1. Typhon

1

TYPHON

TWO YEARS PRIOR

W hen I agreed to take command of what was widely accepted as the deadliest special operations forces in the world, it was with the understanding that my days of babysitting operatives were at an end. It was foolishly naive of me. It was what I spent most of my time doing.

The paramilitary team, known only as Unit 23, was made up of former Special Air Service intelligence officers as well as Military Intelligence, Sections 5 and 6, operatives. The expertise required of the men and women I commanded included high-level surveillance, close-combat fighting, hostage rescue, and above all else, assassination.

After receiving a missive from the chief of MI6, Archer "Z" Alexander—my equal in rank and one of my sole confidants—requesting I encourage a member of my team to cooperate with an investigation being conducted by a UN coalition, I balked.

"As you're aware, Unit 23 does not participate in joint missions, Z."

"This is different, Typhon. The United Nations has formed a five-task-force coalition to fight against human trafficking. The best agents in the world have signed on…"

I had too much respect for him to interrupt, so I let Z continue his attempt to sell me on something I knew as much or more about as he did. I was the one who'd given my blessing when Kai "Poseidon" Allora tapped Kima Sakari to join the coalition's Maltese task force, one of the five he'd mentioned.

While Kima, code name Delfino, was an adult able to make her own decisions, she rarely did so without my input. It had been ingrained in her since she was a teenager, and I did nothing to discourage her, either. I'd made a vow many years ago, and I never broke a promise. Few knew of our connection, and we both wanted it kept that way.

As far as joining Poseidon's team specifically, both Kima's mother and mine were born in Malta. It wasn't what had brought her and me together, though. The two women hadn't met until a few years ago.

It was Delfino's mastery of the Maltese language that had made her most attractive to the task force leader. It wasn't a trait I shared; I barely understood the commonest of phrases.

"I'm still not convinced, Z," I said when I realized he was no longer speaking.

"Once I tell you who the target is, I predict you'll have a change of heart."

There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell, as they say, of that happening. I'd not compromise the integrity of my unit to assist in anything sanctioned by the United Nations. We weren't fucking diplomats; we were the ones they turned to when they didn't want to do what they never could—the dirty work.

"We're asking for Oleander's help, Ty. We have a person of interest. Mithras. "

"You should've led with that, my friend."

Oleander was the preeminent expert on terrorist cells and traffickers operating out of the Eastern Mediterranean and Middle East. There'd been high-level intelligence chatter about Mithras for the last several months, and O, as most of us called her, had taken a keen interest in the suspect. An obsession with finding him was a more accurate way of putting it.

While she was one of the best on my team, even before I'd first heard of Mithras, my gut told me Oleander was operating with an ulterior motive.

If I had any suspicion that her agenda was at odds with the missions she did for Unit 23, I'd end her myself. The same instincts I relied on to stay alive told me whatever it was, was buried so deep, no one could touch it. Both Z and I had done our damnedest to find out what drove her, but we'd come up short.

I'd long suspected it was related to traffickers—a personal vendetta, perhaps—but didn't have enough to go on to say for sure. Getting information out of O was the equivalent of getting blood from a stone. However, I sensed Mithras was the key, and I wanted to know why.

"We need her on this, Typhon," said Z. "We both do."

He was right. Z and I had shared a similar concern before she transitioned from MI6 to Unit 23.

"I'll speak with her," I said.

Neither of us doubted my acquiescence was anything but self-serving. However, feeling benevolent, I also believed O's cooperation may further whatever quest she was on more than it would benefit the coalition.

"Your help is appreciated. By the way, you'll be hearing from Marchand as well."

Henri "Baissier" Marchand was the French ambassador to the United Nations and the man responsible for creating the coalition. I was about to tell Z to call him off when he rang.

"You owe me," I said before abruptly ending the conversation in order to begin the other.

"Typhon, my friend, please tell me you are well?—"

"I've no time for feigned pleasantries, Marchand. I've already spoken with Z and agreed to speak with Oleander."

"Excellent news. I will forward the brief."

"Send it to me, Baissier, and understand this. O's participation is not a done deal. All I've agreed to is a discussion." I didn't tell him to send me the brief so I could read it. I'd already received a copy from Delfino. What I didn't want, wouldn't allow, was direct communication between Marchand and O.

"You must understand?—"

"Au revoir, ambassadeur." Whatever threat he was about to issue had no bearing on my intentions, so there was no point in allowing him to finish his sentence.

The message I sent to Oleander asked only that she prepare a response in the form of a brief and send it to me for review. I could picture the look on her face. Unit 23 didn't do briefings of any kind. Reading between the lines, she'd know what I was really asking.

After waiting a few days, I rang her.

"Typhon," she answered.

"Oleander."

"If you're looking for a brief, I'm not finished with it."

I chuckled. "No? I'm surprised."

"You're amusing."

"The coalition is interested in you coming on in a senior advisory role. Another point of note: they've set up a command center in Shere, England. Should you accept their offer, you'd be required to work there from time to time."

When she groaned, I chuckled again.

"While they're asking for you to assist them, Oleander, you may find they further your investigation more than you could on your own."

She didn't take my bait, not that I'd expected her to. It made me regret not making this a video call.

I suspected one thing held her back from committing to work with the coalition, and it didn't relate to Mithras. Instead, it was the commander of the Maltese task force. Long before O joined MI6, then eventually, Unit 23, she'd had an affair with Poseidon. One she'd be a fool to think I didn't know about.

When I reviewed the team's standard background check and read the details of how it had ended—with her ghosting him in the middle of the night after abruptly withdrawing from university—I suspected he may have stumbled on whatever drove her obsession. Putting her in close proximity to him might result in my learning what the fuck she was up to.

Eventually, I ran out of patience with Oleander. It was one thing to stall, but now, she was making me look like a fool. I was her commander, and I'd had enough of her game-playing.

"Does your reluctance to provide information to the UN Coalition have anything to do with the Maltese task force commander?" I barked when her face appeared on my screen.

"Don't be ridiculous." She was lying, and we both knew it.

"Your intransigence may result in Unit 23 being at odds with the rest of SIS. You wouldn't want other missions compromised due to your unwillingness to cooperate," I said rather than admit my impatience.

"Understood," she said, sighing.

I ended this call the same way I did all others with members of my team. "Stay alive, Oleander. You're needed here."

After disconnecting the feed, I sent a message, saying a car service was waiting to transport her to Shere. Seconds later, her brief appeared on the secure server, and in it was the first photo any of us had seen of Mithras.

Game on.