Annabeth Chase

The grand marble building, as it turned out, was little than a facade with some office space. Because before she knew it she was stepping past an additional security desk and checkpoint through blast doors as thick as her arm was long, and outer walls that were nearly one hundred inches thick. Ornamental esthetics were replaced by utilitarian concrete walls, steel bracing, and the cool hum of ventilation systems. As they passed servicemen and women snapped to attention and saluted the admiral.

"Sadly, we can't really build deep bunkers here due to Atlantis being an active volcanic island but we make sure. The buildings outer facade is meant to serve as an ablative shield for the bunker walls and we entire building is suspended on shock absorbers. We should be able to weather most threats, just about anything save perhaps direct hit by bunker buster," Poseidon announced brightly. The bunkers inside was what looked like even more offices. Finally they took an elevator down a few floors, and when the doors opened stepped through another very blast door into the bunker proper and another security checkpoint.

The hallways now felt more like maze of concrete tunnels connecting offices, and what she imagined were the fleet's mainframes, core office spaces, and cryptography laps. It felt like armed military security were standing at every corner, and before she knew it they approaching a set of steel double doors that admitted them into a sluice with the inner doors guarded by two additional security members.

"Morning Mike. Hank, how is the wife," the Admiral greeted the two men as they checked his ID.

"Very good Admiral," one of them men replied and then proceeded to check theirs and Petty Officer Shanso's ID before saluting and letting them through.

They stepped into a chamber that reminded Annabeth of a theater or cinema. The room was cast in dim lights, and the large canvas wall at the end had large maps and diagrams displayed onto it. Instead of rows of chairs, the floor was dominated by rows of consoles in descending tears while the back of the room was dominated by desks, and transparent backlit plotting and status boards.

The room was dimly lit, with banks of fluorescent lights casting a cold, utilitarian blue glow over the space. At the far end of the room, bulky projectors suspended through the ceiling projects wall-sized maps maps and tactical diagrams. The imagery was projected in a slightly grainy resolution, the result of analog projection systems and overlaid with brightly colored grease-pencil annotations.

Rows of consoles were arranged in descending tiers, their surfaces cluttered with sturdy, boxy keyboards and CRT monitors encased in metal housings. Large, industrial-looking toggle switches and rotary dials were arrayed alongside rows of blinking indicator lights. Each console was manned by officers in neatly pressed uniforms, their gazes mostly locked on their screens.

Behind the console tiers, the rear of the room was dominated by a series of acrylic-paneled plotting boards displaying everything from diagrams to maps, written in dry-erase markers and updated manually by staff officers in white shirts and black ties. Several other officers stood at attention near rolling metal carts, laden with stacks of printed reports, slide rules, and analog communication headsets. She also noticed that there weren't only Fleet personal, but also the distinct trim uniforms of the air-force and army.

Poseidon led them to a raised platform at the back of the room, a space reserved for senior officers and command staff. A semicircular desk with integrated communications panels and more projection screens dominated the platform. A few officers were already gathered, their eyes darting between screens and printed reports.

"Take a seat," Poseidon gestured toward a pair of chairs arranged near the desk, clearly set aside for them. "Vice Admiral Triton and Vice Admiral Delphine should be joining us shortly and we can talk about the grand strategy. In the meantime, let me give you a snapshot of our current posture," he announced and beckoned at a large map table showing a two times two meter map of the Great Expanse, or Sea of Monsters as it was nicknamed.

Annabeth stepped closer to the illuminated map table, its surface covered in a high-resolution print of the Great Expanse. The sprawling ocean was dotted with colored markers indicating fleets, bases, and significant points of interest. Strings of red and blue lines crisscrossed the waters, representing shipping lanes, patrol routes, and contested zones.

Admiral Poseidon leaned over the table, his sharp sea-green eyes scanning the map with practiced ease. "This is the current state of play," he began, gesturing to the markers. "Battle-fleet Atlantis operates primarily in this sector, here—" he pointed to a cluster of islands marked with the Republic's naval insignia. "Our forward deployment bases are these, stretching up to the edge of Orthys-controlled waters, and our current Operation carrier battle-group is there in the western expanse."

Annabeth's eyes followed his finger as he traced a line toward a dense cluster of red markers. "This is Orthys' active naval presence. Their main fleet bases are here, here, and here," Poseidon continued, pointing to large red triangles near the edges of their territory. "They've been unusually aggressive in fortifying these positions—both with conventional forces and... suspected unconventional assets."

Annabeth's brow furrowed. "Suspected unconventional assets? Are we talking nukes here?"

"Possibly, it would make sense. Their ISR relies on those FOBs, and unless they are willing to commit to a major fleet action, we can neutralize those within twenty four hours. For now we have a frigate squadron and one of our nuke boats keeping an eye on the area backed up by long range airborne recon," the Admiral elaborated. "We are staging a surface action group forty eight hours away. Make to mistake, the Hellenic Islands are contested by both us and the Titans, and both of us have facilities there. If they take them completely, they can move assets and ISR deep into the Scatter and towards Atlantis itself. If we secure them, we can hold them of our home sort, so assume first hard contact will take place there," the Admiral elaborated. "Plus we really don't want to lose those oil fields."

"Well well," Malcolm said. "So, what is the action plan if shit hits the fan?"

The Admiral shrugged. "Mobilize our assets as quickly as humanly possible, and execute the appropriate war-plan."

Annabeth frowned, her gray eyes scanning the map as she processed the Admiral's words. "Appropriate war-plan?" she echoed. "Forgive me, Admiral, but can we assume you've got a plan that goes beyond just reacting? If Orthys makes the first move, they'll be counting on us scrambling to respond."

"Our Fleet is not in the business of unilaterally starting wars, Ms Chase," Poseidon replied. "So when this starts, it will be at the time and hour of Orthys choosing. Ah, here they come."

Annabeth looked over shoulder to spot two more flag officers approaching. One was a strict looking middle aged woman, the other a man in his forties, with a dark beard, and a striking resemblance to the more senior admiral. Both were clearly also Atlantian natives.

Poseidon greeted them warmly. "Delphine, Triton. Glad you could make it. We've just been briefing our guests on the current situation."

Triton gave a small nod, his gaze flicking to Annabeth and Malcolm with measured curiosity. "New advisors, I take it?"

"Something like that," Poseidon replied. "These are Inspector's Annabeth Chase and Inspector Malcolm Pace, though I believe you already know Mr Pace."

It was then that the charade part of the event ended and the moved to a meeting room and the real work began. For nearly three hours they went through maps, and binders full of reports, and intelligence. Malcolm's earlier assessments of the Vice Admirals was correct. Where Delphine mostly seemed perfectly happy to reveal methods of intelligence gathering, Triton's favorite answer to any requests for further elaborations with fancy lines like "We can make that determination." or her favorite 'I am sorry, but that is 'Need to know'." In return, Annabeth was a lot more candid with the Intel she had brought along from the Capital from their side of the HUMINT and SIGINT equation. It was dry work, and Annabeth did her best to absorb the vast amounts of intel being put in-front of her. Another thing that struck her was that the Fleet seemed to care about very different things than she and the BNI did. Annabeth noted the Fleet's operational focus was, understandably, centered on tactics, logistics, and force readiness. Their intelligence priorities leaned heavily toward vessel movements, operational patterns, and maintaining their strategic advantage. In contrast, her agency's approach was more holistic, integrating geopolitical dynamics, human intelligence, and potential subversive threats.

By the time she left the Fleet HQ her head was buzzing. Annabeth sighed in relief as she breathed in the warm salty breeze coming in from the ocean. "On the bright side," Malcolm announced as they made their way back to the office. "It looks like the Fleet is on the same page we are."

Annabeth brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, still feeling the lingering tension of the lengthy briefing. The midday sun glinted off the polished hood of Malcolm's jeep as they crossed the base's well-manicured grounds, its engine purring softly. Even this late in the afternoon, the air carried a drowsy warmth, the distant hum of maintenance crews and the low thrum of distant aircraft underscoring the lull after a marathon of classified discussions.

She considered Malcolm's words. On the same page. That was true, at least at the strategic level. The Fleet recognized Orthys's buildup for the threat it was—no one in that room had tried to dismiss her intelligence, and she'd seen the grim understanding in the Admirals' eyes. But were they ready to act on it? The verdict had been a clear no. At least in the first few months, Battle-fleet Atlantis would be considerably outnumbered. That was until back on Olympus, the political leadership managed to pull their heads from their collective assets, mobilize other military assets, and send them off to Atlantis plus also shift their economy to a wartime footing.

"Yeah," she said finally, resting one elbow on the open window frame. "They're on the same page. I just wish we had a page that said a bit more than 'stand by and see.'" Her eyes swept across the base's perimeter fence, the guard towers beyond, and the faint silhouette of warships in the distant harbor. All the shiny metal and concrete might as well have been books waiting to be read, each one holding secrets—logistics, readiness, doctrine—that the enemy would love to know.

Malcolm signaled for a turn, guiding the jeep onto a road that followed the curve of the coastline. On their left, the dense tropical vegetation pressed close, and on their right, the ocean stretched out, its surface shimmering beneath the afternoon sun. "You know how it goes, Anni. The Fleet can't commit to a plan of action until the civilian leadership back home makes a call. Right now, it's political limbo. They' terrified off jumping the gun."

Annabeth drummed her fingers on the jeep's metal door, her thoughts drifting back to the War Room. "They're worried that if they so much as lean forward, Orthys will interpret it as a provocation—use it as an excuse to strike first. 'Self-fulfilling prophecy,' they called it." Her voice carried a hint of bitterness. She understood caution, but it was frustrating, especially when every report, every intercepted communication, hinted that Orthys was already gearing up for a fight.

Malcolm nodded as he navigated a gentle curve, the wind tugging at his short-sleeved shirt. "They're in a bind. The Admirals know the water's heating up, but the politicians are still wading in, trying not to get their pants wet. So here we are—monitoring, preparing, waiting."

Annabeth breathed out slowly, letting the salty air fill her lungs. It was so different out here—open skies, rolling surf—compared to the tense, bunker-lit gloom of the War Room. "At least they didn't stonewall us. Triton's cagey, but Poseidon and Delphine were forthcoming enough. For now, we've got a seat at the table. That's something."

"Yeah. Means we can push a bit," Malcolm agreed. "If the higher-ups in the Capital ask for recommendations, we can tell them the Fleet is aligned with our assessment. No surprises there."

"Look at it from the point of view of the crown and his government," Annabeth finally said as they pulled into the parking lot. "If they go on the evening news, and announce they are doubling defense spending and arming up for war, you will have the retards protesting in the streets tomorrow, calling for magical diplomacy and deescalation. The peace movent lobby still has a lot of sway from the Trojan wars. The opposition will be accusing the Council and Parliament of warmongering and that Hephaestus is trying to fill his pockets with new armament programs. War is currently unpopular."

"Yeah," Malcolm said at last, swinging open his door. "If they start a big mobilization, it'd cause a panic. The markets would drop through the floor, international partners would start asking questions, and Orthys would be screaming propaganda about our so-called 'aggressive intentions.'"

Annabeth stepped down from the jeep, pulling her blazer tighter. "So the political leadership is stuck. They know there's a risk, but as soon as they show the public they're taking it seriously, everyone flips out. Damned if they do, damned if they don't."

Malcolm gave a humorless laugh. "That sums it up."

They began crossing the lot toward the BNI building. The sun was dipping now, casting long shadows of palm trees across the concrete. The ocean breeze carried a hint of coolness, an evening promise that the daytime heat would relent, if only a little.

"At least we've got a clearer picture," Annabeth said, thumbing through the mental index of what they'd just learned. "The Fleet's put out their cards: they know Orthys is escalating. Now we need to figure out what, if anything, we can bring back home that'll get the process started."

"We do," Malcolm agreed, pushing open the door to the BNI office building. "So, for now we continue with our sit-downs as planned?"

"Not much else we can do," Annabeth admitted. In the end she was in Intelligence, actually doing something about the problems of the world was not what she was paid for. Other's did that.

As they reached her desk, Thalia greeted them with a sarcastic smile, holding a mug emblazoned with the words World's Okayest Intelligence Officer. "Back from the lion's den already? Didn't expect you two to survive this long. Did Triton bite?"

Annabeth set her bag down on her desk, giving Thalia a sidelong glance. "Triton was... what we expected of Triton," she replied dryly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "As cagey as ever, but manageable. Delphine was all about pooling intel."

"Probably because she's smart enough to know we're not there to upend their operations," Malcolm added, dropping into his chair with a heavy sigh. "Plus she just flies around recon aircraft... ."

"Poseidon was..." Annabeth continued. "Well, Poseidon. Diplomatic, charismatic, and maddeningly vague when it suited him."

Thalia smirked, leaning back in her chair and cradling her mug like it was a lifeline. "Sounds about right. You get anything useful, or was it all posturing and strategic doublespeak?"

Annabeth picked up her yellow legal pad and waved it slightly. "Enough to confirm what we already suspected—and then some. Orthys is gearing up, and the Fleet knows it. The Admirals are keeping a close eye on it."

"But," Malcolm interjected, "the politics are a roadblock. Until Olympus gets spooked enough to act, Battle-fleet Atlantis is stuck in its current posture "

Thalia tilted her head, her spiky black hair catching the light. "So the usual story, then. We're sitting on a ticking bomb, and everyone in charge is hoping the timer magically stops."

Annabeth dropped into her chair, the fatigue of the day settling into her bones. "More or less. But at least the Fleet's prepared to engage when—or if—it comes to that. For now, we've got to focus on the smaller pieces: intel, preparation, and making sure we don't miss the signs of when the timer's about to go off."

"Speaking of smaller pieces," Thalia said, setting her mug down and crossing her arms, "Going another sting-ops and the squids are slowly growing weary of Goth-mommies being interested in their job. Care to back me up? They haven't had a pretty blond with long legs after their rank and career yet."

Annabeth smirked at Thalia's suggestion, leaning back in her chair. "Goth-mommies? Is that what you've been using as bait?"

Thalia shrugged, her electric-blue eyes glinting with mischief. "Hey, it works. They think I'm edgy and mysterious, and I let them ramble on about their oh-so-important work. But even sailors are starting to figure it out. You, on the other hand? You've got that 'new in town, high-class professional' vibe. I guarantee at least a dozen of them will trip over themselves trying to impress you."

Annabeth chuckled, crossing her arms as she considered the idea. "Let me get this straight—you want me to waltz into some bar, bat my eyelashes, and hope they spill state secrets?"

"Yes, and when they've given you something interesting, you ask if they want to continue your conversation outside, they will be welcomed by a bunch of MPs and a senior officer right in-front of the door,"

Annabeth leaned back, one brow arching as she eyed Thalia with equal parts amusement and suspicion. "You want to run a honeypot?"

"Hey, I prefer the term 'social engineering,'" Thalia shot back, lifting her chin in mock affront. "Look, it's a low-threat operation—where we encourage a healthy sense of paranoia in our democracies defenders. Easy pickings."

"Until one of them actually takes the bait," Malcolm cut in dryly, his arms folded across his chest. "Then the MPs swoop in."

"Exactly," Thalia said.

Annabeth's lips quirked wryly. "You make it sound like a fun night out. Except it's not exactly my specialty."

"Wasn't mine either, but the more makeup I have on, and the less mentally stable I look, the more enlisted and officers alike want to share military secrets with me," Thalia explained brightly.

"Fine," Annabeth said.

"So, let's head to the dress room, find you something more appropriate, get you a makeover, and then head to the MPs main station," she explained.

Annabeth groaned softly but followed Thalia toward the back of the BNI building, where a small locker room served as a multipurpose space for stashing disguises, props, and occasionally, an overabundance of questionable wardrobe choices. Thalia yanked open one of the lockers, revealing an array of clothing that looked like it belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine, a grunge music video, or somewhere in between.

"Alright, Chase," Thalia said, holding up a sleek black dress and a pair of strappy heels that made Annabeth's eyebrows climb. "You're going for 'civi contractor out for a little fun,' not 'mission brief chic.'"

Annabeth eyed the outfit skeptically, then chose lose cargo shorts that would show off a good amount of her long tanned legs, a feature of hers she had always been proud, a blouse, and some much lighter slippers. After that, and clearing the overtime with Malcolm, she let Thalia escort her to their stations HR person, a quite gorgeous young woman with black hair and striking blue eyes.

"Morning Silena," Thalia said when they entered.

The young woman looked up from the nail she was painting. "Sweetie, you can not sign your own overtime slips. No matter how often you come in here," the woman said patiently.

"It's not about that," Thalia assured them.

Silena looked up at Thalia with a teasing smile, wiping her fingers clean of the nail polish. "Sure, not about that. What can I do for you two today?"

Annabeth took a step forward, brushing a lock of her hair out of her face. "Up to giving Ms Capital here a makeover. Taking her out on a sting?"

"Ah, Ms Chase. Yes, your name has crossed my desk today already. Welcome to Atlantis," the young woman greeted her brightly.

"A sting makeover," she said, looking at Thalia. "I fear the same thing you always go with won't work for her."

Thalia shrugged. "Yeah, duh. Just make her look less,...by the book."

"You mean like a young lady looking to get freight trained by an entire platoon?" Silena asked innocently.

"Exactly," Thalia replied and Silena laughed.

Silena chuckled and shook her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Alright, alright. I've got an idea Ms Chase," she said.

"I am not comfortable with looking like I am trying to be a barracks bunny," Annabeth said stiffly. "There is a reason I did not go into HUMINT."

Silena smiled sweetly. "And you will not. You must make some allowance for the role you are to play, but trust me."

Silena set a shoe-box onto her table and from it produced more makeup stuff than Annabeth owned combined. "My my, this easy. You are gorgeous," Silena remarked brightly and pulled out the brush. "And I would love to be let lose on you,... maybe just some of this foundation,...and ... you know to take the edge off."

Annabeth sighed and let Silena take charge, trusting that the young woman had a far better grasp on the art of subtlety than she did. The transformation began quietly, with the sound of brushes swishing and the soft click of makeup compacts being opened. Silena worked with a practiced hand, applying foundation, contouring just enough to give Annabeth's features more definition, and enhancing her eyes with a touch of subtle color. It was all very different from what Annabeth usually chose. When Silena turned her mirror, she saw nothing. Then after a few moments she found the differences. Her cheeks had a slightly deeper flush, her lips were a slightly deeper red, and her eyes had a faint shadow that promoted her gray eyes. Annabeth was, she decided, okay with this.

"Well?" Silena asked with a smile, folding her arms and waiting for Annabeth's verdict.

Annabeth studied her reflection for a moment longer, still getting used to the new look. She nodded, a hint of approval in her expression. "It's... not as bad as I expected," she admitted, finally breaking into a small smile.

"Next time, just trust me," Silena grinned, clearly pleased with herself. "And come back when you really need a glow up."

She promised she would, and after getting changed she glared at herself in the mirror one last time she followed Thalia back to the office where Thalia retrieved her firearm, a semi automatic nine millimeter, and strapped it and the lever holster to her belt. Annabeth sat stiffly in the passenger seat, feeling like a pinup doll as they drove across the base. It was a sweltering hot afternoon, over ninety five degrees if the thermometer in the car was to believe, and the ocean breeze seemed to struggle to make the day more bearable.

The fabric of her blouse clung to her back, and the sandals she'd chosen offered little relief from the sweltering pavement. She tried not to fidget as Thalia hummed to a tune on the radio, occasionally casting her an amused glance. Finally they pulled into a long, three floor building. The parking lot in the front of the building was packed with an assortment of military police cruisers, military trucks, and private vehicles, arranged with what seemed like a cavalier disregard for order or sense, which was mildly disconcerting that this was the military.

They hastily fled into the large simple lobby. The front desk was behind sheet of bullet proof glass. The door was flanked by military police in their stiff uniforms. Other MPs were leading around other service men. One was supervising three miserable looking sailors in handcuffs, a baton clamped under his armpit.

Thalia approached the desk with an air of familiarity, rapping her knuckles lightly on the glass. "Afternoon, Sarge. Got ourselves a little sting op to coordinate."

The sergeant behind the desk, a burly man with a closely cropped haircut and a face weathered by years of service, glanced up from his clipboard. His name-tag read Sgt. Braddock. He arched an eyebrow at Thalia before his eyes flicked to Annabeth, clearly taking stock of the new face.

"Who's the doll?" he asked gruffly, though his tone carried more curiosity than malice.

Annabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes, offering a tight smile instead. "Inspector Annabeth Chase, Bureau of National Intelligence."

"Well, you know where to go," he told Thalia and buzzed them through the door next to the office and took the elevator up to the third floor. Finally they stopped in-front of an office, ladled OPSEC and Counter Intelligence Taskforce.

A man in a naval officer's uniform looked up from his desk. His sleeves were rolled up, and his tie was slightly loosened, giving him a harried but approachable demeanor. His nameplate read Lt. Cdr. Nolan. He nodded at Thalia, then eyed Annabeth with curiosity.

"Grace," Nolan greeted Thalia, then gestured toward Annabeth. "Who's your friend?"

"Inspector Annabeth Chase, BNI," Thalia introduced, her tone all business now. "She's tonight's Honeypot."