Undercover Infidel (Protectors Undercover Team One #4)

Chapter 1

CON

The amber liquid in my glass caught the moonlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my private office at Blackmoor Castle.

Zero three hundred was a wretched hour to be awake, yet every night for the past week, my eyes had sprung open at the same time with the same question—how did I miss that a woman I’d pursued romantically was actually the mastermind behind the most lethal weapons system since the atomic bomb?

That her body now lay on a cold slab in the SIS morgue did nothing to assuage the terror behind my insomnia.

She hadn’t been working alone, and we had no leads on her accomplices.

The intel we’d gathered suggested Tower-Meridian’s vast shipping infrastructure remained operational despite her death, which raised disturbing questions.

If Fallon had been using the company’s global network for her schemes, who was controlling it now? And what were they using it for? The company that had seemed merely suspicious in Sullivan’s initial investigation could now be the vehicle for something far worse.

I’d taken to using the sleepless hours when such thoughts drove me to a maddening level of frustration to exhaust myself physically.

Tonight proved no different. After a ten-mile run on the treadmill in my gym, I was more wired than tired, so rather than attempt to sleep again, I returned to what I referred to as my operations hub.

It was located in the underground level of my home’s east wing and was where I balanced my discreet information brokerage with the legitimate data-protection business that provided its cover.

I removed my sweat-soaked shirt and studied the endless stream of feeds on multiple monitors, pacing between them since my constant state of anxiety kept me from sitting for more than a few minutes at a time.

I poured another scotch, knowing it would only worsen my insomnia. After yesterday, I needed it. I couldn’t fathom that, once again, I’d be working with someone who infuriated me even as her presence affected me in ways I’d vowed a woman never would again.

Being teamed with Dr. Margot Sterling, MI6’s expert on cognitive warfare systems, felt like punishment, mainly because I had to concede—albeit only to myself—that she was damned good at her job. There were times when I’d go so far as to think she might be almost as good as I was.

I finished my drink and was headed back to the gym to do a second workout when a flash of red caught my eye.

“Bloody hell,” I growled when I noticed someone bypass my digital safeguards.

Instead of shutting them out, I watched in fascination as they navigated my defenses with unexpected ease, anticipating my countermoves before I made them.

On a hunch that the perpetrator wanted me to know who they were, I traced the intrusion, unsurprised to find it came from the facility I knew housed MI6’s AI-research division.

With a few keystrokes, I pulled up the CCTV feeds through the sophisticated systems that made my operations hub the envy of both government agencies and private security firms. The building appeared empty except for one illuminated office, where I could make out a woman with long dark hair and confident posture.

Just as I’d sensed who my hacker was, she knew I was watching.

Within seconds, every one of my screens but one went black. On the remaining monitor, the CCTV footage cleared and text appeared, letter by letter.

While almost as impressive as you are, your code contains a critical vulnerability, Lord Blackmoor.

The message disappeared, and briefly, a woman’s face appeared. She looked directly into the camera with a knowing smirk that quickened my pulse. Then she vanished, replaced by another message.

Your office at Blackmoor. 0900. And, Con? Do have a shirt on when I arrive.

When my systems restored as if nothing had happened, I poured myself another scotch and raised it to the screen in acknowledgment. Whether she could see me do it or not filled me with unfamiliar foreboding.

While no system was infallible, no one had gotten as deep as she had. Breach countermeasures existed for people just like her.

In Dr. Sterling’s case, her formidable intellect would either rattle my already faltering confidence or she would prove to be my most worthy opponent. Either way, tomorrow would be interesting.

The whiskey was a mistake. The throbbing behind my eyes confirmed it as I stood beneath the shower at zero seven hundred. Three hours of sleep couldn’t remedy the combination of alcohol and exhaustion.

I pressed my palms against the marble tile, letting the water pound my neck as I mentally retraced every line of code I’d written. Her intrusion shouldn’t have been possible. I’d believed every firewall and fail-safe was impenetrable. I’d designed them myself. Clearly, I was wrong.

She’d found a way. That “critical vulnerability” she’d mentioned haunted me more than the memories of Fallon Wallace.

Fallon. Chimera. The name twisted something inside me. I had been the quintessential fool to her duplicity. My expertise in reading people had failed completely. It was a humiliation I couldn’t tolerate repeating.

Yet now, another brilliant woman was challenging me directly. I couldn’t decide if Dr. Sterling’s boldness was refreshing or reckless.

Both, I decided as I shut off the water.

By zero eight thirty, I was at my desk in my study in Blackmoor’s east wing, dressed in a custom navy suit with no tie.

I’d chosen this location rather than my operations hub, where I allowed no one entry other than upper-level staff.

It was still equipped with impressive technology, but not my most sensitive equipment.

I wasn’t about to give Dr. Sterling access to everything after her stunt.

The gate cam showed a car approaching at zero eight forty-five. Fifteen minutes early. A calculated move to catch me unprepared.

“Nicely played, Dr. Sterling,” I acknowledged, watching her interaction with my gate staff.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek knot, and she wore a tailored charcoal suit over a crimson silk blouse that reminded me of the warning flashes on my screen last night.

Once inside, her heels resonated against the marble, each step deliberate as she followed my head of security through the main hall.

Rather than wait for her to be announced, I opened the door just as they approached.

“I’ll take it from here. Thank you, Bastion.” Daniel Fraser, who referred to himself as my “defense chief,” also served in an almost undercover capacity as my butler. The man was a former Royal Marine who’d been with me for several years.

I stepped aside to let her enter and noticed her perfume—subtle and expensive.

“Dr. Sterling,” I said, closing the door. “Most people request a meeting rather than hacking their way into one.”

She turned, taking in my study with one sweeping glance before meeting my eyes. “Most people aren’t dealing with the aftermath of Chimera’s betrayal and a weapons system that could redefine warfare as we know it.”

Her voice was lower than I remembered, with a hint of an accent I couldn’t place.

“And you thought hacking into my system would what—impress me?” I moved to the window, giving her my profile rather than my full attention.

“No.” Her simple utterance made me turn around. “I thought it would prove I’m not just another analyst you can dismiss or manipulate. I needed to establish certain ground rules before Typhon forces us to work together.”

Typhon—my commander at Unit 23 and the bastard who’d agreed to this arrangement with Sterling’s boss, Viper, the new MI6 chief.

“You’ve succeeded in proving you have technical skills,” I conceded. “Though to be fair, I hadn’t yet patched the breach point you exploited. An oversight I’ve since corrected.”

Her lips curved slightly. “Have you?”

The question hung between us, a challenge that stirred something in my chest. This woman wasn’t intimidated by my reputation or my title. The realization was oddly exhilarating.

“What exactly does Viper expect us to accomplish together?” I asked, moving to the bar cart near my desk. “Coffee?”

“Tea, please.” She took a seat without waiting for an invitation, crossing her legs. “She and Typhon want us to track down the network behind Chimera’s AI-weapons program, aka Project Labyrinth.”

I handed her a cup and took my own seat. “I’m already doing that.”

“Without access to MI6’s resources? Without specialized knowledge of neural networks and militarized AI architecture?” She took a sip, watching me over the rim of her cup. “You’re good, Lord Blackmoor—”

“Con.”

“Con,” she amended. “As I said, you’re good. But this is my field of expertise.”

Before I could respond, my private mobile buzzed.

“Excuse me.” I stood and moved away from the table. “Tag. What is it?”

“Nightingale’s been extracted from Syria,” he began. “They’re debriefing her at Station G now, and what we’re hearing goes beyond what was contained in the encrypted file she sent. Her background in cryptanalysis has enabled her to intercept communications tied to Labyrinth that others missed.”

Station G, our field office in Glasgow, was housed in a converted warehouse near the River Clyde. Established specifically for operations in western Scotland, it saved us the journey to either Edinburgh or Vauxhall Cross when time mattered.

Leila Nassar, code name Nightingale, was a highly skilled Unit 23 field operative. That Tag, who was one of my closest friends and a respected colleague, would reach out about the information she was providing in the debrief was promising.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” I told him, ending the call. After calculating the flight time in my private helicopter—thirty minutes versus a two-hour drive—I sent a message to my pilot, asking him to meet us at the helipad.

“Problem?” Dr. Sterling asked.

“Opportunity. One of our operatives has returned from Syria with information that may be relevant to Project Labyrinth.”

“I’m coming with you.”

It wasn’t a request, and surprisingly, I didn’t want to refuse. Whatever tension sparked between us—personal or professional—the mission took precedence.

“Fair warning,” I said as I collected my mobile and a slim leather portfolio. “Once we step out that door, we’re allies, Dr. Sterling. I expect the same level of transparency from you that you’re demanding from me.”

She approached until we stood nearly toe-to-toe, close enough for me to see flecks of gold in her dark eyes.

“Call me Lex,” she said. I couldn’t recall her actual code name as the shortened version was often chosen for brevity for someone working on complex AI systems. The full meaning sometimes became less important than the level of capability required.

“And I should warn you—I only infiltrate systems I respect.”

The subtext wasn’t lost on me. I opened the door and gestured for her to precede me.

“After you, Lex.”

As we walked to the helipad, two things rose to the forefront of my mind.

First, whatever those behind Project Labyrinth were planning would prove to be more deadly than any of us suspected.

And second, working with Dr. Margot Sterling would be the greatest challenge—and possibly the greatest temptation—I had ever faced.