Code name puck k19 allie.., p.1
Code Name: Puck (K19 Allied Intelligence Team Two), page 1
CODE NAME: PUCK
HEATHER SLADE
K19 Allied Intelligence Team Two Book One
Code Name: Puck
© 2024 Heather Slade
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
CONTENTS
Code Name: Puck
Prologue
1. Puck
2. Seshat
3. Puck
4. Seshat
5. Puck
6. Seshat
7. Puck
8. Seshat
9. Puck
10. Puck
11. Seshat
12. Puck
13. Seshat
14. Puck
15. Seshat
16. Seshat
17. Puck
18. Seshat
19. Puck
20. Seshat
21. Puck
22. Seshat
23. Puck
24. Seshat
25. Puck
26. Seshat
27. Puck
28. Seshat
29. Puck
30. Seshat
31. Puck
32. Seshat
33. Puck
34. Seshat
Code Name: Michelangelo
About the Author
Also by Heather Slade
CODE NAME: PUCK
A tortured man.
A redemptive man.
Puck is desperate and driven—
a man to be watched.
As a former MI5 agent assigned to the UK’s task force of the United Nations Coalition Against Human Trafficking, I’ve walked a fine line between right and wrong—always making sure to do what’s necessary for the greater good. Kidnapping my commander for help is no exception. I do what needs to be done.
But when I discover that the woman who captured my heart is still alive and in danger, I need all the help I can recruit to save my beloved Seshat. With the full-force of the coalition and SIS searching for her, we have to be stealthy and quick. Time is of the essence. Seshat’s secrets and past are riddled with enemies who will stop at nothing to destroy her and her future happiness.
And now that I know the truth about everything, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. Can I save the only woman who matters before it’s too late?
PROLOGUE
PUCK
Kidnapping the chief of Military Intelligence, Section 6, was the stupidest thing I’d done in my life. It was only by the sheer goodness of Z’s heart that he didn’t kill me or allow his rescuers to do it.
Instead, he’d agreed to help me when I convinced him the woman who was not only the love of my life but also the mother of the child I’d only recently learned of—my child—was missing but still alive.
Everyone who served on the United Nations Coalition Against Human Trafficking was certain she’d been killed. After all, they’d watched her die in a hail of bullets seconds before she was about to kill another of our agents, whom she’d abducted.
Except it hadn’t been her. Instead, it was her twin, a twin neither she nor we knew existed.
“I’m sorry, Puck,” said Decker Ashford, who didn’t work directly for the coalition but was the adopted son of the guy I’d kidnapped, and widely accepted as one of the best intelligence agents in the world. “The lead was solid. It appears we missed them by a matter of hours at most.”
I nodded, looking around the empty one-bedroom apartment for any sign of DeDe “Seshat” Starkweather. If only there was a way we could assure her the threat against her life had been neutralized and she no longer had to remain in hiding.
If only I could tell her how sorry I was for not protecting her, not being there for her when she needed me, and not telling her I loved her more than life itself.
“Hey, Puck. I found something,” said Zeppelin, another MI6 agent and coalition member I’d known and worked with for years.
I raised my head when he approached. “What’s that?”
“We found it taped to the bottom of a drawer in the kitchen.”
He handed me a photograph of a baby, and my eyes filled with tears when I flipped it over and saw a name written on the back. Linnea, it read.
“Do you think it’s significant?” Zeppelin put his hand on my shoulder and asked in a soft voice.
“I know it is. Linnea was my mother’s name.”
1
PUCK
SEVEN YEARS EARLIER
Her hat was the first thing I saw each night when I arrived at the rearmost study area in Rad Cam, as Oxford’s Radcliffe Camera Library was more often called. It was a tan boater with a wide dark-brown band that, by all appearances, the woman never removed.
She’d be seated at the same place, wearing a similarly colored brown pullover. Invariably, I’d be within a foot of the table when she’d raise her head, and our eyes would meet through her thick Windsor-frame glasses. They were oval, with a tortoise appliqué around the lenses. The saddle bridge and temples were gold, and while I couldn’t see beneath her thick golden-coppery hair, I’d wager they wrapped around her ears. I’d shift my gaze from her sky-blue eyes to her bright fuchsia-stained lips—a vibrantly stark contrast to the otherwise drabness of her chosen attire.
I’d never stopped. We’d never spoken. Until tonight, when I heard, “Hello,” just as I was a step beyond her perch. I assumed she was talking to someone who’d walked up behind me, but I glanced over my shoulder anyway.
“Hello,” I responded when our eyes met for an uncustomary second time.
“It’s quite crowded tonight,” she said, looking beyond me to the tables where I hadn’t noticed there were no empty seats.
“Michaelmas term exams,” I muttered as I continued to peruse the area.
“You can sit with me if you’d like.”
My gaze fell to the five unoccupied chairs, wondering why no one else had taken one. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I minded,” she responded, looking back down at the reference book she’d been reading when I arrived.
I sat across from her, settled my satchel on the chair to my left, and removed my laptop.
“By the way, I’m Sven.”
“DeDe,” she responded.
We sat in silence until I shut my computer when, after three hours of studying, it was increasingly harder to focus. “Sticking around?” I asked, noting it was nearly midnight and her note-taking enthusiasm hadn’t waned.
Her eyes scrunched when she raised her head, answering with a simple nod before lowering it.
“Good night, then.” I lingered for two or three seconds, but left when DeDe didn’t look up again.
When I arrived the following evening, the routine was the same as it had always been, but rather than continue to another part of the library, I slowed down, our eyes met, and she glanced at the chair I’d occupied the night before, so I took a seat.
We greeted each other with simple hellos but, otherwise, didn’t converse until I wished her good night again at almost midnight.
While I’d previously studied in the Rad Cam library during my three years at Oxford, I’d never done it so many days in a row. Whenever I thought about remaining in my apartment, I found myself longing to sit across from the woman who intrigued me more each time I saw her. Particularly since I’d never noticed her anywhere else on campus. In itself, it wasn’t surprising, given there were over twenty-five thousand students who attended the five-hundred-hectare campus.
Little by little, we spoke more. Nothing of any importance, however. I’d complain about a class or a professor, and she might commiserate or nod in agreement, but she never offered any information about herself.
The handful of comments she did make related solely to whatever she was studying. All of which was far above my head. The woman was bloody brilliant.
A couple of times, I’d stuck around later than usual, offering to walk her to her building when the librarian announced they’d be closing. She’d politely thank me without making any move to close her books or get up. Eventually, I shrugged a shoulder, bid her good night, and leave on my own.
Two hours in on the eighteenth consecutive evening at the library, I stood to stretch my legs. “Fancy a cup of tea?” I asked.
The woman raised her head, eyes scrunched and brow furrowed. “Pardon?”
“I’m taking a break. I need to walk, or my knee will stiffen up. I asked if you’d like anything.”
“Anything? Such as?”
I leaned forward, rested my hands on the table, and smiled. “Whatever you’d like. Tea? Or are you a coffee drinker? Perhaps a bite to eat?”
“Right.” She glanced at her watch. “I should probably eat,” she muttered as if she was talking to herself rather than me. Her eyes met mine. “What’s wrong with your knee?”
“Too much time on the ice. It aches when it rains, which, at this time of year, seems constant.”
DeDe closed the book in front of her, along with two others that sat open, one to her left, t he other to her right. “Mind if I tag along?”
“Not at all.” I couldn’t say which surprised me more—her request or the warm feeling that settled inside me when she stood, donned her overcoat, and pushed her chair in.
“Not afraid someone will take your spot?” I asked.
She shook her head and looked up at me with a glint in her eyes. “No one would dare.”
I chuckled.
“Depending on how hungry you are, there are a few options off campus. I’m afraid nothing on-site is open,” I said once we were outside. Thankfully, the rain had let up.
“I’m quite famished, actually. I’ve not eaten today. It’s a bit of a hike, but would you mind the alehouse?”
“One of my favorite spots, but, if I may ask, why haven’t you eaten?”
“No reason. I get lost in my studies at times and forget.”
“I doubt I could go more than four or five hours without sustenance. Unless I’m sleeping,” I muttered.
DeDe stopped walking. “Wait. We probably shouldn’t venture that far. Your knee.”
For someone who most often seemed to exist in a world unto herself, her concern was touching. “It’s fine. As I said, walking helps.” When I continued in the direction of the alehouse, DeDe joined me.
“What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Hockey injury. Ended my career, in fact.”
“Career? As in professional hockey?”
I nodded. “Unless you follow the sport, which most in the UK do not, this name won’t mean anything to you. My grandfather was Henrik—”
“Lindstrom?”
“That’s right. I’m stunned you know of him.”
“He was the first European-born player to win a Stanley Cup as captain.”
“Apparently, you’re a fan of the sport.”
“I love it. Football too. American, that is.”
“Interesting. More, it’s unusual.”
“I spent time in the US when I was growing up.”
“Is your father a sports fan?”
For the first time since we left the library, her expression darkened. So much so that I feared I’d angered her. Before I could apologize, she shook her head, as if doing so would remove her frown, then smiled.
“It’s my mother’s influence.”
“Fascinating,” I said under my breath. While it was likely she’d assumed I was referring to her mum, I wasn’t. DeDe intrigued me. “I’ve noticed your coursework is primarily medical in nature.”
“I’d hoped to become a doctor.”
“Past tense?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “It’s expensive.”
That was an understatement. If it weren’t for the educational trust fund my grandfather had created on my behalf, then my father had contributed to, I certainly wouldn’t have been able to afford my studies on my own. “Here we are,” I said when we approached the pub, stunned that the twenty-minute walk had seemed more like five.
I opened the door and motioned for DeDe to go ahead of me. What I least expected was for her to come to an abrupt stop, then turn around and brush past me.
“What’s going on?” I asked, rushing after her when she not only went outside but took off in the direction from which we’d come.
By the time I caught up with her, I was out of breath. “Hey,” I said, grabbing her arm. Her reaction was as shocking as her fleeing the alehouse. She spun around and raised her arm at the same time her knee nearly came in contact with my groin. “DeDe!” I shouted, turning my body to avoid impact. “What in the bloody hell just happened?” This time when I rested both hands on her shoulders, she appeared to settle down.
“Nothing.” She glanced behind me with wide eyes.
Serendipitously, a black cab with its yellow taxi sign illuminated turned the corner. I raised my hand, and the driver pulled over.
“Come, this will be quicker,” I said, leading her to the waiting vehicle.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Stonehouse,” I told him. “Go around back.”
I thought she’d argue, given it was where I lived. Perhaps she hadn’t heard or paid attention. Her gaze remained on the pub for the few seconds it took for the driver to speed off. I followed her line of sight and felt the same sense of relief she must have when no one exited the establishment.
The cab pulled up to my building’s rear entrance as I’d requested. I tipped the driver generously, then exited, holding my hand out to DeDe.
“Follow me,” I said, inserting my key card into the door’s slot. Neither of us spoke again until we reached my flat and were inside, deadbolt engaged.
“Apologies,” she said barely above a whisper.
“Are you going to tell me what all that was about?”
“I thought I saw someone I, um, knew.”
I raised a brow and motioned for her to take a seat. “Someone you knew?”
DeDe didn’t respond.
“Ex-boyfriend?”
She shook her head.
“Stalker?”
“Something like that.”
When I retrieved my mobile from my pocket, she stood.
“What are you doing?”
“Ordering takeaway from downstairs. There’s not much available this time of night. Pizza, primarily.”
I placed an order for a medium pie, then walked over to the fridge and took out two cans of beer. When I raised one in her direction, she nodded.
“Yes, please.”
I cracked it open and handed her the can, given I had no idea whether there were any clean glasses in my small kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking toward the window instead of at me.
“It’s all right.” Since I’d asked more than once and she offered no explanation, I didn’t query her again. What I’d witnessed was akin to a fight-or-flight response. Clearly, whoever she’d seen when she entered the pub frightened her more than made her uncomfortable.
“I’m sure I was mistaken. I, err, haven’t been sleeping well. I overreacted.”
“You are under no obligation to explain yourself to me. However, I ask that you refrain from lying.”
She raised a brow.
I sat in the chair opposite hers at my kitchen table, much like I did at the library. “That wasn’t an overreaction. You were quite agitated.”
She peered in the direction of the window for the second time. “I’ve noticed someone…”
“Go on.”
“Again, I’m sure I’m mistaken, but he shows up at the oddest times and places.”
“If you mean at the alehouse, we arrived after he did.”
“I’m not talking about tonight.”
“When else?” I asked, wishing she’d look at me.
“Outside my building. In the hallway after one of my classes. Most recently, at the corner shop.”
“Has he approached you? Said anything?”
DeDe shook her head.
“How many times has this happened?”
“Several.”
I rubbed my left knee. It was something I did more out of habit than to ease an ache. “Could you describe him? Enough that someone might be able to do a sketch of his likeness?”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a spiral notebook. “Here,” she said after flipping through several pages, all of which contained drawings.
I studied it, somewhat relieved I didn’t recognize the man. “I didn’t mention this previously, but I’ve been offered a position with MI5 upon graduation. While I’m not working full time yet, I have been going into the office a couple of times a week. I could have someone take a look at the sketch. Maybe run it through facial recognition.”
“I don’t know what good it will do. He hasn’t done anything illegal.”
Yet, I thought to myself. There was no need to say it out loud. I was certain she was thinking the same thing.
“So, MI5? Offered a job before graduation. That’s impressive.”
“I scored quite high on the evals. It helped that one of the senior agents knew my father. That was what landed me the interview.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“What about you? Do you have plans after graduation? Will you be continuing on?”
“Not here.”
