Page 84 of Critical Mass
“What would Brass be doing working for a shipping magnate?” Atlas asked. “If he’s alive, if he faked his death somehow, why would he resurface now? And why would he be connected to Richard Ravenscroft?”
“I don’t know,” Hudson admitted. “But think about it—Brass was a chemical weapons expert. He understood nerve agents better than any of us. If Sigma is planning to deploy VX or something similar, and if Brass is somehow involved?—”
“Then he’d be the perfect person to help them,” Jake finished, his expression grim. “He’d know exactly how to handleit, how to deploy it for maximum casualties, how to avoid detection.”
“We don’t know that he’s involved with Sigma,” Maverick said quickly, but Hudson heard the doubt in his voice. “Maybe he’s investigating them. Maybe he’s undercover, and that’s why he faked his death.”
“For three years?” Atlas shook his head. “Without contacting any of us? Without letting command know he was alive? That doesn’t make sense.”
“None of this makes sense,” Hudson said. “But two of us have now spotted him in different locations. That’s not coincidence. That’s not grief playing tricks. Something is going on, and we need to figure out what before this operation goes sideways.”
Maverick pulled out his phone. “I’ll reach out to some contacts, see if there’s been any chatter about Brass being alive. Maybe someone in the intelligence community knows something we don’t.”
“I’ll pull surveillance footage from Ravenscroft International if I can access it,” Jake added. “Get a clear image, run facial recognition. Confirm whether it’s really him or just someone who looks similar.”
“And I’ll dig into Ravenscroft’s employee records,” Atlas said. “See if anyone matching Brass’s description is on the payroll, maybe under an assumed name.”
Hudson nodded, grateful for his team’s immediate action. “Keep this quiet for now. If Brass is alive and working with Sigma, we can’t let him know we’re onto him. And if he’s somehow one of the good guys?—”
“Then we need to understand why he’s been dead for three years,” Maverick finished. His voice carried an edge Hudson had rarely heard. “Because if Brass faked his death, there better be a good reason.”
A shadow filled the doorway. Natalie.
“Everything okay out here?” she asked softly. “My father is five minutes away.”
“Coming,” Hudson replied, then turned back to his team. “Find out everything you can. We need answers before this whole thing explodes.”
Hudson heard the vehicles pull up outside—multiple cars, engines rumbling.
He moved to the window and saw Richard Ravenscroft stepping out of a black SUV, followed by a man built like a linebacker.
Dimitri. Ravenscroft’s senior security agent and, according to Blackout’s intelligence, former Spetsnaz who’d left Russia under murky circumstances.
Jake had already deleted all the security camera footage, certain Natalie’s father and his team would ask to see it. Natalie would claim she had no idea why it went black. Most likely, they’d think the men who’d been here had done something to it.
Hudson couldn’t afford for Ravenscroft to see Hudson and his teammates fighting off those men. The confrontation would raise too many questions.
Jake clapped Hudson on the shoulder. “You’ve got this. We’ll be monitoring from two blocks over. Any trouble, we’re thirty seconds out.”
They slipped out the back door just as Ravenscroft’s knock thundered on the front entrance.
Hudson opened it and found himself face-to-face with a man whose expression had shifted from concerned father to something far more dangerous.
“Where is she?” Ravenscroft pushed past Hudson into the house.
“Living room. She’s okay—shaken but not hurt.”
Ravenscroft moved through the house like he owned it, Dimitri a silent shadow at his back. Hudson followed behind.
When Ravenscroft saw Natalie, his expression softened.
“Baby girl.” He pulled her into a hug, genuine relief in the gesture. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Natalie recounted the story, her fear real.
Ravenscroft listened, tension increasing in his jaw.
When Natalie finished, her dad turned to him. “Description?”
