Page 85 of Brass
“How does it work?” Celeste asks, leaning in close enough that I can smell her hair. That same citrus scent that’s been driving me crazy for days.
“Like a high-tech telegraph.” I adjust settings from memory. “Short-burst data, randomized frequencies, encrypted with a one-time password that only Ghost and I know. The transmission itself lasts less than half a second.”
“And Ghost will be listening?”
“Standing protocol during blackout.” I finish the prep and meet her eyes. “We send, then we wait. Could be hours before he answers.”
“What do we do till then?”
I nod toward the Faraday-caged computer. “We see what’s on that flash drive.”
Her hand touches her pocket, fingers tracing the outline of the tiny device that’s caused so much chaos in our lives.
“Is it safe?”
“As safe as anything can be.” I gesture toward the setup. “That system’s never been connected to any network. If there’s tracking software on your drive, it’s got nowhere to call.”
I send the transmission to Ghost—six seconds of encoded data that tell him everything necessary. Our location. Our status. Torque’s capture. The compromised safe house. The apparent breach of Cerberus’s systems.
Then we wait.
I keep busy checking supplies, confirming security measures, and establishing watch rotations. Celeste explores the bunker, examining the setup with that journalist’s eye that misses nothing.
“Ghost has enough food down here for months,” she observes, peering into storage containers.
“Six months, give or take. MREs aren’t great, but they’ll keep you alive.”
“You’ve known him a long time.”
I nod, running a hand along the weapons locker. All present and accounted for. “Since Delta. We pulled each other out of some bad spots.”
“The kind you don’t talk about?”
“The kind that don’t make for good dinner conversation.” I check ammunition stores next. “Some bonds don’t need explaining.”
She accepts this without pushing. Another thing I’m growing to appreciate about Celeste—she knows when to press and when to back off.
Three hours drag by before the radio crackles with an incoming transmission. I’m on it instantly, decoding the message with the key I memorized years ago, courtesy of Ghost.
It’s brief but says everything we need to know. Ghost acknowledges our situation. He’s locking down all Cerberus operations. And he’s bringing help—specialists from Guardian HRS who aren’t in any system Phoenix could access.
ETA eighteen hours.
“Good news?” Celeste asks, watching my face.
“Ghost got our message.” I straighten up from the radio. “He’s bringing help—people who can properly analyze what you’ve got. And he’s implementing Ghost Protocol across all Cerberus operations.”
“Ghost Protocol,” she repeats. “Sounds ominous.”
“It’s our nuclear option. Total communications blackout. All operatives vanish, using only pre-established secure channels. All operations suspended or transferred to friendlies.” I meet her eyes directly. “Cerberus effectively ceases to exist until we handle this.”
I see the weight of it hit her—what Phoenix has accomplished. What her investigation has triggered.
“Because of me,” she says quietly. “All this, because I couldn’t let it go.”
“No.” I’m across the room before I realize I’ve moved, standing right in front of her. “Because Phoenix exists. Because it was always going to target anyone who threatened it. You’re just the one with the guts to keep going when others backed down.”
A small smile touches her lips. “Stubborn, you mean.”
