Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Protecting Vixen (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A SEALed Fate Book 3) Read online

  Commander closed his eyes for a moment. Cry Baby had never seen the Commander so agitated either. As a former SEAL, he’d ridden with them through every battle, gave them support when they needed, and a righteous chewing out when it was warranted. Cry Baby and his SEAL team had some of the highest security clearances possible. There shouldn’t have been a need to know that could be beyond them.

  “When the time comes, Heim, I’ll look out for your team. Trust me,” Commander told him. Heim nodded, but it was to thin air. The Commander had already left and the team sat in the command room in confusion.

  “Does someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Heim asked.

  “Think and clarify,” Hawk said. “Three years ago, Katya Spencer, then last name Anderson and daughter of Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy, was kidnapped out of Dubai and transported to Qatar by the ISIS cell run by Hakeem bin Mohammed Tahib.”

  “It took a week, but we were able to find her location, along with Matthew “Wolf” Steel’s SEAL team, and bring her back, along with other refugees,” Glitz continued.

  “Two years later, Akwasi Onwuachimba was reported assassinated while on a USO Tour in Kuwait and was transported to Bahrain. Six months after her capture, Akwasi got word out to Tex and we extracted her. Just two months after that Hakeem came to California to kill her within her home, after sending Intel on a wild goose chase that he was back in Dubai, but was eradicated at the scene,” Welsh offered.

  “And in between that time, on foreign soil, three SEAL teams have gone dark and eight more extended members have disappeared, with no news, bodies, or sign of what happened,” Cry Baby finished.

  “Correction, in the last five years, outside of the instances that you just described, there have been twenty-five assassinations, kidnappings, or hit attempts on the world intelligence community around the world, and you’ve only been looking at one facet of it all,” a woman said.

  Cry Baby spun, and came face to face with the bombshell trapped in the warehouse in the Balkans. She looked different, with her hair pulled back in to a puffball to the back of her head, black yoga-like pants, and a long sleeve black shirt. Her small feet were in black tennis shoes as well. Right then he’d describe her as small and fragile, her face a mask of indifference and slight marbling bruises for her time with Nestor. She ducked her head outside the room then back in.

  “Because I understand, now, why you went in there, I’m going to give you a bit of slack. Hakeem bin Mohammed is small fish in the pond, and you didn’t see it.”

  “Who are you?” Cry Baby asked.

  “Tiffany Cannon, SIS.”

  SIS, Secret Intelligence Service, or MI6, Cry Baby thought.

  “What does British Intelligence want with Nestor Ivanov?” Cry Baby asked.

  Tiffany shook her head. “You ruin my operation, you don’t get answers. The only reason I told you anything is because I found out that you were directly affected by the ISIS cell Hakeem masqueraded as leader for. That does not make us friends.”

  But I want to be. Cry Baby tried to block the thought from his head, but it sped through his mind anyway. Stupid really, when now wasn’t the time, and her job, typically, kept her across the sea. Still, it didn’t stop his gaze from roaming over her body. But the bruising on her face irritated him.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked. “Head to medical here, if you need pain medication.”

  Tiffany rolled her eyes. “I can take a punch, Water Boy. Can you?”

  “Dammit Cry Baby, she got you there,” Welsh said.

  When Cry Baby saw Tiffany look to him and then fight to hold in a laugh he closed his eyes and counted to ten. He was not going to kill his teammate. He was not going to kill his teammate.

  “Cry…Baby?” Tiffany asked.

  “Aye, he’s the baby of the bunch. Not grown in to those big ears yet, but he will,” Welsh continued.

  “Welsh, I’m going to dance on your grave tonight,” Cry Baby threatened.

  “I think you’ll need to worry about yourself, Cry Baby,” Tiffany said. “Who’s your team leader?” Her question cut him off from arguing with her. He felt the tips of his ears heat with embarrassment.

  “I am,” Heim said.

  “I’ve told you what I could, but if I can find out anything else, I’ll see what I can do. Can I ask a favor though, in return?”

  Heim nodded. “If I can swing it.”

  “Someone is getting their ass kicked for messing up my mission. Which one of you will it be?”

  Chapter Three

  Vixen

  “Come again?” Heim asked.

  DETAILS:

  Xavier “Heim” Spencer

  Former Marine Sniper, SEAL Platoon Leader, Lieutenant (O-3) of the Navy.

  Known Aliases: None

  Affiliations: USMC, Navy, SEAL

  Associations: Primary — Wife, Katya “Princess” Spencer. Secondary — Lieutenant Junior Grade (O-2) Viktor “Snake” Franklin, as a Sniper/Spotter recon team, joined with SEAL Fire Team comprising of Eric “Hawk” Standing, Oh “Glitz” Byung-Lee, Thomas “Welsh” O’Connor, and James “Cry Baby” Alvarez.

  The details filtered through her head. Tiffany never entered a battle without going through what information was known. Before she stepped foot in the briefing room the SEAL team’s information was cleared. Of course, their superior wouldn’t be aware of that, but Tiffany was always thorough, and never half-assed anything. She wasn’t quite sure, yet, how the SEAL team got access to who Nestor was, but it would become clear soon enough. There was a difference between military forces and spy work. It was the difference between a scalpel in the hands of a filed doctor, and one in the hands of a specialist. Both would work, and most likely the patient would survive, but the specialist would make sure the patient never had any lasting scars, as if they had never been there. The field doctor would care more about getting the job done. Tiffany didn’t think that the intelligence community could stand too many more attacks without it becoming public, and they needed finesse to solve the problem. It was time the SEAL team knew to back off, let her do her job, and they’d be briefed when it was all over

  “I said, someone needs to pay for ruining my mission. Isn’t it standard for SEALs to test another team with a physical altercation?”

  “Well, yeah, but—” Heim began.

  “Then test me. This is my mission, and I will see it through, without interference from you.”

  “And what makes you think we’ll do what you tell us?” Snake asked. The eyes, that must be why they called him Snake. Jeez, but the man was a god.

  “Because you don’t have a choice. You have been deactivated from this mission,” she told him.

  Snake leapt to his feet, his fist balled tight, and Tiffany slid into a fighting stance with her hips slightly rotated and limbs loose.

  “Who are you to tell us if we are deactivated or not, hmm?”

  “Didn’t your Commander just alert you to that?” Tiffany asked. All international resources would cease on this mission, outside of the SIS, while they interrogated Nestor for information on the ISIS cell in Qatar.

  “Last time I checked, you weren’t a SEAL, member of the US Navy, or even a factor on the radar. I ask you again, exactly who are you to tell us we are deactivated?” Snake asked.

  Tiffany swallowed passed a lump in her throat. The SEALs all stood up and surrounded their Second in Command, their faces void of emotion. Tiffany stood her ground. Her intel stood in good stead, and this was proper protocol with a possible mole. Someone, whether attached to this team, or elsewhere, was betraying their own. The security to this base alone validated her suspicions.

  There was no other explanation for the information that the ISIS cell had access to.

  She was willing to bet her life on it, had risked her life to tap Nestor and find out where it would lead her. Tiffany couldn’t trust anyone, and the less intelligence groups active in the case would allow her to narrow things down. This was a join force
decision, but this SEAL team didn’t seem to understand that. Were they playing with her, or had they not known the extent of what was going on?

  And if they didn’t, why hadn’t they been told?

  Popping her head back into the hallway, she checked to see if the coast was clear, and then approached Snake. “Are you the one I should fight then? I don’t trust you enough to explain a bloody thing to you, got me?”

  His nostrils flared and he studied her. Coastlines and countries didn’t make them so different. Elite trained soldiers and operatives had one thing in common, a life or death struggle cleaned up a whole bunch of stuff. In those moments, they learned who they could trust, who would have their backs, and who needed to be pushed out. There was more to this fight than a rumble to blow off steam and anger. Through it, lies could be ferreted, understanding gained, and, just maybe, an ally won.

  Lord knows, Tiffany might need one.

  Snake took a deep breath and looked over at Heim. Their glances filtered with thoughts too fast for Tiffany to read, there was no doubt the two leaders of the SEAL team spoke. After a moment, Snake nodded and then indicated Cry Baby.

  “He’s your in. Might be the baby of the bunch, but he’s the close-combat expert. You hold your own against him, then maybe you can sit at the table with the big boys.”

  Challenge and frustration colored his words. You know something we need to know, but we won’t just trust what you say either. She nodded, answering both the demand and the unspoken entreaty, and then spun on her heels and headed out the room.

  “Where are you going?” Cry Baby asked.

  When her gaze met his, a tendril of warmth skated down her back. “I’m a spy, Water Boy. I’m going to fight you like one.”

  “Be careful heading home,” Snake said.

  She couldn’t help smiling. This SEAL team was smart, that was for sure. Snake’s warning had been for Cry Baby, not her, and he was correct. Cry baby would find her at his home when he arrived, waiting, unseen, and ready for a fight. No need to tail him there, her network already provided the address.

  *

  Cry Baby lived the life of the cleanest bachelor Tiffany had ever seen in existence. He had a small, industrial-style loft home that she sort of liked, a lot. The exposed brick and wide window panes brought the moonlight or the sun in, but the special glass was made to only be seen one way. James “Cry Baby” Alvarez could see the world around him, but they couldn’t see inside. Hell, from the outside the place looked like a showroom. Tiffany wondered if he had special clearance to have a place like this.

  The GPS tracker she’d put in his car signaled he was still over twenty miles from home, and it gave her time to explore his home. He’d been driving in circles for the last three hours, probably trying to avoid her tail. It was pointless, of course. Before issuing the challenge, it only made sense to get her hands on every SEAL on his team’s home address. But he didn’t know that, and most tails would have given up after three hours of circling. His determination was admirable, if a little unnecessary at this juncture. Running gloved fingers of his surround sound system, she noted his lack of television. He had books galore in low, but deep, book cases and vinyl records. Correction, a ton of vinyl records. They still make these? But the player he had for the records looked upscale and more technical than ones in the old days, and it connected with his surround sound.

  “A man of reading and music,” she whispered. It surprised her, and it left her wondering how he got his name. Her intelligence only noted what the SEAL call signs were, but nothing about where they came from. How did he get stuck with such an ill-fitting name? Flipping through the designer gear in his closet, there was no doubt Cry Baby was far from some wimpy and snot nosed kid.

  He’d caught her attention in the warehouse in full gear, looking like death incarnate, and even more on base, cleaned of his war paint and in regular tactical gear. His hair was short on the sides, but a bit longer on the top, probably just making regulation. It was odd, to see similar chocolate eyes, hair, and features, like hers, but against much lighter skin. He was used to taking that back seat. It was apparent in the way he hovered on the sidelines and let Heim or Snake take point. But, while he’d been silent, he’d stay close to his leaders’ sides and the only SEAL who’d put himself in a fighting stance the moment Tiffany walked in the door.

  She could respect a man like that.

  Still, the mystery of how he got his call sign still rankled, and figured it might be something she’d get out of them during their upcoming brawl. A steady beep swelled in her ear, connected to the GPS, telling her Cry Baby was getting closer. He’d be here soon enough, and then the fun could begin. People outside of their elk may not have understood what was about to happen, and that was okay. It’s why they didn’t do the dangerous jobs. But if Tiffany was going to put her life of on the line and trust in a SEAL team based on their Commander’s word, then trusting him with her life had to be a foregone conclusion. Violence usually did the trick. Tiffany slipped into the rafters over his living room, pressing her feet and hands against the cool brick to stay in place, just as the front door opened.

  Game on, pretty boy.

  Chapter Four

  Cry Baby

  He smelled her the moment he slipped into his home. She was good, he’d give her that. He’d never saw her tail, and then realized that he never had one to start off with. Tiffany caught him with his pants down, figuratively, and it hadn’t tasted good to swallow that crow. But he had, and he’d come home. Now her light citrus scent just barely hovered over the old paper and vinyl scents that normally permeated his home. He wasn’t sure where the weak point in his security allowed her to come in. There was no forced entry on the front door, and none of the alarms had had been tripped on the couple of windows that could be opened. Tiffany Cannon was good, and that only intrigued him more. He’d found out what he could from Tex while he dodged her tail, but it hadn’t been much.

  “Tiffany’s a ghost,” Tex told him in his southern drawl. John “Tex” Keegan was a former SEAL that every man in Cry Baby’s team respected with the utmost care. The double amputee had received a CROW—Cranial Receptor Overhaul Wearer—in the last couple years, a prototype built for him, and could walk once more. He’d been working hard with Hawk to solve the mysteries of the Qatar ISIS cell.

  “No one gets by you, Tex,” Cry Baby told him.

  “She didn’t get by me either, just almost did. Other than the information given to you guys, I haven’t been able to get much more, except her codename: Vixen.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Okay, I’ll repeat: the woman is a ghost. I’ve got hints of thirteen aliases that can be hers, sightings on nearly every continent if I dig hard enough, and then I get a missive, signed with a bright green pen and the letter ‘C’.”

  “What the hell is that all about?” Cry Baby asked, confused.

  “C stands for Chief, and it’s the title given to the head of the MI6. The green pen is traditional. It’s authentic.”

  “You mean the Chief of the international British intelligence wrote you.”

  “Yeah, and was pretty nice about the threat. I was to “cease and desist any further inquiries into the status, placement, or validity of an agent by the name of Tiffany Canon, as there is no such person”,” Tex explained.

  “Why the hell—”

  “Because if there was anyone who could snatch my access to the world, Chief could be one of them. Think twice about having a tango with that one. Tiffany’s got connections even deeper than mine.”

  Maybe it wouldn’t be his best decision, but Cry Baby was never one to walk away from a fight. In fact, the secrecy surrounding Tiffany Cannon was like a red flag to a bull. Never put insurmountable odds in front of a SEAL, that was just asking for trouble. He wanted to figure out what made such a special agent like Tiffany tick, and why she thought their SEAL team could handle her secret, despite being pulled off the mission.

  Following his nose, h
e moved around the house, careful to remove his weapons and lock them in his fire safe. Then he tossed off his jacket and t-shirt. There was a to-fold reason for going half naked. One, he would have less material to grab and have used against him. The collar was the easiest things to use to choke someone out, and took the least amount of effort. No matter how strong you were, could fight the Sandman. Two, he wasn’t above tempting with a good view, and he wasn’t above a bit of distraction.

  He heard a whisper of a chuckle, behind and to the right of him, but had a feeling it was done it on purpose, so he held his ground in the center of his house, where there was just enough open space around that they shouldn’t bust up much. He shook his limbs out and waited.

  He didn’t have to wait for long.

  A knife whistled by his face, and lodged itself in the wall across from in. In the split second it took to watch its trajectory, Tiffany was there, falling from the air, and slammed into him. He rolled with her, but she had him locked to her with her legs wrapped around his waist, and punched him on his chin. He couldn’t reduce the entire strike, but he ducked his head and rocked with it.

  Movies made fighting seems long and drawn out, and the battlers had enough time to talk shit to each other while it was happening. That wasn’t the case. It was fast, brutal, and a battle of life and death. Tiffany didn’t pull her punches, and was a lethal fighting machine that could kill him if he didn’t fight with everything he was. That was the point. She needed to know how far he could go as much as he was testing her for the team.

  That in mind, he spun her toward the wall and slammed her into it. Her head rocked and cracked against the plaster. As her legs gave, just a bit, he used his elbow to land a blow to the inside of her thigh. It forced her to let him go, but Tiffany wasn’t out of the fight. Not by far. She punched him in the throat, a glancing blow that constricted his airway and he stumbled back to catch his breath.