Necessary Pursuit (A Trinity Masters Novel)

by Lila Dubois

  He shouldn’t think of them as two separate teams, especially since the plan he and Percival had developed, with information from both satellite photos and a detailed interview with Luca, had them grouped into three entry teams, with a mix of Trinity Masters and Masters’ Admiralty people on each.

  “English, please,” came Percival’s clipped accent though the earpiece.

  “Load up,” Owen commanded.

  “See you on the flip side.” Ridley held out a fist, and Owen bumped it with his own.

  Rhys touched two fingers to the brim of an imaginary hat. Jennika made a disgusted noise, but she smiled slightly.

  Rhys and Ridley walked away from their van, each man heading for one of the two black vans. The Trinity Masters portion of the MPF was only five people, and one of those was Franco, the Grand Master’s advisor. Since the man had no combat experience, and was still recovering from a nearly fatal gunshot wound, Franco hadn’t come to Italy with the rest of them. With Jennika on the comms with Sidika, that left just himself, Rhys, and Ridley to join the strike teams.

  Jennika hopped into the van, taking a seat at the small desk bolted to the side wall.

  Rodrigo Santiago and Vadisk Kushnir came over to join Owen. Rodrigo looked like he’d walked out of a Spanish perfume ad—hair that was long on top, an “anchor” mustache and beard, and a long, lean body.

  From what Owen had pieced together about him, Rodrigo was a “security officer”—which seemed to be a formal title in the Masters’ Admiralty—for the territory of Castile. On paper, he worked for a small and highly sought-after security company based in Madrid.

  Vadisk was also a security officer, but from the territory of Hungary, which had to encompass the Ukraine, because Vadisk had full sleeves of uniquely Ukrainian tattoos—linear geometric patterns that almost looked like embroidery or quilting in black and red, with the Ukrainian coat of arms front and center on his right forearm.

  “Vadisk, Rodrigo.” Owen shook each man’s hand. “This is Jennika.”

  Jennika turned around and waved.

  In his earpiece, Owen could hear Rhys and Ridley introducing themselves. The white-van team—Team P, for plumbers—was a three-man unit. They would be going over a wall on the east side of the compound, where some tree cover would hide their approach.

  Team L—for locksmith, since they were riding in the van with that logo—were going to enter through the front. Rhys was in that van, which was being driven by Kristin Riddari from Kalmar. Claudette Chevalier from France was riding shotgun, and the hope was that seeing two women would keep the gate attendant from sounding the alarm. The fourth member of that team was Konrad Rycerz.

  Claudette, Kristin, and Konrad’s last names all translated to “knight” in their territory’s primary language.

  Sarah Ritter—another knight—Milo Moretti, Percival, and Ridley were in the Team I van, which would approach from the back, where the walled compound had an unmanned gate beside the area where they kept the dumpsters.

  “Confirm that your teams are ready,” Percival said.

  “Confirmed,” Owen said.

  “Confirmed,” echoed Kristin.

  “Move out.”

  It was a twenty-minute drive to the headquarters of the Bellator Dei. They had a walled compound several hours outside Rome. The compound had, in a previous life, been a large farm. The main house had been turned into offices, a grain barn into a church, and the outbuildings and stables into classrooms and dormitories for the members who lived full-time on the compound.

  The low walls around the estate had been topped with metal fencing and barbed wire, turning what would have been a beautiful old-world estate into an ugly, industrial place completely worthy of being called a compound.

  Owen turned off onto a side road just as the compound came into sight. Five minutes later, he was parked behind a bush, and Rodrigo and Vadisk hopped out.

  “I’m not picking up any kind of signal I can grab,” Jennika said.

  “Possibly it’s the range,” Sidika said through the comms.

  “We’re moving toward the wall,” Owen announced.

  “We’ll move when you’re in position,” Percival responded.

  Vadisk went first, as planned. He held a beanbag rifle in both hands, the butt near his shoulder, so in a moment’s notice he could snap it up. Less lethal weapons were one of the concessions they’d made to the fact that there were a lot of innocent people on the compound, including children. As an FBI agent, Owen had no desire to be responsible for an Italian Waco situation.

  Within ten minutes they had reached the wall. The stone fence had toppled in places, probably thanks to the roots of the massive oaks that pushed up from the ground.

  Rodrigo took the lead, dropping to a knee and pulling out a few stones, widening an existing gap, and then snapping through the bottom of the chain-link fence until there was a gap wide enough for them to slide through, even with their bulky bulletproof vests and gear belts on.

  “Ready to breech,” Owen whispered, trusting the comms to pick it up.

  “We’re pulling up to the front gate,” Kristin said.

  “Ready at the back,” Percival added.

  Owen waited, breathing steadily to keep himself calm and alert. Adrenaline was a wonderful thing, but it could be distracting.

  The minutes ticked past, and he reached a Zen-like state of waiting.

  “No guard.” Kristin’s voice was tight with tension.

  “What?” Owen snapped into the moment, alarm bells going off in his head.

  “No guard at the front gate.”

  “Sidika, can you get into their security system?”

  “There’s nothing. It must be analog.”

  “All teams, go,” Owen ordered. “Extreme caution.”

  Rodrigo slid through the gap in the wall, Vadisk’s gun raised to fire through the chain link if anyone approached.

  Owen did the same as Vadisk slid through the opening, then finally Owen went through.

  They’d chosen this spot because it was hidden, thanks to both trees and a large shed just inside the wall.

  Owen took point as they walked quickly along the back wall of the shed. He checked around the corner with a mirror, but there was no one in sight.

  All the comms had gone quiet as the teams used hand signs to communicate, though there were occasional sounds—a heavy “snap” that was probably bolt cutters opening a lock, the squeak of a car gate being opened.

  His team reached the front corner of the shed, where they were still partially protected but could see the center of the compound. The rear entrance was at their four o’clock, the main entrance at nine. The position of the buildings matched what they knew from satellite and Luca’s description.

  There was a large flagstone-paved area that acted as a sort of central courtyard. The flagstones themselves looked oddly clean. The rest of the ground was dry, sunbaked dirt with an occasional patch of grass or weeds.

  And there was not a soul anywhere.

  “Do we have visuals on any targets?” Owen asked.

  “Negative.”

  “Negative.”

  Fuck the fucking fucker. This was bad.

  “The basement,” Percival said. “He said that was where they’d retreat.”

  He, meaning Luca.

  The locksmith van approached from the direction of the front gate, appearing from around the corner of a barn that had blocked their view. The sliding doors on both sides were open and the van was driving slowly enough that the people inside could jump out to take action.

  Owen’s attention went back to the flagstones.

  “The church,” Claudette said. “They might be in prayer.”

  “The I team will take the church,” Percival said. “Team L, you’re support.”

  “Understood,” Kristin said. The locksmith van picked up speed.

  Owen stared hard at the flagstones. “Stop.”

  The van jerked to a stop, the front wheels a foot away
from the edge of the flagstones.

  “Team L, back up. Team I, stay where you are.” Owen turned to Vadisk. “Can you get on the roof?” Owen pointed to the shed.

  Rodrigo raised an eyebrow, but when Vadisk nodded, he made a stirrup with his hands and boosted the Hungarian security officer up.

  “I want you to shoot the stone courtyard. Three in from midpoint, the darker gray one. It’s raised slightly.”

  “No,” Percival countered. “A shot will warn them.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Owen said. “Either we’re too late or…”

  Vadisk shouldered the beanbag gun, sighted, and fired. The “pop” of the gun was audible for only a second before an explosion rocked the night.

  “Fuck!” someone shouted.

  “Booby-trapped,” Owen snarled. “The fucking place is booby-trapped with land mines.”

  “Retreat,” Percival snapped. “Retrace your exact steps.”

  Owen didn’t take a deep breath until he was back in the van with a grim-looking Jennika.

  “They knew we were coming,” she said.

  Owen nodded and reached for his phone. He needed to call the Grand Master.

  Someone had told the Bellator Dei they were coming. It hadn’t been him or anyone in Trinity Masters. Unless...No.

  The Grand Master trusted him. Petro, the now dead Mastermind probably had people within the Masters’ Admiralty still devoted to his cause. They could have warned the Bellator Dei about the upcoming raid.

  He’d get with Percy—could he trust Percy?—and talk about the possibility of there being a traitor within the MPF ranks on the Masters’ Admiralty side. But he already knew what Percy would say. The same thing that had first occurred to Owen.

  A traitor within the Masters’ Admiralty was possible, but it wasn’t the most probable. The obvious suspect, the person with known loyalty to the Bellator Dei and knowledge of their operation, was Luca.

  Luca Campisi had warned the Bellator Dei they were coming. They’d abandoned the headquarters and rigged the place with land mines and probably a few other nasty surprises.

  The Trinity Masters’ newest member was a traitor.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Selene stood by the window, dry-erase marker in hand, laughing at the list she’d compiled on the hotel window. Oscar and Luca were sprawled out on the couch, shirtless, barefoot, both wearing the sweatpants provided by the helicopter pilot, rather than bothering with real clothing.

  The three of them had been sequestered in the hotel suite for three days, living on room service, wine, and sex—not necessarily in that order.

  None of them had expected to be in Boston for so long, but the Grand Master wanted her counselor, Devon, present, along with Norah Douglas, a Trinity Masters’ member and brilliant hacker and dark web specialist, when they released the bomb designs.

  There was some groundwork to lay prior to releasing the plans to make sure there were eyes and ears on all the stores of neptunium so they could follow the trail and discover any lunatic assholes who thought building a city-killer bomb would be a good idea.

  It was taking time to get everything in place, but Selene wasn’t complaining. She was having the best time of her life and she wasn’t anxious for the real world to intrude on that.

  “Not happening.” She drew a line through a couple Kama Sutra positions that involved her being upside down and supporting herself with her hands. The sex was too good, so there was a good chance she’d lose focus and crash to the floor if they tried those. Besides, she preferred kinky.

  Oscar growled in disapproval, but didn’t argue.

  Selene tapped one finger against her lips. “So what should we attempt next?” she asked. “Fem Dom or some new role play?”

  They’d begun an actual list of sexual positions and fantasies they all wanted to try when it became apparent they were going to be together for the foreseeable future. They’d taken “practicing ménages” to the next level.

  Oscar chuckled and shook his head. He’d made fun of the list ever since Selene found the dry-erase marker and started writing things down on the hotel window. Mercifully they were on a top floor, so no one on the street far below could read what she was writing.

  Of course, she noticed Oscar’s teasing didn’t stop him from adding his own suggestions. Hell, half the things on the list were his, including the just-nixed Kama Sutra positions. He’d added those after watching her do yoga yesterday morning and realizing she could hold herself in a handstand for an extended period of time. He’d immediately fired up his laptop and started researching positions for that particular talent.

  Luca stood up under the pretense of studying the items still remaining. Not that she was fooled when he slipped his hands under her T-shirt so that he could cup her breasts. Luca was definitely a tit man, while Oscar seemed to enjoy both packages equally, dividing his time between slapping asses—hers and Luca’s—pinching her nipples, or cupping Luca’s balls.

  “I think we should—” Luca mused.

  Before he could express his opinion, there was a knock at the door.

  “People here to see you,” Andre called through the door. “Y’all decent?”

  Selene laughed. Andre and another Warrior Scholar, Tate, had been guarding their door in shifts over the course of the past two days. Which meant they’d gotten more than an earful of some of their activities.

  Oscar rose and peered out the peephole. “There’s a generic-looking white dude and a Latinx woman with Andre.”

  “Our dark web experts are here.” Selene looked longingly at the list. Still, working with a CIA agent and a hacker to release flawed nuclear bomb plans was its own kind of exciting.

  Oscar bent down to pick up the shirt he’d shed just before their last round of sex and tugged it over his head. Luca followed suit.

  “I’m going to go put on some pants,” Selene said, heading for the bedroom. “And a bra,” she added begrudgingly. She hadn’t worn a bra in three days and it had been glorious.

  Yeah. Reality sucked.

  She quickly dressed and listened as Oscar opened the door. When she returned to the living room, she was introduced to Norah. She had socialized with Devon Asher—of the New York Ashers—at past Trinity Masters events as both of them were legacies. Devon worked for the CIA, so Selene assumed it had been his job to coordinate monitoring of worldwide supplies of neptunium.

  Devon was an attractive, rather imposing man with brown hair, cut in a stylish if boring side-part fashion, appropriate for a banker or lawyer. He also had shrewd steely-gray eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. Selene suspected there wasn’t much the man didn’t notice.

  She flushed when she saw his gaze shift toward the list on the window. Dammit. Apparently he didn’t miss anything.

  “Keeping ourselves busy, I see,” Devon deadpanned.

  Luca tried to step between the window and Devon’s line of vision in a feeble attempt to stop him from reading the entire list, while Oscar just crossed his arms and looked pissed off. Except there was a slight smile on his face, the barest curl to his lips that anyone who didn’t know him as well as she did wouldn’t have noticed.

  Norah glanced toward the window, and Selene could tell by her raised eyebrows and the way her gaze slipped back to Selene, she was impressed.

  Sebastian had called a couple days earlier to give them a status report. According to Sebastian, Norah was a dark web expert and had previously been a “hacktivist,” but now freelanced for the FBI cybercrimes division.

  “Let’s do this, bitches.” Norah had arrived with a sleek, expensive leather laptop case, which she set on the dining room table before taking a seat. She also had a bright red backpack with the cactus, eagle, and snake of the Mexican flag printed on it. The dichotomy was…weirdly compelling.

  She pulled out a completely matte black laptop with no logo on the lid. Oscar made a weird noise and rushed over to her side, examining the computer.

  “Can I help you?�
� Norah asked in a “who the fuck are you?” voice.

  “Is this custom?” Oscar demanded.

  “Of course it is. Also, who the hell are you? Wait, I forgot, I don’t care.” She turned to her computer and began to tap on the keyboard rapidly.

  Devon had followed her to the table. He put a hand on Oscar’s shoulder and eased him back. He was standing directly behind Norah, who glanced over her shoulder and frowned.

  “I can’t stand it when people stand behind me. Sit down, dude.” With her left foot, she pushed out the chair next to hers.

  Devon hesitated for a moment, clearly unaccustomed to being ordered around. Then he sat.

  Norah glanced at Oscar. “You’re the data-mining expert?”

  “Yes,” Oscar all but snarled.

  “And you’ve never seen a custom laptop?”

  “I’ve never seen that casing.” He pointed at her laptop, which, now that he mentioned it, had weirdly angular sides, almost as if it had been designed to look like an objet d’art.

  “Yeah, okay, I hear you. I have friends at Falcon. They made it for me. I pretend it’s just a gaming laptop if people get weird. What do you have?”

  Oscar crossed his arms. “Two desktops I built, and my original custom Origin. I travel with a Maingear.”

  They stared at one another and seemed to reach some sort of computer nerd understanding.

  Norah tilted her head toward the chair on her right, which Oscar claimed, his eyes glued to her screen.

  Oscar had mentioned more than a few times that he’d heard of Norah, assuming she was who he thought she was. He’d explained that she was a pure hacker. She went after information that was purposefully hard to access. While Oscar did some of that, he focused on creating digital tools that could access and analyze data, both public and private, in order to answer questions, find patterns, and “mine” all available data for information.

  Norah, he’d explained, was the kind of person who could dox misogynistic, racist, and homophobic assholes.