Samurai Game (GhostWalkers #10)(16)
Author: Christine Feehan

It was difficult not to think of her as a soldier. She was too well trained and it was easy to see her as a warrior rather than someone he needed to protect. She felt capable. She felt, gut-deep, like a partner. Still, he had to get into both trees and take out the snipers if they were to hold out until help came.

He studied the tree carefully, taking great care to find the perfect place to insert his body without damaging it and still get to the sniper before the man could alert the others—or kill him. He watched as the wind blew through the leaves and shifted the branches subtly. It was fortunate that the crotch of the tree was fairly bare of snapped-off branches, lessening the chances of making a mistake. He didn’t want to end up with a stake stuck through his leg—or any other part of his anatomy.

He picked his retreat, a spot closer to the other sniper, one that should afford him a good enough view to scope out an entry point. Unfortunately, the space was free of cover and he’d have only a moment to slip into the brush before the sniper would spot him. To ensure his chances, he would have to cause a small distraction, buying him just enough time to vanish.

Sam made the jump fast, a blinding, blurring speed that took less time than his thinking process had. His body hit the vee of the tree perfectly, but the momentum nearly threw him off the other side. Something bit hard at his calf and dug into his back, but he dismissed the pain and caught the sniper’s head by his hair, jerking it back as the knife bit deep into the throat. He shoved the body from the tree as he made the jump back to his retreat point, hoping the other sniper would look up at the movement of the body and give him those few seconds he needed.

He found himself a little disoriented, but he managed to slip into the brush and lie flat, his heart racing as he checked to make certain he was still all in one piece. Blood seeped from a stab wound on his calf where a broken branch had jabbed him. He couldn’t get his hand to his back without disturbing the brush around him to test for blood, but it hurt like a son of a bitch, so he didn’t need evidence that trees were not the place to try teleportation. Still—he was going to do it again.

He studied the sniper through the foliage. Dark hair, dark skin, yet not black, the man definitely knew the business end of a rifle. Sam found having enhanced vision was very helpful in just these situations. The sniper was much higher up in the tree, the branches thick and plentiful, making the tree easy to climb but much harder to teleport into. It would take seconds to actually make the jump and kill the sniper, but the hazards were far greater. He sighed. He was going to take a hit with this one.

Sam teleported through those close branches to the spot he’d chosen directly behind the sniper, another thick branch with smaller limbs sprouting in all directions. The sniper was speaking softly into his radio. The language shocked Sam. Farsi. What the hell did that mean? What would an Iranian sharpshooter be doing in the Lolo National Forest? How did soldiers from a foreign country make entry into the United States with the weapons they had?

As his feet found purchase on the branch, his weight sent a shiver through the tree, enough that the sniper turned his head while he was still talking. His eyes went wide with shock and he broke off abruptly. Sam lunged forward, kicking hard, driving his foot into the man’s chest, sending him tumbling out of the tree as he tried to swing his rifle around.

The man fell, his mouth wide-open but no sound emerging. The rifle fell with him, but not before Sam caught a good glimpse of it. There was no doubt in his mind that the rifle was a Dragunov sniper rifle, produced in Iran as the Nakhjir sniper rifle. He needed that evidence. He materialized beside the body and snatched up the rifle, projecting himself back to his chosen retreat spot before sliding into the brush once again. Bullets hit all around him, zipping into the brush from several directions.

“Surrender,” a voice barked out. The command was issued in English, but heavily accented.

Sam scuttled like a crab, his body hugging the ground as he slipped through the small animal trail into heavier brush. Bullets pounded the dirt, spat splinters from the bark on the trees, whipped through leaves, and hummed past his ears. One burned his back and another skimmed his arm, slicing hot and painful, taking a strip of flesh. But he found the depression he’d been looking for and scooted into it, burrowing deep.

The volley of shots ceased as if someone had given an order. “You will die if you don’t surrender,” the voice warned again.

When Sam made no sound, the hail of bullets seemed to increase their fury.

Where the hell was the cavalry? Azami? Are you clear? He was going to have to chance surrendering, because he was definitely going to take a bullet if this kept up.

I’m coming around behind them, taking them out one by one. Are you hit?

He loved how calm her voice was. She could have been strolling through the park. Not yet. I’m going to give myself up. Hopefully they won’t shoot me. Stay out of sight. I’ll escape as soon as I’m able.

They might kill you.

He liked the protest in her voice. True, but I don’t think so. I think they’ll want information. They’ve come a long way for something. If they take me with them, I’m leaving a rifle here. Take it to Ryland, and for God’s sake, don’t get caught.

That’s not going to happen. Go ahead and surrender, but if they kill you, I’ll be following them all the way back to their base, and I don’t take prisoners. You know they’re after my brother, not you.

Sam was counting on whoever these people were wanting her brother or at least information about him—that and they would know his team would be coming down that mountain any moment after them and they’d want to wrap this up fast and get the hell out of Dodge.

“Stop shooting,” he called. “I’m giving myself up.”

CHAPTER 4

Sam pushed the rifle slowly into deeper brush, careful not to rustle any leaves. He waited until the guns were once again quiet. “I’m standing up now. No one get crazy on me.”

His heart drummed out the time in his chest. This was the single moment no one ever wanted to live in. Life or death? There were at least seven to ten of the enemy, not including the second Jeep full of mercenaries. Any one of them could get trigger happy and his life would end in a hail of bullets. He really didn’t want to go out that way. Taking a deep breath, he let it out and slowly stood, both hands raised high. His gaze moved fast over the entire area, noting positions of the enemy. There weren’t as many as he’d first thought—or Azami was making the most of her time.