Samurai Game (GhostWalkers #10)(95)
Author: Christine Feehan

“Valhalla … Valhalla, this is Reaper Two.”

“Reaper Two, this is Valhalla, over.” The disembodied voice came over the radio.

“Valhalla, we are in play and one hundred percent up.” They let Joint Special Operations Command know they were ready to carry out their mission and everyone had made it into the field.

Kadan took over immediately in his no-nonsense way. “Okay, everyone, around the map. The creek is here.” He jabbed the spot with his finger. “The expected meet site there. Here, about ten meters from the meet site, and here, another fifteen meters, we’ve set up claymores. The first two are on remote. The other two are on a time-delay fuse.”

He indicated another spot with his finger. “There is a hill here that we’ll be on for over watch.” He hesitated a moment and then looked directly at Ryland. “I can go in with Sam, Rye.”

Sam winced for him. Kadan was treading on thin ground asking, but Ryland had a bad habit of placing himself in the hottest spot.

Ryland’s gray gaze settled on Kadan’s face. “Are you implying I’m slowing down with old age setting in?” His voice was mild, but there was nothing mild about those steel gray eyes.

“No, sir,” Kadan said.

“We’ll stick to the original plan. Keep going.”

Kadan knew better than to sigh. “Ryland and Sam will make the face-to-face about here. Move up the creek to this spot. You should be able to see where they make their stand. The rest of you will be concealed in the tree line here. If ‘Murphy’”—of Murphy’s Law fame—“shows up, you’ll come up on line and engage the hostiles. At that point we will have fire on them from different points. That should be enough to help Sam and Rye, making the meet, break contact and get the hell out of there. At that point, we each pop white smoke and meet up here at the hide.”

Ryland nodded his head. “Looks good to me. Before we leave for the meet, we’ll have to set up to draw them back to the hide. Where you do you have the ambush planned?”

Kadan circled the site on the map. “Right here, sir. We will set claymores along this line here and here, using the terrain to bottleneck them into this funnel of claymores.”

“If we don’t need them, we pull them out when we move out,” Ryland ordered. “Ground anything you don’t need so we can move fast and quiet. Unless anyone has any questions, we leave in thirty minutes. Over watch, you leave now.”

Sam and Ryland and the rest of the team made their way through the tangled vines and tall fronds to the creek.

“Over watch in position,” Kadan reported.

“We’re at staging point in the creek,” Ryland answered. “We’re splitting up here. Sam and I will slip up on them using the water for concealment.”

Tucker, Kyle, and Gator melted into the jungle silently.

“In support position,” Tucker announced first.

Kyle and Gator echoed him in seconds.

“Heads up,” Nico said. “They are accompanied by twenty armed men. All have rifles and sidearms. I see no packs, no other equipment.”

“We copy,” Ryland said.

“Copy twenty,” Tucker said.

“All right, they set up right where we wanted them to. We are moving out. Sam, let’s get this done.”

They both slipped into the water, wading downstream, going into the deep, faster-moving stream, until they were fully immersed.

Ryland came up out of the water just at Ekabela’s feet. He rose fast, a dark ghost, covered in black paint and dripping water as he caught the man in a tight grip, knife to his throat. He grinned savagely at the CIA operative who had orchestrated the double cross.

“I’m here for the package,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low.

Ekabela had barely caught a glimpse of the dark shadow before his head was jerked backward, putting him off balance and exposing his throat to the very large, sharp blade sitting on his skin. Breathing, swallowing, any movement at all would result in the blade drawing blood.

The man in jeans and a light sports jacket raised his hand as if he could ward Ryland off. “Whoa, soldier. Stand down. I was supposed to meet you upriver and guide you here.”

Ryland stayed perfectly still, letting his cold gray eyes say it all for him.

“I’m Duncan Forbes,” the man from the CIA tried again. “Ekabela has the package for you. There’s no problem whatsoever. Just put down the knife and we’ll discuss this. We were told Sam Johnson would be picking it up. You’re clearly not Sam.”

“I am,” Sam whispered from behind Forbes. “Don’t move, sir. I wouldn’t want to accidentally shove this knife through your kidney.”

Forbes felt the tip of the blade stinging through his clothing. “There’s no need for this.”

“Just taking care, sir,” Sam said. “We wouldn’t want anything to go wrong like it did the last time one of us came into contact with an Ekabela. Give me the package and we’ll complete the rest of the mission quietly. No one will know we were ever here.”

“Your orders were to wait for me to guide Sam Johnson, and only Sam Johnson, to the rendezvous location,” Duncan hissed. “You can’t treat an important ally like this. I’ll have you two brought up on charges. Put down your weapons. That’s an order. Shit, you’ve messed up everything.”

“Sorry, sir,” Sam said. “I take orders from him.” He brought his free hand sweeping past Forbes to indicate Ryland. “Give me the package. When it’s secure, we’ll go our way.”

Forbes jumped a little, his eyes following the hand that pointed to the man holding Ekabela so still.

In the absolute silence of the jungle, the constant drone of cicadas and crickets returned full force. Sam felt exposed, his back to the creek, knowing Ekabela’s men were ready to cut them down the moment Ekabela was released from Ryland’s grip. He could feel them, more, smell their sweaty bodies as they crept into position, having been forced to shift to better protect their leader.

Ekabela was sweating and slippery, his eyes conveying both outrage and fear. He kept looking out to the jungle, trying to convey silently to his men to stay back. Forbes slowly nodded his head. Ekabela’s hand crept toward his jacket.

“Be very careful,” Ryland advised. “You bring your hand out of that jacket with anything but the package, you’ll be the first to die.”

Ekabela let out his breath in a kind of angry rush, but his hand was very steady as he reached into his coat and withdrew a small, brown paper– wrapped object. He slowly extended his palm. The package was small, no bigger than five inches in length.