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The door that led into the suite of rooms Atticus had commandeered was open, but Nate knocked before he stepped inside. Atticus Cameron sat behind a desk that had a view of the Dallas skyline and the pulsing heat that sizzled out from the metal skyscrapers. Atticus commanded this territory as if hospitals were his normal place of business—his laptop open and the sleeves of his shirt rolled to the elbows as he talked softly into his cell phone.
His hair was black as pitch and his eyes like gray fog. One didn’t have to look in them long to know he wasn’t a man to be messed with. The scar that ran along his jawline only added to the danger that surrounded him. Come to think of it, it might be easy to confuse Atticus for the devil at this particular moment, ruling over the depths of hell if the look on his boss’s face was anything to go by.
Atticus nodded at Nate when he came in the room and pointed to one of the chairs in front of the desk.
“You’ve got two hours,” Atticus said to whoever was unfortunate enough to be on the other end of the line. “If I don’t hear from Shaw and Peters in two hours and one second, then I’m going to send the forces of hell to come get them and bring them back home. I suggest you don’t get in the way.”
Atticus hung up the phone and Nate raised his brows. “What happened to Shaw and Peters?” He knew the two agents personally, and he’d worked dozens of missions with them over the last decade or so.
“We lost contact in Kyiv,” Atticus said. “Early intelligence is telling us they were betrayed by our contacts there and handed over to a Russian military unit. The Secretary of State is trying to make things political.”
Nate laughed. “He doesn’t know you very well.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Atticus said. “We’ll get them back.” He moved from behind the desk and went to the small fridge and took out a couple of waters. He tossed one to Nate and said, “You’re looking a little warm.”
Nate grimaced. “I don’t know how you live here.” He was grateful for the water and drank deeply. “I’m pretty sure the soles of my shoes were melting against the pavement.”
“I’m told you get used to it,” Atticus said. “But I’ve been here twenty years and I haven’t gotten there yet. Thanks for coming in. I’m sorry to cut your vacation short. But as you can see, we’re stretched thin at the moment.”
“Not a problem.” Missing agents was a big deal, and every agent who wasn’t on assignment would be needed to help find them. “You know I’d do anything to make sure Shaw and Peters make it back safely.”
“How’s Stella?”
“Pissed you cut her Hawaiian vacation short,” Nate said, grinning at Atticus. “She says you can make it up to her later though. She suggested you give me a raise so I can buy her the car she’s been begging for.”
Atticus choked out a laugh. The sound was brittle, as if it had been a while since he’d done it. “I can’t believe she’s driving. Seems like yesterday she was sucking her thumb and asking Jane for a second dessert.”
His eyes darkened with grief at the mention of his wife’s name. The last time Nate had seen Atticus had been at Jane’s funeral. His friend had aged a lifetime in just a few short weeks.
“How’s Anna?” Nate looked to the connecting doorway that led to her hospital room. The beep of monitors was soft and he could hear the low hum of cartoons in the background.
Atticus’s face said it all—the worry and anguish were plain to see. “Her body is healing. It’s a miracle she’s alive. You and I have both been shot. We know what it feels like. But for three bullets to ravage her small body is unthinkable.”
Nate nodded. “Like you said, a miracle.”
“She should have woken up by now. They were able to stop the bleeding on her brain during surgery, but the doctor said sometimes the trauma is so great they choose to stay where they are. It feels safer. I want to see her open her eyes so badly…”
“But?” Nate asked.
Atticus blew out a long breath. “I’m afraid how she’ll respond once she remembers what happened to her. What happened to her mother. She’s only twelve.”
“Anna is a fighter and she’s strong. She’ll wake up when she’s ready. And then the two of you will do whatever it takes to heal. You’re a good dad. She’ll be okay.”
It wasn’t often Atticus let his guard down and let his emotions show, but a myriad of expressions crossed his face and tears welled in his eyes. He stood and turned his back so he was facing the window.
“You know I’ll do whatever I can to help,” Nate said.
Atticus cleared his throat and turned back to his desk, the moment past. He pulled a file from beneath the massive stack of papers on his desk and tossed it to Nate. “Yeah, well, that’s why I called you back early. You’re the only man I trust for this job.”
“Is this about Shaw and Peters?” Nate asked.
“No, I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d send the forces of hell to bring them back. I had agents out for a recovery mission the minute I heard they’d been taken. By the time the Secretary of State calls again to tell me why I can’t mess up the delicacy of foreign relations, Shaw and Peters will already be back home. No, I need you for a specialized mission. This is classified. It’s either you or me. And I’m not leaving here. So you’re it.”
Nate nodded in understanding. He and Atticus had come through the ranks together. The two of them had been trained at Langley in experimental black ops missions. The skills they’d been taught were unique, effective, and made people in the American government uneasy. Which was why there’d been some who’d opposed Atticus starting up Dynamis a dozen years before. But his methods were effective, and Atticus could play politics when needed.
“What do you know about Oblivion?” Atticus asked.
“Just whispers really. Only that it exists. It’s an off-the-books spook organization. The areas they work are murky at best and always dangerous. Even my security clearance didn’t allow for much more information than that.”
