by Lila Dubois
Sebastian looked surprised at that statement.
Oscar raised his hands. “I know computer security, but only because cracking it is sometimes necessary in data mining. That’s my real specialty.”
Everyone fell silent, waiting.
The Grand Master’s face was turned away, so he couldn’t read her expression, but when she cleared her throat, they all stood a little straighter.
“We assume the worst-case scenario,” she said. “Luca knows you copied his tablet and has a way to actively seek out that copy. He was successful, and in doing so, was able to turn on the camera of this tablet. He has seen both of you and the hotel room. He could potentially identify each of you, and maybe even the hotel, via the decor.”
Oscar looked around the room and then at Selene. She might be in danger because of him.
“Dr. Tanaka, we will protect you until this situation is resolved,” the Grand Master finished.
Selene inclined her head, but then frowned. “What about Oscar?”
“While we appreciate Mr. Hayden’s help over the last week, we did not seek his assistance, and he is not a member.”
Oscar stared at her. Was she about to…?
“I would advise you not to return to your home,” the Grand Master went on. “We know Luca is aware of the location, given the fact he ransacked Langston’s lab while searching for his tablet. He was able to bypass your security.”
He ground his teeth again. Damn it, she was.
“Grand Master, surely we can protect Oscar, given—” Selene stopped talking when Sebastian reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. Oscar repressed the urge to tell him to get his fucking hands off her.
“I would suggest leaving the East Coast for some time. While we think Luca returned to Europe, we have no confirmation of that. I’d also suggest not contacting your family. You, and those you love, will be safest that way.”
“Just get to it,” Oscar snarled, furious with the thought of being forced to walk away from his own life by some asshole bomber. He’d do it, if he had to, but it would hurt the people he loved. They were safe. She hadn’t said it, but they both knew it. Sylvia and Langston were both already cult members, and Walt was half a world away.
The Grand Master smiled. It was cool and touched with a hint of satisfaction. “Or you could finally accept my invitation.”
Fucking fuck. If he’d just left well enough alone, hadn’t insisted on messing with this stupid shit, he wouldn’t be in this position. He glanced at Selene, whose eyes were wide with surprise. He didn’t know if she was shocked at the fact that he had a standing invitation to join or that the Grand Master would strong-arm him. Brilliant as she was, clearly Selene wasn’t manipulative enough to have seen this coming.
The Grand Master cleared her throat, pulling his attention back to her. Their gazes locked, and he knew his life was about to change.
“Become a member and we will protect you.”
Juliette tossed the jacket on the floor the moment she and Franco were inside. One of her now-extensive collection of black, hooded pieces, it was warm enough to serve as a snow coat in Boston, which also made it uncomfortably warm to wear inside, and by the time they left the hotel room, she’d been sweating, only to walk out into the chilly air of the Boston night.
The jacket landed half on top of a pair of polished dress shoes and a black briefcase that hadn’t been there when they’d left earlier.
“Devon?” Franco called out, even as he put his hand on her shoulder protectively.
“I’m here,” their husband called out, his voice floating down the stairs.
The Beacon Hill mansion they’d bought last year was light and airy during the day, thanks to being a corner lot. It had been their sanctuary, and until last week, she’d managed to keep the business of the Trinity Masters separate from their home, their trinity. The whole Langston debacle had resulted in her meeting with Sophia Starabba in her home. Sophia, a smart, fashionable Italian woman, appeared to be the acting leader of the Masters’ Admiralty, since Eric Ericsson, the fleet admiral, was missing.
Based on information from her sources—though calling Sylvia Hayden a “source” when the woman was woefully bad at subterfuge was laughable—Juliette was fairly certain there hadn’t been some sort of coup within the Masters’ Admiralty. Still, the longer she went without talking to Eric, the more suspicious she felt, even though she respected Sophia.
In fact, she and Sophia had innovated a new, collaborative endeavor, the MPF—Masters Protection Force—and based on tonight’s crisis, they’d gotten it off the ground just in time.
One night, she, Devon, and Franco had sat down in their pajamas on the living room floor with a bottle of wine to talk through the plan for the MPF, which Franco had started referring to as “The Plan” with capital letters. She’d tried to rope in Sebastian, but he’d made an aggravated noise and hung up on her when she’d called him at midnight to see if he wanted to be part of the discussion.
Sebastian had given up his job—well, jobs—after she’d assigned him to his trinity with Elle and Grant. Since he was permanently in the country now, he was able to serve as one of her counselors, a position that seemed to take up even more of his time than being an international aid worker and CIA asset had.
And speaking of the CIA…
Devon came down the stairs wearing nothing but a towel.
All thoughts of the Masters’ Admiralty, Sebastian, and the latest crisis fled when Franco walked over, kissed Devon, and yanked the towel away.
An hour later, lying naked on the foyer floor, their clothes and that one towel strewn around them, Juliette sighed in contentment. No matter what else happened in the world, she had this, had them. Their little family.
That thought sobered her enough that she sat up, only to have Devon hook an arm around her and pull her back down, this time with her head pillowed on his chest. “I’m not ready to let you go yet.”
“What time is it in London?” she asked.
“Six a.m.,” Devon answered without hesitation.
“Frankfurt?”
“Seven.”
“Then I have time.” Juliette settled in, the floor hard under her, so she draped her legs across Franco to get comfortable.
“Wait.” Devon cupped her cheek, turning her face toward his as he held his head off the floor. “London, Frankfurt…you’re talking about activating the MPF. What’s going on?”
“This floor is hard,” Juliette said.
Franco rose, helping her and Devon up as well.
As they headed upstairs to their bedroom with its Alaskan King bed, Franco and Juliette took turns explaining what Oscar had done, and the aftermath.
Once he had agreed to join, she’d pulled in two of the Warrior Scholars as bodyguards for Selene and Oscar, and they’d also served as a security escort to get everyone safely to the Boston Public Library.
Juliette may not have called on the Warrior Scholars, thanks to the guilt she felt over poor Levi, if Sebastian hadn’t insisted. Levi Hart was one of the Warrior Scholars, an elite group of soldiers-turned-grad-students and Trinity Masters’ members who functioned as her Boston-based on-call security team. Levi had ended up in the hospital after their last run-in with Luca Campisi.
The ceremony to initiate members wasn’t long, and this particular one had been even shorter, thanks to Oscar’s terse replies. Sebastian had handled the post-initiation discussion with Oscar since Franco had screwed up his brother Langston’s onboarding. While that was going on, Juliette had spoken privately with Selene, offering to send her, along with a bodyguard, to a safe house on the West Coast.
Selene had opted to remain with Oscar. The Hayden boys were good-looking, but Oscar must have been really good in bed for Selene to decide staying with him was worth the risk.
Following his initiation, Oscar—who now wore a triquetra pendant on a long gold chain—had seemed surprised Selene was still there. A personal protection detail from Price Bennett’s se
curity company would arrive first thing in the morning to take them to a safe house in rural Pennsylvania, far enough from Boston to provide some geographic security, especially since the safe house was, according to Price, in the middle of the countryside and easy to defend against a lone assailant.
Until the Bennett Security team arrived, Oscar, Selene, and their Warrior Scholar guards were safely stashed in headquarters. It wasn’t the nice accommodations of the Boston Park Plaza, but they’d survive.
Juliette let Franco finish the explanations while she went to select pajamas. She didn’t plan to get on a video chat with Sophia, and given the late hour, putting clothes back on seemed counterintuitive. They’d just had some incredible sex, so a satin teddy was thematically appropriate, but she pulled on sweatpants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and put her hair up in a bun that made her look like a pineapple.
“And then we came back here and had floor sex,” Franco said as she walked out of their massive dressing room closet.
Devon crossed his arms. “If we want to catch Luca, instead of putting them in the—”
“I’m not going to use them as bait,” Juliette declared.
“We need Luca Campisi. He is a direct threat to national security.”
“He’s a threat to worldwide security, and we will catch him. Oscar’s computer, the hard drive, and the tablet he was using are on their way to San Francisco with a trusted courier. Norah Douglas is going to run an analysis and see if she can trace where the search originated from.”
Norah, a member, was a forensic computer investigator, brilliant hacker, dark web expert, and one of the secret leaders of an anonymous “hacktivist” collective. Silicon Valley companies hired her to attack their systems as a way to test the security. It wasn’t a matter of if she could get in, but how long it took. Both the FBI and CIA used her as an outside consultant for particularly difficult digital investigations. If anyone could back trace Luca based on Oscar’s tablet, it was she.
“We could keep them safe while making it appear that they were vulnerable.” Devon was stern and serious. “The simplest course of action would be—”
“You’re the one who said you thought he’d returned to Europe, so we have time to focus on a digital trace, because travel time alone—”
“His travel time back to the U.S. would mean we have time to construct a secure plan for using—”
Juliette ignored the doubt gnawing at her and held her ground. “I’m not risking the lives of our members in order to—”
Franco slid his arm around her, tugging her to lean back against his chest. “‘Logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.’ But that only applies when it’s self-sacrifice. Or if you’re Spock.”
The tension that had been building vanished, as if Franco had taken a pin to a balloon. As always, he managed to keep her and Devon grounded, keep them from their natural inclination for drama and self-flagellation.
Devon hung his head and snorted out a laugh. “I can’t deal with you when you throw geek quotes at me.”
“Geek is the new cool.”
“Sure it is.”
“Before you two have this argument—again—let’s make this phone call.” Juliette slid out of Franco’s arms and then out of the bedroom. She and Franco had a first-floor office for Trinity Masters business, which they hadn’t used until this last week. Tonight, they’d need it since the hardline phone in there, totally separate from their personal phone and internet, was secure and encrypted.
Sophia picked up on the third ring. “Grand Master.”
“Ms. Starabba.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“The timing of our last meeting, and the plan we developed, was fortuitous.”
There was a brief pause. “The bomber?”
“Yes.”
“He’s in the U.S.?”
“Not as far as we know, but he knows we have a copy of his data and is searching for it. Digitally. We have people working on tracking him, but once they do…”
“We must be ready.” Sophia’s voice was hard and merciless, her accent making it sound elegant. Like a beautifully crafted dagger.
Juliette glanced at each of her husbands, then said, “We need to activate the Masters Protection Force.”
Owen Fraser opened the drawer of his desk. There were four cell phones inside. It was the one way in the back, the newest but least used, that was ringing. Calm settled over him as he picked up the phone and answered it.
“Fraser.”
“Mr. Fraser, I didn’t anticipate needing you so soon.” The woman on the other end of the line spoke with a crisp New England accent. He hadn’t been at the now-infamous all-society meeting where the new Grand Master had been introduced—and where it had been clear from her voice that for the first time in the secret society’s history, they had a female leader—but he now recognized her voice from the series of conversations they’d had over the course of the last few days.
“I’m here to serve, Grand Master.”
“There’s been a development in the situation with the Italian bomber. There’s a potential lead, and we need the Masters Protection Force ready to mobilize.”
“In Europe or in the U.S.?”
“Current intelligence says he’s in Europe, but it’s possible he will return to America in an attempt to locate Oscar Hayden and Selene Tanaka.” The Grand Master quickly summarized the situation while Owen jotted notes in his personal code language.
Outside the window, the city of Frankfurt was bustling with morning traffic. Through the glass wall of his office, he could see the activities of the small team of agents and employees who made up the Frankfurt sub office of the FBI’s International Operations Division.
“Has Percival been notified?” he asked when she’d finished.
“The Masters’ Admiralty’s acting leader was going to call him right away. They’re most likely on the phone now.”
“I will wait ten minutes after we finish and then call him.”
“You know how to get ahold of my counselors if you need anything…or if you have any information I should be made aware of.”
“Yes, Grand Master.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Agent Fraser.”
The call ended and Owen sat back in his chair, whistling. As an FBI agent working abroad, his job was fairly complicated. Taking on the role of leader of the U.S. half of the Masters Protection Force would only add to the complexity. Regardless, he’d accepted the position without hesitation.
Owen unlocked the lower drawer on the long, low filing cabinet he had in his office. Amid all the other files was a slim one he’d labeled “MPF” in Devanagari script. Carrying it back to his desk, he flipped it open, using the action of re-examining the file’s contents as mental preparation time before he made the call.
The Masters Protection Force was an international, interagency law enforcement task force. At least that’s what it would have been called if it had been organized by governments or Interpol. The Trinity Masters and Masters’ Admiralty were not adversaries, but they also weren’t allies. Rumors of the existence of a European arranged-ménage-marriage secret society had been swirling through the Trinity Masters membership for months, even reaching him here in Germany. When he’d first heard, he’d tried to poke around and see if he could confirm the existence of the European society, but there’d been nothing.
Then the Grand Master called, he was read in, and, more interestingly, she’d asked him to head their side of this new task force, which had been the brainchild of herself and Sophia Starabba—the acting head of the Masters’ Admiralty. Sophia herself was a law-enforcement agent with the Italian Carabinieri and Interpol. Or she had been; according to her record, she’d given up her position and moved to London and was currently unemployed. Acting head of a secret society wasn’t the kind of job that people declared on their LinkedIn pages.
The shiny new Masters Protection Force was an elite task for
ce of fourteen people, each of them a member of their respective secret society. Right now, he and the rest of the Trinity Masters MPF agents were severely outnumbered—there were only five of them, including himself, while the Masters’ Admiralty representation was nine people strong.
He and the Grand Master had deliberately tapped individuals from each of the major U.S. federal agencies—NSA, Homeland Security, CIA, with himself representing the FBI. The fifth member was one of the Grand Master’s advisors, a historian named Franco, who was quick-witted, friendly, and smart in the way one would expect a historian to be.
The man would be a nightmare out in the field.
On the other side of the MPF were the nine people from the Masters’ Admiralty, one from each “territory.” He had their names, and most of them had civilian jobs, the majority of them working for various well-established and exclusive security firms like Cohortes Praetorianae, where Milo Moretti, the MPF member representing Rome, worked.
Figuring out what the significance of the territories were and their borders was Owen’s new pet project, but in the few conversations he’d had with Percival Knight—his equivalent, and the representative from England—Owen hadn’t been able to get any information about it out of the Englishman.
The MPF had the broad and daunting mission of investigating and neutralizing any and all outside threats to both societies.
The city-killer bomb and the hunt for its maker fit that criteria, with the side benefit of potentially saving the world.
Owen picked up the phone and dialed Percival Knight’s number.
“Mr. Fraser,” he answered. “I was about to call you.”
“You’ve spoken with your chief?”
“My admiral, yes.”
Owen jotted down the word “admiral” in his notes. “Our first official investigation.”
“This only works if we truly collaborate,” Percival warned.
“I’m not the one holding back information,” Owen pointed out. “This bomber started out targeting your society. I’d like to know more about why. And who exactly the Bellator Dei are.”
