Table of Contents
Blurb
Sneak Peek
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
By Connie Bailey
Coming in February 2018
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Copyright
Song and Key
By Alix Bekins and Connie Bailey
A Men from GLEN Mission
So-called monsters won’t hold these spies back!
For two secret agents on a mission to a secluded Romanian village, the toughest fight they face may not be against the folktale monsters lurking in the foggy mountains and old ruins, but against their unlikely attraction to each other.
Keller Key is the top operative at the covert Global Law Enforcement Network—and boy does he know it. Sexy half-Ukrainian, half-Korean Sevastyan Song is a close second. When the agents go undercover to investigate an old friend’s suspicious death, it soon becomes clear something sinister is afoot in the ancient forest and decrepit abbey. If an evil organization doesn’t spell the end of them, the angry locals might. But if they’re going to conquer their enemies, they need to keep their hands off each other and their minds on the case, in a rivals-to-lovers paranormal mash-up that gives new meaning to spy-on-spy action.
“We’re being herded,” Seva said after a few minutes.
“You think?” Keller clenched his teeth to stop them from chattering. “I normally have a pretty healthy respect for what a pack of wolves could do to me, but right now I’m flat-out fucking terrified.”
Seva nodded. “I’m also scared out of my tits.”
Keller barked a short laugh and an unseen wolf responded with a snarl. “Oops.” He giggled. “I haven’t been this scared since I was a kid watching old horror movies and still thought monsters were real.”
“Yes, it’s disturbing.”
“Disturbing. That’s a good word. Another good one is paralyzed with fear.”
“That’s three words.”
“Eat my shorts. Where do you think the wolves are taking us?” Keller asked as a charcoal smudge of a wolf slunk by on their right.
“This is so far outside the realm of what I think that I don’t even have a guess.”
I have always been a big fan of The Man from U.N.C.L.E. This is my homage to the genre.
This book is dedicated to Alix Bekins for giving the story its spark. – C.B.
And to Connie for inviting me to play with her toys. – A.B.
Prologue
Late spring, Carpathian Mountains, Romania
THE man blinked out of a half doze, took a deep breath of the hot, moist air, and slowly let it out again. The towel slipped from around his waist as he rose from the bench built into the plank wall of the homemade sauna. Though late middle-aged, he hadn’t let himself go to seed and retained the muscular physique of his military days.
He left the towel behind as he stepped to the door for the second half of his winter evening ritual. He undid the leather loop that served as his lock and then pulled the door open. Freezing air rushed in as he dashed out into the dwindling spring snow. He was headed for the nearest deep bank—some thirty feet away across the cleared area around his cabin—but he froze halfway there, his highly tuned senses warning him of danger.
One of the evening shadows under the pines detached from the gathering dark and drifted soundlessly over the snow toward the man. The slinking shape resolved into a sleek, dark-furred wolf. The man remained motionless; despite his size and strength, he had no desire to face such an efficient predator naked in the snow. The wolf growled and then broke into a run. Without hesitation, the man spun around and made for the cabin. To his horror, another wolf came around the side of his home and loped toward him. Left with no choice, he swerved and headed back to the sauna shed.
“God’s cods!” His breath emerged in a plume of white as he cursed at the sight of another wolf in front of the shed. The pack had left him only one avenue of escape, and he took it. On numb feet, he plunged into the trees.
Exhausted, chest heaving, he pounded on, herded by the wolves who moved through the forest like wisps of smoke. Living alone, he had considered the possibility of fatal injuries or freezing, but he had never imagined a wolf pack harrying him to death. His late wife would have a field day teasing him, if this was how he went.
Abruptly the man burst from the trees onto the bank of a stream. Though the wolves were on his heels, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of a man hovering over the water. The stranger opened his red mouth to display a set of formidable fangs in a snarl of warning. The wolves, too, stopped and sat back on their haunches.
No trace of amusement remained in the man, nor any shred of hope. The wolves surrounded him and above him flew a creature from ancient nightmares. His heart lurched, paused, and failed to start beating again. He took one step, then fell face forward, full-length, in the snow. His outflung hand came to rest in the frigid water, but he never felt it.
Slowly, the vampire descended, and the wolves moved reverently back.
Two weeks later, outside Bogotá, Colombia
AGENT Keller Key crouched low under the hail of automatic rifle fire as he raced down the corridor. He turned the corner, caroming off the opposite wall, and left another little surprise for his pursuers. Ahead of him was daylight; behind him were an illegal satellite-tracking station and a whole army of pissed-off mercenaries. Heedless of the three-hundred-foot drop that waited ahead, he dove through the opening at the end of the passageway.
The men chasing Keller stared in disbelief at the crazy man jumping to certain death. A moment later their stunned expressions gave way to shouts of fear as the first charge of RDX plastique exploded behind them. The tiny bombs detonated in sequence, growing ever closer, and they realized they had the same choice as the man they’d been chasing: jump or die.
Unfortunately for them, they hadn’t planned as well as Keller. As the mercenaries plunged to their deaths, they were treated to the sight of a gleaming Sikorsky Seahawk helicopter hovering dangerously close to the installation. Dangling from a rope ladder was their quarry. Silhouetted against the sun, Keller gave the hired terrorists a one-finger salute, his short, fair hair forming an unlikely halo in the light.
“You cut that one a bit close,” the pilot said in a faint Slavic accent when the daredevil climbed into the cockpit.
Keller offered him the charming smile that had made women—and more than one man—on all continents swoon. His amber-green eyes glowed with exhilaration. “I have faith in you, Seva. I know you’d never let the network down, no matter how you might feel about me.”
Sevastyan Song snorted and banked the expensive collection of whirling blades hard to the right. The high-tech combat chopper heeled over, throwing Keller into his seat. Frantically Keller grabbed for the harness.
“Buckle up, cowboy,” warned Seva. “This is going to be humpy ride.”
Keller glanced over Seva’s shoulder and saw a jet approaching fast. This is wrong. The enemy shouldn’t have been able to scramble that quickly. Keller knew he had been cutting it close, but he would’ve bet his life that the bad guys couldn’t get air cover up in time to make a difference.
In fact Keller had bet his life—and Seva
’s too. Keller couldn’t decide which would be worse: being blown out of the sky by mercenaries, or enduring Sevastyan’s gleeful “I told you so” if they lived. GLEN’s second-best agent could be a badger if he scented failure. Luckily the point became moot as Sevastyan pivoted the craft and thumbed the triggers of the air-to-air missiles.
“That’s gonna be one surprised jet jockey,” Keller commented as the smart rockets burst from their cradles and homed in on the pursuer.
“Hang on to your bat,” Seva advised, while Keller finished strapping himself into the copilot’s seat and pulled his gun.
Seva applied power, the turbines whined, and the jet helicopter vacated the area in a hurry. Behind them an enormous orange-and-black fireball blossomed and debris rained down onto the barren island. There was no further sign of pursuit, and Keller holstered his Glock before putting on his headset.
“It’s hang on to your hat, by the way,” Keller noted.
“You hang on to whatever you want to hang on to,” Seva said, one hand moving to cup his crotch. “I’m hanging on to my bat.”
“You’ve got a point,” Keller said, snorting. “Ridiculous and incorrect, but a point nonetheless. I don’t suppose you have a thermos of martinis on board? I’m pretty sure they’d be shaken by now.”
“Who do you think you are? James Bond?”
“That has-been?” Keller exclaimed, affronted. “Take us home right now.”
Seva smirked and made the heavily modified aircraft fly at a speed the manufacturer would certainly not have deemed safe or recommended.
Chapter One
Saturday, outside a generic office building in Queens
INSTEAD of having the mandatory two weeks’ grace after the tracking installation mission, Keller Key and Sevastyan Song were called into headquarters after three days. Neither complained or made excuses. Each acknowledged the message and set about getting to New York City as quickly as possible. For Keller this meant a cab ride from Manhattan. For Seva it was a longer trip from the west coast but he arrived at the appointed time. They met at the front of the seven-story brownstone that housed GLEN.
A century ago the letters had stood for the Gentlemen’s League for Endangered Nature, but the passage of time had dictated a name change. Nowadays GLEN’s press declared it the Green League for Environmental Nurturing. To most of the world, GLEN was a benevolent association dedicated to safeguarding the environment, rumored to be funded by guilt-ridden billionaires. But to a certain few in the criminal underworld, GLEN was the Global Law Enforcement Network, a clandestine international organization whose agents operated independently of other police forces—even Interpol. Originally formed in Britain in 1860 to combat a local threat, GLEN now dispatched its operatives to travel the globe to avert disasters in the making, both environmental and criminal underground activities.
Keller turned his attention from the foot traffic outside to nod a frat-boy-style greeting to Seva. “Any idea who might have sold us out?” he asked without preamble as he and Seva walked into headquarters. There was a minor jostle when they both tried to head inside at the same moment, both stepped back to grudgingly allow the other to go forward, and ended the dance with Keller letting Seva hold the door.
“Are you still making excuses about the mission?”
“I’m telling you they were tipped off. It’s the only explanation for how they got there so fast,” Keller insisted.
Seva rolled his eyes and matched Keller’s long-legged stride across the large marble-floored foyer and down the well-lit corridor to the bank of elevators. Neither spoke until they got out on the top floor. “Why can you not simply admit you miscalculated?” Seva asked.
“Because I didn’t. You know, Song, I am just as capable of making complicated calcu—” Keller broke off as he glanced at the reception area of Mr. Fitzroy’s office. To his surprise, the willowy figure at the enormous desk had a distinct lack of curves in the pectoral area.
The very proper Mr. Neville Fitzroy, chief of operations for GLEN, had the largest, most well-appointed suite at headquarters. He was an absolute martinet, an unrelenting taskmaster with little tolerance for inefficiency, and his administrative assistants seldom lasted more than a month. To Keller, it seemed like he almost never saw the same secretary more than once.
“Who’s the new girl?” he asked.
Seva’s rare grin turned his eyes into blue crescents as bright as gas flames. “You must be blind as a hat,” he said. “That is not a girl.”
As Keller and Seva approached, the young man behind the semicircular desk turned from the computer screen and rolled the flat keyboard out of sight. He reached for the two badges the agents held out for him, and automatically swiped them across the pad that activated the chips. Each area of the top-secret headquarters required a different code to gain entrance. Keller’s and Seva’s badges were set to all access.
Keller glanced at the nameplate on the desk as the new secretary clipped Seva’s badge on his black sports jacket.
“Mr. Fairmount,” Keller said with a cocky grin. “Welcome to the team.”
The secretary’s eyes were blurry and startled behind the lenses of heavy black-framed glasses. He met Keller’s gaze for a split second before he reached for the second badge. “Thank you, Agent Key.”
“You don’t have to be so formal,” Keller said, turning on the charm and ignoring Seva’s sardonic look. “Everyone calls me Keller.”
The secretary kept his eyes on the badge he was pinning to Keller’s red windbreaker. “I don’t think that would be very respectful, and I doubt Mr. Fitzroy would approve.”
Keller stared at the part in the young man’s heavily gelled hair. “No, but it’s certainly friendlier.”
“I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to work.”
Seva suppressed a smile at the look on Keller’s face when the legendary Key charm failed to turn on the new secretary.
“At least tell me your first name,” Keller persisted.
“Alexander,” he answered tersely, calling up the computer screen again.
Keller touched his fingers to the tag on his lapel. “Thanks, Alex.”
“It’s my job,” Alexander replied without taking his gaze from the screen.
“Well…,” Keller said. “See you around.”
Seva pulled Keller away by the elbow. “What is your obsession with seducing everyone you meet?”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Keller said. “Surely you don’t think I was coming on to that kid in reception. I’m just a friendly guy. I only ‘seduce’ people when it’s part of my mission.”
“Your talent for self-deception is staggering,” Sevastyan replied. “You might as well have been sucking him, dick.”
Keller slanted a look at Seva. “You should write that one down.”
“Please do not make fun of my poor English.”
Keller knew Seva could speak English as well as a professor of English from Oxford University, but he found it amusing to mangle common sayings whenever Keller was around. Keller didn’t know if Seva was trying to irritate him or get his attention. Then again, Seva was a genuine mystery, from his half-Korean, half-Ukrainian roots to the reason he’d joined GLEN. However, it was no secret Seva was contemptuous of Keller’s “fly by the seat of his pants” attitude, and Keller wasn’t exactly a fan of Seva’s rigid adherence to doing things by the book. As the top two agents at GLEN, they were usually team leaders, and they hadn’t worked together much as a pair until this latest mission. Neither seemed eager to repeat the experience anytime soon.
Keller cocked an eyebrow at his coworker and glanced back at the uptight admin. “He’s not really my type.”
“True, he does not have breasts like the Caucasus Mountains or a behind you could use as a flotation device. His lips don’t appear to have been inflated with a bicycle pump, nor is his hair a suspicious shade of gold. And most important: he is not dressed like a princess of the pavement. Indeed he is not your ty
pe.”
“Princess of the pavement?” Keller repeated incredulously as they entered Mr. Fitzroy’s private office.
On the flat-screen embedded in his desk, Mr. Fitzroy had heard every word and seen every gesture made by the arriving agents. “I believe Mr. Song is referring to what you Americans term a streetwalker,” the chief said in his dry-as-toast, upper-crust British accent. “A sporting woman.”
Seva nodded. “Yes, a walker of the streets.”
Keller blinked. “You’re ganging up on me now,” he said. “Confess. The two of you are getting together behind my back and planning these little tag-team comedy routines.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Fitzroy said.
“Never mind, boss.” Keller sighed. “We’ve got a mole on the staff.”
“I agree.” He nodded grimly as he motioned for them to be seated. “The crew at the installation was notified of Mr. Song’s estimated time of arrival.”
“Then it is only a matter of questioning those who had the information,” Seva said.
“Fortunately that is a very limited number,” Mr. Fitzroy said. “I’ll assign a team to the task.”
“I’d like to know the results of that investigation,” Keller said.
“Need I remind you that we are not in the revenge business?”
“No, sir, of course not. I’m just curious.” Keller smiled insincerely as he cracked his knuckles.
“At any rate, you’re both due for some time off. I have received both of your most recent mission reports. Mr. Song, I hope your seven-month assignment in Tokyo went well? Mr. Key, I’ve heard from the Navy SEAL commander that you were instrumental in improving methods of underwater combat. Well done, gentlemen,” Mr. Fitzroy said, addressing each agent in turn. “However, you’ve both been on active service for over a year without a break. That is not in compliance with company policy.”
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