Page 3 of Code Name: Typhon

“Your intransigence may result in Unit 23 being at odds with the rest of SIS. You wouldn’t want other missions compromised due to your unwillingness to cooperate,” I said rather than admit my impatience.

“Understood,” she said, sighing.

I ended this call the same way I did all others with members of my team. “Stay alive, Oleander. You’re needed here.”

After disconnecting the feed, I sent a message, saying a car service was waiting to transport her to Shere. Seconds later, her brief appeared on the secure server, and in it was the first photo any of us had seen of Mithras.

Game on.

2

ELIZA

While the University of Edinburgh had one of the best fine art programs in the UK, it was only one of the reasons I chose to apply there when I was seeking my undergrad degree. It was its distance from London I found most attractive.

My parents could be overbearing. My father, in particular, and I wanted to put as many miles as I could between us, albeit without leaving the UK.

I went on to pursue a master’s degree, then accepted a job as an adjunct professor—much to my parents’ dismay. As their only child, Nigel and Millicent, as I’d begun referring to them, expected me to be at their constant beck and call. I’d placated them with the assurance I was but a ninety-minute flight away should they truly need me.

Today, I received a message from Niven St. Thomas, my only living relative other than them. His mother was my father’s sister, and given he was also an only child, the two of us had been close since we were children.

Something to discuss. Are you available?

Level of urgency? I asked.

Not immediate.

I’d been feeling out of sorts of late, and a trip to London might be the very thing I needed. I was able to get a flight, arriving early evening, and when I landed, I called him.

“You’ve no idea how good it is to hear your voice,” he said.

“I decided to be spontaneous. Meet me at the pub?”

“Would that I could see you tonight, but I’m afraid I have a houseguest.”

“Intriguing. A woman, perhaps?”

“Yes, luv.”

“You said there was something you needed to discuss.”

“Right. I’ll do my best to get away tomorrow. Earlier in the day would be better, but I’ll see if I can figure out a way to meet you for dinner. Soon, I promise.”

“I’ll book a room, then. Miss you, Niv.”

“Yes, luv, I miss you too.”

When in town, I usually stayed with Niven, not that I couldn’t afford to stay elsewhere. I didn’t earn much as an adjunct, nor did I from my art—sculpture specifically, which could be described as more of a hobby than a career—but I had other funds to fall back on.

My grandparents on my father’s side had established an irrevocable trust fund on my behalf that left me flush with cash. More than I could spend in a lifetime. The other thing I’d inherited was a three-bedroom flat in Mayfair. While I could live there, there were two reasons I didn’t. First, the aforementioned required distance from my parents. Second, renting it out earned me upwards of ten thousand pounds a month.

The trust was yet another bone of contention with my father, who hadn’t received anything from his parents when they passed. He insisted he had no idea why and was particularly irked when I refused to “share the wealth,” so to speak.

The decision to do so or not wasn’t mine to make. That fell on the shoulders of the trustee, a solicitor who also managed a similar trust on behalf of Niven.

From what I could tell, not that either of my parents shared information regarding their finances with me, they lived a very comfortable life. Their flat was twice the size of mine, and they entertained lavishly, particularly so since my dad had been appointed the UK’s foreign secretary.

Feeling like spoiling myself for a night, I booked a suite at Claridge’s and, after checking in, grabbed a bite to eat at the Fumoir. I preferred its quiet intimacy over the main bar.

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