Page 1 of Code Name: Typhon

PROLOGUE

TYPHON

There was only one person the dons of the two most powerful mafia families in Italy wanted dead more than each other: the man they were torturing within an inch of his life—me.

They’d captured me thirty-six hours ago, and in that time, I’d refused to divulge a fucking thing. As far as what I’d admit to the two men and their goons, I was a hired gun and nothing more.

I was taken hostage shortly after Gerlando Battaglia, also known as Macellaio, the head of the Sicilian Syndicate, put a kill order in for Valerio Scaglione, also known as Prince and the head of the Calabrian Syndicate. Then Prince had issued the same on Macellaio. While there were other hit men they could’ve contracted, and probably had, both men called upon me to take out the other. When the orders arrived in such close succession, I wondered about their validity, but I could hardly question either of them.

Infiltrating both syndicates by going undercover as a contract assassin meant I walked the thinnest of lines. As the commander of the UK’s most elite and deadly team, Unit 23, I’d assigned myself the task I knew was fraught with more danger than any other mission I’d undertaken in my career.

That it came in the wake of me falling head-over-heels in love was, in a word, tragic.

I’d sworn, vowed, given my oath to die not just for my country, but for freedom throughout the world. When my time came—which may be within a few hours—I prayed I could show the same courage and bravery the man I considered my mentor had when he died in action.

I kept my head down and eyes closed, feigning sleep—not that it would stop them—when I heard the now-familiar sound of a creaking door opening. It meant my captors had returned with yet another instrument of torture designed to make me succumb and confess all I never would, regardless of what they did to me.

My head sprang up, and my eyes opened wide when what I heard instead of their jeers was gunfire. Several rounds of it.

1

TYPHON

TWO YEARS PRIOR

When 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.

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