Page 22 of Avenging Jessie (Black Swan Division Thrillers #3)

Twenty-Two

Spence

The safe house was standard-issue two-story brick with blackout curtains drawn and a high-end security system. The place smelled of coffee and gun oil and was wired for secure communications.

It was close enough to Langley for a quick run if things went sideways, but far enough that the neighbors wouldn’t notice the parade of “out-of-towners” coming and going at odd hours.

Spence sat at the dining table they’d converted into a war desk, his injured right hand braced on a gel pack while his left pecked at the keyboard.

The others were scattered through the house—Jessie on the couch with another laptop from the supply chest of tech, Tessa cross-legged in an armchair scrolling through secure messages, Tommy leaning against the kitchen counter sipping cold coffee.

His brain kept going through the same loop—Pentagon breach, drone warehouse, data center, Hastings, Brewer. Always back to the Pentagon. Always back to where this nightmare started.

Why?

The cursor blinked on a black terminal screen as Spence tunneled into a forgotten subdirectory on a Pentagon test server. He ended up on a Department of Defense server next, tracking remnants of Brewer’s hack.

Maybe it was his insatiable need to follow every lead, or perhaps it was one of the tiny ways Brewer couldn’t cover his tracks completely. But as he glanced down a list of files, one caught his eye.

CYCLONE: Test Log 546.

One folder. Locked.

His stomach dipped. A prickle ran up the back of his neck. Cyclone. That name didn’t just belong to a project—it was his.

He read it again. And again.

CYCLONE: Test Log 546.

What were the odds this was tied to his cyclone?

Coincidence? Had to be, but…

He forced the encryption, bypassed two security rings, and when the file structure unfolded on his screen, the breath went out of him. Schematics. Build logs. Test footage. And there—burned into the firmware files like a scar—his encryption watermark. His work. His design.

They hadn’t just stolen the design. They’d kept the name, like they didn’t care about the theft.

Jessie’s voice floated over from the couch. “What’s that look?”

Spence’s jaw flexed. He didn’t answer, scrolling through frame after frame of his drones—only these weren’t the stripped-down prototypes he’d mothballed. These were fully operational. Armored. Outfitted with modular payload cylinders exactly as he’d designed them to be.

Only now they’d been weaponized in ways the Pentagon had clearly spent years perfecting in secret.

Virus payload. EMP pulse. Thermal micro-charge. Armor-piercing microdarts. All loaded into a revolving chamber that could switch on command. Six kill methods in one drone.

He leaned back, the chair creaking. It felt like someone had reached inside his chest and twisted his heart. Then they’d done the same to his guts. “They built them,” he said finally. “The project was supposed to be scrapped.”

Jessie looked up. “Built what?”

“The Cyclones.” His eyes stayed on the screen. “My Cyclones. Down to the last goddamn line of code.”

No one spoke for a beat.

Tessa was the first to move, setting her tablet down. “Wait, those drone prototypes you built when I was still training recruits?”

He nodded, a fierce sense of betrayal burning a hole right through him. “I suspected Brewer had gotten hold of my design, but I guess it’s not him I should have been worried about. The U.S. has turned them into actual weapons after telling me the project was scrapped.”

Tommy set down his mug. “You’re saying—”

“I’m saying the Pentagon took my archetype and turned it into a fleet of fully armed, fully autonomous AI drones.

” Bitterness sharpened each word. So did incredulousness.

“That’s why Brewer wanted to breach the Pentagon’s security.

Not to test if he could. He was looking for already built weapons. And he hit the jackpot.”

Jessie shifted to put her feet on the floor. “Holy shit. Are you sure?”

His guts roiled. “One hundred percent. The schematics are mine. The code is mine. They didn’t even bother to alter it.”

Tommy set down his cup. “What makes these drones different than others? Why are they valuable to Brewer versus the other high-tech weapons the Pentagon uses?”

He twisted his laptop so they could see the diagrams. “Like a six-shooter, each one comes with a revolving payload cylinder. Traditional military drones are mission-specific—one for recon, one for bombing, you get the idea. My design can pivot in seconds, switching from surveillance to attack to hacking without returning to base or swapping equipment.” He rubbed his eyes.

“Each drone’s onboard AI can anticipate which payload to deploy based on real-time conditions—or override the operator entirely if programmed to.

On top of that, they have a smaller profile than standard drones, making them harder to detect and track. ”

Everyone went still. The quiet that descended was too loud in his ears.

“Do you think Flynn had anything to do with it?” Jessie asked.

Had he? Had the director of Operations lied to Spence’s face when he’d told Spence the program had been shelved because of the budget and other concerns with the tech? “You can bet that’s the first thing I plan to ask him next time we talk.”

“Give me the full scope of what these drones can do,” Tessa said, all business. “What can the revolving cylinder carry?”

Because of her skills in design and layout, she was nicknamed The Architect.

He appreciated her need for the specifics, even though it made his skin crawl to review the possibilities.

“Possible payload types include micro-EMP disruptors, which can knock out electronics in a localized area without collateral infrastructure damage. Nano-virus dispersal canisters can release a cybervirus via micro-drones into targeted networks/devices from above, which are perfect for data center breaches. Precision explosives, small but devastating, can cause targeted destruction without leveling an entire building. Then there are recon/surveillance pods with multi-spectrum cameras, thermal, and LIDAR for mapping and tracking. Biochemical agent dispersal for crowd control. And finally, kinetic piercing rounds capable of shredding armored targets like vehicles or secure doors.”

Again, that horrified silence fell. Yeah, this is what it felt like to be Dr. Frankenstein who’d created a monster. He couldn’t look any of them in the eye. “The Pentagon has live versions, ready to be deployed. And Brewer wants them.”

Jessie swore, putting her elbows on her knees and dropping her head into her hands. “If Brewer gets control of them to use on Langley…”

“The CIA won’t stand a chance.” He closed his eyes, sick to his stomach. “And I believe he’s already got control or will have it soon. According to the project logistics, a whole fleet of them is armed and ready in a warehouse in Virginia.”

They all shook their heads at the bad news that just kept on coming.

“He’s never forgiven them,” Tessa said, voice quiet and certain.

“The CIA let him rot in prison. He expected a medal, or at the very least, a rescue.” She slid the tablet aside.

“He was a consultant in an unofficial capacity. Deep-level black ops. He trained agents, designed psy-op programs, and did worse. And never got credit for it.”

Tommy added, “And he expected them to bail him out after he killed your mom.”

Tessa’s eyes were steel. “He thought the CIA was his gold card to do whatever he wanted. But when they let him go down for her murder, even if it was only manslaughter, he turned on them. Faked his death. Escaped. And has been slowly working his way back for his revenge ever since.”

“And now he has the perfect weapon to do it,” Spence muttered.

Jessie scrubbed a hand through her hair. “Okay, so what does that look like? Who does he go after?”

They were quiet again.

Tessa broke the silence. “The director?”

Tommy shook his head. “Too easy. Brewer thinks bigger. He wants to show the world what he can do.”

Jessie nodded. “He’s all about crippling infrastructure and systems. He’ll go after their data, their agents, all of it. Expose everything and make them bleed with the world as his stage, watching.”

Spence’s pain was momentarily forgotten. “The Cyclones could be programmed to infiltrate the CIA’s mainframe. They could fly into the building itself—into Langley—and deploy nano-viruses that wipe their databases clean or dump it all onto the dark web.”

Tommy whistled under his breath. “Damn, man, when you design something brilliant, you go all out, don’t you?”

“Public exposure is his goal,” Tessa said grimly. “And that would do it. It would show the world what he can and will do, as well. He’ll take full credit and bring this country, and plenty of others, to its knees.”

“He might also cause a mass infection,” Tommy offered. “Arm the drones with a biological agent. The drones release it inside the building, everyone breathes it in, then goes home and spreads it. He could infect half the Eastern seaboard if he times it right.”

The drones can do all of that,” Spence said, “and more. Brewer’s a sadist with a genius-level grudge. He won’t stop at one payload—he’ll deploy every option he’s got.”

Jessie’s brows furrowed. “Wait a second.” She snapped her fingers.

“Flynn said something in his office the other day. He was answering emails and muttered something about an interagency review committee meeting being moved up because of the Pentagon breach. He said, ‘Kill me now,’ like it was the last thing he wanted to deal with.”

Jessie rushed over to the desk, and her fingers flew over the keyboard.

A second later, a schedule filled the screen.

“It’s behind closed doors, but it’s not a secret.

They have one every quarter. The CIA, Pentagon, Homeland, NSA, Feds, and certain White House staff convene to analyze some of the big, ongoing operations and discuss future ones.

The long-term type of missions that involve multiple agencies and often span years, or even decades.

They hold the meetings at different locations, and for this one, they’re convening at Langley. ”

Tommy swore under his breath. “How the hell could Brewer find out about this?”

She shrugged. “Hacking a staffer’s phone, hacking someone’s calendar? Like I said, it’s off books when it comes to the public, but everyone in these agencies knows about it.”

“That’s his moment,” Tessa said, nodding. “It would be the most devastating attack on U.S. intelligence since 9/11. He’ll make history.”

Jessie straightened, her whole body tense. “And he’ll watch,” she added. “Up close and personal because that’s what gets him off.”

“When is the meeting?” Tommy asked.

Jessie peered back at the screen. “Today. Fifteen hundred hours.”

Three o’clock. Spence went cold. “We’ve got less than five hours to stop him.”