Page 33 of A Ballad of Blackbirds and Betrayal (Dynamis Security #4)

Mitchell’s security detail moved to intervene, but Nate and Eden appeared as if from nowhere, weapons drawn, creating a defensive perimeter around Atticus and Sabrina.

“I wouldn’t,” Nate advised the approaching guards. “Your boss just activated explosives in a building full of diplomats. You really want to be on his side when this story breaks?”

The security team hesitated, suddenly unsure of their allegiance as whispers of “explosives” rippled through the crowd, triggering a wave of panic and movement toward the exits.

“We need to evacuate,” Sabrina said. “These people need to get out of here.”

“If we trigger a mass evacuation, we risk losing Mitchell in the chaos,” Eden countered. “And he’s the only one who might know how to disarm the devices.”

“I’ve alerted Deputy Director Kessler,” Cal reported through comms. “FBI tactical teams are mobilizing, but they’re still minutes out. You don’t have that kind of time.”

Atticus maintained his grip on Mitchell, whose face was beginning to redden from the pressure. “Where are the devices? How do we disarm them?”

Mitchell laughed, a harsh, rattling sound under Atticus’s grip. “You can’t. Once activated, only my death stops the countdown. Dead man’s switch, Cameron. Even if you kill me, the charges still detonate. You’ve lost.”

Sabrina caught Atticus’s eye, a plan already forming. “Let the team locate the devices. I’ll stay with you.”

“The detonator signal—it must run on a specific frequency,” Atticus said, his tactical mind working through the problem even as he maintained his hold on Mitchell. “Cal, can you isolate and jam it?”

“Already trying,” Cal confirmed, the sound of furious typing audible through the comms. “But I need to know the frequency range. These older buildings have so much interference?—”

“Check his watch,” Sabrina said suddenly, her gaze fixed on Mitchell’s wrist. “The detonator’s built into it. That’s what he activated.”

Atticus wrenched Mitchell’s arm upward, confirming Sabrina’s observation. The senator’s custom timepiece was no ordinary watch—the back panel had slid aside to reveal a sophisticated electronic component.

“Cal, I’m sending you visuals,” Atticus said, angling his tactical glasses to capture the watch’s details.

“Got it,” Cal replied. “That’s military-grade tech, similar to what we saw in Kazakhstan. Give me two minutes.”

“We don’t have two minutes,” Eden interrupted. “This place is about to become a stampede.”

The panic was spreading faster now, diplomats and dignitaries pushing toward the exits as security tried to maintain order. Through the growing chaos, Atticus spotted movement at the main entrance—Deputy Director Kessler had arrived with a team of FBI agents, attempting to secure the area.

“Max, coordinate with Kessler. Get these people out in an orderly evacuation,” Atticus ordered through comms. “Jade, Eden, Nate—find those devices. Cal will direct you from the building schematics.”

“What about him?” Sabrina asked, nodding toward Mitchell, who had begun to struggle against Atticus’s grip.

“He’s coming with us,” Atticus replied, his voice carrying the cold determination of someone who had waited eight years for this moment. “If those charges detonate, he goes with them.”

He dragged Mitchell toward a service corridor, away from the panicking crowd, with Sabrina following close behind. The senator fought against Atticus’s iron grip, but years of grief-fueled training had made Atticus impossibly strong.

“You’re making a mistake,” Mitchell gasped, his polished veneer crumbling completely. “I have contacts in every agency, in every branch of government. You think this ends with me? There are a dozen people ready to continue my work.”

“Then we’ll hunt them down too,” Atticus replied, shoving Mitchell into a maintenance room and securing the door behind them. “But first, we deal with you.”

“Devices located,” Jade’s voice came through the comms. “First one’s on the main support column near the east entrance. It’s…sophisticated. Military grade.”

“Same here,” Nate reported. “West stairwell. Timer shows seven minutes, twelve seconds.”

“I’ve analyzed the detonator frequency,” Cal reported. “Working on the jamming signal now, but there’s something else—the devices appear to have redundant triggers. Even if we jam the primary signal, they’re designed to detonate if they lose contact with the controller for more than sixty seconds.”

“Dead man’s switch, like he said,” Atticus confirmed, turning to Mitchell. “So if you die or the signal is jammed too long, everything blows.”

Mitchell’s smug expression returned. “I told you. No way out.”

Sabrina had been examining the watch with a clinical eye. “Wait. These components—I recognize the design from a military project I consulted on. It’s not just a transmitter; it’s also the master control unit. The deactivation code should be accessible through the watch itself.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Atticus said, the cold fury in his voice making even Mitchell flinch.

In one swift, brutal motion, Atticus seized Mitchell’s arm and twisted it at an unnatural angle. The sharp crack of breaking bone was followed by Mitchell’s agonized scream as his wrist shattered under Atticus’s grip. Without hesitation, Atticus removed the watch from the senator’s now-limp wrist.

“Eight years,” Atticus said quietly as Mitchell gasped in pain. “That’s nothing compared to what my wife suffered.”

Mitchell slumped against the wall, face pale with shock and pain, his broken wrist cradled against his chest. His eyes burned with hatred, but the senator remained silent, his arrogance finally giving way to the reality of his situation.

Atticus turned his attention to the watch, examining it with focused intensity. “Cal, can you access the interface?” he asked, holding the device up to his communication device.

“I can try, but that level of encryption would take hours to break conventionally,” Cal replied. “We need the direct access code.”

“Which Mitchell won’t give us,” Sabrina said, her gaze locked with the senator’s. “But there might be another way.” She leaned closer to Atticus, lowering her voice. “These systems often have biometric backups—fingerprint or retinal scan—in case the primary code is forgotten.”

Understanding dawned in Atticus’s eyes. “Hold him,” he instructed Sabrina, handing her his sidearm.

She took the weapon with an ease that spoke of her military training, keeping it trained on Mitchell as Atticus examined the watch more closely.

“Ah,” Atticus said after a moment, finding a nearly invisible sensor on the watch’s side. “Fingerprint scanner, just as you thought.”

Mitchell lunged for the door suddenly, but Sabrina blocked his path, the weapon unwavering in her grip. “I wouldn’t,” she advised calmly. “I served two tours as a combat surgeon. I know exactly where to shoot to cause maximum pain with minimum risk of death.”

“Four minutes,” came Eden’s voice through the comms.

Atticus moved with cold purpose, grabbing Mitchell’s hand and forcing his thumb against the scanner despite the senator’s resistance. The watch emitted a soft beep, and a small display flashed green.

“Cal, we’re in. Transmitting the interface access now.”

“Getting it,” Cal confirmed. “It’s a standard military detonation protocol—multiple redundancies, but centrally controlled. I can initiate the disarm sequence, but I need the authorization code. It should be visible somewhere in the watch interface.”

Atticus examined the small display, where a series of numbers had appeared. “I’ve got it. Transmitting now.”

“Received. Initiating disarm protocol.” The tension in Cal’s voice was palpable even through the comms. “Sending deactivation signals to all devices…now.”

Seconds ticked by, each one stretching to infinity as they waited for confirmation.

“Device one disarmed,” Jade reported first.

“Device two disarmed,” followed Nate almost immediately.

“Three and four confirmed disarmed,” Eden added.

“Five and six…disarmed,” Max concluded. “We’re clear. All devices neutralized.”

Relief washed through Sabrina, though her weapon remained steady. Atticus’s posture shifted subtly—the immediate threat eliminated, but his focus on Mitchell undiminished.

“It’s over, Warren,” he said. “Your operation, your freedom, your legacy—it’s all gone.”

Mitchell’s face contorted with hatred, his carefully maintained political mask shattered completely.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” he hissed.

“The bioweapon program was just one piece of a much larger operation. There are threats coming that you can’t even imagine, threats my research could have protected us against.”

“Save it for your trial,” Atticus replied. “Though I doubt national security will be your primary concern in a supermax prison.”

The door opened behind them, admitting Deputy Director Kessler and two tactical agents, weapons drawn.

“Senator Warren Mitchell,” Kessler announced formally, though her eyes betrayed recognition when they met Mitchell’s.

“You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, illegal weapons development, terrorism, and treason against the United States.

Not to mention attempting to bomb a building full of international diplomats. ”

Mitchell’s eyes swept the room, calculating even in defeat. “Rebecca,” he said, his voice shifting to a confidential tone that had likely served him well in political negotiations. “You know me. We’ve worked together for years. This is a misunderstanding?—”

“Save it, Senator,” Kessler cut him off. “I’ve reviewed the evidence myself. It’s comprehensive. You’re finished.”

As the FBI agents moved to take Mitchell into custody, the senator made one final, desperate lunge—not toward the door, but toward Atticus, hands outstretched like claws seeking to inflict one last injury.

Atticus sidestepped with the fluid grace of a man who had spent decades in combat, using Mitchell’s momentum against him. The senator crashed into the wall with bone-jarring force, then slumped to the floor, dazed but conscious.

“Eight years,” Atticus said, standing over him.

“Eight years I’ve dreamed of killing you for what you did to Jane.

But this—” he gestured to the FBI agents securing Mitchell with handcuffs, “—this is better. You’ll live to watch everything you built crumble.

Every day in your cell, you’ll remember this moment and know that I won. ”

Mitchell glared up at him, blood trickling from his split lip. “This isn’t over, Cameron.”

“Yes, Warren,” Atticus replied with calm certainty. “It is.”

The FBI agents hauled Mitchell to his feet, reciting his rights as they led him from the room. Deputy Director Kessler lingered, her gaze meeting Atticus’s.

“You know this will get complicated,” she said. “A senator with his connections?—”

“The evidence is ironclad,” Atticus interrupted. “And now that it’s in federal hands, too many people know. He can’t make this disappear.”

Kessler nodded. “Consider us even for Bucharest,” she said. “Though I suspect we’ll be cleaning up this mess for years.”

After she departed, Atticus and Sabrina were left alone in the small maintenance room, the adrenaline of the past minutes slowly ebbing away.

“Atticus,” Cal’s voice came through the comms. “News networks are already breaking the story. Mitchell’s arrest is trending worldwide. It’s done.”

Sabrina watched the tension finally drain from Atticus’s body—not completely, perhaps never completely—but enough that she could see the first hints of a man who might someday exist without vengeance as his primary purpose.

“It’s done,” he repeated.

She stepped closer, her hand finding his, fingers intertwining in a gesture that had become familiar in the brief but intense time they’d known each other.

“What now?” she asked softly.

Atticus turned to her, and the transformation stole her breath—the commander who had orchestrated Mitchell’s downfall had receded, revealing the man beneath, one who was tentatively reaching for something beyond vengeance and duty.

“Now,” he said, his voice rough with emotion he no longer needed to suppress, “we begin.”

His mouth found hers beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, transforming the sterile maintenance room into something intimate and sacred. Their kiss held the assurance of everything they’d endured—a seal on promises spoken and unspoken, a bridge between vengeance satisfied and possibility awakened.

The hunt was over. Their story—the one written in something stronger than blood—was just beginning.