3. Typhon

3

TYPHON

" S omething's going down in Shere," said Hornet, an MI6 operative I was considering for Unit 23. As a test, Z and I had agreed to put him on Oleander's detail. If he was able to track her undetected, he'd get the job.

"Elaborate."

"According to Reaper, they're moving out."

While the man Hornet spoke of was an American, and thus a member of the coalition's US task force, I'd been following his career for a few years. His code name spoke to his skillfulness as an assassin, and I had every intention of finding a place for him on my team. Not that he was aware of it. For now, he was far more useful inside the command center.

Z was the only person who knew Reaper was passing information on to Hornet and, ultimately, to me. If Oleander or anyone else discovered what he was doing, Z would run interference.

"Stay on it and update me as you learn more."

"Roger that, sir," Hornet responded.

Given the nature of the work Unit 23 did, when it formed, two decisions were made regarding our headquarters. First, they would not be in Vauxhall Cross, where the rest of SIS was housed. Second, we'd never have a home office in the traditional sense.

It was up to each leader to determine where and what kind of command center they wanted. I had two. One was in the most secure, private building in London. I'd purchased two apartments and had a door added between them. The access was almost cliché, given it was hidden behind a bookcase.

The building was in close proximity to Hyde Park, but more, to Claridge's, where I dined almost every night I was in town. Since it was typically uncrowded and quiet, the Fumoir was my favorite spot for an after-dinner drink. The other thing I appreciated was that even though I was a regular at the hotel's restaurants and bars, the staff knew better than to ask questions. Familiarity was not only frowned upon, but was a rule that, if broken, led to termination. Regardless of whether I ordered the same drink or the same meal each time I was there, which could be night after night, I was treated respectfully and as though I'd never been there before. If I chose to make friendly conversation, they were certainly permitted to respond, but then it was on me.

Anonymity, even though I was recognizable, given my stature, was paramount to my line of work. I used service entrances rather than the main lobby to arrive and depart, and rarely the same one.

When my stomach rumbled, I checked the time. I almost never ate lunch, but was hungry enough to do so today. First, I needed to do a routine check on active missions.

There was one agent who had gone dark, which was not uncommon for Unit 23, but that she hadn't reported in prior or since troubled me.

Philippa Windsor was one of our best. Her regal disposition, along with her surname, had garnered her the code name Countess. She was lethal in her pursuit of the world's worst, and her kill count was twice that of most of our team. Her mission was to insinuate herself into the UK's largest drug trafficking cartel, then assassinate its leader. This type of assignment—infiltration of a criminal organization this powerful—wasn't given lightly or to just anyone. In fact, she was the first, other than me.

Before I became commander, I'd gone undercover as an enforcer in not one but two Italian crime families—the Sicilian and the Calabrian syndicates. As adept as Unit 23 was at ending the lives of the world's worst criminals, if the target was one of the good guys, we were equally good at proving he or she was dead when they weren't. This went far beyond witness protection. In some cases, facial-reconstruction surgery was required.

I was still waiting for a reply to my emergency ping to the Countess when I received an update from Hornet.

According to Reaper, a woman named Bexli Everdeen, who was connected to the commander of the UK task force, was missing and believed to be in the hands of traffickers. Not just any trafficker and not just any abduction. Everdeen and nineteen other women were being offered on a high-end sex-slave auction site the team had discovered on the dark web.

Tracking the site's IP address had led them to a compound on the Maltese island of Gozo. An organization called AMPS Incorporated was its registered owner.

A mission to rescue Everdeen and the other women believed to be held captive was being deployed immediately.

I ordered Hornet to get there before they arrived and to provide real-time updates.

Then I waited for O to make contact and inform me of her departure. She didn't.

Four hours later, I learned the raid had been successful, with two exceptions. Everdeen hadn't been found on the premises. Neither had Mithras.

By the following day, with help from the US National Reconnaissance Office, we learned Mithras had been on the compound right before the raid took place. Overhead footage showed the man being taken away on a stretcher, then transported via helicopter to the main island of Malta.

Satellite feeds had also picked up Bexli Everdeen's escape minutes before Mithras' departure. Hours later, she was found being harbored by a woman who'd discovered her in the alley behind her restaurant.

"Oleander is agitated," Z himself informed me.

"She still hasn't made contact," I reported.

"I predict you'll be hearing from her soon. She needs you to connect her with Antaeus."

Of course, I'd already considered his involvement. The code name Antaeus belonged to my younger brother Joshua, who, coincidentally, was the prison boss at Corradino Correctional Facility. As the largest facility of its kind in Malta, it would be where all those arrested on Gozo would await trial.

"She wants to interrogate them," I muttered.

"Correct, and we have thirty-six hours to do so before they have to be charged or released," said Z.

"Understood. How soon can you get her there?" I asked.

"Less than an hour."

I ended the call with Z and rang Joshua.

"Leviticus, have you arrived in Malta yet?"

I chuckled. The country was the equivalent of a small town. Word traveled fast on the three inhabited islands. A fact that raised some concerns.

"How did this get past you, Ant?"

"If you mean the women being held on Gozo, it's a never-ending battle against corruption over there. If I were to suggest the commissioner clean house, the result would be lawlessness. It's hard enough to recruit law enforcement on the main island, let alone the smaller two."

"What about MSI?"

"Don't get me started. The security service hardly qualifies as an intelligence agency. We're not the UK, brother."

"You're the one who decided you wanted to live in Malta instead of working for me," I reminded him.

He laughed. "As if I could ever. I'm not cut out to do what you do, Typhon. As far as choosing to live here, where else would I have been hired as warden at my age?"

"True enough." I told him about Oleander's impending arrival and that she wanted access to those arrested on the compound.

An alert appeared on my laptop just as I was about to end the call. "Take Oleander aside when she arrives and tell her to make contact."

"Why?"

"I just received a piece of intel she'll want to know about."

"Oleander." I answered her video call. "I have good news for you."

"You've caught Mithras?"

"Sadly, not yet. Although, somehow, I think you'd be disappointed to not have that honor yourself. Which is why you should know he's been spotted in Sharm el-Sheikh."

"Of course that's where he'd return," she muttered.

"I expected to hear from you before now. How are things going with the coalition?"

"Okay, I suppose. Apart from believing Mithras would either be in custody or dead if I'd been on my own."

"While you and I share a frustration with the slow-moving cogs of the more visible intelligence agencies, I caution you to play along, as I did before."

"Understood."

"And with Poseidon?"

She sighed. "You are like a dog with a bone."

"Answer the question, Oleander."

"There is no difference between my interaction with him and anyone else working this mission. We are all professionals."

I raised a brow.

"I do wish you'd let this go."

"I will when you tell me the truth." She was well aware my reference had nothing to do with her boyfriend. It was her obsession with finding Mithras I wanted her to confide in me.

"So this is why you went through the ridiculous exercise of staging a private call rather than pass me information that could've easily been sent via secure message."

"If necessary, I can assist the coalition myself, then I can find out what's really going on."

O laughed. "An idle threat. You'd sooner slit your own throat than put up with the tedium of, what did you call it? Slow-moving cogs?"

"Stay alive, Oleander. You're needed here," I said before disconnecting the feed.

In the next report I received from Hornet, he said Oleander had requested immediate transport to Egypt and that she was taking a crew to the Pernicious , while another team remained in Sharm el-Sheikh.

I'd anticipated such a reaction. Her only reason for wanting to interrogate those being held in Corradino was to learn where Mithras had been transported. Since I'd passed on the intel I received, she had no reason to remain in Malta.

What I hadn't expected was to receive a call from Z a few hours later.

"Oleander's yacht is under attack. We fear all on board are dead."

I put my head in my hands. "What evidence do you have to support this?"

"No communication whatsoever."

"There is a safe room in the hull. If Oleander believed they couldn't fight off the attack, that's where she would've ordered everyone to go."

"Wait—"

"What's happening, Z?"

"Cayman led a dive team out after I was able to secure an MDX-940."

There could only be one reason they needed the device. "And?"

"He's reported six explosives on the underside of the Pernicious ."

"Bloody fucking hell." I slammed my fist on the table when Z abruptly ended the call. First, the Countess. Now, Oleander.

I put my head in my hands again, knowing chances were good I was about to lose two agents under my command. It didn't matter that they knew the risk inherent to any mission—more so one assigned from the unit. My fear was the same as I'd experience if any member of my family was in danger of losing their lives.