We drifted closer, using a loud family group as cover.
The fake guard lifted a radio.
“—is in position,” came a voice over his radio, with a thick Russian accent.
He replied, “And the phoenix?”
“Ready,” came the reply.
My hand tightened on Brooke’s. We’d found them. And they didn’t see us.
The radio crackled with static, then a voice came through in English with an Italian accent: “Excellent. Are you ready, Owen?”
Brooke’s entire body shuddered, and her breathing shifted rhythm.
“I’m ready,” the voice—Owen—continued. “Thirty minutes until we launch.”
I lifted my free hand to cover my mouth while alerting my team. “We’ve confirmed Fenix’s presence at the Castel dell’Ovo. Thirty-minute countdown to deployment. Brie, please relay those details to Pendragon.”
“Copy, Brie,” Bobcat responded a moment later. “We’re twenty-five minutes out. Maybe less if these tourists learn how to walk.”
“Twenty minutes for us,” Scarlett said. “Emmett’s driving like a maniac, but—” The sound of a horn blaring cut through. “Make that twenty-two minutes.”
We couldn’t rely on either of them to make it in time. They’d get close, but then they’d have to walk or run.
We were on our own.
I said, “The streets are closed near the castle. It’ll take you longer than you expect. Brooke and I are going in.”
The fake guard moved away from the kiosk, heading deeper into the castle. We followed, letting ourselves be pulled along bya tour group that had just finished dinner. Their guide held up a light wand and spoke in German about the castle’s history.
A bilingual sign pointed to the cannon terrace: tourist territory and the highest publicly accessible point.
Half the people around us were also in masks and costumes, helping us sneak through the castle without raising suspicion.
Brooke’s breathing had gone shallow. She was starting to panic. Her free hand kept moving to her neck, fingers brushing the collar that hid her scars.
“You okay?” I whispered.
She nodded, but didn’t speak.
Second level. A jazz trio played in the corner. A couple danced on a tiny floor, oblivious to anything beyond each other. Two men in security uniforms stood by the next staircase, but they had the same tell—eyes tracking up instead of scanning the crowd.
I counted as we climbed. One more guard by the information desk on level three. Two more flanked the entrance to the cannon terrace. All fake, all Fenix. Plus, however many were already on the roof.
“There are at least six fake security guards here,” I advised. “All armed.”
Scarlett hummed. “None of them were armed at the amphitheater. The police took them all away without trouble.”
Of course, these men were armed. This was the real target.
“Rav?” Scarlett said my name slowly, drawing it out. That was her way of telling me to be careful. Don’t take unnecessary risks.
But how many risks were unnecessary when this many people were about to be hit by a chemical weapon?
“I know, Scar.”
The crowd thinned the higher we got. On the cannon terrace—a stone platform with medieval cannons pointing out towardthe city—only forty or fifty people were milling about. Most tourists stayed on the lower levels, where the food and drinks were. I hadn’t seen any signs announcing when the fireworks were officially scheduled, but if it were soon, everyone would have gone to the highest peak they could reach.
