Ruthless Game (GhostWalkers #9)(98)
Author: Christine Feehan

Phase one complete. Javier. Lucas. You have a go. Good luck.

Both men slipped into the tunnel and began moving fast, nearly running in an almost crouch. The tunnel was narrow with a low ceiling and no lighting. It was very dark, almost black, but both men had excellent night vision. There was no hesitation where the tunnel branched off, connecting to the barracks. They continued along the main passageway until they came to the entrance.

Using hand signals, they stood to either side of the door listening for movement inside. A chair creaked. There was a rustle of papers. Lucas pointed to his left. Javier nodded. He laid his hand gently on the door to keep it from making a sound as Lucas pushed the nozzle of a hose just under the door, not enough to go through all the way, but about halfway through the thickness of the door itself. It was enough to fill the room with gas. Both donned masks. The idea was to allow the gas into the room slowly so neither man realized there was a problem. The formula used was one of Jacob’s inventions. They’d long ago dubbed him the “mad scientist” with his laboratory and chemicals. He provided all sorts of fun stuff for them to use when blowing things up or, like this, an odorless gas needed to put the two men to sleep. The gas couldn’t be fast-acting but had to be gradual, so they yawned and grew sleepy, not suspicious. Gradual took precious time.

Javier counted off the minutes. Time slowed down to a crawl. This kind of combat took nerves of steel. He waited quietly. Lucas didn’t so much as move a muscle. They were both used to living in the shadows of the night, and stillness was a big part of that. Something heavy hit the ground. There was a grunt, and then silence. Another minute, and the chair creaked and rolled, hitting the wall with a thump.

Javier gave the thumbs-up sign but waited another three minutes before cutting the gas to the room. They opened the door with caution. A body lay on the floor only a few feet from dozens of screens. An armory decorated one wall, every kind of weapon that might be needed to defend the Lopez stronghold. A second man was slumped down in his chair, wedged against the wall. They didn’t touch either man as they leaned over the desk to peer into the screens.

Phase two complete. We’re in control, Javier reported.

Mack looked at Ethan. You’re up. Those guards are on the lookout. They can’t see you or the tower guards going down.

I’m on it, Top.

Ethan crawled on his belly through the grass. This would be the longest wait. He had to scale all eight towers and one by one, take out the tower guard without detection. The towers were straight up and down with no real finger-or toeholds so even Gideon couldn’t help, and he was the second most adept at climbing.

Ethan slipped out from cover and began the slow journey to the nearest tower. He crawled across the dirt and grass, out in the open, blending—as did all GhostWalkers—with the terrain. The tower was straight up, and he flexed his fingers, slipped out of his special shoes in order to use his toes as well. Top needed fast, so he’d use both. He had microscopic hairs on his hands and feet, and each of those individual hairs had smaller hairs, or setules, each with a triangular tip. Because of the hundreds of contact points, the setules allowed him to climb nearly any surface without fear of falling. He could support 170 times his own weight.

He went up fast and silent, climbing inside the tower and hovering above until the guard bent toward his coffee mug. He dropped down, inserting the dart quickly and retrieving it nearly in one motion. True to his word, he was fast and efficient, changing attack as needed, but eventually working his way from tower to tower without detection. The last guard was lifting a pair of binoculars to look at the tower across from him, aware that he couldn’t see any of the other guards. He was reaching for his radio when Ethan darted him, hanging off the edge by only one hand.

Phase three complete.

Mack looked around at his team. “Let’s do it. You all know where to go. Get in position and let me know. We can’t mess this one up. We have to make this work.”

His team flashed him looks that told him they were up for the job, and they melted away into the night, working their way up the slope to lie just outside the fence in the space their assigned guard patrolled. Rhianna and Mack positioned themselves between the two roving guards each of them was supposed to take down.

Mack waited patiently for those the greatest distance away to give the word they were in position. Phase four was extremely dangerous. One miss, and they might as well go home. Everything depended on complete secrecy, a simultaneous attack. To orchestrate such a feat was nearly impossible—unless you had the men and women in your unit he did. He had faith in them. He glanced to his left where Rhianna waited. Teleportation was difficult under the best of circumstances. She would have to shoot her dart and send herself to the next station, ready to fire again. There could be no warning raised.

In position, Top. One by one, his team reported in until he was certain they were ready.

Mack glanced at his watch. On my mark. Three, two, one . . .

He exploded into action, shooting his guard in the back of the neck, and instantly teleporting to the second station. The wrenching of his bones was incredible, almost like the g-force in a jet. There was a split second of disorientation, as if his body wasn’t quite all there, but his finger on the trigger was steady, and he’d fired the shot before the first body hit the ground. Guards crumpled around the entire estate. He crawled forward to retrieve the dart, all the while fighting the blackness that threatened to engulf him and the bile rising in his throat, protesting the disorienting feat.

Rhianna’s first dart went in smoothly. She immediately set herself for the twisting anguish of her body, as if it was being torn apart, as she teleported to the next section of fence. Struggling to breathe when the air had left her lungs in a rush, she shot the dart even while the soldier was still blurry. He went to his knees, his eyes wide, one hand coming up as if to slap at a stinging bee. She felt her own body crumple and she went down, the taste of blood in her mouth.

Breathe. You’re holding your breath.

Rhianna cursed silently. It would have to be Javier in the control room, able to see her thrashing like a fish out of water on the ground, gasping for breath. She should have known he’d be watching her. She dug her hands into the dirt and propelled herself forward to retrieve the dart. She still had to go back to the first guard and remove that evidence as well. She tried to push herself to her feet, but there was no way to get air. She fell again.

Rose. Get to Rhianna, Javier commanded.