Page 8 of A Ballad of Blackbirds and Betrayal (Dynamis Security #4)
Chapter Four
A week after the hospital gala, the surveillance van looked innocuous from the outside—a nondescript white utility vehicle with Dallas Metro Electric emblazoned on the side in faded blue letters.
Inside, however, it resembled NASA mission control, packed with cutting-edge surveillance technology that made it feel half the size it actually was.
The scent of coffee from three travel mugs mingled with the metallic tang of gun oil and the faint chemical smell of the specialized equipment.
Atticus checked his watch—an old Rolex that had survived three war zones and countless covert operations. Three more minutes until the team needed to move into position. He looked across the cramped space at the unexpected addition to tonight’s operation and felt a flicker of unease.
Sabrina Wells shouldn’t be here.
Her presence was an unnecessary complication, a potential liability, and a distraction he couldn’t afford.
She sat beside Cal on the monitoring station bench, her dark hair pulled back in a severe knot, dressed in tactical black that did nothing to diminish her striking features.
She was studying the 3-D rendering of Senator Mitchell’s estate with the same focused intensity she’d likely give a patient’s chart.
It had been only five days since their initial meeting at Dynamis headquarters, five days of intensive crash-course training in basic tactical movement, communications protocols, and weapons handling.
Sabrina had proven herself an exceptionally quick study—not surprising for a trauma surgeon accustomed to processing and acting on critical information under pressure.
“The main gathering will be in the east wing,” Cal said, highlighting a section of the display with a gesture that manipulated the holographic projection.
“Conservatory and adjoining study. According to our intel, Mitchell keeps the most sensitive materials in a hidden safe behind the bookcase in his personal study on the second floor.”
“Classic,” Nate remarked with a wry smile as he checked his weapons. “Bad guys and bookcases. Some clichés exist for a reason.”
“Speaking of clichés,” Eden said, turning to Sabrina, “how’s your family emergency holding up at the hospital? Anyone suspicious yet?”
Sabrina shook her head. “The chief of surgery is covering for me. I told Richard my mother had a stroke in Phoenix and needed emergency care. He arranged for my surgical rotation to be covered—personal favor since I haven’t taken more than three consecutive days off in five years.”
“Convenient,” Cal noted. “Though a bit morbid to fake a stroke.”
“My mother actually did have a mild stroke last year,” Sabrina replied. “She recovered fully, but it made the story plausible to anyone who knows me. “
Eden, already outfitted for her role, put the finishing touches on her disguise.
Unlike the rudimentary makeup techniques that might fool the human eye, she wore a complex set of silicone prosthetics that completely altered her facial structure—cheekbones, jawline, even the shape of her nose had been subtly but distinctly changed.
The Hollywood-grade alterations would bypass even the most sophisticated facial recognition systems, transforming her from the striking Israeli beauty into a plain, forgettable catering staff supervisor.
“Nice face,” Max commented dryly from his monitoring station. “Bet that gets you all the second dates.”
“Please,” Eden scoffed, adjusting the stiff uniform collar that completed her disguise.
“This is still a solid seven in most of the Midwest. Remind me again why we’re not just grabbing Mitchell and applying some enhanced interrogation techniques?
I could have him singing like Pavarotti in twenty minutes. ”
“Because we need more than Mitchell,” Atticus replied. “We need his entire network. His buyers. His research team. Everyone involved in developing and distributing this weapon.”
“Plus,” Jade added through their comms from her sniper position half a mile away, “getting caught kidnapping and torturing a US senator might put a slight damper on our government contracts.”
“Details,” Eden said with a dismissive wave. “But seriously, you should see what I can do with a car battery and a pair of tweezers. Mossad trained us will in torture techniques.”
“Is anyone else slightly turned on when she talks business?” Nate asked.
“It’s just you,” Cal said. “I only get turned on by my wife.”
“I can hear you idiots through comms,” Jade replied, though there was affection beneath the exasperation.
“And on that note,” Cal interjected, “let’s remember that Senator Mitchell is one of Texas’s most beloved political figures.
Three terms, campaign funded primarily by oil money and pharmaceutical giants.
This estate we’re infiltrating tonight? Twenty acres of the most heavily secured private property in Dallas County. ”
“Don’t forget,” Nate added, “Mitchell sits on the Senate Intelligence Committee. He’s got connections throughout every three-letter agency in the country. If we move against him without airtight evidence, we’re all looking at black sites and enhanced interrogation from the receiving end.”
The easy banter wasn’t fooling anyone. Beneath the casual exchanges lay the coiled tension of highly trained operatives preparing for a high-risk infiltration. Each of them understood exactly what was at stake. Each recognized the countless ways the operation could go wrong.
“Time check,” Max said from the control panel. He and Cal would be running operational support from the van, coordinating the movements of the field team and maintaining surveillance.
“Field positions in three minutes,” Atticus confirmed, adjusting the nearly invisible earpiece before turning to Sabrina.
“I need to be absolutely clear about your role tonight. You stay in the van with Cal and Max. You observe, you identify anything that might be related to the bioweapon, and you communicate that information through the secure channel. Under no circumstances do you leave this vehicle. Clear?”
Sabrina’s amber eyes met his with unflinching directness. “Crystal clear, Mr. Cameron.”
Something in her tone suggested compliance would be conditional at best. Atticus felt the beginning of a headache forming behind his right eye.
“We’re running leaner than usual,” Cal remarked, fingers dancing across his keyboard. “Reza and Griffin are in Eastern Europe tracking a potential buyer for the bioweapon. Otherwise we’d have proper perimeter coverage.”
“We’ll manage,” Jade said, checking her weapon. “Not the first time we’ve been shorthanded.”
“Let’s just hope Mitchell’s security doesn’t decide to get creative tonight,” Nate added, sharing a look with Eden that spoke of previous operations gone sideways.
The camaraderie of the team was obvious despite the tension vibrating through the van. These people worked together like a well-oiled machine, their shorthand communication and implicit trust forged through shared danger.
“I mean it,” Atticus said, his gaze still on Sabrina. “This isn’t a hospital. Out there—” he gestured toward the estate visible on the monitors, “—people shoot first and ask questions never.”
“I’m aware of the risks,” she replied coolly. “I served in combat zones, remember? Your thorough background check should have covered that.”
“Two deployments as a trauma surgeon isn’t the same as covert operations against domestic targets,” Atticus countered, adjusting the tactical vest beneath his tuxedo jacket.
The custom garment was designed to conceal body armor and weapons while maintaining the appearance of formalwear. “This isn’t a debate.”
“No, it’s not,” Sabrina agreed, rising from her seat with a fluid grace that belied the tension vibrating through her.
“Because I’m going into that estate. Not as part of your infiltration team, but on the surveillance side with Nate.
I’m the only one who can identify bioweapon components on sight. ”
Atticus stepped closer, looming over her in the confined space of the van. “That’s what cameras and comms are for. You can identify them from here.”
“And if the transmission is jammed? If you need to make split-second decisions about which vials to secure or destroy? Unless your spy school covered advanced biochemistry?” She stepped forward, closing the distance between them until they were toe to toe, her face tilted up to his.
“I didn’t survive three years in a MASH unit by being reckless, Cameron.
I go where I’m needed, and tonight I’m needed closer to the action. ”
“Oh my God, just kiss already,” Eden muttered under her breath, earning a suppressed snort from Nate.
The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with a tension that had little to do with their professional disagreement.
Atticus was acutely aware of her—the subtle floral scent of her perfume cutting through the technical smells of the van, the determination in her eyes, the resolute set of her mouth.
Their faces were inches apart, and for a fleeting moment, his gaze dropped to her lips before snapping back to her eyes.
Behind them, Nate cleared his throat. “She has a point. Having someone who can instantly recognize bioweapon components would be an advantage. Eden and I can keep her secure.”
“And she’d blend better as part of the landscaping surveillance team than trying to infiltrate the party,” Cal added, pointedly not looking at the tension-filled standoff. “Just saying.”
“I vote yes,” Jade’s voice came through their comms. “But only because I’m curious to see how long it takes before Atticus tries to shoot someone for looking at her funny.”
“I’m setting the over/under at thirty minutes,” Max chimed in. “Any takers?”
“I’ll take the under for a hundred,” Cal replied immediately.
Atticus held Sabrina’s gaze for a moment longer, weighing the risks against the potential benefits. There was something in her unwavering stance that reminded him of Jane—that same steel-spined determination that brooked no argument when she knew she was right.
“Fine,” he finally conceded, stepping back to break the charged connection between them. “You’ll go with Nate on external surveillance. But you follow his lead, you stay out of sight, and at the first sign of trouble, you extract. Are we clear?”
“Perfectly,” Sabrina replied, the slight upward curve of her lips suggesting she’d known she would win this battle all along.
“I’ll keep her safe,” Nate promised, his expression serious despite the glint of amusement in his eyes as he observed their interaction. “Besides, it’s not even the most dangerous thing I’ve done this week. I forgot to compliment Eden’s new haircut. I thought she was going to shiv me in my sleep.”
“It was a very expensive haircut,” Eden confirmed, adjusting her catering uniform. “And he was watching football when I came in and didn’t even look in my direction.”
“In my defense, it looked exactly the same,” Nate said.
“Men,” Jade said through comms.
“Comms check,” Cal interrupted, all business as he handed Sabrina an earpiece. “Channel secure, encryption active. Call signs only from this point forward. Frost, visual confirmation?”
“I’ve got eyes on the north perimeter,” Jade’s calm voice replied through the system. “Exterior security making standard rounds. No deviations from pattern. Weather conditions optimal. Wind at 3 mph, humidity 42 percent. Perfect night for a party…or an infiltration.”
“Copy that,” Atticus replied, compartmentalizing his concerns about Sabrina to focus on the mission parameters.
“Deployment in sixty seconds. Remember, our primary objective is intelligence gathering. Mitchell’s hosting this fundraiser dinner for his upcoming reelection campaign, and he’s meeting with at least three potential buyers tonight.
We need to identify them and any shipment details.
Secondary objective is locating documentation related to BioGenix and the bioweapon development. ”
“Tertiary objective: not getting dead,” Max added dryly. “I’m fond of that one.”
“It’s on the list,” Atticus assured him, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly.
“Thirty seconds,” Cal announced.
Atticus met each team member’s eyes in turn, carrying out his pre-mission ritual. It was an unspoken acknowledgment of the risks they were about to take, and a silent promise to bring everyone home safely. His gaze lingered on Sabrina last, the newcomer to their finely tuned unit.
“Stay safe,” he said quietly, the words more intense than he’d intended.
“You too,” she replied, her expression softening momentarily before the professional mask slipped back into place.
“Ten seconds,” Cal called.
Nate handed Sabrina a small but powerful pair of night-vision binoculars and a dark jacket that matched his landscaping uniform.
“These will give you enhanced visual capability without light signature. Remember, we’re landscapers checking the irrigation system.
If anyone approaches, let me do the talking. ”
She nodded, tucking the binoculars into a pocket of her tactical vest. “Understood.”
“Five seconds,” Cal said. “Operation Counterforce is a go.”
Eden slipped out first, melting into the darkness beyond the van’s rear doors.
Nate and Sabrina followed moments later, moving in the opposite direction toward their surveillance position near the estate’s elaborate gardens.
Atticus was last, adjusting his bow tie before stepping into the cool night air, instantly transforming from commando to wealthy businessman with the fluid ease of someone who had compartmentalized his hatred to serve a greater purpose.
As he walked toward the front gates of Mitchell’s estate, Atticus forced himself to focus on the mission parameters rather than the unexpected complication of Sabrina Wells in the field.
It would take every ounce of his self-control to face Mitchell tonight—to shake the hand of the man who had ordered Jane’s murder, to engage in polite conversation, to smile and nod as if they were simply colleagues.
But that control was what had kept him alive for eight years of planning, waiting, and hunting.
He had a job to do, one that had been eight years in the making. Nothing—and no one—would distract him from that purpose.
Not even an infuriatingly competent doctor with amber eyes and a spine of pure steel.