Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Handling Haven: A Deimos/Trident Security/Delta Team Crossover (Kindle Worlds) Read online

  Sawyer’s man was the first to reply, “We’ve got some sort of interference on a few of the feeds—they’re coming in as static, and I don’t think it’s random. Someone else is hacked in besides the two of us.”

  “Fuck,” his boss replied. “Who else wants to throw a monkey wrench into this gig? Find out where it’s coming from and make it fast. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  Before anyone could respond, that bad feeling Frisco and all the other operatives were now experiencing became reality when an explosion rocked the compound, followed by screams and all hell breaking loose. A ball of flames blew out several windows, spraying everyone standing on the patio with shattered glass, sending them running for cover.

  A chorus of curses came over the comm units. Murphy’s law just went FUBAR again. The mission was officially fucked up beyond all recognition. Shit.

  Two

  H aven Caldwell squeezed her “date’s” arm. “You’re doing fine, Preston,” she assured him in a low voice, using the name of the reclusive computer developer he was pretending to be. “Just relax.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Kenny Reardon responded, while tugging on the collar of his tuxedo and the black tie encircling it. He was only two years her junior, but his pale, baby face, covered in freckles, made him appear far younger than that. “You don’t have a target on your back.”

  She cupped his chin and turned his head so he was looking directly at her. To anyone else in the room, it probably seemed like she was seducing the socially-handicapped but rich man. However, in reality, they were just friends. She’d known Kenny for about eight years, ever since he’d been hired as one of the analysts at Deimos, five years after she’d been trained to be one of their operatives at the age of twenty-one. He’d been assigned as the intelligence and communications contact for her and several other agents and, over the years, had become like a kid brother to her. They spoke almost daily, and when she was in town, they occasionally went out to dinner or to a movie. Some of the few times Haven was able to let down her hair and be herself—unfortunately, she had no idea who that person was anymore.

  Some of the support staff and agents at the covert organization’s headquarters in California had become a close-knit family, considering most of them had been employed based on the fact they didn’t have any. Few people in the world even knew Deimos existed—the CIA was a Boy Scout troop compared to it—and those who did, knew to keep their mouths shut. Haven and her fellow operatives did the President’s and US government’s dirty work—not that anyone in power would admit it. They took care of things, which the public could never know about, to keep the US safe from terrorists and other world powers who wanted to see the leader of the free world fall flat on its face. Deimos was the Greek god of terror, so it was the ideal name for the black-ops agency that excelled in torture and assassinations, among other things.

  For years, Haven had traveled all over the world, using various aliases. Sometimes, like this evening, she hobnobbed with the elite, while on other missions, she could be in one of the worst hellholes on Earth. It wasn’t hard to figure out which assignments she preferred. But this was Kenny’s first time, and most likely his last, in the field. They’d needed the super geek for his extensive computer knowledge, specifically about the Dark Web, in the event the operative was tested. “Preston Ward” was one of hundreds of profiles the agency had spent years updating for times just like this. There were few photos of the fictional man on the internet, all of which were hazy or taken from the back, and several members of the Deimos support staff could actually pass as “Preston” whenever the time came to use the profile. Reardon had just happened to draw the short straw, and it was Haven’s job to make sure he got out of the mission in one piece.

  “Hey, you know I won’t let anything happen to you. Just stick to me like glue, hot stuff.”

  “Well, at least that’s not a hardship. I’ve got the hottest looking date here tonight.”

  Haven grinned. When she’d first gotten to know Reardon, a simple exchange like that would have had his cheeks and neck turning beet red as he stuttered through a response. Even now, if a woman he barely knew just smiled at him, he would still have the same reaction. But over time, he’d gotten comfortable with the female agents such as Haven and Jordyn Alvarez. Sometimes they liked to tease him, but usually they preferred to build up his self-assurance around women. He was a sweet kid, and she would love for some lucky girl to realize that someday. In fact, not too long ago, while Carter was away on a solo mission, Haven and Jordyn had been at headquarters for some new training and had taken Kenny out to a bar for dinner after his shift had ended one night. Both women were used to being hit on in most social settings, and that night had been no exception. However, they’d given all their attention to their friend, making him feel ten feet tall and bulletproof. She was sure the other women in the bar that night had been wondering what was so special about him that had Haven and Jordyn ignoring every other man in the place. Kenny would probably always be shy around women he didn’t know, but, hopefully, they’d given him the confidence to get past that so he could talk to one he was interested in without getting tongue tied.

  Hooking her arm around his elbow, Haven gestured to the main doors to the ballroom. “Let’s take a walk through the rest of the place. Hopefully, we’ll run into ‘Mr. Smith’ soon.”

  Mr. Smith, undoubtedly not his real name, had popped up on the Dark Web a few months ago. The Dark Web was the side of the internet most people didn’t know was a reality and not just something they read about in a spy novel. Smith had been trolling for anyone who might have a specific software protection dongle with launch codes for a suitcase-sized nuclear device. It was one of many that’d gone missing from Russia back in the 1990s. Using the Preston Ward profile, the agents at Deimos headquarters had begun laying an intricate trail about how the developer/hacker had come into possession of the codes. They were then contacted by Smith who wanted to purchase the codes for the tidy sum of $10 million. After providing “proof” Preston had the codes, the agents had then engaged in a game of cat and mouse which was hopefully coming to an end tonight. Once they identified who Smith really was, he’d be quietly taken into custody by Deimos agents, who would then stop at nothing to recover the device.

  Haven sashayed toward the open double doors leading into a foyer that was larger than most high-end hotel suites she’d been in. The long skirt of the shiny, gold Badgley Mischka dress she wore swished from side to side as she moved. An above-the-knee slit exposed her left leg with each step, without showing the small handgun strapped to her right thigh just below her crotch. Tucked below the deep V of the dress’s neckline was a garrote, which she could easily access in the event she needed to silently dispatch someone by strangulation. It wasn’t a method she liked to use since it meant getting up close and personal with her enemy, but it was there in case she needed it. The matching shoes also had some modifications the designer had never intended. A three-inch stiletto knife slid through a small slit just below the seat of the four-inch heels and rested along the shank under the sole. All she had to do was bend one knee, reach down, and slide the knife out from under the shoe, and she’d have instant weapon in hand. If James Bond were a woman, she’d have loved the shoes as much as Haven did.

  As they strolled throughout parts of the 50,000 square feet of the ridiculously opulent venue, Haven steered Reardon into areas with less people in them, giving Mr. Smith a better opportunity to approach them. The wedding festivities were expected to continue well into the night, and she hoped it wouldn’t take that long for him to contact the “code seller.” Mixed in with all the wedding guests were bodyguards, the catering staff, and the event coordinator’s people, but even though most of the hired help were in tuxedos, it was easy for Haven’s keen eye to distinguish them—it was all in the harried or precise way they moved, depending on their job.

  Passing through a room that housed a small bar and several intimate sitting areas
for guests to enjoy, Haven smiled and nodded hello to several people who knew her as Hazel McPherson, “owner” of Simply Splendid, Inc., a moderate-sized, international cosmetics and skin care company that was another business Deimos used for its operatives’ covers. Exiting into the hallway, she glanced to the right and then left, getting her bearings before deciding which way to go. She’d studied the floor plans of the mansion for days, making sure she knew how to get out of there if the mission went south. Other Deimos agents were among the guests and staff milling about as her backup, but Reardon was her main responsibility, and there was no way she’d let him get hurt or killed.

  As she turned left down the long hall, she headed for the two-story library. This far away from the main ballroom the lively music being played there had faded away and was replaced with the soft chamber music coming from their new destination. More guests were entering another room further down on the opposite side of the hall that was designated as a cigar bar. Having thought of everything, the venue had a special ventilation system in that closed-door room for the smoke to be removed and released up through the roof, three stories above it, without exposing the rest of the rooms.

  A few steps before they reached the open door of the library, Haven felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, sending a tingling warning throughout her body. She surveyed her surroundings carefully. At the far end of the hallway, past the cigar bar, a tuxedoed man stood sentry, appearing as one of the guards stationed throughout the building. Glancing behind her, Haven noticed two other men in formal wear approaching, but neither gave her the impression they were part of the staff. No, they were guests—or were they? She hadn’t been able to stare without drawing attention to herself, but one of the men looked familiar, and, as she guided Reardon into the library, she wracked her brain to figure out where she knew the man from. He had dark hair and a trimmed beard, which barely covered a scar on his left cheek. Slender, he stood a little over six feet tall. That’s all she’d been able to catalog in her mind without a second look.

  “What’s wrong?” Kenny whispered. “You’re frowning.”

  Haven was surprised he’d picked up on that considering she almost always had her game face on while undercover. But something niggled her brain about that one man. Keeping her eyes on the doorway, she leaned forward and gave Kenny a kiss near his ear. “I think I recognized someone, but I don’t know where I know him from. I need a better look.”

  “Vixen, repeat. Didn’t get that last transmission,” Sawyer said in a low voice through her earpiece.

  Positioning herself and her date so she could observe the unknown man if he came into or passed by the room, Haven waited. In the meantime, since two older couples were now nearby, she couldn’t respond to Sawyer directly, so she let him know she was stalling while it appeared she was answering a question Kenny had asked moments earlier. “I’m not sure, honey. I’ll have to check my calendar when I get a chance.”

  Seconds ticked by. Just when she thought he must have turned around and gone back in the other direction, an ultra-bright light flashed a split second before a deafening roar filled the air. The floor shook as books came flying off the shelves and the floor-to-ceiling windows blew out. Haven, Reardon, and other people in the room were thrown off their feet by the compression blast, along with anything that wasn’t nailed down.

  Oh, God! Not again!

  Total chaos ensued. People were screaming or moaning, but Haven’s ears were ringing so loudly she couldn’t hear anything other than the blaring fire alarm. Searing smoke permeated the room, setting off the sprinkler system, which seemed woefully inadequate for the circumstances while still soaking those standing underneath the spray heads. The explosion hadn’t occurred in the library, but somewhere close by—a room or two further down the hall toward the cigar bar.

  Pain shot through her left arm where there was a gash from something that had hit her. She ignored it as she reached out—almost blindly as thousands of black, white, and gray dots danced before her eyes—trying to find Reardon among the debris. Grabbing a leg, she was relieved when her blurry vision cleared enough to see it was the Deimos geek, and he was alive, although stunned. Kicking off her shoes—they’d be difficult to run in—Haven rolled to her feet, and pulled her gun from its holster, not worried her thong-covered crotch was briefly exposed. Her head was spinning as she scanned the room for any other threats.

  “Get up!” she shouted to Reardon, unsure if he’d heard her since she could barely hear her own voice. She brought her hand to her ear and found the listening device, that’d been hidden by her hair, had been knocked out. Bending down, she yanked on Reardon’s arm, trying to get him to understand her and get moving. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it, as he slowly got to his knees.

  Glancing toward the door, Haven was horrified to see two men in respirator masks enter the room with guns in their hands. Instinctively knowing things had just turned into a kill or be killed situation—there was no way they could have outfitted themselves so quickly against the smoke unless they’d known it was coming—she raised the weapon in her right hand and fired, striking the closest man in the chest. He fell to the floor, the bullet to his heart stopping it cold. The second man reacted quickly by diving to his left when Haven shifted her aim. Her shot hit the back of the sofa he’d disappeared behind. With limited ammo, she couldn’t afford to waste any, she’d have to wait for him to pop up to fire another shot. That didn’t mean she was just going to stand there as an open target, though.

  Not knowing if they could get out through the hallway, Haven propelled Reardon toward one of the blown-out windows as soon as he got his feet under him. It would be about an eight-foot drop. Ignoring the other injured people in the room, Haven kept her weapon aimed at the sofa as she pointed to the window. “Jump!” she ordered her charge, grateful she’d been able to hear herself through all the other noise that time. Obeying her was one thing she’d drilled into Reardon during the weeks leading up to the mission. If she gave him a command, he was to follow it without hesitation; both their lives might depend on it.

  Blood was flowing from a laceration to his head, but Reardon, thankfully, didn’t waste any time grabbing hold of the window frame, checking how far he had to fall, then leaping out. Firing one more shot at the sofa, Haven grabbed the skirt of her dress, then stepped through the glassless frame and jumped. Landing, she rolled as she hit the stone patio, letting her momentum absorb most of the impact. Bits of broken glass ripped the soles of her feet and her bare arms. Paying no attention to them, she was moving forward before she was completely standing again, pushing Reardon in front of her to where the Trident boys would be waiting to cover and extract them. “Run to the trees!”

  Each step was painful, but she shoved it from her mind—there’d be time to tend to her injuries later. Zigzagging through all the guests, who’d already escaped from other rooms in a panic, Reardon and Haven hit the lawn running. The crowd thinned out about halfway to the jungle. Just when she thought they were going to make it, something slammed into her back, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her feet flew out from under her as she fell forward, an involuntary scream caught in her throat. Her back was on fire, agony ripping through every nerve. Reflexively, her hands shot out to protect her from the fall, but she still landed hard. Glancing over his shoulder, Reardon saw her go down and he slid to a stop so fast he ended up on his ass.

  Pushing against her hands, Haven struggle to get back up—there was only about fifty yards to go to the safety the jungle and armed operatives would provide—but she couldn’t make her feet and legs obey her brain’s commands. What the fuck? It took a moment for it to register that she couldn’t move them. Terror coursed through her as she tried to deny what she was quickly realizing—it’d been a bullet that had struck her, and her legs were now paralyzed. Oh, God, no!

  Three

  T he wedding had gone from a celebration of life, and the union of a publicly-adored couple, to complete and utte
r chaos. The explosion had occurred somewhere inside the building, sending hundreds of people running for the closest exits. They were pouring out of every door and even some windows. Frisco hadn’t seen anyone come out injured, yet, but several people had fallen under the crush of the crowd. Women were crying and screaming; men were yelling and frantically trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Smoke began to filter out from the center of the roof as flames shot skyward.

  Frisco and the others hiding in the jungle ran through the list of those inside. One by one, the voices of Ghost, Fletch, Carter, Jordyn, and several other operatives inside the mansion came over the comms. They hadn’t been close enough to the blast zone to be seriously wounded, although there were some minor injuries. But others were still unaccounted for. The backup teams had yet to hear the Deimos geek and his female bodyguard report in, but with the earsplitting pandemonium going on around them, there could be any number of reasons why. There was no way of knowing if the explosion was related to the pending sale of the codes or something else altogether. Either way, it’d been totally unexpected. Unless the two main targets checked in soon, Sawyer said he was going to order his team to move in to recover them. They couldn’t allow anything to happen to either of them—if they were still alive.

  “Does anyone have eyes on Vixen and her boy?” the Trident team leader barked into his microphone for the third time in less than a minute, as he, Hollywood, and Frisco scanned the panicked crowd still emerging from the building. People dressed in gowns and tuxedos were pushing others out of the way, ignoring those who fell. Victims were being trampled which could be just as deadly as another bomb going off.

  Sawyer received a round of “negatives” from several operatives before someone Frisco didn’t know responded, “Boss-man, we’ve got to get those people out of there. The fire’s spreading fast.”