“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 force 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.”
There was stiff silence for a moment, then he heard Percival sigh. “Perhaps this information would be best shared in person.”
Owen smiled, knowing the other man couldn’t see the expression. “Let’s meet in the middle. Brussels.”
“Tonight in Brussels.”
Chapter Two
Selene smiled at Oscar as he placed her suitcase and his bag down by the front door of the safe house. The five-hour car ride from Boston to the small, rural town of Lenoxville, Pennsylvania, had been relatively uneventful. She and Oscar had discussed movies and books with Bill and Wayne, the two bodyguards from Bennett Security who had been assigned to protect them. Bill had done a quick yet thorough walk-through of the house before allowing her and Oscar to enter. Now Wayne was circling the grounds as Bill stood sentry at the front door.
While Selene knew she should feel safe with guards and Oscar, it was difficult to relax knowing that her life may be in danger. That Luca Campisi, a man capable of designing a deadly bomb, and tracking down electronics in a way Oscar—who was brilliant—hadn’t anticipated, was looking for them.
“Thank you, Oscar,” she said softly, slipping off her winter coat, as she looked around the large farmhouse the Grand Master had provided for the two of them. The Grand Master had offered to split them up, but when faced with the possibility of being separated from Oscar, Selene had insisted on remaining with him. She wasn’t sure what it was about the handsome, grumpy man from Charleston, but Selene was intrigued and…dammit…smitten.
The front door opened into a large room that was a combination living room and dining room, with well-worn hardwood floors covered with a smattering of rag rugs. There were no overhead lights, so the interior was lit by lamps. Between that and the too small, too few windows, the house was quite dim, considering it was early afternoon and sunny outside. Not that they expected the sunshine to last. The weather forecast included a freak snowstorm, the word blizzard even mentioned as a possibility.
It was certainly cold enough to snow. The safe house was quite chilly, and she glanced around wondering where the thermostat was. Or if there was a fireplace they could use.