Code Name: Poseidon (K19 Allied Intelligence Team One Book 3), page 1
CODE NAME: POSEIDON
HEATHER SLADE
K19 Allied Intelligence Team One Book Three
Code Name: Poseidon© 2023 Heather Slade
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
CONTENTS
Code Name: Poseidon
Prologue
1. Poseidon
2. Oleander
3. Poseidon
4. Oleander
5. Poseidon
6. Oleander
7. Poseidon
8. Oleander
9. Poseidon
10. Oleander
11. Poseidon
12. Oleander
13. Poseidon
14. Oleander
15. Poseidon
16. Oleander
17. Poseidon
18. Oleander
19. Poseidon
20. Oleander
21. Poseidon
22. Oleander
23. Poseidon
24. Oleander
25. Poseidon
26. Oleander
27. Poseidon
28. Oleander
29. Oleander
30. Poseidon
31. Oleander
32. Poseidon
33. Oleander
34. Poseidon
Epilogue
Make Her Quiver
Code Name: Zeppelin
Beau’s Beloved
About the Author
Also by Heather Slade
CODE NAME: POSEIDON
A man of invulnerability.
A man of unfaltering power.
Poseidon is a force of nature,
protecting all who need him.
With a name like “Poseidon,” I’m feared on the spot. I come in like a force of nature, and destroy anyone who challenges me or hurts those I love. In my country, loyalty and rage runs deep.
I know my obsession with Oleander will lead to my ruin, but every touch of her naked skin against mine strengthens my addiction to her. She’s both bellissima and brillante, with a fiery passion and a commitment, like mine, to save the world.
My machismo makes me want to help and protect her. Her pride makes her resist. But if the filthy traffickers target her, my reign of terror will annihilate every one of them. Oleander’s life and heart are in my hands now, and nobody is going to threaten that.
PROLOGUE
POSEIDON
As much as I often wished I was the first person to call her Oleander, that dubious honor belonged to the commandant of the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst. According to my grandmother on my father’s side, the plant’s flower signified the complicated nature of love and relationships. Little did she know how apropos it was at the time. The commandant had bestowed it for an entirely different reason, one equally as appropriate—the plant’s extreme toxicity and ability to kill a human with a single leaf.
Oleander, given name Jennifer Smith, made no bones about her desire to become a trained assassin. Admittedly, I couldn’t fathom that as a singular aspiration, but in her case, even at the tender age of twenty-two, it was.
I gazed out the plane window, peering down at the cloud bank, wondering if, after six years, my current mission would finally bring Oleander and me face-to-face again.
I could remember the night of her surreptitious departure as if it were yesterday, as most memories one would prefer to forget often were. I rubbed my chest; the pain brought on by the recollection would never go away.
I’d fallen into a deep sleep that night, something atypical for me, with her warm body wrapped in mine. I woke hours later to a cold, empty bed and even emptier arms.
She hadn’t left a note. Hadn’t called. Hadn’t made any contact whatsoever. The one thing I was certain would happen didn’t. Oleander never came back. She’d vanished like the ghost she was. However, I knew without a shadow of a doubt she hadn’t been a victim of foul play. Instead, she became the ultimate victimizer, raining her own brand of terror on the evil-doers of the world.
God, I missed her.
—Oleander—
My commander at Unit 23, Typhon Marras, once told me many of those who experienced obsessions show a genetic predisposition for it. As in, it was in their DNA. Or that a chemical difference in one’s brain made them prone to the behavior. While being able to blame what some saw as a personality flaw on things beyond my control was convenient, I embraced it as a strength, even a blessing.
It was an obsession that led to my chosen career field. Namely, assassination. Something that was to world politics as chocolate was to me. I could function without it, but why would I put myself through such agony when the solution was so bloody simple?
My preoccupation, for as long as I could remember, was taking down AMPS—not that I’d been aware of the acronym until recently. While some weren’t certain those who hid behind the shell corp registered in Mauritius operated one of the most extensive and complex human trafficking rings in the world, I was. I could say with conviction that I’d never been more certain of anything in my life.
Taking them down, disabling every facet of their heinous enterprise, then killing the remaining leaders in the most painful way imaginable was my sole objective.
No one, however, knew the real reason I wanted to kill them. Not a single soul. Not even Typhon.
1
POSEIDON
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered to myself as I entered the lift at SIS headquarters. Between the time I got on the plane in Malta this morning and now, my anxiety level had skyrocketed. Why? Not knowing if Oleander was lurking around every corner I turned.
When Henri Marchand, the leader of the United Nations Coalition Against Human Trafficking, asked me to attend today’s meeting, I’d casually inquired who else would be in attendance. While he hadn’t mentioned Oleander, her name appeared on more than one brief pertaining to the meeting I was here to attend.
No one knew of our shared past. While romantic relationships were technically permitted at the Royal Military Academy, the amount of hazing cadets received when it became public was enough of a deterrent for most not to engage in one. Neither Oleander nor I would ever have been considered like most.
When I reached the sixth floor and stepped out into the corridor, I was greeted by a page who escorted me to a conference room where only one person waited.
“Kai, welcome,” said Ambassador Marchand, approaching to shake my hand. “The others haven’t arrived yet, but I expect them any moment. How are your parents?”
“Very well, sir. Thank you for asking.” Marchand, who was from France, and my father, an Italian national, had served together as ambassadors to the United Nations for many years prior to my dad’s retirement two years ago.
“I was very sorry to hear about your brother, Kai.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He put his hand on my shoulder. “I am very pleased you accepted the position of Maltese task force commander for our coalition. Human trafficking is the worst of crimes and the hardest to combat. The addition of your skill and expertise will strengthen our efforts.”
“Thank you, Ambassador.”
“Please cease with the formalities. I am Baissier to you, Poseidon.”
Regardless of his friendly tone and offer of familiarity, I’d been raised, as well as trained, to show respect for my superiors; thus, using honorifics was ingrained in me. Doing otherwise would make me uncomfortable.
Archer Alexander, the chief of SIS and whom everyone called Z, joined us in the conference room. “Hello, Baissier,” he said.
I waited while he introduced Marchand to Philip Kappas, aka Ares, the US task force commander, and to Kennedy Whittaker. Also known as Wren, she was Z’s daughter as well as one of the world’s preeminent intelligence agents.
While, on the surface, she came across as a harmless, genteel woman from Texas, those who knew of her career would likely equate her ability to eliminate so-called enemies of the people with Oleander’s.
Wren’s assassination numbers had never been confirmed. Whether there had been a handful or hundreds, I guessed international criminals spoke of the renowned woman in hushed tones.
“Poseidon, I didn’t know you’d be here. Great to see you,” said Ares, turning to me.
“Likewise. It appears we have our first coalition mission,” I said to him as we waited for the others to take their seats before we did as well.
“We certainly do,” he responded.
“Shall we get down to business?” suggested Baissier.
Z cleared his throat. “Ares, I’ll let you take it from here.”
He pulled out a brief, the contents of which appeared on the room’s screen. “As you all know, our intention is to mount a raid on a suspected human trafficking ring operating out of Lesovo, Bulgaria.”
Several photos of the compound from overheads, along with an execution timeline, appeared as well.
According to what I’d read in an earlier brief, Margeaux “Nemesis” Jordan had received intel from the UN Office on Drugs and Crime, suggesting at least one container of trafficked victims was en route to the port of Purfleet on the River Thames, estimated to arrive the following day. The intel had been correct. However, when the containers were picked up by semis at the port and intercepted by Nemesis and her team, the one hundred and twenty-four victims on board were found dead.
The two containers had different origins; one was traced to Lesovo, where the raid would take place.
“We have coalition commitments of support from Malta”—Marchand nodded to me—“as well as Switzerland and Albania. I am somewhat hesitant to reach out to Bulgarian law enforcement at this time. However, I am working with their intelligence sectors.”
“You’ll have whatever support you require from SIS,” offered Z.
“When do you envision mobilization?” I asked Ares.
“With all due respect, I am not the mission leader for this raid,” he responded. “Nemesis is returning from Egypt this afternoon. She has confirmed there is no reason to hold off in order to identify the origin of the second container.”
Nemesis, or Nem, as many called her, was the UK task force commander and someone I hadn’t seen since the last joint mission between MSI—Malta Security Intelligence—and SIS. It had to have been years.
“Was Agent Jordan successful, then?” Marchand asked.
“Yes, sir. It’s safe to say if we requested their support, Egypt would be happy to give it,” Ares responded.
I was intrigued, given there was nothing in the brief about her trip or her mandate.
At the meeting’s conclusion, Marchand stood, saying he was returning to France but was available for a videoconference when Nemesis returned.
“I’m sticking around,” I said when Ares turned to me after Z walked Marchand out.
“As you know, we’ve set up a command center in Shere.”
“At the Trace Estate, yes?”
Ares nodded. “There’s plenty of room on the property for you to stay, either in the main house or one of the guest cottages.” He pushed his chair away. “Mayhem and Hanadarko are at Café Porto. Shall we join them?”
Emmett “Mayhem” Gable was an old friend and colleague. I’d heard of Hanadarko but had never met her. Given I was famished, since the anxiety I’d felt over running into Oleander at the meeting had diminished, I was excited to meet them at the restaurant.
Like Ares, Mayhem was surprised to see me when we entered the cafe. “This feels like a reunion trip,” he said, standing and embracing me.
“And this must be Hanadarko.” I walked over to shake the beautiful woman’s hand. I could certainly see why Mayhem was as enraptured as I’d heard.
After dinner, Ares suggested I get a lift to Shere from Wren, saying he’d ride out with Mayhem and Hanadarko.
Before we departed, Wren asked me if I’d mind driving.
“Happy to,” I said when she handed me the keys to a vintage Aston Martin.
I didn’t know her well enough to ask; however, she appeared troubled and was quiet for the majority of the hour-long drive. In fact, the only time she did speak was when she rang someone. I gathered she placed a call to the caretaker at the Trace Estate when she asked the person on the other end to make arrangements to relocate the guests in one of the cottages to make room for two others arriving with a dog.
The intelligence agent in me wanted to figure out the mystery, but the man in me decided to leave it alone. I had plenty of impending drama in my own life. I didn’t need to take on that of anyone else.
Later, when I went to the kitchen to make a drink, I found Ares seated at the breakfast bar.
He raised a brow when I opened the cupboard where I knew the Traces kept their liquor.
“I spent a lot of time here when Cay and I were at Sandhurst,” I offered by way of explanation. While I was not a British citizen, I’d attended boarding school in the UK since year five and was ultimately accepted into the military academy, given my father was an Italian diplomat. I held up the bottle of bourbon I’d found. “Fancy a cocktail?”
He scrubbed his face with his hand. “I’ll pass, but thanks.”
“I’m curious about Nem’s trip to Egypt,” I commented, deciding bourbon on the rocks would suffice over something fancier. My eyes met Ares’ over the rim when I raised the glass I’d poured.
“I’ve yet to receive her brief,” he said with scrunched eyes.
“Are you concerned?”
His laugh sounded more nervous than amused. “Given who she’s meeting with, I would say concern is the least of it.”
I pulled out the chair beside him. “Who?”
“I don’t know if this name means anything to you, but Oleander.”
I masked my reaction to the name that had once meant everything to me. At the time, I hadn’t realized how much. “I know who you’re speaking of.”
He turned toward the window. “Even I think I’m an asshole,” he mumbled.
“Okay, mate, confession time. What’s really going on here?”
He studied me for several seconds before responding. I didn’t allow myself to even blink.
“Nemesis is in Sharm el-Sheikh with Wilder Whittaker, Puck Lindstrom, and Cayman Trace.”
I nodded.
“If she hadn’t gone with them and any one of them was meeting with Oleander, I wouldn’t give it a second thought.”
“I see.”
“Nem is…”
“You have feelings for her.”
He nodded like I had.
I reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “Most of us have been where you are at some point in our career.”
When his phone vibrated, he snatched it off the counter. I saw Nem’s name on the screen at the same time he did.
“Go ahead,” I said, standing and walking out of the room. Part of me was relieved our conversation ended as abruptly as it had. The other part knew that as long as he and I were talking, I wouldn’t be distracted by thoughts of Oleander.
At least, I knew I could stop worrying about her lurking around corners. She was in Sharm el-Sheikh. For the time being, anyway. If Ares believed she was returning to the UK with Nemesis, the conversation would’ve likely gone differently.
I rolled my shoulders as I climbed the stairs to the guest room I’d been assigned. I doubted I’d rest any easier than I had last night. Even if, strange as it sounded, hearing her name spoken by someone else had taken some of my edge off.
When I returned downstairs the following morning, I was surprised not to hear or see signs that anyone else was awake.
A few minutes later, as I was making breakfast, Nemesis joined me.
“Aren’t you a pleasant sight,” she said, walking over to embrace me.
“How are you, Nem?” I asked after we cheek-kissed.
“How much time have you got?” she teased. “I have to admit I’m quite glad you’re here. Especially since you’re cooking. I’m dreadful at it. Truly.”
Ares walked into the kitchen. “Something smells good.”
“Is she really a terrible cook, or does she just say that to get out of making meals?” I joked.
“I haven’t seen her in action since I’ve been too hungry to risk it. She also says she’s a terrible dancer, but I didn’t find that to be true.”
“Is that right? I look forward to experiencing it for myself.”
I almost laughed out loud at the look Ares shot me.
“Are you talking about Nem?” Cayman asked, joining us. “She’s a great dancer.”
