Page 23 of A Ballad of Blackbirds and Betrayal (Dynamis Security #4)

Chapter Twelve

The countermeasure was ready.

Sabrina studied the clear liquid in the vial—deceptively ordinary yet potentially world saving. Her body hummed with exhaustion and triumph after hours of work synthesizing this molecular sponge designed to neutralize Mitchell’s bioweapon.

“Will it work?”

Atticus’s voice cut through her concentration. He filled the doorway in full tactical gear, the compression shirt revealing the coiled strength beneath. The utilitarian outfit somehow intensified his presence rather than diminishing it.

“In theory? Yes.” She secured the vial in its transport container. “In practice? We won’t know until tested.”

“Let’s hope that test doesn’t come tonight,” he said, moving toward her with predatory grace. “Though Mitchell seems determined to force our hand.”

“Any update on the transports?”

“Three separate convoys left BioGenix twenty minutes ago. Cal’s tracking them, but they’re heading in different directions.”

“A shell game,” Sabrina said, sealing the container. “Only one has the actual bioweapon.”

“Or they’ve divided it.” Atticus’s eyes locked on hers, the air between them compressing with unspoken possibilities.

“Atticus—” she began.

“Later,” he cut in. “When this is done.”

The intercom shattered the moment. “Atticus,” Cal reported, urgency edging his voice. “Mitchell just threw a crystal decanter against the wall when he learned about Anna’s extraction.”

A predatory smile touched Atticus’s lips. “Good. Cornered men make mistakes.”

“He’s deployed additional security and moved up the timeline. Demonstration now scheduled for 1400 hours. He’s desperate.”

“Cornered,” Atticus corrected. “Let’s make him regret it.”

They descended to the command center, where the team was already preparing. Weapons checked, communications tested, tactics reviewed. Two dozen additional personnel moved around the core team.

“Vehicles prepped and ready,” Griffin announced, his British accent clipped under pressure. “Three primary teams, four secondary response units.”

“Any progress identifying which convoy has the bioweapon?” Atticus demanded.

Cal shook his head. “All three have identical thermal signatures. Can’t distinguish without eyes inside.”

“Then we intercept all three,” Atticus ordered. “Nate, Eden—take convoy Charlie with Team Three. Griffin, coordinate from here. I’ll lead Team One on Alpha.”

“With respect—” Griffin began.

“Mitchell made this personal eight years ago,” Atticus cut him off, his voice hardening. “I’m going into the field.”

The room fell silent before he continued, “Davis and Thompson will handle civilian evacuation. We have forty-seven civilians at risk—get them clear before Mitchell deploys.”

“Max, Jade—with me on Alpha. Reza, we’ll need your infiltration skills if the convoy reaches its destination.”

“Doc—” Cal turned to Sabrina, “—we need multiple doses of the countermeasure.”

“Fifteen doses ready,” she confirmed. “Plus an aerosol version that could theoretically neutralize an airborne release.”

“Theoretically?” Eden raised an eyebrow.

“It’s untested,” Sabrina admitted. “But molecular modeling suggests it should work.”

“We’ll take it,” Nate said, accepting a container. “Better options than regrets.”

“Gear up,” Atticus ordered. “Wheels up in five.”

The team dispersed, leaving Sabrina momentarily adrift.

“You should rest,” Atticus suggested. “You’ve done your part.”

“And wait here while you risk your lives?” She squared her shoulders. “I’m going with you.”

“Sabrina—”

“This is my field. If anyone’s exposed, minutes will matter. You need me.” Her gaze didn’t waver. “Besides, I handled two combat tours. I can manage this.”

His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping as he weighed command against protection. “Gear’s in the armory,” he finally said. “Three minutes.”

Sabrina quickly selected body armor and changed into tactical gear. When she emerged, Reza handed her a Glock 19, which she checked with familiar ease.

Three vehicles waited in the garage—Reza behind the wheel of a matte black Range Rover, Nate and Eden in a similar vehicle, Griffin opting for an unmarked sedan.

“Alpha convoy approaching the I-35 junction,” Cal reported as they moved out. “Clean intercept window in twenty-three minutes.”

They separated at the first intersection, Reza pushing the Range Rover beyond speed limits through the empty streets. Sabrina watched Atticus’s profile, struck by his transformation into pure operator mode.

“Alpha convoy consists of three vehicles,” Cal continued. “Lead and rear SUVs with security, middle transport with cargo. Ten personnel total, all armed.”

“Rules of engagement?” Reza asked, taking a turn that pressed Sabrina against the door.

“Nonlethal if possible,” Atticus replied. “They’re hired security, not Mitchell’s inner circle. But if they escalate, respond accordingly.

“There.” He pointed to approaching headlights. “Alpha convoy.”

Reza accelerated, pulling ahead of the convoy before swerving into its path. The lead SUV braked hard, tires screaming against asphalt.

“Contact with Alpha convoy,” Atticus reported. “Initiating intercept.”

Security personnel emerged with weapons drawn. Atticus exited the Range Rover, his own weapon ready.

“Dynamis Security,” he called. “Stand down. We’re not here for you.”

The guards hesitated—just long enough for Reza to circle behind them.

“The cargo,” Atticus continued. “That’s all we want.”

For a heartbeat, compliance seemed possible. Then the rear SUV roared forward, ramming their vehicle. Atticus dove sideways as metal crushed against metal.

The night erupted in gunfire.

Sabrina dropped to the floor as bullets pinged off the armored exterior. Through the window, she watched Atticus move with lethal stealth, his return fire targeting extremities. One guard went down clutching his shoulder.

“Clear the transport,” Atticus ordered as Reza knocked another guard unconscious.

“Cargo secured,” Reza reported moments later. “Moving to check the containment unit.”

“Charlie Team has secured their transport,” Cal updated. “Negative on the bioweapon. It’s a decoy.”

Hope surged through Sabrina. Fifty-fifty odds now.

“Reaper,” Reza called, his voice tense. “You need to see this.”

Sabrina abandoned safety, moving toward the transport despite Atticus’s earlier order. Inside, a single containment unit sat empty, its seal broken—and a timer counting down from forty-seven seconds.

“Everyone back!” Atticus shouted, pulling Sabrina away. “It’s rigged!”

They’d barely cleared twenty feet when the device detonated with a muffled thump. A fine mist sprayed into the air, hanging like fog.

“Gas masks!” Atticus ordered, but the security personnel closest to the transport were already coughing violently, blood-tinged foam appearing at their mouths.

“It’s an aerosol sample,” Sabrina realized, already moving toward them before Atticus caught her arm.

“Protection first,” he insisted, thrusting a mask into her hands.

She secured it quickly, then ran and knelt beside the first guard, searching for a viable vein as his body convulsed. “It’s working faster than anticipated,” she muttered, administering the countermeasure. “The molecular structure must be refined.”

“Prophet’s been exposed,” Atticus reported, his voice tight. “Showing early symptoms.”

Sabrina worked methodically, treating both guards before turning to Reza, whose skin had paled unnaturally.

“How bad?” he asked, voice raspy.

“Lower dose than these two,” she said, injecting the countermeasure. “Better odds, but still serious.”

“All three convoys were decoys,” Cal suddenly reported. “But satellite just caught a fourth vehicle leaving through a maintenance entrance—smaller, unmarked, with refrigeration. Heading to Addison airfield.”

“The shell game had an extra shell,” Atticus said grimly. “Davis, status on evacuation?”

“Fifty percent complete,” came the response. “Need more time.”

“Medical team will handle this,” Atticus decided. “We need to pursue that fourth vehicle. The Range Rover’s compromised—we’ll take their lead SUV.”

He turned to Sabrina, eyes intense even through his mask. “You stay with the medical team.”

“The countermeasure is working,” she countered, already moving toward the SUV. “They’ll be stable. You need me with you.”

“Sabrina—”

“Don’t argue with me. We’re wasting time.” She slung her medical pack over her shoulder. “Either we go together, or I find my own way there.”

Something between a growl and sigh escaped him. “Stubborn woman.”

“Determined,” she corrected, sliding into the passenger seat. “There’s a difference.”

The ghost of a smile touched his mouth as he took the wheel. “Is there? I hadn’t noticed.”

They reached the airfield minutes later, approaching through the east access point using Cal’s bypass code. The Gulfstream waited on the tarmac, its engines already warming as two figures loaded a container up the boarding stairs.

“Direct approach is too risky,” Atticus said, studying the aircraft through binoculars. “One stray bullet could rupture the containment unit.”

Before Sabrina could respond, gunfire erupted from across the field.

“Santiago,” came a tense voice through comms. “Agent down. Jenkins is hit and bleeding out. We’re pinned behind the fuel depot.”

Atticus’s jaw tightened. “Warlock, ETA?”

“Seven minutes out,” Nate responded.

“Santiago doesn’t have seven minutes,” Sabrina said, already preparing medical supplies.

Atticus caught her wrist, his grip gentle but firm. “Be careful,” he said, his eyes locking with hers. “I still plan to have that conversation when this is over.”

“I’m counting on it,” she replied, and slipped away into the darkness.