Steel Corps/Trident Security Crossover #1
November 13, 2016
Available in: e-Book, Trade Size
No Way In Hell, Book 1
Steel Corps—an elite, covert U.S. military team led by Staff Sergeant Bea ‘Mic’ Michaels, based out of a secure location in Pennsylvania.
Trident Security—a private security agency located in Tampa, Florida, comprised of retired Navy SEALs.
T. Carter—U.S. spy and assassin.
What do they have in common? They all do Uncle Sam’s dirty work.
How did they get started and how did their paths cross? Find out as they prepare to join forces to take down a domestic terrorist organization with one goal in mind—to destroy what these men and one woman will fight to the death to protect—life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
No Way in Hell is a two-part crossover novel uniting J.B. Haven’s Steel Corps Series and Samantha A. Cole’s Trident Security Series. While reading both series is not necessary prior to reading No Way in Hell, it is recommended for optimum enjoyment.
Book One ends on a cliffhanger with the story continuing in Book Two which is available.
Leaning against the hood of a run-down jeep in the bowels of Iraq, US government, black ops agent T. Carter waited for someone to answer his secure satellite phone call. It was hotter than Hades, but he didn’t dare remove the flack vest he wore over his T-shirt, even though he was within the confines of Abu Ghraib, the US prison and detention center in this hell-hole. On one of the military bases it would be fine, but not here. He was taking a break from an interrogation, and calling in to the US Army’s intelligence division to verify some information the prisoner had finally given him. Usually, someone from the division would be present for the interrogation, but due to a combination of circumstances, which included an emergency appendectomy, they were doing without on-site intel for the moment. Carter hadn’t wanted to wait for a replacement, especially since he could get someone on the sat phone.
A clicking came over the line followed by a female voice. “Code number, please.”
While she didn’t identify herself, he knew her name was Corporal Bea Michaels, but everyone at intelligence called her “Mic.” “Hey there, sweetheart. Always a pleasure to hear your voice. Code number 009-859SRU.”
“Hello, 009-859SRU. The voice verification system confirms your identity and that you are not under stress. What can I do for you today? And don’t call me sweetheart.”
Chuckling at her annoyance over the endearment, he wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand, ignoring the bruised knuckles, then gave her the three names he needed checks on. If the information was good, he would let the guards take the prisoner to the medical ward for treatment for the beating he’d been subjected to.
The clattering of a keyboard being used came over the phone. A pause and then more keys being struck. “I can confirm the first two names as being part of the cell we’ve been watching in the Kirkuk region—low-level runners from what I see here. However, I’m not finding any information on Rifaah Khalaf, unless he’s twelve years old.”
Carter snorted. “What the fuck do you have a twelve-year-old kid in the system for . . . never mind, this is Iraq. I can figure that one out for myself. Shit. No, the Rifaah Khalaf I’m looking for is in his late thirties or early forties.”
“Sorry, that’s all I’ve got. I tried a few variations of the spelling, but nothing else is coming up. It’s either someone we haven’t come across yet or a false name.”
And Carter had a pretty good idea it was the latter. Fuck. He really didn’t want to go back in there and start torturing the guy again. Shit like this sat in his gut for days afterward. “I’ll see what else I can get for you and then call you back. Thanks, sweetheart.” He quickly disconnected the call before she could yell at him.
There was something about Mic that niggled at him. She was intelligent as hell, but he was starting to think her skills were being wasted behind a desk. Quick to put two-and-two together, she also had a tough-as-nails attitude. There were only two female interrogators over here, but Mic had the same instincts that were needed to be one—the question was, did she have the guts? Maybe he’d talk to her superiors. With her smarts, and the right training, she could be an integral part of the war against terror.
He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, glad he’d been able to trim it a few days ago for the first time months. At the sound of his name being called, he glanced over his shoulder to see Lieutenant Ian Sawyer walking toward him, along with Master Chief Jake Donovan. The two were part of SEAL Team Four, which had found the prisoner, that Carter was currently dealing with, in a cave and transported him here. It wasn’t the first time he’d worked with these men and the rest of their team, but it had been a good seven months since he’d last seen them in the party city of Rio de Janeiro.
That mission had been a lot nicer than hanging out in this fucking sandbox, though. Team Four had been stateside at the time and had been sent down to Colombia to gather intel on the head of a drug cartel, Ernesto Diaz, who had also been dabbling in arms dealing and white slavery. They’d followed the man to Brazil which is where Carter had run into them . . . well, technically he’d only run into Devon “Devil Dog” Sawyer, Ian’s brother, who’d drawn the short straw. The SEAL had ended up renting a tuxedo and going to the black tie event where another cartel leader Carter had been tailing was set to have a meeting with Diaz. Team Four and the US spy had been attacking the arms exchange pipeline from both ends, only Carter’s end had come from the Middle East. A few months later, Diaz had been killed during a joint raid by Team Four, the DEA, and the Colombian authorities. Unfortunately, his brother Emmanuel was now trying to rebuild the fallen empire.
After wiping his sweaty palm on his cargo pants, he extended the hand for them to shake. “How’s it going, Sawyer? Reverend?” Ian rarely had a nickname that stuck for more than a week or two, although not for lack of trying on his teammates’ part. But the team sniper had earned the moniker “Reverend” for sending his targets straight to Hell—do not pass go, do not collect your seventy-two vestal virgins.
“Here. Thought you could use this.” Ian handed him a cold bottle of water which he gratefully accepted. “Get anything from him yet?”
Carter nodded while downing the whole bottle, the cool liquid was heaven against his parched throat. Why anyone would willingly live in a desert was beyond him. When he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Shit, that was good. Thanks. Yeah, he started talking after I convinced him he wasn’t walking out of there without giving me something. Unfortunately, the asshole underestimated our intelligence department. He gave me two low-level pieces of shit and either a false name or someone we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet.”
“My bet is on a false name.”
“Mine, too. Where’s the rest of the team?”
Tilting his head toward the military personnel mess hall, Reverend answered, “Taking a load off for a few. Babs had an engine light come on in the bird right before we were about to take off for the base and didn’t want to risk it. She’s checking it out.”
Tempest “Babs” Van Buren was an Air Force chopper pilot who was often assigned to ferry the SEAL teams around. Her call sign stood for “bad-ass bitch” and referred to her remarkable flying and ironclad guts. While it was normally the Army helo pilots who flew the special-ops teams around, Bab’s skills in combat flying were incredible and in high demand. With a lot of convincing, and probably a little bribery, her superiors had put her on loan to the SEALs. If she said the bird was grounded, then there had to be a good reason for it. She did everything she could to make sure everyone got back to base safely and in one piece.
The door to the interrogation bunker opened, and Fisher Jackson stuck his head out. Without speaking, the Army Master Sergeant raised a questioning eyebrow at Carter, who just shook his head in response. With a mumbled “fuck” the tall black man ducked back inside.
Tossing the empty water bottle into a nearby trashcan, Carter said his goodbyes to the two SEALs, then headed back into the bunker, pulling on the black, balaclava mask to hide his identity. It made him sweat like hell, but the alternative of letting the man see and possibly memorize his face was out of the question. He stopped outside the room where the prisoner sat in a lone chair with his arms tied behind his back. Akram Latif’s face and bare torso were covered in fresh bruises and two incisions Carter had made across his chest with a knife before the guy had broken down and started talking. Two prison guards, who had been trained to assist during the intense interrogations, stood on either side of the door, awaiting their next orders. Their faces were also hidden by masks. Jackson was watching the action from another room, via a camera feed. Taking a deep breath, Carter barked, “Fill the tub.”
Copyright © 2016 J.B. Havens and Samantha A. Cole
All Rights Reserved.
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