Street Game (GhostWalkers #8)(97)
Author: Christine Feehan

“We don’t know what shape they’re in,” Mack added. “Jaimie, you’re good with languages. You’ll have to do all the reassuring.”

“You’re just as capable,” she corrected.

“Yeah, but you’re a girl,” he said with a smug grin.

“Paul can monitor everything from DC,” Griffen said.

There was a small silence. Paul stood up slowly, a scowl on his face. Mack held his hand up, silencing the boy. “Paul’s a valuable member of my team. You’re not going to cripple us by breaking up the team now when this is so important.”

“You said yourself that Paul couldn’t communicate telepathically and would endanger your team,” Griffen pointed out.

“That was before I knew him. He’s a good soldier and we’ll need him and his talents. He’s a member of my team, Sergeant Major. You can’t pull him without a reason.”

For the first time Griffen hesitated. It was clear he didn’t want to send his son on what might be a suicide mission, or one where, if they were caught with the children, they might be branded criminals for life—tried and convicted worldwide. Even if they were cleared later, the shadow would forever follow them. And they’d be exposed to the world. Considered a liability.

Griffen drew in a deep breath and glanced at his son. Paul looked excruciatingly embarrassed. The other team members were looking anywhere but at him. Griffen forced himself to nod. “Good, then. You must have a plan for communication.”

“I always have a plan, Top,” Mack said. “But the details of this mission I’ll keep to myself. It’s the way I always work and it keeps us alive.”

Griffen stood up. “I’ll leave you to get ready, then. I’ll be flying back home. Paul, walk me out.”

“You got it, Top,” Paul said.

CHAPTER 19

Jaimie crouched on the floor of the van, her heart pounding so hard she was afraid it would burst through her chest. All around her, crammed close like sardines, were men in combat gear, full black from caps to crepe-soled shoes. Her mouth felt like cotton. She was an analyst, not a field operative. Why wouldn’t anyone pay attention when she told them?

They had traveled for so many hours, poring over detailed blueprints, talking out every possibility, covering the smallest points, until Jaimie was exhausted and had lost track of time. The clothing was all too familiar; it clung to her like a second skin, as if she belonged. The men trained every day—every day in hostage rescue. Each one of them was a marksman. Each spent hours and hours on the range making certain every bullet they fired hit its target. They were all in superb shape. She must have been crazy to do this.

She opened her mouth to make another protest and closed it abruptly. They’d gone over every single detail in the hours of flight. All of them had slept the moment they’d closed their eyes. They’d trained their bodies to rest anywhere they could, under any circumstances. She looked around at the men she regarded as brothers—at the man she loved—and she realized they were born for this work.

She heard the murmur of their voices as if from a distance, the soft ribbing back and forth. Once, Kane leaned over and inspected Paul’s pack. She felt the difference in the men even before the van began to slow. The adrenaline rush was unbelievable.

For a moment, the chemicals running through her body nearly paralyzed her.

Just breathe through it, Jaimie, Mack’s voice slipped into her mind. You’ll do fine.

She nodded her head, but didn’t trust herself to speak. He looked so confident.

She couldn’t imagine him not succeeding. Failure wasn’t in his vocabulary. It was in the way he carried himself, the set of his shoulders. He would have been an extraordinary soldier without his enhancements, and they’d only made him that much better at what he did.

She forced another breath of air through her lungs.

Twenty seconds, Kane intoned.

Although there was an arsenal of weapons available, they all carried tranq guns.

She opted for a double-barreled, compressed-air tranq gun loaded with small medicated darts, guaranteed for an instant knockout. She knew the men were just as deadly with or without their firepower. This time, they would be going in and out silently, like wraiths, and they’d leave it to the Special Ops to do cleanup. All that was important was the package.

Ten seconds.

Jaimie wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. The rain was no more than a misty drizzle. It was a night without moon or stars, a night made for some dark, deadly purpose. She shoved the gun around her neck, freeing her hands to go up and over the fence. They had to be in the right sector with the right guards. Once over the fence, they were on their own.

There was a distinct chill in the air despite the closeness of the bodies crammed in the van. She found herself shivering, her teeth wanting to chatter, the overload of adrenaline nearly impossible to handle without action. Mack laid a hand on her arm without saying anything, but his body was warm and comforting next to hers and settled her more.

Five seconds. Kane’s voice was like the proverbial tolling of the bell in her head.

From down the street there was the sudden flare-up of automobile headlights, the whine of one vehicle, the purr of another. The honored guests at the ambassador’s dinner party were arriving in a steady stream. Sounds of laughter and music drifted on the night breeze. The damp night had not dampened the guests’ spirits in the least.

Kane slipped from the van. No interior light glowed. The blackness held intact and he became part of it. He moved in silence, sliding across the grassy shoulder between the road and the high fence. He could hear the sounds of activity just around the slight bend, but he was removed from them. The guard dogs patrolling with their handlers throughout the ten acres had obviously been doubled. Five buildings were connected with circular paths throughout the courtyards. Marine guards were on high alert, and it showed in their patrols. They were in constant communication with one another.

Kane approached the sector where the Special Ops guard was supposed to have been stationed. Gideon slipped out of the van next and worked his way through the short grass and flowers on his belly, his eyes and gun centered on the guard. Jaimie felt the tension instantly. For all of them, this was the most frightening moment. If the Special Ops guard hadn’t replaced the regular Marine, the mission could end before it began.

I’ve got him covered, Gideon sent.

Kane moved into position and let out a low one-two whistle. There was a brief moment of silence. Jaimie’s heart nearly exploded it pounded so hard. She was afraid the others might be able to hear it. Then it came, that same soft whistle, a single highlow note they waited for.