Page 84 of Brass
Celeste doesn’t argue. Just grabs her pack and helps me cover the truck with branches cut from nearby pines. She catches on quickly—a woman who understands survival instinctively.
We move through the forest like ghosts. Well, I move like a ghost. Celeste moves like someone trying very hard not to snap every twig underfoot. But she’s learning.
“Stop,” I whisper, throwing out an arm.
She freezes instantly. Progress.
I point down to where a nearly invisible wire stretches across our path. “Trip wire. First layer of Ghost’s security. Nothing electronic, just good old-fashioned mechanical alarms.”
“Ghost set these?”
“He set seven layers of security. This is just the starter course.”
We clear four more triggers before the cabin appears through the trees—a small log structure nestled against a sheer rock face. Looks like any other hunting cabin abandoned in these mountains. Nothing special.
Except it’s a fortress.
The walls are steel-reinforced. The windows are ballistic glass that looks like ordinary crap. The stone chimney houses air filtration and communications gear. And underneath the wholething is a bunker that would make doomsday preppers weep with envy.
“Wait here,” I tell Celeste, drawing my weapon.
TWENTY-NINE
Ryan
I approach the cabin alone,checking for signs that anyone’s been here. Nothing. The mechanical lock is a thing of beauty—no electronics, just intricate tumblers that respond to a sequence based on the coordinates of my first mission with Ghost.
The door opens with a solid click. Inside smells of pine, gun oil, and isolation. I move through the single-room space—checking corners, confirming security, and making sure nothing has been disturbed.
“Clear,” I call back to Celeste.
She enters cautiously, eyes widening as I crank up the manual generator that powers the minimal lighting. The cabin reveals itself—simple but functional. One open room with a stone fireplace at one end, a small kitchenette in the corner, and a real bed built into the far wall. Spartan, but secure.
Except for the trapdoor hidden beneath the braided rug.
“Is that?—”
“The important part.” I pull back the rug and lift the heavy door, revealing a steel ladder descending into darkness. “Hope you’re not claustrophobic.”
“After those maintenance tunnels in D.C.? This is luxurious.” She peers down into the darkness. “Ladies first?”
I actually laugh at that. “I was about to suggest it. Very gentlemanly of me.”
“You? A gentleman?” She shakes her head, already starting down the ladder. “That would ruin your reputation.”
I follow her down, pulling the trapdoor closed above us. At the bottom, I find the hand-crank generator and begin turning it. Lights flicker on, revealing Ghost’s underground sanctuary.
The space is roughly the size of a small apartment, divided into functional zones. Communications station. Medical area. Weapons locker. Food and water storage. And in the corner, behind a mesh of copper wire forming a Faraday cage, sits a computer setup straight out of Cold War spy films.
“Jesus,” Celeste whispers, turning slowly to take it all in. “Your boss doesn’t mess around.”
“Ghost calls it the Den.” I move toward the communications array. “It’s where we go when everything else goes to shit.”
“And it has what we need?”
“That and more.” I start activating systems—all analog, all secure. “Including a way to call Ghost without Phoenix picking up the signal.”
The radio system looks ancient, but it’s state-of-the-art—modified to transmit in bursts so short and so encrypted that nothing could intercept or decode them.
