imagery of a complex on the outskirts of Dallas.
“Former chemical research facility,” Max identified immediately, cracking his knuckles with audible pops that made Jade wince. “Officially decommissioned in 2008, but still has intact lab infrastructure.”
“Perfect for demonstrating a bioweapon without containment concerns,” Eden noted, her expression hardening with the cold calculation of someone who’d seen too many atrocities.
The change transformed her face, emphasizing the slight asymmetry of her features that Sabrina hadn’t noticed before—perhaps from a past injury that hadn’t quite healed properly.
“The surrounding area is unpopulated for miles.”
“Not entirely,” Nate contradicted, pulling up population data. He leaned closer to the screen, unconsciously rubbing at the thin white scar that bisected his eyebrow. “There’s a small rural community three miles downwind. Forty-seven residents.”
The implication hung heavy in the air.
“Test subjects,” Jade said, voicing what they all suspected. “Mitchell’s going to use actual civilians to demonstrate the weapon’s effectiveness.”
Sabrina felt sick, the taste of bile rising in the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, forcing her medical training to supersede her emotional response. “We need to evacuate those people.”
“Without tipping Mitchell that we know his plans,” Atticus added.
He braced his hands against the table, shoulders hunched forward in a rare moment of visible strain.
For an instant, Sabrina saw beyond the controlled commander to the man beneath—a father who had already lost a wife to violence and would do anything to prevent others from experiencing that same devastation. “Cal, what’s the timeline?”
“According to these files…forty-eight hours until demonstration. Twelve international buyers confirmed in attendance,” Cal said.
“So we have less than two days to develop a countermeasure, neutralize the weapon, and shut down Mitchell’s operation before he commits mass murder,” Sabrina summarized, her medical training already calculating what they’d need for an antidote.
She tucked another loose strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly acutely aware of how disheveled she must look compared to these professionals who seemed prepared for Armageddon at a moment’s notice.
“Why not alert the FBI?” she asked, looking around at the assembled team. The silver ring on her finger caught the light as she gestured.
A bitter laugh escaped Reza. “And trust the people who take their orders from the same powers that Mitchell influences?” He touched the pendant briefly. “I’ve seen how corruption works in governments. It’s the same everywhere.”
“The Bureau has been compromised for years,” Griffin added, his expression grim as he straightened his already immaculate cuffs. “Particularly in matters touching senior political figures.”
“And the CIA?” Sabrina pressed.
Atticus fixed her with a steady gaze, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to years of sleepless nights and constant vigilance. “Would be more interested in acquiring the bioweapon than destroying it. Trust me on this. There’s a reason Dynamis operates independently.”
The bleak assessment of government agencies she’d once considered the backbone of national security disturbed her more than she wanted to admit.
But looking around at the assembled team—at the resources and capabilities they commanded—she understood why Atticus had built this organization outside official channels.
“The bioweapon is the priority,” he continued, addressing the team. He straightened to his full height, shoulders squaring as he reassumed the mantle of leadership that seemed as much a burden as a privilege. “We need to understand it, neutralize it, and ensure it never reaches the open market.”
He turned to each team member in turn, issuing directives.
“Cal, I want everything from that flash drive analyzed. Griffin, coordinate evacuation protocols for that community—quiet, non-alarming. Nate and Eden, prep for infiltration reconnaissance of BioGenix. Max, get me everything on those buyers. Reza, I need detailed ingress and egress routes for the demonstration site.”
He turned to Sabrina last. “Sabrina, we need that antidote. What do you require?”
“A fully equipped lab, access to CDC databases, and possibly a miracle,” she answered honestly, pushing up the sleeves of her blouse in a gesture that mirrored his own from earlier.
“The first two I can provide,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The miracle will have to come from you.”
“No pressure,” she muttered, realizing she’d adopted Cal’s habit of drumming her fingers against the nearest surface—a rapid-fire tempo that betrayed her anxiety.
“There’s always pressure,” Eden said, her voice carrying the steel of a woman who’d survived bullets to the chest and lived to hunt down the man who’d put them there. “But you’re in good company. We specialize in impossible deadlines with global consequences.”
“Do you also specialize in bioweapon countermeasures?” Sabrina asked, arching an eyebrow.
“No, but we’re quick studies,” Eden replied, her expression serious but not unkind.
For a moment, her guard lowered enough to reveal the woman beneath the operative—a woman who had survived unimaginable betrayal and emerged stronger, yet still capable of compassion.
“And we have something Mitchell doesn’t. ”
“What’s that?”
“You,” Atticus said simply, his gaze holding hers. The single word carried a weight she wasn’t prepared for, and she caught herself holding her breath as something electric passed between them.
The moment stretched between them, interrupted by Cal’s sudden exclamation.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said, pointing to a monitor displaying security footage of what Sabrina recognized as her own home. Men in dark clothing were systematically searching the rooms, upending furniture and rifling through her personal belongings.