Hey there :) Happy Friday! I know it's been a bit, but I wanted to get this and the next chapter both finished before posting either. They go very closely together and I just figured it'd be safer this way (which was a good decision because I ended up changing the end of this chapter once I'd written most of 15... heh).
So, nice long update today! Thanks as always to last time's reviewers, welcome new followers, etc. Enjoy!
Wearing our vintage misery / No, I think it looked a little better on me
I'm gonna change you like a remix / Then I'll raise you like a phoenix
Annabeth took her fiancé's advice and remained inside the Marten the entire day following their evening return from Langley. It wasn't as though there was little to do there—with so many of Olympus's high-ranking members visiting, the place was busier than ever. She was grateful, really; keeping herself occupied was an ample way to avoid worrying about the near future—something she and those close to her had become marginally accustomed to.
That night, however, a lull in activity prompted her decision to head down to the medical ward to check in on her less-mobile friends. She knew Frank had made a quick enough recovery and had gone along with Percy to Los Angeles, but Leo and Clarisse were still out of commission. Not to mention Parker Grace. She had her pick of visitees.
When she exited into the elevator lounge on the bottom floor of the complex, her attention was caught by a figure stepping slowly into the room from the far hallway, hands raised as their fingers massaged a headache.
"Reyna," Annabeth identified the person, a frown tugging at her facial features.
Reyna lifted her head and looked around, offered a half-hearted nod when she noticed Annabeth, and dropped heavily into the nearest cushioned chair.
Forcing back a look of sympathy (Reyna never responded well to such reactions), Annabeth trudged across the room and sat down beside her friend. She hadn't seen Reyna all day—presumably the martial artist had been down here since morning. She didn't seem nearly as tense and frustrated as she'd been during the previous week as they prepared for their assault on the CIA building, which Annabeth supposed was a good thing. But the exhaustion the woman now exhibited was just barely better.
"You look like you haven't slept since we got back," she observed, a dry edge of forced humor to her voice.
Reyna leaned back in her chair and smirked wryly. "I haven't," she admitted. "I suppose now would be a good time, since Leo's in surgery, but… I still don't think I can. Too much on my mind."
After a brief, respectful pause, Annabeth asked, "How is he?"
Reyna didn't answer right away. She turned her palms face-up in her lap and looked at them thoughtfully, as though the answer were written on them in a language she barely understood. "I'm not sure," she finally replied. A weak smile brushed across her face. "I don't think even he's completely sure. He's alive, and… they think he's going to stay that way, which is good…"
Annabeth smiled. "Definitely good."
"Yeah. But…" Reyna shook her head, eyes glaring at the carpet. "After what they did to him… It won't be the same anymore. Nothing will."
Annabeth nodded, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. Hands rubbing her arms against a sudden chill, she said quietly, "I know what that's like."
"Hey, about that," Reyna began, turning toward Annabeth. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"You used to hate Olympus for tearing your family apart," Reyna recalled the stories Annabeth had told her while they'd traveled. "But then… eventually you changed your mind. You joined them."
Annabeth wrinkled her nose. "You make it sound so fickle."
"No," Reyna relented with an amused half-smile. "I mean, you were able to forgive them. To let go of the past and accept your connection to them. Embrace it, even. I guess what I'm wondering now is… how?"
That was a good question, Annabeth mused as she studied the wall across the quiet lounge, thinking back. "I guess… it was because of my mother," she decided after a long pause. "And because of Percy. When I really understood how far they were willing to go for the people they loved… I realized I wanted to be like them. I wanted to follow my mother's example and be strong, to follow Percy's example and protect what I had left. It wasn't easy, what I went through to get to this point. But I guess that… if there's one thing I've learned through all this, it's that family is worth fighting for. Especially if it's a family that's willing to fight for you. That's what Olympus is to me. It just took me a while to figure that out."
When confliction crossed Reyna's dark eyes, Annabeth added, "It doesn't have to be the same for you. I chose to join because of my mother and the guy I love. Olympus is an inescapable part of my life. But you guys… Just because we teamed up a few times doesn't mean you can't get out, go back to a normal life. Well—semi-normal, anyway," she corrected with an apologetic shrug.
But Reyna shook her head and met Annabeth's gaze, steel behind her ashen expression. "No, it is the same. Our situation is more like yours than you think. We're—" She broke off and clenched a fist, before breathing out shortly and dropping her shoulders. When Annabeth tilted her head inquisitively, Reyna went on, "I don't think Leo would want me to tell you this—at least not yet—but… Well, I trust you and he'll just have to live with that."
Annabeth might have chuckled, but the seriousness in her friend's voice held her back. "Tell me what?"
"A few hours ago, we got a visit from that Olympus tech specialist, Hank. We had a… weird conversation."
"Hank Beckendorf?" Annabeth asked with a frown. When Reyna confirmed, Annabeth raised her eyebrows. "Huh. I never thought he seemed like much of a talker."
"Oh, he talked, alright. He told us a pretty wild story." A pained look crossed Reyna's face, as though remembering physically hurt her. "To sum it up: Leo is his son."
Annabeth blinked, not sure she'd heard correctly. "…What? How is that even—?"
"Possible? I had a hard time believing it, too. But the things he said, they just—they made sense. They fit with what Leo remembers, and I… I really think he was telling the truth. And even more than that, Leo seemed to notice some kind of connection between them. I think he wanted to deny it, but… he knew he couldn't."
"Wow," Annabeth breathed, still shocked. She sat back in her chair, unsure what to say. Reyna was right—their situation suddenly was rather similar to her own. "Small world, huh…"
Reyna breathed out shortly. "Microscopic."
"So… what are you gonna do?"
"I don't know yet," Reyna admitted. "Stay for now, at least, until he's better. But after that… I don't know."
This time Annabeth didn't respond, only reached out and gently squeezed Reyna's shoulder. She'd grown close to the stoic martial artist over the past few months—almost become accustomed to her presence. It made her sad to think of Reyna leaving, of possibly never seeing her again once the fight was over. She supposed it had always been a possibility—Reyna's life was in Detroit, after all. How could she expect her to pick up and leave everything behind, as she herself had done when she'd quit the CIA? But inside, she remembered what it felt like to learn that everything you thought you knew was wrong. She and Percy had fled the country shortly after it had happened to her, giving her plenty of time away to process the mental upheaval. Maybe that was what Reyna and Leo would need as well.
She was about to suggest Reyna sleep on it for now when muffled voices around the corner announced the arrival of Katie Gardner and Travis Stoll, the latter holding an arm protectively around the former as they entered the lounge, conversing in hushed tones. Travis was dressed normally in jeans and a halfway-buttoned shirt, but Katie wore a long nightgown and fuzzy socks as though she'd just strode down to the medical wing in her sleep.
"Hi, guys," Annabeth greeted them, startling them both. "Everything okay?"
"Fine, fine," Katie promised with a smile—though Annabeth noticed a distinct weariness in her expression and movements. She placed a hand on her swelled stomach. "Just some abdominal pain—it woke me up and I figured I'd come down to get checked, but everything's normal." She gave a weak laugh. "She must not have liked me lying still for so long after today's activity."
"Well, she's gonna learn to live with it," Travis grumbled, "because you've got to start taking it easy. Your mom offered to come back and help out, why don't you—?"
"Oh, don't you go taking her side," Katie argued, rolling her eyes as she lowered herself, with some difficulty, into a chair. "You know how impossible she is. Not to mention the fact that she kind of hates you for this. If I ask her for help, she'll whisk me away to some remote island and name you Public Enemy Number One. You watch."
She pointed an accusatory finger at her boyfriend and he laughed, despite his apparent effort to remain adamant. "Good point."
"What are you guys doing here so late?" Katie asked conversationally.
Annabeth exchanged a glance with Reyna and replied, "Killing time, nothing interesting. So how are you? How's the baby?"
"Well, the baby's great," Katie explained with a beleaguered sigh. "Great enough for the both of us—which is good, because I'm a bit of a disaster."
"A cute disaster," Travis added matter-of-factly.
She smiled and shook her head, reaching up to ruffle his already-messy hair. "That makes two of us," she joked, taking his hand and lacing their fingers.
"Pregnancy not as glamorous as it seems?" Annabeth asked ruefully.
"You can tell?" Katie leaned back tiredly in her seat, resting her free hand on her stomach. "Still… I won't say it isn't worth it. Family is hard, but… it's always worth it."
Annabeth glanced sideways at Reyna and lifted an eyebrow, lips turning upward. That was essentially the point she'd been trying to make earlier. In a way, they were all family now—Reyna included. She hoped her friend realized that.
And she seemed to. Reyna returned a small smile and a tiny nod in agreement.
Visibly more relaxed, Reyna stood up and stretched her arms. "I should probably head upstairs and get some sleep," she decided, to Annabeth's relief and satisfaction. "Or, well—try to, at least."
"Good idea," Annabeth told her. "Hey—keep me updated, okay?"
Reyna inclined her head as she pressed the button to call an elevator. "I will. And maybe don't… spread around what I told you. Not yet."
"Don't worry," Annabeth promised, raising her right hand and ignoring the questioning glances she was receiving from Travis and Katie.
She was spared having to provide any sort of deference at all, though, when the rightmost elevator doors slid open and the lift behind them was surprisingly not empty—Percy was inside, leaning lazily against the back wall. He was dressed in loose clothes and looked tired from a long day of traveling. The cut on his face was still bandaged; Annabeth found herself absently wondering if it would permanently scar.
"Oh, good," he said when he saw Annabeth. "There you are."
"Here I am." She stood up and lifted her arms. Stepping into the lounge, he waved to Reyna as she took his place and disappeared from sight.
"Well, look who it is," Travis said to Percy, narrowing his eyes. "Welcome back. I hear you were having some super-secret meeting with Harley. Care to tell?"
After greeting Annabeth with a too-short hello kiss, Percy arched an eyebrow at the bartender. "You do realize I'm not obligated to tell you anything, right? You're not division head yet."
"Aw, come on. I will be someday," Travis pointed out. "And besides, we're friends. Friends tell each other stuff. Especially if they're, say, planning on disappearing again. Or surrendering to the CIA."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic. It's nothing like that."
"Don't you trust us?" Katie inquired, the sparkle in her eye indicating amusement.
"You know," Annabeth cut in, poking her fiancé in the chest, "they've got a point. You do have a few beans to spill."
"Alright, alright." Percy took a step back and held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Just… Keep this between us for now, okay? The situation's delicate. The last thing we need is this getting out of hand."
Once he and Annabeth sat down, he recounted for Travis and Katie what they'd discussed the previous night—that leading another attack on the CIA should be their next order of business. After thorough explanation and reassurance that they weren't crazy to do this, he moved on to his meeting with codename Hades and what they'd decided.
Annabeth had to admit the plan was sound. That the two of them would be seen supporting Strikedown—the band the CIA knew full well was led by Percy's cousin Thalia—wasn't too outrageous of a possibility, especially so far away from Langley and New York. Harley's club really was the perfect place—they would have the upper hand, without the CIA knowing it.
"So what do you think?" Percy asked Annabeth. "Kind of like what you had in mind?"
"Definitely." Annabeth grinned. "I know Atlas. He'll take the bait if he thinks it'll give him an easy chance to take us down and make himself look good to Kronos. There's a chance he might look into the nightclub before dropping in, but as long as Harley's good at covering his tracks…"
"Scary good," Percy confirmed confidently.
"Then we shouldn't have anything to worry about. We just need a team."
"Count me in," Travis volunteered at once. "Connor too, probably. This plan's crazy—totally insane. And I kind of love it."
Percy's eyebrows knitted as he glanced between Travis and Katie. "Are you sure that's a good—?"
"Don't," Travis interrupted firmly. "You need help, and I want this thing over and done with so we can stop watching our backs." His grip on Katie's hand tightened, stormy eyes hard, and Annabeth felt as though she understood. He wanted to be out there, actively fighting to protect the people he loved—his growing family. It was dangerous, but keeping them safe was well worth the risk.
She touched Percy on the arm and said to Travis, "Glad to have you on the team again." Percy shot her a skeptical glance but voiced no further argument.
"Frank will be coming, too," he went on instead. "And Harley's gonna make sure the staff that night is capable and trustworthy. Other than that—"
"I think we should ask Piper," Annabeth suggested. "She's a serious talker—got us out of a lot of scrapes on the road. And handy with a semi-automatic. She can help."
"Okay," Percy agreed with a nod, "but that's it. Atlas won't be sending a circus so neither should we. We keep this quiet. It's the only way we're gonna pull it off."
There was a moment of tense silence among the small group as the weight of this decision settled in. Despite the danger, though, Annabeth couldn't help feeling a tiny spark of excitement—a bit like the anticipation she used to feel as an agent whenever she received a new assignment. She didn't mention it, though; the others might have taken it the wrong way.
"Just be careful, you guys, okay?" Katie told them somberly, roaming gaze lingering on each of them in turn. "Remember why we're fighting this war."
"If we can help it," Percy said stonily, "we won't have to for much longer."
-0-0-0-
Rock music wasn't Annabeth's thing.
Actually, loud music in general wasn't entirely favorable to her. She'd never been much for nightlife—at least, not in the usual sense of the word—having often declined in favor of schoolwork when her college friends invited her out. She liked the Grapevine back in Brooklyn, with its small, homey feel and familiar atmosphere. But while also being Olympus-owned-and-run, the EXLA, she quickly learned on the night of April 16th, was as different from the Grapevine as darkness was from light.
It felt like the entire city of Los Angeles had come out for Strikedown's impromptu performance. The admittance line stretched for blocks down South Spring Street (though luckily Annabeth and the others weren't subjected to the wait, being VIPs and all); the valet lot was almost completely full, save for a reserved section; and inside, the heightened activity as people rushed this way and that made any purposeful movement a taxing operation. Annabeth sincerely hoped that if the CIA did show up, they'd be able to draw them into a fight somewhere outside the main event hall. There was no telling how difficult it would be—not to mention how many people would get hurt—otherwise.
They'd been able to meet very briefly with Thalia upon arrival as her band set up backstage—just long enough to confirm the explanation Harley had given her and go over what they planned to do. Percy had given her an earpiece connected to their communication line so she could listen in during the show.
"Whatever you hear, don't stop playing," he'd warned her. They were counting on her music to help drown out the potential sound of gunfire. Harley had given the club's security detail instructions on what to tell anyone who might overhear—some believable excuse to calm people down—but in order to avoid widespread panic they would need all the help they could get.
Now, they were through the opening act and a minute or so into Strikedown's first song, and already Annabeth was developing a headache. Admittedly it may have been due in part to adrenaline rush—her hand was gripped tightly around the radio frequency detection device in her jacket pocket, waiting for the slightest flicker of vibration that would announce the presence of a CIA comm unit (another genius Olympus invention, barely out of testing stage). The intense energy around her permeated her skull in throbs, reminding her that each second that followed could be the one in which the ambush drops. Her eyes restlessly scanned the crowd from her position near its right edge. She pressed a finger to her ear, hoping she hadn't missed a message from one of the others in the noise. The six of them had split into pairs during the opening act to better watch their surroundings—Frank and Piper to the left, the Stoll brothers in the back, and Annabeth and Percy to the right. So far, though, they'd seen nothing.
It's still early, Annabeth insisted to herself, tapping her foot on the floor and wishing she was wearing sneakers. She'd been forced to dress more formally than she would've liked, given her wish to avoid drawing suspicion, and thus left her workout pants and running shoes at home. The one plus side to wearing a skirt, though: she could conceal a gun beneath it for easy access.
When someone touched her arm she jumped and whirled sideways, elbowing the person quite hard in the ribs. Much too hasty a reaction, she realized upon focusing her attention on her fiancé stumbling back from her, doubled over with a grimace.
"Sorry," she insisted immediately, hurrying forward and raising her voice.
"I was just gonna tell you," Percy grunted in reply, "to calm down. You look like you're about to rob the place."
"I'm just tense," Annabeth stated unnecessarily. "If this doesn't work, we might not get another chance."
Percy stood up and looked out over her head, above the dancing audience. The flashing neon lights far above them made his dark hair look purple, black spotlights causing his shirt and the brand-new scar on his face—a thin, straight line drawn from the corner of his left eye to just below his mouth—to glow. It was a little freaky.
He said something in reply, but his voice was nothing but a muffled tone mixing with the music. "What?" she shouted, unconsciously leaning forward.
Glancing down at her, he stepped closer and brought his head near her shoulder, saying into her ear, "Remember what Jason said—they got the message. They're coming. They're probably just waiting for the right time. Which is why we can't scare 'em off by actually looking like we're ready."
Annabeth released her breath. He was right, of course. Like it or not, she needed to try and blend in.
"I know," she replied dejectedly, leaning her forehead against his shoulder for a few seconds in defeat. "I just don't want to get distracted and miss something."
"You won't," Percy said confidently, leaning back to grin at her. "You're good at looking relaxed when you're really not. Remember our first date?"
Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Let's not talk about that."
"Aw, come on. I had fun that night." He nodded toward the stage as the first song finished and Thalia began shouting into her microphone, greeting the cheering crowd rather loudly. When the lead guitarist struck a resounding riff and another song began, Percy went on, "The show's just starting, there's tons of time for something to happen. Let's not ruin it before it starts."
"Fine. What do we do?"
He shrugged. "It's a nightclub. Dance."
Annabeth glanced around her. What most of the people nearby were doing hardly qualified as 'dancing'—couples were pressed so closely together it was like they were trying to share the same spot on the dance floor, and the way they moved almost made Annabeth feel as though she shouldn't be watching them.
Oh, alright, she thought inwardly. We're supposed to be here for fun, after all…
"Watch behind me," she told her fiancé as she stepped close to him. She slipped one arm around his neck and rested her other hand on his chest, eyes going over his shoulder toward the back of the dance hall as they began to move in unison. Part of her admittedly started to wish they really were just there for fun—maybe then she could actually take time to enjoy being this physically close to Percy. She could look at his eyes instead of other people's, pay attention to his hands on her hips. But as it was, those were otherwise-welcome distractions that she couldn't dwell on at the moment. Not with all the other factors attempting to withdraw her focus—the loud club patrons, louder music, intense heat, vibrating air…
Wait. It wasn't the air that was vibrating—it was the cell-phone-shaped detection tool in her pocket. She took a half-step back, briefly catching Percy's eye as she looked down and reached into her jacket. Sure enough, the notification light was flashing red. Someone nearby was using a CIA radio device.
"They're—" she started to say, but was interrupted by a small commotion just to her left. Four or five people stumbled and fell as one man bowled unsteadily through the throng. Startled, Annabeth dodged sideways as Percy reflexively jerked forward to try and catch the guy, who proceeded to crash into him. Percy gave a sharp yell as the crunching sound of shattering glass followed and Annabeth felt a splash of sticky liquid strike her right side.
"Hey! What's going on there?" an authoritative voice shouted as a security guard pushed into view, brandishing a flashlight. In its light Annabeth saw what had happened—the stumbling man was on the floor, looking dazed amid a broken rocks glass which must have held the drink Annabeth was now wearing. Percy stood over him, breathing through gritted teeth and glaring at the three-inch shard of glass impaled in his right forearm.
Biting her lip, Annabeth darted around to his right side and inspected the wound as the guard aimed his flashlight at the fallen man's face and demanded, "Little early to be this drunk, isn't it, sir? I'm gonna need you to come with me."
Percy waved Annabeth away and yanked the glass swiftly from his arm, making her wince. Then he glanced at her and shot a meaningful look toward the seemingly-drunk man being helped up by the guard as the disgruntled people around them shuffled away.
Annabeth nodded; she was thinking the same thing.
You're slipping, Atlas. Way too obvious.
She was about to suggest they follow the guy in secret before the guard leaned in to be heard and told Percy, "Sorry about that. If you come along, too, we can get that cleaned up."
After exchanging a glance with Annabeth, Percy nodded to him and the group of four departed from the crowd. Before they left the dance hall, Percy glanced up at the stage. Thalia was keeping up her performance, but her eyes were watching them from across the room. At her cousin's nod, she inclined her head just barely enough to be seen.
Maintaining a grip on the drunk man/CIA spy, Harley's security officer led them downstairs into the Grand Foyer, which was now empty of foot traffic thanks to the show going on up on the second floor. They crossed the room and the guard set the staggering spy down on a chair near the front entrance.
"Wait here. You can try running if you want, but in that condition it looks like you won't get far." To Percy and Annabeth, he said in a kinder voice, "This way. We have first aid kits in the supply room."
As he led the way through an open doorway to their left branching into a hallway, Annabeth nodded to her fiancé and quietly backed away from the two of them. She pulled her pistol from her thigh holster and pressed herself against the wall just inside the hallway, waiting. She fully expected the CIA assassin to follow them, and she would be sure to meet him the instant he rounded the corner.
But for the next half a minute or so, she waited in vain, finger poised on the trigger with no reason yet to fire. Curious, she chanced a peek around the corner—just in time to see the man straighten his jacket and walk quite steadily out the front door.
Cursing under her breath, she dashed into the Grand Foyer and rushed after him. But through the glass doors, she watched as a black, unmarked car stopped in front of the club, and she'd barely reached the door and shoved it open before he disappeared into the backseat. The car sped off at once.
Confused, Annabeth stared after it from the sidewalk for a long few seconds. That had to be an agency vehicle; she'd seen its like before. But why would they take that man away before he could finish the job?
Unless he wasn't there to finish the job at all. Perhaps he'd been nothing but an advance party, or even a distraction—
Annabeth's eyes widened. Ignoring the odd looks she was getting from people mingling outside, she turned and bolted back into the club. She raced across the Grand Foyer and ducked into the back hallway, following the direction in which she'd seen Percy and the security guard heading. She was halfway down the hall before she made out the sounds of voices (her ears still pounding from the volume upstairs) and she raised her gun an instant before rounding a corner into a brightly-lit supply room.
Maybe it was a paranoid act, but it paid off in the end—the security guard was already lifting his own handgun toward the back of Percy's head, giving Annabeth exactly three-quarters of a second to act. As her fiancé sensed the danger and looked up, she took aim and squeezed the trigger on her pistol, hurling a single lead bullet into the assailant's chest and knocking him sideways.
Percy whirled around as the guy toppled to the floor. He started to reach for the weapon he had concealed beneath his jacket, but after realizing that there was no need, he leaned back against the table beside him and shot Annabeth a sideways smirk.
"See? Told you, you wouldn't miss anything."
She glared at him. "I didn't realize they were both CIA. What do we do now?"
Percy approached the false security guard and crouched beside him. He turned the man's head sideways and checked for a pulse against his neck, before rifling through his pockets and producing a radio device. Curious, Annabeth pulled the frequency detector from her own pocket and observed the flashing light, which had increased its speed.
"This isn't ours," Percy concluded, examining the radio. "How long you think until they track it back here?"
"Depending on the guy's orders," Annabeth answered, "could be any minute."
He tossed the device in the air and caught it, rising to his feet. "Guess we'd better move on, then. Let's call the others."
"Hold it. You're not going anywhere dressed like that." Annabeth pointed a finger at Percy's right arm—specifically the blood dripping down over his hand. She stowed her gun and stalked across the room, snatching up the first aid kit he'd been digging into a moment ago.
Once they'd quickly wiped the blood and wrapped the cut, they hurried, weapons in hand, back into the hallway and toward the Grand Foyer. As they crossed it, Annabeth tapped into her radio and told the rest of their group to meet them in the Gallery on the first floor—one of the EXLA's VIP rooms for rent which was vacant on that particular night.
The hall in question lay adjacent to the Grand Foyer, but was larger and more lavish. Decorative portraits and landscapes dotted the long, soft-white walls—nothing Annabeth recognized, but some impressive-looking pieces all the same. Statues and busts formed an aisle down the center of the room around a handful of red pillars hung with richly-embroidered banners. Long, glass display cases flanked them, each filled with things ranging from ancient artifacts to arrangements of colorful stones.
Of all the places to start a fight… Annabeth thought, cringing. They could do some real damage in there. But certain of its features were very conducive to their plan, so she supposed it couldn't be avoided.
"This had better work," she said aloud, deciding not to bring up any financial dangers.
"It will," her fiancé said confidently. "Atlas has got to be here somewhere. You said so yourself—he wouldn't sit this one out. Not for a shot at us both."
"True. He'll know something's up by now, since his assassin hasn't called in. By the book, next step is to trace his radio."
"Which will bring them right here."
"Great plan," someone else interrupted, "just as long as we're not outnumbered."
In unison Annabeth and Percy whipped toward the front entrance doors, but it was only the rest of their team. The four of them had just stepped inside and were taking their turn to look around the Gallery.
"So what if we are?" Annabeth shrugged in response to Piper's observation. "Think of it as a challenge." Piper smirked at her in satisfaction.
"How much time do we have?" Frank asked.
"Not much," Percy guessed. "Better get in position and wait it out."
"So, what," Connor suggested, glancing at the nearest chandelier, "we hide, turn of the lights, and yell 'surprise'?"
Travis snorted. "Imagine the look on Atlas's face… I bet people don't throw that guy a lot of parties."
"It'd be a good deed, then," Connor added. "Like a charity program—Ugly Agent Outreach, working hard to make less fortunate government goons feel wanted."
"Seriously, guys," Percy cut in firmly. "Keep it down. But, uh… Maybe killing the lights is a good idea."
The brothers exchanged grins before Connor flipped the panel of switches by the door, throwing them into darkness. Annabeth heard her friends shuffle into safe positions and chose the rear side of the nearest display case herself. It gave her a decent vantage point, allowing her to keep both entrances in sight. Presumably, Atlas would send men in through the back as well as the front.
In the silence, Annabeth could just barely hear the dull beat of the music coming from the main event hall upstairs. The bass thumped against her chest like a second heartbeat, increasing the flow of adrenaline in her veins. As the seconds ticked by, she began to worry that she'd been wrong—that the CIA wasn't coming. Maybe that first attempt was to be their only attempt that night. The EXLA was a crowded place, after all. Atlas was rough around the edges and ruthless when it came to hunting Olympus, but as a government agent he was also naturally concerned with the public well-being. Was it possible he'd think the club too dangerous of a place to ignite a confrontation?
But then, finally, she heard it—the shuffle of footsteps far to her right, near the rear entrance leading to the back elevator hall. It was too dark for her to make out any of her allies, but she hoped they were ready. Because any second now—
When it happened, even she was caught momentarily off guard. The overhead lights flashed back to life and for a split second Annabeth glanced down to reflexively shield her eyes. Immediately scolding herself, she dropped flat to her stomach as the sound of suppressed gunfire permeated the air.
Footsteps pounded and a male voice gave a strangled yell. Hoping it wasn't a friend of hers, she rolled sideways into a crouch and leaned around the nearest pillar toward the back entrance, from which four black-clad CIA agents were fast approaching. She aimed her pistol, but she only got off two misaimed shots before she was spotted and forced to duck for cover.
"Down!" a gruff voice barked from somewhere behind her. She shot a look, just in time to see a small explosion of smoke detonate by the front entrance. The force of the blast pushed her backward and she squeezed her eyes shut as she rolled across the floor. The sounds of ballistics stopped.
"Imagine that," the same voice continued, pitch heightened by a note of amusement. "It seems all of us thought we were the ones setting a trap tonight."
Coughing, Annabeth climbed to her feet to see Duke Atlas step through the dissipating smoke, beady eyes glowering at her and the others—all of whom looked unhurt, to her relief, despite now being held at gunpoint by a group of eight armed CIA assassins. Atlas clutched an autorifle in one meaty hand, holding the other up high as a hold signal to his team.
His gaze came to rest on Percy, who was standing a little ways to Annabeth's left and glaring daggers at the Deputy Director, gun held tightly at his side. Lifting the barrel of his rifle to deadly aim, Atlas smiled. "But look who was unlucky enough to get caught. Or stupid enough."
Score, Annabeth thought in triumph. It actually worked.
A satisfied smirk spread across Percy's face. "My thoughts exactly," he said to Atlas. Then he touched a finger to the radio in his ear and shouted, "Move in!"
For a second, Atlas looked bewildered. He glanced around as though expecting an army to jump his team from behind. But they'd just come from the Grand Foyer—they would have known if anyone had been there, waiting to strike. The look on his face said as much when he turned back to Percy, shaking his head in feigned sympathy.
But then, the ambush wasn't waiting in the Grand Foyer. Atlas barely opened his mouth to remark before three hidden panels along the Gallery's back wall slid away to reveal as many pairs of planted Olympus gunmen, all of them dressed in the uniform of the EXLA's security detail. They dashed out from between Annabeth and the others and opened fire on the CIA agents, all of whom scrambled into motion and dove for cover before attempting to return fire.
A swell of pleased satisfaction flooded through Annabeth as Atlas's expression turned from smugness to shock to rage.
Surprise, Atlas, she wanted to say, recalling the Stoll brothers' earlier joke. Hope you like our party favors.
Next chapter picks up literally right here and is basically done aside from a bit of final editing, so it'll probably be up Monday. That's good news, right? It's called 'Red' and is like 3/4 battle scenes. About 4,000 words. Get pumped :D
Only six chapters left now... Later days, gang!
-oMM