Page 30 of A Ballad of Blackbirds and Betrayal (Dynamis Security #4)

Sabrina processed this information with the rapid assessment skills honed during countless trauma surgeries.

“Then we neutralize it another way. The aerosol countermeasure—if we can introduce it directly into the dispersal system before detonation, it might render the bioweapon inert before deployment.”

Atticus considered this for less than a second before nodding. “Do it.”

She extracted the aerosol countermeasure from her pack, analyzing the deployment system’s intake valves to identify the optimal injection point. The untested formula represented their best hope—a theoretical solution to a weapon designed for mass casualties.

“Fifteen seconds to reinforcement arrival,” Max warned. “You need to move!”

“Almost there,” Sabrina replied, connecting the countermeasure container to the deployment system’s primary intake. She engaged the transfer mechanism, watching as the clear liquid flowed into the bioweapon’s delivery system. “Countermeasure deployed. Theoretical neutralization in progress.”

“Time to go,” Atticus said, already securing their retreat path. “We’ve got what we came for.”

But as they turned to leave, the platform’s edge erupted in a hail of gunfire. Mitchell’s reinforcements had arrived—a full tactical team in body armor, weapons trained on their position.

“Down!” Atticus shouted, tackling Sabrina behind the minimal cover of the deployment system’s base. Bullets pinged off metal and concrete around them, sharp whines punctuating each impact.

“Frost, we need cover fire,” Atticus ordered through comms. “What’s your position?”

“Engaging from the northwest,” Jade confirmed, precise shots picking off Mitchell’s security team one by one. “But I’ve got movement on my six—can’t maintain position.”

“South perimeter compromised,” Max added, his voice tight with focused intensity. “Reinforcements cutting off your primary exit route. Merlin’s team is engaging, but we’re outnumbered.”

Sabrina’s mind raced, assessing options with the cool logic that had served her through battlefield medicine and high-pressure surgeries. The deployment system’s countdown continued relentlessly—two minutes remaining until detonation, whether the countermeasure worked or not.

“We need to create distance from this platform,” she said. “If the countermeasure fails?—”

“It won’t,” Atticus replied, though they both knew the uncertainty that haunted untested solutions. His eyes met hers, determination blazing through the tactical calculation. “Alternative exit route?”

She scanned their surroundings, identifying a maintenance vehicle parked twenty yards north of their position. “There. If we can reach it?—”

“I’ll cover you,” he decided, checking his ammunition. “On my mark, run for the vehicle. Don’t stop, don’t look back. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Together,” she countered, unwilling to leave him exposed. “Or not at all.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—frustration mingled with reluctant admiration. “Stubborn woman,” he muttered, though there was no heat in the words.

“Determined,” she corrected with the ghost of a smile.

Their moment of connection shattered as a new barrage of gunfire erupted around them. Through her tactical display, Sabrina saw Griffin’s team engaging from the eastern approach, creating a potential corridor for their escape.

“Move now,” Atticus ordered, rising to provide covering fire as they sprinted toward the maintenance vehicle.

Bullets kicked up dirt around their feet as they ran, the exposed ground between the platform and their destination stretching endlessly before them. Sabrina pushed herself harder, legs burning with the effort, lungs straining against the brutal pace.

They reached the vehicle just as a bullet impacted Atticus’s tactical vest, the force spinning him sideways. He staggered but maintained his footing, returning fire with deadly aim despite the hit.

“Are you hit?” Sabrina demanded, already assessing for injury with professional detachment.

“Vest caught it,” he confirmed, though his breathing had roughened. “Get in. I’ll drive.”

The maintenance vehicle roared to life as Atticus hot-wired it, the aged engine protesting before catching. They accelerated away from the platform just as Mitchell’s security forces converged on their former position, bullets pinging off the vehicle’s metal frame.

“All teams, fall back to extraction points,” Atticus ordered through comms. “Mission objectives secured. Merlin, status on the civilians?”

“All five extracted safely,” Griffin confirmed. “Minor injuries but stable. Evacuation helicopters inbound.”

Relief washed through Sabrina, momentarily overshadowing their still-precarious position. “The bioweapon samples?”

“Secured,” Atticus confirmed, navigating the vehicle across rough terrain with one hand while maintaining suppressive fire with the other. “Your countermeasure will determine whether the deployment system is neutralized or not.”

Behind them, the platform remained intact, the countdown nearly complete. Mitchell’s security forces had established a perimeter around it, uncertain whether to abandon the position or maintain control of the asset despite the infiltration.

“Thirty seconds to deployment system activation,” Cal reported through comms. “All teams confirm safe distance.”

Sabrina watched through the rear window as the seconds ticked down, her heart hammering against her ribs. Everything depended on the countermeasure working—on theoretical science becoming practical salvation.

“Fifteen seconds,” Cal continued. “Fourteen, thirteen…”

Atticus pushed the maintenance vehicle to its limits, engine shrieking in protest as they put distance between themselves and the platform. His expression remained focused, but she felt the tension radiating from him—the heaviness of potential failure neither of them could afford.

“Five, four, three, two, one…deployment.”

The platform’s central mechanism activated with a soft hiss rather than the explosive force they’d feared. A fine mist sprayed from the dispersal nozzles, hanging in the air like morning fog before gradually dissipating.

“Countermeasure appears to be functioning,” Cal reported, monitoring satellite imagery of the thermal signatures. “No immediate casualty indicators within the deployment radius.”

“It worked,” Sabrina breathed, relief flooding through her system with dizzying intensity. “The bioweapon was neutralized.”

Atticus’s expression remained guarded, years of experience having taught him to distrust easy victories. “Preliminary result only. We’ll need to secure the area and run contamination tests to confirm.”

“Always the optimist,” she teased, though she understood his caution.

The ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Realist,” he corrected. “Though I’m learning to appreciate the alternative perspective.”

Their eyes met again, the connection between them deepening despite—or perhaps because of—the danger they’d faced together.

In the heat of combat, pretenses fell away, leaving only truth: They worked well together, trusted each other’s judgment, and felt something neither was ready to name but both were increasingly unwilling to deny.

“All teams report,” Atticus said, redirecting focus to the mission as they approached the extraction point where Dynamis helicopters waited with rotors turning. “Casualties and status.”

“Alpha Team clear,” Nate confirmed. “Two minor injuries. All civilians secured and en route to medical evaluation.”

“Bravo Team extracting now,” Jade added. “Viper took a graze to the left arm. Nothing critical.”

“Griffin’s team reports three wounded, none critical,” Cal summarized.

“And we’ve got a bigger win than you realize.

The buyers scattered when the shooting started, but we’ve coordinated with federal authorities who have intercepted four of the nine at temporary roadblocks.

Homeland Security and FBI teams are taking custody due to the international terrorism implications.

The others won’t get far—we’ve forwarded their identities and transport details to the Joint Terrorism Task Force. ”

“And Mitchell?” Atticus asked.

A pause, then Cal’s voice returned, a note of satisfaction evident despite his professional tone.

“We’ve traced the video feed. He’s broadcasting from his secure office in Washington DC, just as we thought.

But here’s the interesting part—our intelligence shows he’s carrying on with his normal schedule.

He has a fundraising dinner tonight and committee hearings tomorrow morning.

He’s acting like nothing happened, like his operation wasn’t just dismantled. ”

“Of course he is,” Atticus said, his voice hardening with cold fury. “Men like him believe the law doesn’t apply to them. He thinks his position protects him, that he’s untouchable even after we’ve secured the evidence.”

“The arrogance is unbelievable,” Nate muttered. “His buyers are being detained by federal agencies, his bioweapon is neutralized, and he’s attending a black-tie fundraiser?”

“That’s what makes him dangerous,” Sabrina observed. “He truly believes nothing can touch him.”

Something shifted in Atticus’s expression—a predator sensing its quarry after a long hunt. “Redirect our extraction to D.C.,” he ordered, a new intensity hardening his voice. “It’s time Senator Mitchell learned that no one is beyond justice. Not even him.”

“Atticus,” Eden cautioned through comms, “we’ve secured the bioweapon and the evidence connecting Mitchell to its development. The legal case is solid.”

“This isn’t about legal cases,” he replied, the cold determination in his voice sending a shiver down Sabrina’s spine. “This is about Jane.”

“And Anna,” Nate added, understanding evident in his tone. “You need to finish this face-to-face.”

“Yes,” Atticus confirmed simply.

Sabrina studied his profile as they approached the extraction helicopters, noting the rigid set of his jaw, the focused intensity that had returned to his eyes.

The mission had succeeded beyond their expectations—bioweapon secured, evidence collected, lives saved—but for Atticus, the most important confrontation still awaited.

Eight years of hunting, of channeling grief into purpose, had led to this moment. Mitchell’s carefully constructed protection had finally crumbled, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

As they boarded the helicopter that would take them to the airfield where Dynamis’s private jet waited, Sabrina felt the weight of what was to come.

This wasn’t just the culmination of a mission, but the potential resolution of a personal vendetta that had defined Atticus’s existence since losing Jane.

The question that hung between them, unspoken but undeniable, was what would remain when vengeance was finally satisfied. What would fill the space that pursuit and purpose had occupied for so long?

Atticus’s hand found hers in the dim interior of the helicopter, warm and steady despite the tension thrumming through him. His fingers intertwined with hers, a silent acknowledgment of connection that went beyond professional partnership.

“Ready?” she asked, the question encompassing far more than their immediate mission.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice certain despite the complexity of emotions behind it. “For everything that comes next.”

The helicopter lifted off, rotors slicing through the morning air as they left the demonstration site behind. Below them, emergency vehicles converged on the compound, the remnants of Mitchell’s operation being systematically dismantled by authorities tipped off by Dynamis intelligence.

As the airfield appeared on the horizon, the Texas landscape stretching endlessly beneath them, Sabrina felt something shift inside her chest. One chapter ending, another beginning—for Atticus, for herself, and perhaps for them together, if they chose that path.

Whatever awaited in Washington, she would face it beside him—not as a temporary ally, but as a partner who understood both the professional demands of their work and the personal complexities of the man behind the mission.

His fingers tightened around hers, and when he turned to meet her gaze, she saw something new in his eyes—not just determination or vengeance or even desire, but a future. Uncertain, unplanned, yet somehow as inevitable as dawn after darkness.

“Eight years,” he said, his voice barely audible above the helicopter’s roar. “I’ve lived for one purpose, one moment.”

“And after?” she asked, the question that had haunted them both since that first kiss.

His thumb traced a line across her wrist, the simple touch sending heat spiraling through her despite everything they’d just survived—or perhaps because of it. Life affirming itself in the wake of death.

“That,” he said, his dark eyes never leaving hers, “is what I intend to find out. With you.”

The reckoning was at hand. But for the first time in eight years, Atticus Cameron was looking beyond vengeance to something he’d thought forever lost.

A future.