Artful Dodger Read online

  Artful Dodger

  SEAL Team Alpha

  Zoe Dawson

  Artful Dodger

  Copyright © 2020 by Karen Alarie

  Cover Art © Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  About the Author

  OTHER TITLES BY ZOE DAWSON

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank my beta readers, reviewers and editor for helping with this book, especially Lisa Fournier for her excellent help. As always, you guys are the best.

  However desperate the situation or circumstances, don’t despair. When there is everything to fear, be unafraid. When surrounded by dangers, fear none of them. When without resources, depend on resourcefulness.

  Sun Tzu

  For all of you who protect the United States with every fiber of your being and give the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom.

  1

  Ready Room, NAB Coronado, San Diego, California

  Goatfuck was the operative word as Oliver “Artful Dodger” Graham took his seat alongside his teammates. Max “Mad Max” Keegan had just returned from leave and everyone was buzzing about the big man getting engaged to Dr. Renata Cavalcante, the woman who had saved his and their K9 Juggernaut’s lives during the aforementioned goatfuck.

  That was the good news.

  The bad news?

  Their Lieutenant Ford “Fast Lane” Nixon, on the other hand, was dealing with a lot of fallout from the brass about letting terrorist Muhammad Angar Said escape. Fast Lane had told them in the past that he was the one who took the heat, so his guys didn’t have to. But, bollocks, it was still a cock-up. They were all in this together as far as he was concerned.

  It didn’t help that there were several factors that contributed to the hastily contrived plan that had broken up their team and sent them in different directions to rescue their missing teammate and stop the Paraguayan government from releasing Angar Said. They’d only accomplished one of those things.

  Now here they were, assembled in the ready room, waiting for either an ass-chewing or a mission to right the previous goatfuck into a win.

  Dodger was expecting it may be a bit of both. The brass had to take their LT’s strong record into account. Fast Lane had led them through many successful missions. The only other blot on his record was when the team had been ambushed at the hands of the Kirikhanistan Rebels, who’d captured Fast Lane, Errol “Pitbull” Ballentine, and their deceased member Justin “Speed” Myerson.

  “So, did you get down on one knee?” Pitbull asked, and Max smiled softly. The change in his teammate from the hotheaded, anger-first guy was miraculous. Mad Max just might have to find a new moniker. Of course, he was still a bit crazy, so maybe the name still fit.

  “Bollocks to that. Max probably hit her over the head, dragged her into a cave by her hair, and said, ‘You marry Max.’ I’m sure there were several grunts and growls in there somewhere,” Dodger said.

  The table erupted into laughter and Max narrowed his eyes at Dodger. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t so reformed.

  Dodger grinned.

  “It beats what you do, Dodger,” Max said.

  “Slip out the back door?” Ryuu “Dragon” Shannon offered.

  “I heard he once climbed out a window,” Pitbull said.

  “You’re only in trouble if you get caught,” Dodger said, working at not letting his teammates’ opinions of his love life affect him. They had no idea what he’d been through, so the wankers could have their fun. Dodger would dodge that, too. It was also clear that Max was still unwilling to let Dodger anywhere near Anna. Not that Dodger was dwelling on that. He wasn’t. Just because he thought about her every waking moment didn’t mean he was caught up on her. He was just wondering what he’d missed out on. Max was smart to be vigilant. Dodger would do to Anna what he did to every woman he met. Sex, then escape. He often kept his conquests to Frog Hogs. All they were after was sex with a SEAL. It made for a mutually good time without any explanations or follow-up conversations where he had to hurt the woman’s feelings.

  When he looked down the length of the table, everyone was fully engaged, even Fast Lane.

  But his teammate Neo “2-Stroke” Teller was completely checked out like he was lost to his thoughts. He had a small notebook in his hands, and he was absorbed in it.

  Dodger had seen glimpses of the notebook before. It was nondescript and could be something he was writing in. Maybe he kept a journal and that helped him during ops. Unknown to the guys and something Dodger kept to himself was that 2-Stroke was sensitive. He was a badass warrior, there was no doubt about it, but he was wise in a way that set him apart from the other teammates and made him seem older than his almost twenty-three years.

  When the door opened, the laughing and ribbing ceased. 2-Stroke looked up abruptly and caught Dodger staring at him. He closed the notebook and set it on the table. Then he looked toward the door, and his face went white. It took a lot for a SEAL to react in shock. But that was shock Dodger saw on 2-Stroke’s face.

  Two women entered. One Dodger knew—blonde, coldly beautiful Kelly Sparks, their CIA liaison, who’d been with the team for about six months—but the other was a stranger, a gorgeous, ethereal woman with waist-length pale gray hair and striking otherworldly amber eyes almost like those of a werewolf. She was a tall pale-skin stunner in a brilliantly toned compact body, dressed in a simple black T-shirt with the words “Woman Up” across the front and simple black pants tucked into a pair of stylized military boots. Definitely not an analyst. This woman was a field agent.

  They were followed by the big brass. Kelly and the unknown woman moved to the front of the room, and the big brass took a seat in the chairs against the wall.

  Dodger glanced at 2-Stroke, and he and the woman locked eyes. Recognition flared in the woman’s, but just barely. She was a cheeky customer.

  Dodger was more than intrigued. 2-Stroke was a private guy, and not many on the team knew a whole lot about him. He never talked about his family, ever, not even in passing. He also never talked about his childhood, other than the fact that he entered BUD/S right out of high school at eighteen.

  “Hello, guys,” Kelly said with a tight smile. They weren’t the only ones looking like they had a bad morning. “This is DEA Agent Chrysanthe Steele.” Kelly pronounced the agent’s first name as Cree-san-thee. She picked up the clicker on the table and pulled up a slide of a city.

  “This is Prague, capital and largest city in the Czech Republic. It’s a popular tourist destination, a cultural center, and the seat of the government. But this perfect postcard capital is also very popular with Balkan organized crime groups, namely Darko Stjepanić.” She pronounced it
as Stepponitch and put up a picture of a darkly attractive, well-dressed man. “He’s the boss of the Stjepanić crime family. He’s established several companies in Prague, a favorite logistics hub for drug smuggling. They also participate in murder-for-hire, gambling, and money laundering.” She turned to look at her colleague. “Chry?”

  “Besides the narcotics business, the groups use Czech territory for setting up companies,” Chry said. Her voice was as gorgeous as she was, smooth and melodious. “The crime groups, including Stjepanić, use the Czech Republic as a logistical base because their members can easily obtain residence by establishing a company. That company can be dormant for many years without the threat of any penalty, so it often serves as a smokescreen for actual activities or as an inconspicuous address for delivery. There’s a nice language similarity, and these groups prefer the country’s central location, which offers quality air and highway connections to the Balkans as well as the European Union.” She paused and clicked up another slide with a burned-out car on a residential street.

  “The DEA has targeted this group for smuggling millions of doses of the club drug Ecstasy from Europe to the United States, namely LA. Working with the Czech police to bring the whole thing down, we stumbled across something of significance to the CIA.”

  Kelly nodded and Chry continued, “This scorched hulk of metal was the vehicle of a Prague government liquidator, Jan Bakker. He was murdered with a car bomb. Because we had this particular company on our radar, we realized that Stjepanić was our number one suspect. We were able to get an undercover agent into his organization. He overheard a conversation between Stjepanić and Muhammad Angar Said’s agent about a heroin shipment. Not uncommon because a multi-million-dollar drug shipment goes through the Czech Republic into Germany just about every week. It appears that your number one HVT terrorist is in business with Stjepanić. Not only that, but the person who is handling the finances for Stjepanić is also handling them for Angar Said.”

  She returned the clicker to Kelly, who then put up a photo of a salt-and-pepper-haired man in dark-rimmed glasses. “This is our HVT, Andrea Bendarik. He’s laundering Stjepanić and Angar Said’s money through his bank with numerous companies created by Stjepanić’s organization. The CIA wants to talk to him, so you’ll be snatching him.” She set down the clicker. “At the very least, we may shut down the routes Angar Said is using to get his heroin payday from, or we may even get lucky enough to pull him out of whatever hole he scurried into when he left Paraguay.”

  The Commander said, “Okay, guys, you’re heading to Prague with wheels up in eighteen hours. Officer Sparks and Agent Steele will meet you there. We’ll be working out of the DEA’s office to keep a low profile. Get yourselves organized. I don’t have to remind you all how important it is to eliminate Angar Said as a threat to national security. Losing him in Paraguay was a bitter disappointment.” The big brass looked at Dodger’s LT. “Get this one right.”

  Fast Lane’s mouth tightened, but he never looked away.

  The room started to clear, but 2-Stroke made a beeline for the sexy DEA agent. Agent Steele stopped and said something to Kelly, and Kelly nodded and left the room. They hugged a bit awkwardly as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. There was also an interesting development. 2-Stroke not only knew her, but he was sweet on her. Dodger couldn’t blame him, but it definitely took this babe off his radar.

  She and 2-Stroke left, and Dodger noticed his teammate had left behind his notebook. He went to pick it up and his curiosity got the better of him. He flipped it open and surprise coursed through him. It wasn’t a journal, it was a sketchbook, filled with portraits, exquisite, finely detailed, expertly rendered portraits of all of them. But in the back pages were pictures of two men he didn’t recognize, and on the last page was a dead-on version of Agent Steele, but younger…a teenager, Dodger thought.

  He couldn’t get over the artistry. Dodger had no idea 2-Stroke could draw like this. He headed for the cages just as 2-Stroke came back into the room, his expression showing his alarm at leaving the notebook behind.

  “I was just—”

  “I’ll take it, Dodger.”

  “Neo. I was going to make sure you got it back.” He handed it over, and 2-Stroke accepted it. “Look, I won’t tell anyone.”

  He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

  He could tell 2-Stroke was downplaying his reaction to Dodger’s snooping. “I’m sorry. I’m a right curious wanker. Your secret is safe.”

  “Good to know,” 2-Stroke said.

  Dodger nodded. “Okay, mate. You got it. You know that we always have your back.”

  “Copy that,” 2-Stroke said, then hurried down the hall.

  Fast Lane materialized out of the shadows. “What was that about?”

  “I have no idea. He seem off to you?”

  “He obviously knows Agent Steele.”

  “Yeah. He’s usually so steady and even,” Dodger said.

  “I’ll talk to him.” Fast Lane’s expression got even more serious. “I need both of you with your heads in the game. We’re going into a city on an op that we need to get perfectly right.”

  “Is your command of this team in jeopardy?”

  “I fucked up in Paraguay and they aren’t happy. They could take me off the team and put me in administration. Truth be told, I’m running out of operating years. You know how that is. The Navy doesn’t like to keep their officers in the field.”

  “I can’t imagine this team without you.”

  “Well, we’re not there right now. Let’s focus on the things we can control.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get ready to spin up. I’ll see you on the plane.”

  Dodger went home to make sure everything was handled, and his apartment was in good order, then he went to the cages to get his gear situated for their trip. Mad Max and Saint were there.

  “Hey,” they greeted him as he walked in.

  Saint sauntered over and leaned his shoulder against the frame. “What’s up with Neo?”

  Ever the vigilant doc of the team, Saint was always aware of their physical and mental health.

  Dodger shrugged. “Maybe he’s on edge about the op.”

  “He’s a rock when it comes to ops. Try again.”

  “You are a right observant bastard, aren’t you?”

  Saint chuckled. “Spill.”

  “I don’t know,” Dodger said, not exactly lying, but he wasn’t going to mention the notebook or the babe. It was 2-Stroke’s business, and he’d promised.

  “Okay. I’ll figure it out.”

  Good luck with that. In his experience, when a guy wanted to keep his own counsel, especially in an alpha group like this team, he would deflect questions like Teflon. It was another testimony to their team dissonance that 2-Stroke wasn’t comfortable opening up about his past.

  Dodger snorted. Like he could talk. He’d kept mum about his past too. He filled his team up with stories about his globetrotting, dazzled them with his ability to pull a rabbit out of his hat wherever they went, but when it got down to brass tacks, he was nothing but a withholding bastard too. He wasn’t sure what he was protecting. These men on his team were the best in the world. It made him sick to think about telling them about his mercenary days. He was ashamed of them. He was a different guy back then. He had to acknowledge that he lost his way after sacrificing his place in the UK’s Special Boat Services, a position he worked hard to get, to follow a woman to the United States only to be dumped by her for another man…an American. He had spiraled, drank too much, and gotten a job with a disreputable importer. When the bloke had asked him to do some shady stuff that put innocents at risk, that was the breaking point for Dodger, and he’d quit. Before joining the SEALs, he had hit rock bottom.

  But all of that stuff was in his past.

  An hour later, when he parked and walked toward the plane, he saw Dragon, Jo, and Ceri, the cute family talking and hugging it out before he left. Then there was Pitbull,
Mak, and Samantha, another adorable family. Then Hemingway and Shea taking a private moment along with Mad Max and Renata before he had to board. Saint, 2-Stroke, and Fast Lane were already entering the belly of the plane.

  It was roughly a twelve to fifteen-hour trip, and Dodger expected to sleep most of the flight. He nodded to his teammates as they boarded, then stowed his gear and set up his hammock. He headed for one of the coolers for a beer, popped it open, and took a gulp. He shrugged off the sight of the guys with their families and loved ones. He was fine on his own.

  Truth be told, he hadn’t seen his mum and dad for a couple of years. Sure, he kept in touch, called on birthdays, holidays, and their anniversary, but he hadn’t actually seen them or his brother in a long while.

  Maybe it was time to take some leave and go visit the UK. Maybe.

  He sat down in one of the red mesh seats and took another sip. 2-Stroke came over and sat down. “You still drink that stuff?” Neo asked.

  “Yeah, it’s good.” Dodger smiled at the water in 2-Stroke’s hand. He took enough ribbing for not being a drinker. He might have a shot of tequila every once in a while, but he’d never seen 2-Stroke drunk. A surprise for a young guy. “Why don’t you drink, mate?”

  “For the simple reason that you lose control. I don’t like losing control. Besides, the Navy has low tolerance for alcohol-related infractions, and I never wanted to jeopardize my time in not only the Navy, but the SEALs.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  2-Stroke uncapped the water and drained the contents, then pulled out his notebook, turning it over in his hands. “No.” He released a hard breath. “My father was an ugly drunk.”