Chapter 15 Atticus #2
“You haven’t seen demanding yet,” she said, winking.
“I’m definitely up for the challenge.”
Brenna raised a brow.
“Literally.”
“You’re ridiculous, Atticus.”
“Ridiculously in love with you.”
She laughed. “That was terrible.”
“But true.”
She took a step back. “I’m going to change.”
“I can help if you’d like.”
When she disappeared into the bedroom without responding, I took that as a “no, thanks.”
My phone vibrated with a message from Kodiak, saying they’d see us at eighteen hundred unless we needed to meet sooner.
Roger 1800, I responded.
Then I deleted both messages. No digital trail while we were here, even encrypted ones.
When Brenna emerged, she was wearing a dress that managed to be both conservative and sexy as fuck. Knee-length, with nothing flashy about the cut or color, but the way the fabric moved when she walked made me want to strip her out of it. Her hair was pulled back, and she’d freshened her makeup.
“Will I do?”
“You’re devastatingly beautiful, darling.”
She crossed to me and settled her hands on my chest. “Feeling any better about being here?”
“Yes, and no.”
She nodded as if she understood, and if not, she accepted the answer as the best I could give at the moment.
When we arrived at the lodge just before eighteen hundred hours, it hummed with activity. Morrison held court near the fireplace, naturally, where the light and positioning made him the gravitational center of the room, but we approached Kodiak and Emma first.
“Ah, the Nolans and the Mitchells,” Morrison said, crossing over to greet us.
“David, I’m sure I speak for my husband and our friends when I say your graciousness in inviting us is so appreciated,” Brenna said, briefly touching his arm in a way that made my shoulders seize.
“Wait until tomorrow. I think you’ll find our sessions particularly enlightening.”
Liu appeared at Morrison’s shoulder with the timing of someone who’d been waiting for his cue. The man moved like smoke—there, then not, then suddenly beside you.
“Welcome,” he repeated. “We’re so pleased that you were able to join us.”
While the rest of the group engaged in small talk, I surveyed those already assembled in the lobby. Several held cocktails, but I hadn’t spotted a bar. Not that I’d be partaking tonight.
“Come,” I heard Morrison say. “I’ll introduce you to some fellow guests.”
The next half hour was about strategic mingling disguised as a cocktail party.
Morrison and Liu had clearly coordinated—Morrison handled executives with back slaps and bourbon, Liu focused on engineers with quiet intensity, while Castellano, when he appeared, worked the money people with evangelical fervor.
Every conversation followed the same arc. Weather and wine turned into discussions about work, which became complaints about regulations, which became something darker. The frustration in the room was real, palpable, like kindling waiting for a spark.
“ITAR is killing us,” one executive muttered into his second scotch. “By the time we get approval, our competitors have already shipped.”
“The Chinese don’t have these constraints,” added someone else. “They’re implementing our patents while we’re filing paperwork.”
“Sometimes I wonder if we’re just rearranging deck chairs,” said a woman who kept checking her phone. “Following rules while the ship sinks.”
I made appropriate sounds of agreement while cataloging faces, noting who leaned into the complaints, who pulled back, who was drinking heavily, and who stayed sharp.
Thirty minutes later, Morrison positioned himself by the fireplace for the second time. Conversations gradually died as people turned toward him.
“Friends,” he began, the word rolling off his tongue in a way that made my skin crawl. “Welcome to what I hope will be a transformative weekend.”
He talked about innovation strangled by bureaucracy, talent buried by regulations, and the frustration they all shared. But underneath was something else—evaluation. He was taking the room’s temperature, noting who nodded, who frowned, and who leaned forward.
“But tonight,” he concluded, “is about getting to know each other. Shall we adjourn to dinner?”
The Canyon Room was set up with round tables of eight, with strategically arranged place cards. Brenna and I were seated at Morrison’s table, while Kodiak and Emma were at Castellano’s.
Vague topics of conversation with double- and triple-meaning continued throughout the four-course meal.
After dessert, when Brenna excused herself to the ladies’ room, Morrison appeared at my shoulder. “Walk with me?”
He led me out to the terrace, where he lit a cigar. “Join me?” he asked. Adding, “Your wife’s portfolio shows real vision,” when I politely declined.
“She sees opportunities others miss.”
“And you protect that vision. Military background?”
“Yes, sir. Air Force.” While it was accurate, it was also something Alice had included in our cover identity background.
“Then, you have a unique understanding of what our armed forces are sometimes up against.”
Before I could respond, Brenna appeared in the doorway. “Shall we say good night?”
“Rest well,” Morrison said after we thanked him for dinner and the conversation. “Tomorrow will be educational,” he added before shaking both our hands.
We’d just stepped inside the cottage when I received a text from Kodiak. Emergency briefing. Headed your way.
“I wonder what this is about.” Brenna’s brow furrowed.
I closed the window coverings, then did another sweep for bugs.
Even if there was something I didn’t pick up, which was highly unlikely, our communication protocols had scramblers built in to prevent anyone from hearing or seeing our teleconference.
A few minutes after Kodiak and Emma arrived, they established the encrypted connection and Tex’s face filled the screen. Dragon, Alice, Tank, and Admiral also appeared.
“I’ll cut right to the chase,” said Tex. “Based on money flows and communication intercepts, our intel indicates that Morrison, Liu, and Castellano are far badder hombres than we initially thought.”
“In what way?” Brenna asked.
“They’re not just venture capitalists looking to make a killing by selling national secrets,” Tex said without preamble. “They’re professional intelligence brokers running a black market for classified military technology. They don’t care about ideology or country—they sell to whoever pays best.”
“Which buyers?” Brenna asked, her hand finding mine.
“That’s the problem—multiple state actors, terrorist organizations, even corporate competitors. I’ve tracked payments from at least seven different sources.”
“The scope is massive,” Alice added. “I’ve identified seventeen successful recruits over two years, all with security clearances. The cryptocurrency payments are layered through so many shell companies that we can’t even pin down all the end users.”
“Everyone at the resort this weekend is a target,” Dragon said. “This isn’t just recruitment—it’s a harvest. They’re evaluating everyone’s access levels, financial pressure points, and moral flexibility. Building their supplier network.”
“If you can get us access to their buyer list, we can map the damage,” Alice said.
“Brenna? How do you want to proceed at this point?” Admiral asked.
“We stick to building our case,” she said. “Document every interaction, every person they meet with. We need probable cause for warrants. And we maintain cover—wait for them to make their move. When they approach us, we learn how this actually works.”
“Financial forensics on our end might reveal more payment patterns,” Alice added. “Treasury’s involvement should help.”
“We can support with enhanced surveillance on all attendees,” Admiral offered.
After disconnecting, we sat at the dining table, all four of us processing the implications.
“Intelligence brokers,” Brenna said quietly. “Selling our secrets to the highest bidder.”
“For years. Successfully. To anyone willing to pay.”
Emma poured brandy into four glasses—we might as well make use of Kodiak’s prop. “Tomorrow’s going to be intense.”
“Liu’s AI session is at zero nine hundred,” I said, pulling up the schedule on my phone. “Perfect opportunity to get on their radar.”
“I’ll work the breakfast crowd beforehand,” Kodiak said. “Watch who Morrison, Liu, and Castellano target first.”
“How do we play this?” Emma asked. “If they’re evaluating everyone, they’ll be looking for tells.”
“We give them exactly what they expect,” Brenna said. “Two ambitious couples, new to the area, eager to network. Let them think we’re hungry for opportunities.”
I caught her eye. “Just another pair of marks willing to sell out for the right price.”
“Exactly.” Brenna raised her glass with grim determination. “To playing the long game.”
Saturday morning arrived wrapped in fog so thick you couldn’t see the valley.
At breakfast, the dining room buzzed with typical conference energy—tech executives comparing notes over coffee, venture partners exchanging cards, engineers debating the latest frameworks.
Morrison, Liu, and Castellano worked the room separately, having casual conversations that seemed perfectly innocent.
Liu’s session started right on time in a conference room with about twenty attendees armed with notebooks and tablets.
“Today, we explore AI applications in complex signal processing,” he announced, his presentation slides professionally bland. “Pattern recognition in noisy environments.”
What followed was a masterclass in walking the line.