5. Typhon

5

TYPHON

I t had taken two hours for the team in Sharm el-Sheikh to disarm the explosives affixed to Oleander's yacht, then another twenty minutes for the report saying they'd lost two operatives—Frick "Zig" Ziegler and Drita "Qet?" Hoffman—to come from Z. Everyone else on board, Oleander included, were discovered alive and well in the safe room.

The combination of anxiety, lack of sleep, and a profound sense of relief turned into irrational anger. In my fury, I'd sent Oleander a message, ordering her to divert to London after learning she and the rest of the team were on a flight headed for Gatwick, arranged by Z.

When she arrived at her apartment at zero one hundred hours, I was there, waiting.

"What if I hadn't arrived alone?" she snapped, setting her bag on the floor and slamming the door behind her.

I'd had it with her withholding information from me and went on the attack with what I knew was her biggest vulnerability. "I'm not surprised to hear you and Poseidon are?—"

"Stop…Right…Fucking…There."

"Come now, O. You both almost died." I sneered.

Her wounded stare undid me. The woman had nearly lost her life, along with several other agents. She didn't deserve my ire right now. Later, yes, and then she'd receive it full force. I stood from her sofa, walked over, and embraced her.

"I'm glad you didn't get blown to bits, Oleander."

She wiped away a tear. "The Pernicious did."

"You wanted to get rid of it anyway."

She wriggled from my arms, picked up the open bottle of bourbon I'd left on her counter, and took a swig.

When she held it out to me, I declined and sat back down. "How's Allora?" I asked, feeling like an arsehole once I had.

"None of your business," she spat.

The look on her face and her tone brought my anger back to the surface. Two could play her fucking game. I'd had enough of Oleander operating like she was an independent without a CO. "I suppose I could say the same thing about Mithras."

She took another swig from the bottle. "What's that mean?"

"You don't talk, neither do I."

"I see. I don't tell you about my sex life, and you don't share intel that would allow me to do my bloody job?"

I rubbed my chin. "You have a point. Instead of telling me about Poseidon, especially since I now know you slept with him…"

"There was no sleeping involved, Typhon. Happy? What other thing that's none of your business do you plan to blackmail me with? Number of orgasms I had?"

"Definitely not." My eyes scrunched. She had no hope of winning the battle she was waging. "I think it's time you told me why finding Mithras is so important to you. Why is it personal, O? And before you tell me it's also none of my business, keep in mind, after what happened in Sharm el-Sheikh, I can relieve you from this mission without batting an eye."

She walked over to the windows and turned her back on me.

"Mithras intended to take you out, Jennifer," I said, using her given name. "Is it personal for him too? What's the connection between the two of you?"

"There isn't one."

"Pharaoh?" I knew I'd touched a nerve when she flinched. It was another name garnering much chatter and always in connection with Mithras.

"Where is the sonuvabitch ?"

"Which one?" I asked.

"Both."

I had her. She wanted answers as much or more than I did. It was my cue to leave. "Let me know when you're ready to talk, and I'll do the same." I stood and went in the direction of the door before issuing my parting shot. "Until you're ready to answer my questions, you're on desk duty."

It wasn't just Oleander who had me at my breaking point. I hadn't heard anything from the Countess, and the sources I had in Liverpool, where she was undercover, weren't able to make contact either.

I'd been awake for over twenty-four hours and knew it would be several more before I could rest, so I shut everything down in my situation room and went for a walk.

Halfway to Claridge's, where I was contemplating getting pissed, I felt someone watching me. With one hand on my gun, I ducked into the entryway of the next building I came to and surveyed the area. No one in particular stood out to me until I saw a woman heading in the same direction I'd been. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place her, something I attributed to my lack of sleep.

While she kept walking, I studied her. She was tall and thin but also well-endowed, and her blonde hair appeared almost white when the sun shone on it. Her head was down, but I could see enough of her face to know she was pretty. It was the hunch of her shoulders, though, that brought out the protector in me. She carried great sadness.

As irrational as my anger was at O last night, my desire to catch up with this woman, ease her pain, and soothe her sorrow was more so.

My mobile vibrated in my pocket, thus saving me from racing after her.

The message I received from the Countess sent chills down my spine. EGGP1199. The first four letters signified the International Civil Aviation Organization's designation for Liverpool. The numbers were code for agent in peril .

"What's your twenty?" I asked Hornet when he answered my call.

"Five minutes outside London. In transit to Shere."

"Turn around and meet me at London City."

"Roger that. Where are we headed?"

"Liverpool."

"Fuck," I heard him say under his breath. "Sorry, sir."

I ended the call without responding.

Even before I boarded the plane, my day took another step closer to hell when I received an alert saying a message was received in the secure app I used when undercover. My alias was Benito Carpinelli, and my alter ego had just received a kill contract.

"Everything all right, boss?" Hornet asked.

"As far from it as you can get. I need you to handle the search for the Countess."

Even as I spoke the words, I couldn't believe I'd said them. I was putting an operative who wasn't yet a Unit 23-er in charge of the rescue mission of one of my team's best.

There wasn't time to pull anyone else in, and there was no way I could turn down the contract from the Sicilians. If I did, years of groundwork essential to the success of future missions would be for naught.

If I were the kind of man foolish enough to spit in the eye of fate by saying I believed things were as bad as they could get, I would've quickly been proven wrong.

In the three days since Hornet and I parted ways at London City Airfield, Mithras had returned to Gozo, taken a hostage, and as much as everyone on the op tried to prevent it from happening, had been killed by a civilian—the hostage's grandson.

There was still no communication from or about the Countess. Every passing day made me more certain she was already dead. However, it wasn't something I would say out loud to anyone. I'd seen plenty of presumed ghosts come back from the dead. Usually, they were bad guys, though, like Mithras.

As morbid as it was, the only thing that had gone right was the hit, which I'd accomplished the day after I received the contract. The man the Sicilians paid "Benito" to kill was also on the Italian government's most-wanted list. His crime? The rape and murder of an eleven-year-old girl who he'd held captive for six years. I'd not lose a moment's sleep over killing a degenerate, pedophile, rapist and murderer.

Rather than flying directly to London once the contract was fulfilled, I took an alternate route to Greece, where I spent one night. The next day, I traveled to Spain, again for one night, then to Austria. If anyone, regardless of who they were, had been following me, they would've been picked up by international law enforcement and immediately extradited to one of Unit 23's safe houses, where they'd be interrogated—at the minimum.

That was how powerful my team was, and it wasn't me who'd made it that way. I was one in a long line of commanders, all equally badass, all equally lethal.

On the final leg of my journey, I received a brief compiled by both Oleander and Poseidon, detailing the chain of events leading to Mithras' death, and the subsequent relocation of his killer, the man's grandmother, and his aunt. The three would remain at an "undisclosed" location indefinitely, where they'd be under the protection of a former MI6 agent who now owned a private security and intelligence firm. That man, Cortez "Rile" DeLéon, was also one of my closest friends.

Rile and I had served together under the command of Edgar "Jekyll" Hyde, and he was as devastated as me after the death of the man we both considered a mentor.

The other piece of crucial information contained in the brief was that the coalition had a solid lead on the identity of Pharaoh.

I'd been at my flat less than an hour when I received a message from Hornet with the news I dreaded. The Countess' body had been found. According to the SIS medical examiner, she'd been dead three days, which meant whoever killed her had done it right around the time I received her 1199 message.

Even if I had turned down the Sicilians' contract and gone to Liverpool instead, I would've been too late to save her life. Not that knowing so did a bloody thing to alleviate the guilt I felt.

I slammed the lid of my laptop closed, picked up the glass of whiskey I'd poured as soon as I walked in the door, and hurled it at the wall.

As a man who prided myself on my ability to remain in control regardless of the circumstances, I felt powerless. I had to get my fucking head on straight, which meant I had to rein in Oleander. I couldn't allow her to operate outside the chain of command any longer. I'd let it go on far too long as it was, and I was prepared to issue an ultimatum. Either she divulged the reason for her obsession, or she'd be out. Not just of Unit 23, but of SIS entirely.

After sending a message to Z, asking him to meet me at twenty-one hundred hours in a private suite at Claridge's, I left my flat and walked to the hotel. I stopped at the Fumoir for the same drink I'd thrown against the wall once I received Z's confirmation he'd meet me since I knew I had an hour to kill.

As I sat at the bar, trying to organize my thoughts before conferring with Z, it dawned on me that this was where I'd first seen the woman I couldn't place. The one who carried too much sadness.

"What's on your mind, Typhon?" Z asked after I poured him a drink and we both stood looking at the suite's view of the London skyline.

"I'm sure you've heard we lost the Countess."

"Yes, horrible news. My condolences."

"I'm ready to move forward in adding Hornet to Unit 23."

Z nodded. "As hard as it is for me to let him go, he's proven himself on this mission."

"Verity as well."

"MI6 doesn't own her per se, so that decision is entirely yours. But why two?"

I motioned to the chairs facing the windows and took a seat. "I'm considering removing Oleander from the unit."

Z raised a brow. "An extreme, in my opinion."

"Yeah? Well, I threatened her with far worse—her dismissal from SIS in its entirety."

He brushed his lower lip with his index finger. "You'll get pushback from Nemesis."

"I don't care. This should've happened months, if not years, ago. I've indulged her far too long."

"Understood. However, if you were to release O, I've no doubt Nem would snap her up in the instant she heard about it."

I shook my head. "I'd not allow it."

Z sighed. "The coalition operates autonomously. Neither you nor I would have any say in the matter."

"Surely, Nemesis would understand the reason for Oleander's dismissal."

"She will not. O is too important to the current investigation to lose."

I gripped the glass in my hand tightly enough that it might shatter, but refrained from hurling it against the wall like I had the other. "Since when does the bloody UN outrank SIS, Z?"

"As much as you or I don't like it, we have no power against the coalition. If you want answers from O, you'd be better off keeping her in Unit 23 and figuring out a way to get them."

I understood what he was saying, and while I didn't like it, I'd heed his advice.

"You know how competitive she is. Put Hornet up against her."

My eyes scrunched. "Do you think that would work?"

Z nodded. "When you requested this meeting, I was about to do the same. I've heard chatter about another name in connection with Mithras and Pharaoh—Salvatore Rávdos. I don't have anything to go on in terms of who he is or how he relates. However, Oleander might."

"Are you suggesting I let Hornet be the one to drop the name?"

"Perhaps he should also tout his network of sources in the Eastern Mediterranean."

"I like the way you think, my friend."

His grin turned somber. "I agree that allowing Oleander to continue unchecked is a mistake. If you and I are right about this being personal for her, her actions may put her in grave danger. She needs our protection now more than ever, Ty."

I agreed.

"I have one more name for you to add to your list of possible candidates."

"Go on."

"Esencia," Z suggested.

"She's been adamant in her refusal to join the unit in the past."

"It would do no harm to make O believe you intend to up your offer to Esencia in order to bring someone in who is equally as good as she is."

This, I also agreed with.