Snakebite: Alpha Squad Book 1

Chapter One

Snakebite

ALPHA SQUAD, BOOK Ⅰ

Heather Ramsay

Copyright© Heather Ramsay 2018

All Rights Reserved

Snakebite

Alpha Squad, Book One©

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents 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.

Chapter One

"Is everyone in position?" My earpiece came to life with the sound of a deep, heavy Spanish accent.

"Yes, sir." Three separate confirmations echoed back, mine included.

"Major Phoenix!" General Cobra's voice snapped through my earpiece. "Move in. Initiate first contact."

He sounded annoyed. He usually did when dealing with me. He sat on the other side of the hotel lobby from me in a reclining chair, sipping a coffee. I couldn't see him from where I sat, but boy, I felt him. The burn from his dark eyes made the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The only thing General Cobra preferred to glaring was yelling or directing the occasional Spanish expletive at me. He hated me and had no qualms about showing it.

"Major!"

"Going, sir." Standing from the couch, I headed toward the main doors.

For our latest assignment, I wore a loose black turtleneck sweater that camouflaged the knife I hid in my bra, paired with fitted jeans to help make ass-kicking easier. There was a knife tucked inside each one of my knee-high boots. I finished off my outfit with a long wool coat to conceal my gun and cell phone. Over-armed? Me? Nah.

Pushing open the hotel's front door, I stepped out and received a smack in the face from a chilly March morning. Talk about an extreme temperature difference here in Moscow compared to our base in New Mexico. I'd left the other day in a t-shirt; now I wore a full winter ensemble and still froze my ass off. I pulled my jacket tighter and started down the busy street in search of our target.

My squad held a prestigious position as part of an elite United Nations military unit. Our particular base worked in the field of weaponry. Its main objective: track, contain or terminate threats to global safety. Our assignment today involved the sale of nuclear weapons. General Cobra had intel about a known dealer setting up a meeting with one of his potential buyers.

Turning left at the first intersection, I paused to scan the street. A few people scowled as they passed me, pissed I'd ruined the flow of foot traffic. I stepped to the side and continued searching.

A few feet away, a taxi sat idle outside our target's hotel. Its engine ran as the driver waited for his patron. Billows of white smoke puffed out of the tailpipe along with the stink of exhaust fumes, creating a sort of mysterious fog show around our target, who stood talking on his cell phone.

Moving back into the flow of people, I approached the taxi. I reached out and grabbed the door handle. Before I could yank the door open, another hand covered mine.