Page 25 of A Ballad of Blackbirds and Betrayal (Dynamis Security #4)
Her moment of distraction cost her. A sharp crack from behind was her only warning before pain exploded across the back of her skull, driving her to her knees.
Through suddenly blurred vision, she saw a dark figure looming over her—another of Mitchell’s security personnel, one they hadn’t accounted for.
“You’ve caused enough trouble,” he growled, raising his weapon for a killing shot.
The world narrowed to the barrel of his gun, time slowing to a nightmarish crawl as Sabrina stared death in the face. Her fingers scrabbled for her own weapon, but the blow to her head had left her disoriented, her movements clumsy and ineffective.
The crack of a single gunshot split the night.
The security operative’s expression morphed from cruel satisfaction to blank surprise before he crumpled to the ground beside her, a neat hole centered in his forehead.
Sabrina turned to see Atticus emerging from the side of the hangar, his weapon still raised, expression coldly lethal. Blood streaked one side of his face from a cut above his eye, and he moved with the slight stiffness that suggested injured ribs, but the steadiness of his aim never wavered.
“That’s the second time you’ve disobeyed a direct order,” he said, his voice low and controlled as he reached her side, helping her to her feet with his free hand. “Are you hurt?”
“Just my pride,” she replied, wincing as his fingers gently probed the back of her head, finding the lump where she’d been struck. “And maybe a mild concussion. You’re bleeding.”
“So are you.”
Their eyes met in the dim light, and something electric passed between them—relief, understanding, and an electric intensity that arced between their bodies.
For a heartbeat, the chaos around them seemed to recede, leaving only this connection, this moment of recognition between two people who had faced death and emerged on the other side.
The moment shattered as Eden called out from the aircraft. “Reaper! We’ve secured the bioweapon, but you need to see this.”
Reality crashed back with brutal efficiency. Atticus’s hand dropped from her face, though he remained close, assessing her ability to stand on her own before moving toward the Gulfstream.
“Stay here,” he ordered, then paused, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly despite the tension. “Please.”
The unexpected courtesy startled a laugh from her, however brief. “Since you asked nicely.”
His eyes held hers for another beat before his expression shifted to resignation. “Who am I kidding? You need to see the bioweapon. Come on, but stay close.”
“That was my plan all along,” she replied, appreciating his pragmatism.
They moved toward the aircraft together, approaching just as Nate emerged from the shadows with a subdued prisoner. The man’s hands were secured behind his back with zip ties, his expression one of cold defiance despite his circumstances.
“One of Mitchell’s top guys,” Nate explained, nodding toward his captive. “Isn’t that right, Jacobs? Maybe he’s got some useful information.”
“Bring him aboard,” Atticus directed. “If the bioweapon’s there, we’ll need everything he knows.”
Sabrina ascended the boarding stairs beside Atticus, her head throbbing with each step, but the pain remained manageable—a distraction rather than a disability.
The interior of the Gulfstream reflected Mitchell’s wealth and taste—plush leather seating, polished wood accents, and state-of-the-art technology seamlessly integrated into the cabin design.
Two more of Mitchell’s men lay unconscious, expertly restrained by Eden, who was examining a reinforced containment unit secured in the aft section of the cabin.
“It’s intact,” she reported as Atticus approached. “But that’s not the problem.”
She gestured to a digital display on the side of the unit. Red numbers counted down steadily: 12:47…12:46…12:45…
“It’s on a timer,” Atticus said, his expression grim. “Set to release at the demonstration site.”
“Which is where?” Sabrina asked, moving to examine the containment unit despite the disapproving look Atticus shot her way.
“That’s what our friend here is going to tell us,” Nate said, shoving Mitchell’s security chief into one of the leather seats. “Aren’t you, Jacobs?”
The man—Jacobs—glared up at them with cold defiance. “I don’t know anything about any demonstration site.”
“I think you do,” Atticus said, his voice deceptively soft as he approached Jacobs.
There was something in his expression that made Sabrina’s blood run cold—a controlled fury that promised calculated violence rather than emotional outburst. “And you’re going to tell me, or I’m going to leave you handcuffed to that containment unit when the timer reaches zero. ”
Jacobs paled visibly, his gaze darting to the countdown display. “You’re bluffing. You’d be exposed too.”
“We have countermeasures,” Atticus replied, the lie falling smoothly from his lips. “Do you?”
Sabrina studied the containment unit with growing concern. The timer was a problem, but not their most immediate one. “This is just a standard laboratory container,” she said, running her fingers along the seams. “It’s designed for transport, not deployment.”
“Meaning?” Eden prompted.
“Meaning it can’t actually release the bioweapon on its own,” Sabrina explained. “It would need to be connected to some kind of dispersal device—an aerosol system, most likely.”
“So Mitchell is waiting for this delivery at the demonstration site,” Atticus concluded. “Where he has the dispersal system already set up.”
“But the timer doesn’t make sense then,” Nate pointed out. “Why put a countdown on the container if it can’t release without the dispersal system?”
“Unless the timer isn’t for release,” Sabrina said slowly, a horrifying possibility dawning on her. “It’s for detonation. This isn’t just a containment unit—it’s a bomb designed to breach the bioweapon and create a localized event.”
“A fail-safe,” Atticus realized, his expression hardening. “If the delivery is intercepted, the bioweapon is still deployed, just on a smaller scale.”
“We need to disable it,” Eden said, already examining the container for access points. “Cypher, are you getting this?”
“Every word,” Cal confirmed through their comms. “But I can’t help with disarming without eyes on the device. You need to send me visuals.”
Eden extracted a small camera from her tactical vest, positioning it to capture the containment unit from multiple angles as the countdown continued relentlessly: 11:28…11:27…11:26…
“I need to get this open,” Sabrina said, retrieving specialized tools from her medical pack. “If I can isolate the bioweapon sample, we might be able to neutralize it before detonation.”
“And if you can’t?” Atticus asked, moving to stand beside her.
“Then we need to get this aircraft as far away from population centers as possible before the timer reaches zero,” she replied grimly. “Ideally over water, where the bioweapon would be diluted before it could spread.”
“That’s a last resort,” he said, his tone making it clear he had no intention of letting her anywhere near the container when it detonated. “Our priority is disarming the device and securing the bioweapon.”
“Agreed,” she said, though they both understood the unspoken contingency—that someone might need to fly this aircraft out to sea if disarming failed. “Now stop hovering and let me work.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips, gone so quickly she might have imagined it. “Yes, ma’am.”
The medical evac team arrived as Sabrina carefully unsealed the outer container, their sirens cutting through the night before falling silent as they reached the airfield. Santiago would have Jenkins on his way to a proper medical facility within minutes, one worry off their collective shoulders.
“Cypher,” Atticus spoke into his comm, “I need you to redirect all available assets to the airfield. Set up a containment perimeter, no one in or out without direct authorization.”
“Already on it,” Cal confirmed. “Local authorities have been given a cover story about a chemical spill. They’re maintaining distance while securing access points.”
“Good. And I want every available intel operative focused on locating Mitchell. He’s going to have contingencies beyond this one.”
“Working on that too. Mitchell’s still in his DC office according to our sources, maintaining his alibi.
But he’s running this remotely—we’ve intercepted encrypted video conference signals to the demonstration site.
His security chief, Reynolds, has been coordinating the ground operation.
Mitchell’s too smart to be anywhere near a bioweapon release. ”
Sabrina removed the final seal on the containment unit, exposing a complex mechanism surrounding a central vial of clear liquid—the bioweapon itself, innocuous in appearance but devastating in potential.
Surrounding the vial was an intricate explosive device, wires connecting it to both a timer and what appeared to be a remote detonator.
“Cypher,” she said, studying the mechanism, “I’m looking at what appears to be a shaped charge designed to rupture the bioweapon vial and disperse its contents. The timer is connected, but there’s also what looks like a remote detonation receiver.”
“Mitchell’s insurance policy,” Atticus said grimly. “If we disarm the timer, he can still trigger it remotely.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Cal replied, his typing audible through the comms. “Send me close-ups of that receiver. If it’s using standard frequencies, I might be able to jam the signal.”
“And if it’s not?” Eden asked, voicing the question they were all thinking.
“Then we’ve got ten minutes and seventeen seconds to figure out an alternative,” Cal replied. “But let’s focus on the positive, shall we?”