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.