*If you haven’t read the Universal Prologue, which is exactly the same in all the Sleeper SEAL books here:

 

 

Isabella “Banshee” Monroe straightened the short jacket of her flight attendant disguise before carrying a tray of neurotoxin infused coffees to the three passengers on the private jet bound for Islamabad. Dialing her features to relaxed, she embraced the cold, unfeeling, calm required to carry out her mission. 

Kill the men who financed Samir Al-Jamil, the mastermind behind recent school bombings in Iraq.

A coordinated ground attack was underway for that bastard and was not her concern. She was sanctioned to take out the Pakistani businessmen with ties to ISIS. They would no longer help front the movement. Today, she was terminating their business dealings.

Terminating them.

She lived for this type of op. Her specialty. Her wheelhouse.

Recruited over two years ago from the Marines to work for a government-sanctioned special ops unit through the CIA, Bella was the only female on a six-person team. Some missions required all-hands-on-deck, others, like today, were solo.

Her favorite kind.

“Here you are.” Handing out the drinks, she hid a smile as their conversation halted. A waste of time. She understood Pashto, and already knew about their plans to meet with a leader in Islamabad to turn over the three briefcases full of cash attached to their wrists. “Is there anything else I can get for you, gentlemen?”

One ignored her. Another shook his head, while the third reached out to glide his hand up her leg that was bared below the short skirt of her uniform. No doubt, this was the reason he’d hired a flight attendant for this trip.

“Yes, I’ll have you,” Heydar Rostami replied, his gaze as dark as his soul. Soon, his expression would not be so smug.

“Now, Mr. Rostami, you know I’m not on the menu. But,” she leaned close and winked, “for two thousand American, I could be.”

Smirking, he released her leg to fish a wallet from inside his suit coat, removed a wad of cash, and handed it to her. “Done.”

“Well, all right then.” She returned his grin and shoved the money in her bra. Playing with the jerks kept them off balance. “Just let me deliver the pilot his coffee, and I’ll be back to fill your…special order.”

Satisfaction increased the leer in his gaze as he sat back and remarked in his native tongue about the three of them introducing her to the mile-high club before he reclaimed his money. He didn’t know she understood every word, nor did he realize his words brought back memories of her childhood crush.

The mile-high club…

Once upon a time, when she was a teenager and naïve, Bella used to fantasize about her best friend’s older brother taking her in a plane…literally. A ripple of longing fluttered through her belly. Dammit. She hadn’t seen the handsome Italian in years, and he was still messing with her head.

And she was in the middle of a freaking job.

With a steady indrawn then exhaled breath, she buried the unwanted thoughts and refocused on her mission.

The guy sitting across from Heydar lifted his cup in a mock toast, and their laughter echoed through the cabin before they sipped their coffees.

That’s it, drink up, fellas, she silently urged, adrenaline rushing through her veins. They were making it all too easy.

A scowl rippled across the third man’s face as he glared at her through eyes so full of hate they appeared black. An extremist. Like the terrorist who killed her father. The reason she was a terrorist hunter. Bella took solace in the knowledge that someday, Rasheed Al-Zahawi’s dossier would come into her unit’s crosshair. Until then, she rid the world of the bastards one by one.

The need to remove the knife from her garter and shove it into this particular bastard’s stone-cold heart, shook through Bella’s fingers. But he deserved worse. Deserved the fate he already set into motion by drinking half his laced coffee.

It was already too late for the three men. By the time she returned from the cockpit, the neurotoxin would’ve taken effect and prepared the terrorists for interrogation before their demise.

Three down, one to go.

Back in the small beverage nook, Bella poured coffee into a cup, added poison instead of neurotoxin, then headed for the cockpit. She didn’t need the pilot alive.

Once inside, she closed the door and addressed the Iranian the others called Behram. “Mr. Rostami wants to know where we are.”

Behram rattled off coordinates putting them over the middle of the Indian Ocean. Perfect. Exactly where she needed to be.

She smiled and handed him the coffee. “Thank you.”

After flipping on the auto pilot, he took a sip. A second later, he dropped the cup, his gaze shooting to hers, fear and anger glittering in his eyes as he reached for the gun holstered under his jacket. Too late. Behram’s mouth started to foam, and in a heartbeat, his body slackened, and his breathing stopped.

He got off lucky.

Killing innocent women and children at school was the lowest of the low.

A modicum of warmth rippled through her cold heart as she slipped into the empty co-pilot seat and punched several buttons to change course, speed, and latitude to take them toward a carrier located eighty-nine miles northwest of their location.

Her rendezvous point wasn’t far.

Neither was justice for those who perished in the Mosul school bombings. She would ensure these men never financed another attack that took innocent lives.

Opening a small compartment to her right, Bella quickly calculated their arrival time and removed the satellite phone she’d stashed before the flight. “Operation Bird Bath on schedule,” she said, after contacting her commander. “Repeat. Operation Bird Bath on schedule. Meet at rendezvous.”

“Roger.”

The one-word response was an affirmation to proceed.

It meant no bogies in the vicinity, which gave her approximately eleven minutes to extract information. She hung up and opened the cockpit door a sliver. Enough time had elapsed for the neurotoxins to kick in and secure a captive audience.

A quick peek confirmed their inability to fight. Each man sat frozen, one angled unnaturally as if he’d tried to get up, another leaned forward slightly, with his cup halted in midair, and the scowling one sat immobile, one large hand crossed over his mid-section as if reaching for his holstered gun.

“Sorry, gentlemen.” As she neared, she dug the money out of her bra and tossed the cash on the table between them. “The kitchen’s closed.”

“What have you done to us?” Heydar’s tone was strained, like the other two men who were cursing her in Pashto.

The fun was just beginning.

With her pulse kicking up a few notches, she removed their guns and set them on a seat across the aisle. “Like that?” Turning to face them, she smiled. “I dosed you with a paralyzing agent, mixed with truth serum. It’s something a chemist friend of mine cooked up. But don’t worry. It’ll wear off in an hour.”

Of course, by then, they’d be at the bottom of the ocean.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you,” scowler man growled out, in English this time.

An image of the broken and bloodied bodies of children—half buried under the rubble of their demolished school—flashed through her mind. Even though she knew better, Bella leaned close enough for her breath to hit the monster’s face as she used his words against him. “I’d like to see you fuckin’ try.”

With a half curse/half cry, he spit at her. The very reason she shouldn’t have gotten close. Rookie mistake. And Bella was no rookie, despite the fact she allowed emotions to cloud her judgment. She jerked back, but it was unnecessary because his jaw was too stiff for good aim. It hit the empty seat across from him.

She straightened up and smirked. “You can’t even do that right.”

The vein in his temple and the one at the bottom of his neck pulsed to near bursting. He started ranting about her death and Allah, but Bella tuned him out as she headed back to the beverage station to retrieve a few more things she’d stashed before takeoff. A waterproof duffle bag, the backpack she never left home without, jumpsuit, headgear, and sneakers.  

“Behram,” the man across from Heydar hollered toward the cockpit.

She shook her head. “Don’t bother. He can’t help you.”

“You paralyzed him, too?” His raised tone echoed through the cabin. “How is he flying the plane?”

“No. I didn’t paralyze him,” she replied, noting a flash of relief flicker through his eyes. That wouldn’t do. “I laced his coffee with cyanide.”

Horror filled his gaze. 

Much better.

“You killed him?”

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Of course. But I waited until he engaged the auto pilot first.”

Technically, she had her own license and could easily fly the plane. Unfortunately for them though, it wasn’t part of her mission.

“What do you want from us?” Heydar spoke up again, eyes cold, face red.

Finally. Someone asking the right questions.

The fun she was having at their expense was probably a sin, anyway. But, considering the countless lives the terrorists they financed took each year, she figured her soul could handle another black mark.

“Simple.” Leaving her jump gear on the floor by the beverage station, she met his gaze and approached to set her pack on the table across the aisle from him. “I’d love for you to tell me what Samir was planning to do with the money in these briefcases.”

One by one, she cut the chains that secured the cases to their wrists, using the all-in-one tool she’d removed from her pack. Not a peep, an oath, or a sound was uttered. Unease trickled down Bella’s spine in a pinpricking sensation. She had a feeling the answer was bigger than the school bombings.

After shoving the cases into a watertight compartment in the duffle bag, she twisted around to stare at the suddenly silent men. “Come on, guys. Nothing? Time to put that truth serum to work. What was the money for?”

There was a lot of it. The cases were heavy. Apprehension joined the unease and pricked her shoulders. Whatever Samir had planned, it was big.

“Don’t know,” Heydar finally replied, in a tone too strained to be truthful.

Bullshit.

Forcing her breathing to remain even, she held her frustration in check and concentrated on digging the cell phones from their pockets, and the laptop from Heydar’s bag. With luck, the tech team would discover useful information on the devices, which, in turn, would point her in the direction to hunt more terrorists.

A quick glance at the clock on one of the phones she shoved into her backpack, along with the laptop, informed her there were seven minutes left until rendezvous. No time to waste.

After retrieving her satellite phone from the cockpit and adding to her backpack, she activated a tracking device in the duffle bag, before closing the bag and securing it with a zip tie. Since the money and devices were taken care of, it was interrogation time.

Embracing her job, Bella stepped to Heydar and bent to stare right in his face, noting dilated eyes and beads of sweat gathered across his brow. “Stop fighting the serum, sweetheart. It won’t hurt so much. Come on. Tell me, what is Samir planning?”

“Go to hell,” scowler man answered for him.

In Pashto, again.

She could use that.

Narrowing her eyes, she pretended not to understand. “What? Speak English. What is he planning?”

Heydar laughed. “Samir will make sure America has a reason not to forget your holidays,” he taunted, also in Pashto.

That’s it, boys. Tell me everything.

To continue with the charade, Bella clenched her jaw and slammed a fist onto the table in front of him. “English! Dammit! What is he doing? Who is he paying?”

All three men laughed and jeered as they spewed details in their native tongue, having way too much fun taunting her.

Giving her everything she wanted.

Idiots. It was surreal. Or perhaps it was the hand of fate giving her a break for a change.

Whatever the reason for the easy info extraction, she stored everything they told her in her head without blinking, even when they mentioned her hometown. But when the man across from Heydar said the name of the terrorist burned in her brain for over thirteen years, everything inside Bella froze. Except her heart. It rocked hard in her chest.

When she was certain they had nothing left to tell, she ripped the satellite phone from her pack, and holding the men’s gazes, contacted her boss. “Take Samir alive. Target is Atlantic City during the holidays. Two sympathizers already in place, prepping for Rasheed Al-Zahawi’s arrival. Repeat. Rasheed Al-Zahawi. They don’t know the venue, or the names of the sympathizers.”

If she wasn’t in shock from hearing the name of the man who’d murdered her father, she probably would’ve laughed at the shock trying to widen the prisoners’ eyes and slacken their jaws in their frozen state.

“Roger,” her commander said in a clipped tone. “Rendezvous in five. Out.”

“Roger. Out.”

Shit just got real.

Her fingers shook as she shoved the phone in her pack, and wondered briefly if the team on the ground had already taken out Samir. With luck, she’d gotten word to them in time. The monster could still prove useful to take down a bigger monster.

Today was the day.

Homeland, the CIA, all the letter agencies had waited over a decade for this scum to stick his head out of a cave so they could bring justice down on his sorry ass. As a hunter, Bella had waited over two years. As a Marine, she’d waited almost a decade.

But as a daughter? Oh…as a daughter, she had waited thirteen long years for the bastard to pay for killing her father.

“You speak Pashto?” Heydar’s tense voice drifted to her as she retrieved two parachutes from a compartment behind the cockpit and secured one to the duffle bag full of their money.

“Yes. And three other languages.” She kicked off her shoes, slipped a jumpsuit on over her uniform, then shoved her feet into her sneakers.

Heydar muttered an oath.

A smile tugged her lips. His aha moment. Sucks to be him.

Donning her backpack in front and the other chute on her back, Bella snickered. “I know. I’m a bit of a slacker. Still, you’d be surprised what you pick up when you hunt terrorists.” Winking, she grabbed her headgear and the duffle/chute combo from the floor and headed toward the emergency lever.

“Wait! What are you doing?”

She turned to face them and shrugged. “I’m getting off this bird. It’s going to crash, and you’re all going to die. There’s no pilot, remember?”

Okay, it was probably childish to taunt them back, but…damn, it felt good.

“But what about the autopilot?” the man across from Heydar asked, swallowing audibly while his gaze darted to the closed cockpit door.

She snorted. “Dude, autopilot flies, not lands. But it doesn’t matter. I programmed the plane to fly right into the ocean—after I leave, of course. So, I guess, technically, it is going to land,” she said, digging one of their phones from her pack to glance at the time. “In about four minutes.”

Her rendezvous on the carrier was now in two.

“Who are you?” Heydar asked, sweat now running down his face.

Shoulders back, she stood at attention. “Staff Sergeant Isabella Monroe, United States Marine Corps, but most terrorists know me as Banshee.”

Right before they died.

Adrenaline coursed through her body, heating the blood in her veins. Time to finish her mission. She grasped the duffle bag tight, then opened the door. The cabin immediately depressurized, and the plane tilted, causing the men to jerk out of their seats.

Holding onto the door frame, she glanced back at the screaming men. “This is for the Mosul women and children. Enjoy the rest of your flight. It’s gonna be a short one. Hoorah!”

With a salute, she jumped out, already eager to start her next mission. It had to be Rasheed. Just the fact his name was spoken, no doubt, already started chatter amongst the agencies. She yanked the ripcord on the duffle bag, releasing the chute two seconds before activating her own.

At the end of the day, though, Bella didn’t care who made Rasheed pay, just as long as he did. Obviously, she prayed her agency was green lit to take out the sorry excuse for a human. Her commander already knew if the file fell into his hands, there was no way he was keeping her off the mission. In fact, he’d already told her she was his first choice.

Unlike the police force and other agencies that didn’t allow an agent to work a case if they were personally involved, her agency embraced it. There wasn’t a weapon more powerful to bring down a terrorist than a personally motivated agent.

The ruthless hunting the ruthless.

Truer words.

If she was given the mission, nothing and no one would stop Bella from taking down Rasheed.