Chapter 18 - The Atlantic Frequency
Static hissed through the cabin speakers for two agonizing seconds, exactly like it had in the warehouse. Then, a voice emerged from the audio feed—distorted by an advanced voice-scrambler, but carrying a cadence that made Daniel’s blood run instantly cold.
"Daniel," the distorted voice whispered, sounding smooth, calm, and entirely unbothered by the fact that half the international intelligence agencies believed its owner was currently locked in a maximum-security federal cage.
Daniel slammed his hand onto the receiver button, leaning in close. "Who is this?"
"Oh, come now, darling," the voice chuckled—a sound that sent a shiver down Marcus’s spine. "Did you really think a few federal indictments and a concrete cell were enough to permanently remove the person who built the board you've been playing on?"
Ethan’s eyes widened. He scrambled across the table, his fingers flying across the laptop keyboard as he tried to trace the ping's origin. "Dad, it's a decoy signal! The encryption handshake is bouncing through three military satellites simultaneously—it's coming from a private yacht off the coast of Nova Scotia!"
"Too late, son," the voice purred through the speaker. "The game was never about the money, Daniel. Money is just paper. The real power is in the structure. And while you've been hiding out in the snowy woods playing cabin in the mountains, the new board has already been set."
"You're in federal custody," Daniel barked, his voice vibrating with suppressed fury. "I watched them take you!"
"You watched a federal prosecutor execute a pre-arranged extraction protocol that I wrote for him three years ago," Elena’s voice replied, the scrambler dropping away for a split second to reveal her cold, elegant natural tone. "Arthur Vance was a pawn. The Feds were a cleanup crew. And you, my dear husband... you were the magnificent distraction that allowed me to move my entire operation out of American jurisdiction entirely."
A low, menacing hum filled the cabin speakers as the transmission began to loop a short, pre-recorded audio file.
Then, the laptop screen on the oak table flashed red.
Warning: Perimeter Breach Detected.
Sector Four — North Ridge Camera Feed.
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Daniel spun around toward the cabin window. Outside in the falling snow, three black snowmobiles crested the rise of the ridge behind the tree line, their headlights cut off, their drivers clad in high-end tactical gear and thermal goggles that glowed like twin fires in the whiteout.
"Marcus," Daniel said, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly calm register. "Grab the weapons."
