Javier (Alpha Heroes #12)

Chapter One

Javier

As missions went, my infiltration hadn’t been a breeze, but I did all right until I topped the hill. Surrounded by the tropical forest, sweating like a hot dog on a grill, I took a knee and examined the footprints in the drying mud. Small. Light. A group of women and children, coming up the hill and moving south. Damn the rains that had slowed me down.

Was my intel source on the move?

I’d come a long way and broken a ton of rules, not to mention countless international laws just to be here. After spending the night on the go, the idea that I might’ve missed my window of opportunity yanked at my guts.

Fuck, no .

I was damned and determined to get me some actionable intel out of this little field trip to Tango-land. It was go big for me, without the option of going home empty-handed. The safety of my team and the lives of three key assets depended on this mission.

I set down my machete and ruck, then identified an optimal surveillance spot behind a thicket of bushes. Carbine in hand, I elbowed myself between the low branches on the ground. When I got to the lip of the hill, I lay flat on my belly and wiped a sheen of sweat off my face.

The Nicaraguan jungle embraced me with all its suffocating power, wrapping its scalding tendrils around my body in an attempt to squeeze the life out of me. Even though it was still morning in late May, it was hotter than the devil’s ass crack.

The rainy season had just begun, and the air I sucked in by the bucketful was laden with water. No way my moisture wicking T-shirt was gonna keep up with the onslaught. The helmet and the tactical vest I wore over my BDUs didn’t help with ventilation. My cammies, designed to mimic the local military’s woodland fatigues, incorporated advanced cooling design features, and still, I felt like a well-basted turkey trapped in an oven.

I reached for the hydration hose attached to the bladder integrated into my ruck and swiped a long gulp. No sense in allowing the tropics to end my mission even before it started. My insect repellent barely held back the mosquitos swarming around me. They buzzed around my head, broadcasting their hunger. Best get to work before the jungle’s most vicious creatures ate me alive.

I clicked open the protective case of the BB-Tak mounted at the top of my tactical vest. My Tak was a private proprietary technology app that converted my cell into a mini mission computer. It provided integrated, secure, interactive geospatial tools for navigation and radio controls, and offered multifunction capabilities.

The Tak was fresh out of my outfit’s cutting-edge lab. The one I carried was an advanced prototype out for a test spin in the real world of special ops. A look down at the screen showed me my position on the 3-D map.

Right on .

I was exactly where I needed to be.

I pulled out my binoculars and homed in on the modest compound below. It stood in a small clearing carved out of the middle of the jungle. At the bottom of the hill, a few humble buildings anchored a muddy courtyard inside a rusty chain-link fence. No paint, just blocks stacked on top of crude concrete slabs and mostly metal roofs.

I identified the larger building as living quarters. Through the slats of the dilapidated windows, I spotted a kitchen, a medical station, and a row of deserted cots. Several closed doors obstructed my view of the north side of the structure, but so far, so good.

The second structure was open-aired. It sported a thatch roof, sheltering small chairs, rustic desks, and a few old-fashioned blackboards. A humble school, then. The third building was smaller than the other two. The aluminum louver windows were all shut and so was the door, but a wooden cross topped the roof above the entrance.

A church ?

The heathen in me protested the presence of the little church in the middle of nowhere. So far, the only creatures I’d spotted around the compound were the ferocious mosquitos and the pesky white-headed capuchins chittering excitedly in the canopy above me. Didn’t think monkeys went to church, but hell, someone around here obviously did.

The monkeys’ ongoing ruckus annoyed me. It kept me from being able to assess potential noises below. One of the capuchins pitched a nut in my direction. It bounced harmlessly off my helmet. After twelve hours hacking my way through the bug-infected jungle and traipsing over all kinds of terrain, a territorial monkey was the least of my problems.

“You little fucker,” I muttered before I donned my earpiece, activated my mic, and clicked on my comms. “Control, this is Green.” I kept my voice just above a whisper. “Do you copy? Over.”

“Green, this is Control.” The melodic voice of Mina Moses, my team’s cyber expert and comms specialist, crackled through the radio. “We copy. Over.”

“Control, I’m in position,” I reported. “Over.”

“Bravo Zulu,” Mina said— well done . “Stand by for Top Dog. Over.”

I waited for Mina to patch me to the boss. To assist and monitor my mission, she’d piggybacked on one of the CIA’s spy satellites. In her own words, she’d “borrowed” the thing so we could “stay in touch.” Yeah, that’s what happened when your team’s cyberwarrior-in-chief was also one of the world’s top hackers.

“Green, this is Top Dog.” My boss’s low, crisp voice hijacked the airwaves. “What do you see? Over.”

“Not a hell of a lot.” I scanned the site below me again. “A small compound. Recently abandoned. Footprints. A day or two old. Gotta go down there, take a look. Over.”

“Be advised, the satellite is about to move on,” the boss reminded me. “Over.”

I suppressed a snarky retort and went with the standard, “Copy that, Top Dog.”

It aggravated me to no end that my boss thought he had to babysit me every step of the way. Talk about micromanaging my mission. Then again, he had reasons. I got a hold of my hothead before I went and proved his point.

“I’m keeping track of my comms windows.” I reported in my most professional tone. “You ain’t got no rookie on the ground. I’m not gonna screw this one up. Over.”

“Just going down the checklist,” he replied briskly. “Make sure you set up for your next comms window.”

I rolled my eyes even as I double checked the time for my next comms rendezvous and confirmed I had it flagged. My boss, the legendary Marine Raider Dashiell Dagger—aka Omega—was a stickler for details.

“Any new intel on our subject?” the boss demanded. “Over.”

“That’s a negative.” It sucked, but this was my current status. “Over.”

“Should you pack out then?” His question was nearly a command. “Over.”

“No, negative, not yet.” I made a conscious effort to smooth out my voice and conceal my frustration. “I’ve got a job to do and I’ll do it. You just gotta let me do it. Over.”

“Stand by,” Dagger ordered. “Over.”

“Copy that,” I replied before Dagger clicked off.

The silence in the airwaves announced Omega was reassessing the situation, reviewing the mission’s specs, and processing my lack of real progress.

Goddammit .

I picked up my binos and reassumed my surveillance mode. I was no quitter. Even though I was at the top of my infil time window, I’d made it to my destination Scot-free. I wanted to have a go at this. I needed this chance at success.

A couple of months ago, Dagger had become the lead of Battle Brothers’ newest operational team. Battle Brothers—BB for short—was a highly successful startup founded by the Battleson brothers and based out of Denver. To the outside world, BB designed and sold smart outdoor gear, but there was a lot more concealed behind its co-op retailing front.

A hell of a lot more.

BB was one of the world’s finest global security firms, staffed by special operators who tackled private missions no one else wanted to touch, not even with a ten-foot pole. For reasons that boggled my mind, Dashiell Dagger had recruited me to join his new squad—Tracker Team.

I’d accepted because, let’s face it, I’d been in jail at the time and unable to make bail. Dagger had paid my bond and gotten me back into the fight. He’d financed my defense so that the misdemeanor charges of public intoxication, assault, and disorderly conduct were dropped. Why he’d done all that, I wasn’t sure.

Charity maybe?

I ground my teeth and squinted into the lenses. My pride was opposed to charity and altruism stuck in my craw. Sure, I was a fucked-up hothead these days, but I’d been good at my job before I screwed up. I’d been among the best. My last active-duty mission might’ve wrecked my life as I knew it, but it hadn’t erased my skills.

At least, I hoped it hadn’t.

I was about to find out, if I got a fucking chance. Blinking the sweat off my eyelids, I continued to scan the compound while awaiting Omega’s verdict.

My new job was a blessing. It paid extremely well, kept me busy, and grounded me in the present, an improvement over wallowing in my shitty past. My new job was also a curse. Omega ran a tight ship, and Micah Bozeman, his second in command, was always on my ass. Still, I was thrilled to be back in the field. It wasn’t like I knew how to do anything other than fight like hell anyway.

Until Dagger made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, I’d been floating from one stupid job to another, from one bar fight to the next. Not the best use of my time, but it wasn’t as if I’d had a lot of offers.

Tick-tock, tick-tock .

Every second that passed meant Omega was reluctant to let me do my thing.

I was a surly, feisty, arrogant piece of shit with authority issues, a cracked ego, and a monumental fuckup on my record. I also had a debt I needed to repay. Someone had died under my watch, someone I respected and cared about. Three years later, I was still wrestling with the clusterfuck and unable to shake off the memories of the day it all went to shit.

Yeah, I was no shiny penny, no winner winner chicken dinner. Pretty much every other operator at Tracker Team would’ve been a better choice than me. And yet I’d been selected for this complex, priority one mission.

I’d almost asked for a pass. Then Goddess baked me chocolate chip cookies, sat me down in the tearoom at Astor House’s posh conservatory, and asked me kindly to accept the mission.

Goddess had asked me .

Goddess—real name Athena Astor—was my boss’s partner and the love of his life. She was also the firstborn daughter of billionaire Richard Astor, recently deceased. Thena, as she insisted we call her, was in charge of managing her family’s ginormous fortune. She’d become my friend through the twists and turns of our last mission, which ended when we fought off her killers.

The shitshow had been Tracker Team’s first official mission. It had also come dangerously close to being our last. In the end, we’d emerged on the breathing side of the fight. We’d struck a deep blow to our enemy—a shady global mafia known to the intelligence community as the New World Order.

Unfortunately, the fucker at the top of that pyramid had kept his head. The SOB had made it very clear to all involved he wasn’t done, and neither was his mysterious beef with the Astor family. For reasons that were not entirely clear yet, he intended to exterminate Richard Astor’s offspring from the planet.

It was this threat that made Goddess ask for my help. Somehow, she was sure I was the right man for this job. I had no idea why. I was screwed up, but I wasn’t stupid. The gleam in her pearl-colored eyes left me wondering if she knew stuff I didn’t.

I couldn’t say no to Goddess. It just wasn’t done. So, here I was, hacking my way through the jungle, trying not to get detected, or worse, killed on arrival.

A one-man scouting mission was the safest, fastest way to verify the intel we had, but infiltrating a totalitarian government hostile to the United States came with high risks. The autocrat who ran this place would love to trap and parade a Marine Raider like me through the international press circus before he imprisoned me for life, or better yet, tortured and killed me.

No fucking way was I gonna embarrass my team, my country, or myself by getting caught. This mission meant everything to my crew, my future, and my sanity. That last one was my dirty little secret. Bottom line? This was my one chance to prove to the whole fucking world that I wasn’t a complete and total screwup.

“Green, this is Top Dog.” The boss’s voice crackled in my ear. “Do you copy? Over.”

Talk about keeping this ape waiting.

I clicked on my mike. “Top Dog, this is Green. I copy. Over.”

“You’re a go to take a look,” Dagger said. “A quick look. Do not get caught or killed. That’s an order. Over.”

“Copy that.” I was so goddamn relieved he hadn’t pulled me out that I might have done a little jig if I wasn’t in stealth mode.

“Green, this is Control.” Mina came on the radio, her voice high and fast. “Be advised. Live satellite images are showing a government truck loaded with armed personnel heading your way. Do you copy? Over.”

“Copy that, Control.” I lifted my binos and scoured the road all the way to the distant horizon. Nothing yet. As far as I knew, nobody had a clue I was here.

“Any chatter?” I asked.

“Stand by,” Mina said.

“Green, this is Top Dog.” The boss sounded even more curt now. “Have you been detected?”

“Negative, Top Dog.” Why were there government troops heading my way? “Unless your comms are compromised? Over.”

“We’ll run another check,” Dagger said. “Control reports that chatter is related to the government’s decision to expel religious groups out of the country. Any stragglers will be thrown in prison. Or killed. Over.”

Shit .

The resident dictator had never been kind to religious freedom. His latest whim complicated my mission. Well, at least they hadn’t discovered I was on the ground… yet.

Snap out of that pathetic mindset, Marine. You will not fail this time around.

“Control, this is Green.” I searched the road with my binoculars again. “Government truck. Head count? Over.”

“Estimating about twenty soldiers,” Mina said. “Over.”

“ETA?” I asked. “Over.”

“Because of the rains yesterday, the road’s barely passable. You’ve got...” The clicks of Mina’s keyboard echoed over the airwaves. “Fifty to sixty mikes, give or take. Over.”

“Green, this is Top Dog,” the boss spat. “Pull out. I repeat, pull out. I want you out of there now, way before the troops arrive. Do you copy? Over.”

Dashiell Dagger was one of the gutsiest, bravest warriors I knew. He was also highly motivated to accomplish this mission. If he wanted me to pull out, he had a good reason to believe the danger was imminent. I trusted him with my life.

But then again, he wasn’t boots on the ground and the back of my neck was buzzing like a hive of wasps. My instincts told me there was something worth the gamble down there. The clicking of a pair of invisible dice rattling in their cup echoed in my head.

Go or no-go?

Hell, I didn’t see the need to waste all the resources we’d invested in this mission to get me to this point. Fifty to sixty mikes were an eternity to a special operator like me. I could sneak downhill, sniff around the compound, get me some solid intel, and hoof it out way before the damned soldiers arrived.

The clatter of my imaginary dice got louder.

I had a lot of character flaws. Some were ingrained. Some were temporary. Insubordination came and went, but I only relied on it when it was absolutely necessary. Following my instincts, I decided that scouting the compound below was a necessity.

The boss would be livid with me if anything went sideways. He’d give me the ass-chewing of a lifetime for going on independent study. But if my instincts were on point and I came back to base with my mission accomplished, the ass-chewing would be well worth it.

“Control, Top Dog, do you copy?” Reaching back and strumming my antenna, I fudged with the channel, sending a whole lot of white noise their way, knowing the satellite would be out of range in less than ten seconds. “If you can hear me, I do not copy. I repeat. I do not copy. I’m Charlie Mike—” Continue mission . “Will make contact at the next check-in. Green out.”

I powered down my SATCOM capability. Yep. I was gonna take a look the Texas way. Better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission .

As I signed off, I caught a hint of movement down in the compound. I flattened even lower to the ground and squinted down the hill. I lifted my binos and worked the glasses.

Sure enough, a woman wearing a fluttering black robe and an equally dark veil came out of one of the back rooms. As she stepped out of the housing quarters, she hooked a cloth bag over her shoulder. The handle of a folded umbrella stuck out from it. She also led an identically dressed companion by the elbow.

I added magnification to the lenses. The first woman was short and stocky. Beneath the veil, her face was surrounded by a white band, a cowl, and guimpe. She must be hotter than a stolen tamale in that outfit. Even from afar, I spotted a map of wrinkles etching her skin. The other woman was also no spring chicken. She was taller, thinner, with a long face, a bony nose, and a careful stride.

My mother, bless her soul, had ensured that, despite my lack of desire, motivation, and cooperation, I’d attended Catholic school as a kid. I’d been far from a stellar pupil, but at least I knew what I was looking at. I might be a lapsed altar boy, but I understood that the women encased in their penguin suits were nuns, members of some religious order or another, and that they were stragglers on their way out of the compound.

They still had plenty of time to melt into the jungle before the soldiers arrived. That is, if they didn’t suffocate in their habits. Judging by the footprints I’d detected at the top of the hill, the rest of their brethren had already left with the kids they obviously served in this remote little outpost. After the government’s decree, they probably suspected soldiers would be coming.

Come on, ladies. I worked my jaw. Get the hell out of there .

Irritation burned in my gut when the women lingered. What the fuck were they waiting for? I watched with growing concern as the taller one unfolded a cane and waved it over the uneven ground. She was visually impaired. Even though she seemed very capable, she and her companion stood there, talking among themselves, as if waiting for something.

My orders were simple: infil, confirm intel, and exfil. I was to stick to my mission and avoid contact with the locals. If the nuns left soon, I still had a chance to go down there. If not, I might be shit out of luck. Might as well position myself closer for a quick in and out.

With the dice still rattling in my head, I set my mission watch for a fifty-mike countdown before I tucked my binos in my tactical vest, donned my ruck, and stuffed my machete in its leather sheath. Holding my carbine at the low ready, I began my descent, placing my feet carefully, stealing silently through the jungle, keeping my eye on the women below.

I was halfway down the hill when the doors of the church flew open. A third woman ran out. Finding cover behind a cluster of ferns, I studied the newcomer from a distance. She locked the door to the little church before she whirled around.

With my naked eye, I couldn’t make out her features, but she carried a small pink backpack and wore a dark blue jumper over a white shirt, and a short veil that fluttered just above her shoulders. Her crisp, fast motions and her lean, sprite figure indicated she was younger than the other two, maybe even a kid. She was delicately constructed and of average height, around five-five or so, but beneath the shapeless jumper, I spotted hints of athleticism in her strides.

She was what we used to call a “little nun” in elementary school, a novice, learning the ropes. In her hands, she held a small pewter bowl. I’d been an extremely reluctant altar boy, but between stealing the wine, beating up your run-of-the-mill-bullies, and kicking the odd pedophile priest in the nuts, I’d learned some shit. The little vessel the novice held was used to store the consecrated wafers central to Catholic communion.

Why the hell would someone risk torture and death for crap like that was beyond me, but hey, it was what it was.

“The key gave me some trouble, but I was able to unlock the tabernacle.” The novice’s voice rang musically in the clearing. She quickly stowed the bowl in her pack before sliding it onto her back.

The heathen in me swallowed a snicker. I was sick and tired of watching people die all over the world because some god or another demanded things should be his way or the highway. A mean and vengeful god was behind every conflict I’d ever fought in. My lack of faith extended from gods to the humans who believed in them.

As if the universe had punished me for my irreverent thoughts, my situation suddenly went to shit. Movement at my three o’clock. I lifted my carbine, pressed the butt against my cheek, and, switching off my safety, squinted into my scope.

Several figures silently snaked their way down the adjacent hill, undetectable to the nuns below. They moved fast and with purpose. They hadn’t noticed my presence yet. I counted as four reasonably skilled, well-armed soldiers stole out of the jungle and paused at the corner where a vibrant bougainvillea crept over the chain-link fence. Concealed by the vines, one of the soldiers produced a heavy-duty wire cutter, and cut a rent through the mesh.

Fuck . I gritted my teeth. Here I was, with my hands tied by Bozeman’s no-contact rule. This ain’t good.

One by one, the men slipped through the tear and crept across the compound. They caught the women by surprise.

“On your knees!” one of the men barked in English, as he and the others surrounded the terrified nuns and cased them with their weapons. “Hands on your head. Now!”

The women bent their knees and followed his orders. The leader of the pack paced around them, poking them with his rifle, tormenting the females, cackling along with his shitheads whenever the nuns jumped.

Sons of bitches.

These guys looked greasy as fried lard.

Who the hell were these assholes and what the fuck were they doing in the middle of the jungle, harassing a trio of helpless nuns?

The soldiers wore decent gear, tactical vests, and proper camo, but they hadn’t bothered with patches or identifiers. Not government troops, then. There were a lot of free-ranging bastards in this part of the world who got off on raping, pillaging, and killing, but these turds gave me a different vibe, a more concerning one.

Instead of speaking Spanish, they addressed their captives in English. The leader spoke it well. I tilted my head and listened carefully. His men communicated in English as well.

The fuckers below held nice, shiny KLT rifles, the Iranian version of the AK-47. Homing in on their holsters, I also recognized PC-9 Zoafs, the Iranian take on the 9mm Sig Sauer pistol.

My mind churned out probabilities faster than it did when I sat at the poker table. The enemy Tracker Team faced had global reach. We had solid evidence that the Iranians were in with the NWO and that the latter bought hardware from the Ayatollahs. It all begged the questions: Were these NWO mercs? Was it possible someone had gotten a jump on me? Were these fuckers here for the same reason I was?

I needed answers, and fast.

“Good sir,” the short nun ventured, her voice thick with an Irish brogue. “If ye’re with the government, we’re aware we’ve been expelled from the country. We were just leaving now.”

“I can assure you.” The weathered-faced fucker-in-command sneered as he continued to circle the women. “We are not with the fucking government.”

Good to know .

“These two are hags.” He stopped in front of the younger woman, propped his muzzle under her chin, and forced her face upwards. “This one’s a sweet piece of ass.”

My blood began to boil and the jangle of the dice inside my head turned into an all-out racket. The only reason I didn’t shoot the dickwad was because I needed to know what this shitshow was about. Rules were rules, and I’d follow them—mostly—but in my world, women deserved respect, and protecting innocents was at the core of every mission we ran.

One of the other fuckers shifted nervously on his feet. “Let’s do what we came to do and get the fuck out.”

Yeah, spill your guts, assholes. What exactly did you come here to do?

“Is it her?” a third man asked.

The first dickhead grabbed the younger woman’s chin and scrutinized her face.

“Let me go, you big ugly thug!” She fought off his grip.

“Stay still.” He tightened his hold on her face and lowered his weapon to her chest.

I swallowed the growl in my throat. These mercs were meaner than a skillet full of rattlesnakes. If there was something that got the hothead in me burning, it was a male touching a female in anger. I delayed his execution, but only because I needed my answers. On the other hand, the turd had marked himself for an express checkout.

Dickhead’s shadow obscured the younger woman’s features. My angle to see her face wasn’t great, but I got a glance at her bearing. She squared her shoulders in defiance. Her body’s eat-shit-and-die posture was a challenge if I’d ever seen one.

That chick was one fierce little nun.

“Yeah,” the turd announced, releasing his clutch on her. “This woman is the little Astor princess we’re hunting for, or else she has an identical twin.”

ShitGoddammit .

I had my answers. These fuckers were NWO’s hired hands. They were here for the purpose of cold-blooded murder and, yeah, they’d gotten a jump on me. They’d almost beat me. Almost, but not quite. On the spot, my mission shifted from intel gathering and verification to rescue and extraction.

Never mind that I was outmanned and outgunned. Or that the government soldiers would be here in a few. Kneeling on the ground, dressed like an apprentice nun, was none other than Artemis Astor, nickname Missy, code name Angel, my mission’s primary subject.

A nun. Shit. A fucking nun!

It was the last thing I’d expected.

It was also fucking brilliant.

Dickface settled his AK’s muzzle against her forehead. She lifted her chin in the air, closed her eyes, and pressed her head into the weapon, facing her death with rare courage. A single beam of sunlight broke through the fleeting clouds. When it lit up her face, my heart skipped a beat. She looked like an angel on earth.

“It’s payday, boys.” The turd lowered his weapon and grabbed the woman by her backpack. With a brutal yank, he dragged her toward the school building. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun. We’ve got plenty of time. I’m gonna have me a quickie before we finish the job. Then we’ll kill them all and chalk it up to the locals.”

Hell, no .

You fucking losers ain’t gonna crash my party .

I threw my dice.

Already on the move, I clenched my jaw, scanning the terrain. From where I stood moments before, I didn’t have a clean line of fire to do the job properly. Silent as a ripple on a pond, I descended across the hill, stealing toward the hole in the fence. As I went, I searched for the right perch that would offer me the best angle to take the fast, precise shots I needed in order to save some lives and end some others.

I had a debt to repay, and this woman’s life was the only acceptable currency.

I’d found Missy Astor.

She was mine.