Seek and Destroy

 

    

    

    

    

    A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

    IMPRINT: Erotic Romance

    

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    SEEK AND DESTROY

    The NASSD Counter-Terrorist Agency 2

    Copyright © 2008 by Allie K. Adams

    E-book ISBN: 1-60601-065-4

    

    First E-book Publication: September 2008

    

    Cover design by Jinger Heaston

    All cover art and logo copyright © 2008 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

    

    
ALL
RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

    

    All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

    

    PUBLISHER

    Siren Publishing, Inc.

    www.SirenPublishing.com

    

    

    To all those who have ever been labeled the brainy one, or the one with the 'great personality', you are all beautiful and this story is for you.

    

    To Dan, my SU, who I never thank enough for putting up with everything I put him through.

    

    And, of course, to MICOR. Without you, I'd never be.

    

    

    

    

    "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."

    "Yeah, yeah, yeah," David Snyder grunted as he belly crawled through the thick brush. He hated the jungle, hated the heat, and
really
hated Sri Lanka in general. After spending six months in Colombia and nearly getting his ass shot off, he'd had enough of overseas ops. And now, here they were on the other side of the world to take out yet another threat to his U.S. of A. "I still have a bad feeling about this."

    He'd committed the logistics for their entire op to memory-a mental gift that always came in handy while in the field. He felt pretty damn good about their strike path. But then Weber had to go and screw everything up by shifting the path at the last minute.
Again
. "Too predictable," he'd called it.

    He followed on the heels of Dan Weber, world-renowned super spy turned Western Region Director of NASSD. Being appointed to a director position in the counter-terrorist agency suited him. "It's just nerves," his mentor offered to ease David's mind.

    "Right. Nerves." He didn't usually let his personal feelings get in the way of his missions. But for some reason he had a very weird feeling about this one. Not weird, exactly. Eerie? No, that didn't even come close to it. He couldn't describe the apprehension filling his veins, slowing his motions.

    The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Something simply didn't feel
right
. "Weber?"

    "You'll be fine. You said this is what you wanted."

    Yes, he wanted his own op. And after Weber gave him lead on this one, he decided to tag along. It didn't piss him off, not really. Sure, knowing your superior didn't trust you enough to handle an op on your own would get under anyone's skin. But he also knew Weber. To say the guy had trust issues would be an understatement.

    He'd played back-up for the best of them, including Weber. Now in the driver's seat, his mentor came along to make sure he didn't crash and burn. It made sense.

    Bruised his ego.

    But made sense.

    David brought his head up just enough to see they hadn't made very good progress in the last twenty minutes. He knew they needed to stay low, but this crawling around in the rotting jungle didn't top his list of things to do before he died. The flies landing on his face and neck irritated the shit out of him. When they bit into his flesh, it really pissed him off.

    "You know what to do," Weber coached. "Once Khalil is dead, we'll go back to the safe house and have a nice cold beer. Let's brief one more time."

    "I know what I'm doing, Weber." They'd already briefed on the plan half a dozen times. Weber had been behind a desk for too long. He'd forgotten how skilled, how insanely precise the agents in NASSD had to be. They only needed to be briefed once, and sometimes they didn't even need that.

    "I know you do," Weber answered after a long period of silence. "This is so damn awkward."

    "What? Training me in your old role as NASSD Super Spy? Or the fact this is your last field op?"

    Weber stiffened. "Who told you?"

    "Your wife."

    "Damn it. JT doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut."

    David grinned. "It was only a matter of time, old friend. You're one of the directors now. A suit. You can't take on every psychopath waging a war against the U.S."
That's my job now.

    Weber sighed. "Right. Just remember what I told you."

    "About the bird? I figured the heat had gotten to you."

    "It's a metaphor, smartass. Do you even know what it means?"

    He wanted to tell Weber where to stick his metaphor. Another fly started to feast on the flesh of his neck. "No, and right now I don't give a shit."

    "Quit bitching about what you don't have and make due with what's in front of you. All this talk of bad feelings is not instilling confidence, my friend."

    "So I have a feeling, so what? Doesn't stop me from doing my job." He hated it when Weber lectured, especially when he happened to be right.

    "That's what I wanted to hear." Weber made the signal for silence. David flattened himself out on the ground. The fragrant smell of the rotting fauna wafted up into his nostrils. He started to breathe through his mouth after the overwhelming urge to gag caused his saliva glands to activate. They moved out from under the shaded shelter of the jungle and into the field.

    Jesus, the humidity alone robbed the oxygen from the air. Like he needed another reason to have a hard time breathing. He felt the heat from the sun melt through his Kevspa, causing the protective undergarment to stick to him in all the wrong places. The sweat immediately started to pool on his lower back, running down the sides of his waist. Shit. As if the flies biting into his flesh didn't already have him irritated as hell, now he had to fight the urge to shift and itch at the trickle of moisture every time it tickled down.

    He squinted against the brightness of the sun, stole a glance up to see not a single cloud floated in the sky. Of course. Sweat rolled down his forehead and invaded his eyes, causing them to sting and tear. His throat dry, he swallowed.

    Something did
not
feel right. He hesitated, the sense of unease causing his neck hairs to continue to prickle. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve to clear the sweat, he drew in an uneasy breath to slow his ever-quickening heart rate. His mind started to play with him, as if he didn't have enough to focus on.

    What if the op went south? His chest tightened at the thought. David and Weber were the only two within shooting distance of Khalil and his men. The rest of the team had been ordered to stay back and wait for the signal. If Khalil's men discovered the two assassins sneaking in to take out their asshole leader, they were fucked.

    Weber assured them all this would be an easy in and out. One shot and the bio-terrorist would no longer be a threat. The two of them would slip in, take him out, and slip back out without being detected. No need calling in the cavalry for something this effortless.

    Effortless?
Riiight
. He blew at a fly as it attempted to crawl into his mouth. Creeping through sparse cover in an attempt to remain undetected while the unrelenting sun blazed down, blistering their skin and dehydrating the hell out of them did not classify as effortless.

    Their cover had dwindled down to a few dried, dead grass blades by the time they reached the compound. Thank God Khalil and his men had spent all day drinking or they would have easily spotted the two NASSD agents dressed in head-to-toe black Kevlar and spandex one-pieces as they stole their way into their territory. Judging by the way Khalil and his men continued to throw back the contents of those bottles, David wagered they couldn't focus two feet in front of them, let alone fifty feet out.

    The grass blades poked through the Kevspa, irritating the skin on his front side. The NASSD-issued clothing deflected most caliber bullets, but were completely useless as protection against the elements.

    When they got back to HQ, he planned to have a little chat with whoever designed the protective uniform. Another hard twig nailed him in the neck. Between the grass, the sun, and the damn biting flies, his flesh felt raw. He caught himself before he raised his hand to smack a fly off his face as it made a meal out of his cheek. One move like that could blow their cover and get them both killed.

    "Approaching target," Weber barely whispered. The state of the art lip-mics they used picked up the sound of a flea farting in another town. They practically transmitted a person's thoughts.

    David acknowledged by tapping his lip-mic twice.

    They stayed low. Khalil and his men stood outside on the covered porch. In this heat? But then again, judging by the shack intel referred to as their HQ, he'd wager the place had to be twenty degrees hotter inside. Another thing to convince him they were all insane. Khalil stood in the middle of the circle, laughing and carrying on as if he had all the time in the world.

    
Times up, asshole.
David grinned inwardly as his insides bounced around like water on a hot grill, shelving his apprehension. God how he loved his job. The feeling of the blood racing through his veins, the exhilaration of locating and taking out the mark made every violation of the elements worth it. He wrote off his unease to nerves, just as Weber said.