Samurai Game
Page 3
“I don’t understand what you need from me.”
“The president of the Congo has asked our president for help.” She held up her hand. “Don’t ask me how I know. The order will be to go in and destroy the munitions and vehicles, and to assassinate both Armine and Ekabela.”
Patterson shook his head. He was always astounded by how much information Whitney managed to intercept.
“Whitney has been supplying arms and money to Ekabela, not a lot, but enough to keep him hungry and enable him to defend the mine against both Armine and the president. If the president gets that land back with the mines, we’ll never finish this weapon.” She leaned toward Patterson. “This one is important, Art. Really important. Ekabela is willing to trade the diamond to be put back in power. Along with that, he wants a GhostWalker. He wants revenge. He preferred one of the Norton brothers from GhostWalker Team Two—mainly, I suspect, because he couldn’t identify the one who killed his brother and Jack Norton wreaked havoc on his army, but Dr. Whitney persuaded him that was impossible.”
“I don’t understand,” Patterson said with a small frown. “What difference does it make to Whitney which GhostWalker he gives up if he’s giving one to Ekabela?”
“The Nortons are no longer expendable, especially Jack. He has children—twin boys. His brother is certain to follow his example soon. They need to train their children in survival, and Whitney is absolutely sure that they will. The Nortons are premium, elite soldiers and have proven their worth to the program over and over.”
“No doubt,” Patterson agreed, trying to look very sincere.
“We need a hero in the program and Dr. Whitney has selected Sam ‘Knight’ Johnson. It’s a terrible sacrifice he doesn’t want to make and, of course, it deeply saddens him, but in order to keep the program moving forward, sacrifices do have to be made. Of all the GhostWalkers, Sam is the most expendable. He can’t provide us with a child, and the children are more important than the soldiers.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Johnson is paired with a woman of no use to the program. Unless Whitney can get him back, which is highly improbable, he will not accept another mate, so he’ll never produce a much-needed child.” She shrugged. “In any case, it was easy to persuade Ekabela that Sam Johnson was the man who killed his brother.”
Patterson stretched his legs out and took a casual look around the coffee shop. As usual, this popular café was packed. His hungry gaze automatically noted the women surrounding him. A harried mother who looked as if she needed a man to make her feel beautiful; a little mouse of an Asian woman who sipped tea and studiously read a book on Zen as she listened to music with an earpiece in her ear and tapped her foot to the beat; two middle-aged animated friends having fun, laughing together … so many types. He loved that about women—that there were so many to choose from and right here in this room there was a good cross-section. He turned his head to smile at Sheila. The conversation was going along very nicely.
Did he really care that Sam Johnson was paired with a useless woman? Not really, but what was important, of course, was the fact that the renowned infallible Dr. Whitney had made a mistake or it wouldn’t have happened. And that was an important nugget of information Sheila had inadvertently given him.
“So you’re saying Johnson goes on the mission and doesn’t come back. The team takes out the terrorist cell and along the way, Whitney’s men are in place to make certain Ekabela gets a GhostWalker to torture endlessly in return for the diamond.”
“Not exactly,” Sheila hedged. “Ekabela’s men will be there to take the GhostWalker, but we’ll have a sniper in place to kill Johnson once the diamond is in our hands and the rest of the team is out safely. He won’t suffer.”
Art was very skilled at portraying emotion he didn’t feel. He blew out his breath, shook his head, and took another drink of coffee. “That’s bullshit, Sheila, and you know it. That puts the entire team at risk. What’s to say Ekabela doesn’t go after more than one GhostWalker and keep the diamond anyway?”
“The money, of course. He needs the money for his war chest and he needs an ally like Whitney.” She looked around, lowered her voice further, and beckoned him close. “Did you get the intel on the recent jailbreak in Lubumbashi? Nine hundred and sixty-seven prisoners escaped. It appeared that eight armed men attacked the prison guards, allowing the prisoners to flee, trying to free a militant who had been condemned to death. Unbeknownst to the minister, they had three members of Ekabela’s family: another brother, a son, and a nephew. It was only a matter of time before someone gave up their true identities. Whitney arranged to help Ekabela recover them as part of the good faith deal. Ekabela needs Whitney, although his is a lost cause. He’ll never find enough followers to keep those mines for long.”
“He massacres entire villages and the children, forcing them to join with him or die. This man is no saint. His reputation is terrifying in that region. He’s not a man Whitney wants to be in bed with.”
“Of course not,” Sheila soothed. “Of course Whitney doesn’t want to deal with such a man, but he needs that diamond for the defense of our country, and he can’t chance that the local military gets enough guts to take back those mineral-rich lands, nor can he take the chance that whoever has the mines next will do business with him. The moment the diamond is in his hands, you know that he’ll destroy Ekabela. He’ll move heaven and earth to make certain the man dies, and with him, all of his terrible atrocities. The price for this powerful weapon that could end wars, for the defense of everything we hold dear, is one man. One, Art. You and I both know it’s a small price.”
The major frowned and scratched the back of his head. “These soldiers are elite, every one of them. They’ve trained extensively. Even without their psychic abilities, just the training alone is worth so much to our government. Do you have any idea how many operations these men have run, just this team alone? To give one up to the enemy, that just doesn’t sit right.”
“Of course no one wants it that way, Art,” Sheila said, leaning forward to touch his hand with her fingertips. “Dr. Whitney agonized over this decision. The mission has to take place. If we don’t sacrifice a knight, then many good men will die.” She took a small package from her purse and, with one finger, pushed it across the table at him. “Dr. Whitney really needs your help on this. Make certain Johnson is on that team when the orders come through.”
The major loved this part. Negotiation—his forte. He frowned. Drew a hand over his face and shook his head. “Ekabela will torture that GhostWalker the way they did Jack and Ken Norton. Ken is covered in scars,” Patterson said. “Sam Johnson has served this country time and time again, going above the call of duty.”
Sheila withdrew another packet and placed it carefully on top of the other one.
Patterson studied her face. Should he push? Sheila bit her lip when he remained silent. Laughter bubbled up. He had her. He sank back in his chair and shook his head. “Not this time. I’ve read what Ekabela does to people he doesn’t like. If you told him Johnson killed his brother, he’ll f**k him up so bad the man will beg for death and I doubt if Ekabela will give it to him—not for a very long time.”
She took out a third packet and placed it beside the other two. Her lips compressed tight. Patterson swept up the money. “You’d better have a sniper in place, Sheila,” he warned, knowing full well Whitney wouldn’t risk blowing the deal by killing Ekabela’s prize. “I’ll see what I can do, but Whitney blew it when he had me talk to the general. I don’t hold a trusted position anymore. He plays his cards close to his chest. He and that aide of his go way back.”
“Nevertheless, see to it that the orders change before they get to the general.”
Patterson stood up, sliding the packs of money inside his coat in the pocket specially tailored for just such lucrative transactions, satisfaction welling up. He turned from the table to walk out.
Sheila hastily plugged in her earpiece. “He’s on the move. Watch him closely. If anything happens to him, we’re all in trouble.” She had a team in place this time—Whitney’s own men, his private army of GhostWalkers on his payroll, men not quite as perfect as the elite soldiers on the teams, but enhanced nonetheless. She’d noticed those men—mercenaries—rarely lasted long. The effects of the enhancements seemed to take a toll on them, making them belligerent and always ready to fight.
Several people in the café had gotten up to pay, cutting across Patterson’s path, slowing him down. A tall, slender man in a business suit picked up his briefcase and stood, nearly running into the major. He stepped back with an apology to allow the soldier to continue his line of travel. A small Asian woman turned from the cash register with a small cough, her fist going to her mouth to politely cover the soft sound.
The major glanced back and grinned at Sheila. “See you later.” He turned and faltered in his stride, both hands going to his throat. He made a sound, much like a death rattle. He staggered, and took three more steps.
The tall man passed him, heading for the counter, his bill in his hand. Two of Sheila’s team paced alongside Patterson but from opposite sides of the room. The major once again turned toward Sheila. She could see his face was nearly purple, his lips blue.
“Move in. Move in,” she practically shouted.
Patterson went down on his knees, grabbing at the Asian woman, nearly toppling her as well. She looked frightened and backed away, toward Sheila, bumping her and bouncing off. Sheila tried to get to the major, but several customers blocked her path for a minute, rushing toward the fallen man who appeared to be choking. She was bumped and pushed in the melee, delaying her. Sheila’s team reached Patterson first, surrounding him as he fell flat on his face, gasping for breath.
“Call nine-one-one,” one of her men ordered her.
They rolled the major over. His eyes were wide-open, sightless, bulging. His mouth was open as well, giving her the impression of a fish gasping its last breath. He was definitely dying if he wasn’t already dead. Whitney could not possibly blame her for this. She pushed her way through the small crowd to Patterson’s side and knelt over him as her men worked on him. Her fingers found the inside pocket. She nearly screamed aloud. The money was gone. Gone. Right in front of her. In front of the team. It was impossible.
She took a careful look around at the crowd. She’d scoped out this very café numerous times and most of the onlookers were the same people who came in after work for coffee and a chat with coworkers or to relax before they went home. She recognized the little Asian girl who had been reading her book. She and the three Asian men who sat at a table chatting together, along with the tall gentlemen with the briefcase, worked at Samurai Telecommunications across the street. The two women laughing together were secretaries at the law offices of Tweed and Tweed.
She could practically name everyone in the room and where they worked. She’d done backgrounds on everyone including the workers here. What was she going to say to Whitney? Thank God she had been smart enough to place a tracking device in the third packet of money. She knew Patterson, knew his greed. He always managed to sound very concerned for the soldiers, but in the end he’d always been more concerned for his bank account. She read him like a book and she’d known exactly when his breaking point would be.
She looked down at the major. Two of the team members worked on him, trying to bring him back, but he was gone that fast. Disgusted, she stood up and dusted off her hands, walking with great dignity back to her table. The small tracker was there in her purse. She reached inside and turned it on. The green light blinked rapidly, telling her she was very, very close to the source.
“The president of the Congo has asked our president for help.” She held up her hand. “Don’t ask me how I know. The order will be to go in and destroy the munitions and vehicles, and to assassinate both Armine and Ekabela.”
Patterson shook his head. He was always astounded by how much information Whitney managed to intercept.
“Whitney has been supplying arms and money to Ekabela, not a lot, but enough to keep him hungry and enable him to defend the mine against both Armine and the president. If the president gets that land back with the mines, we’ll never finish this weapon.” She leaned toward Patterson. “This one is important, Art. Really important. Ekabela is willing to trade the diamond to be put back in power. Along with that, he wants a GhostWalker. He wants revenge. He preferred one of the Norton brothers from GhostWalker Team Two—mainly, I suspect, because he couldn’t identify the one who killed his brother and Jack Norton wreaked havoc on his army, but Dr. Whitney persuaded him that was impossible.”
“I don’t understand,” Patterson said with a small frown. “What difference does it make to Whitney which GhostWalker he gives up if he’s giving one to Ekabela?”
“The Nortons are no longer expendable, especially Jack. He has children—twin boys. His brother is certain to follow his example soon. They need to train their children in survival, and Whitney is absolutely sure that they will. The Nortons are premium, elite soldiers and have proven their worth to the program over and over.”
“No doubt,” Patterson agreed, trying to look very sincere.
“We need a hero in the program and Dr. Whitney has selected Sam ‘Knight’ Johnson. It’s a terrible sacrifice he doesn’t want to make and, of course, it deeply saddens him, but in order to keep the program moving forward, sacrifices do have to be made. Of all the GhostWalkers, Sam is the most expendable. He can’t provide us with a child, and the children are more important than the soldiers.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Johnson is paired with a woman of no use to the program. Unless Whitney can get him back, which is highly improbable, he will not accept another mate, so he’ll never produce a much-needed child.” She shrugged. “In any case, it was easy to persuade Ekabela that Sam Johnson was the man who killed his brother.”
Patterson stretched his legs out and took a casual look around the coffee shop. As usual, this popular café was packed. His hungry gaze automatically noted the women surrounding him. A harried mother who looked as if she needed a man to make her feel beautiful; a little mouse of an Asian woman who sipped tea and studiously read a book on Zen as she listened to music with an earpiece in her ear and tapped her foot to the beat; two middle-aged animated friends having fun, laughing together … so many types. He loved that about women—that there were so many to choose from and right here in this room there was a good cross-section. He turned his head to smile at Sheila. The conversation was going along very nicely.
Did he really care that Sam Johnson was paired with a useless woman? Not really, but what was important, of course, was the fact that the renowned infallible Dr. Whitney had made a mistake or it wouldn’t have happened. And that was an important nugget of information Sheila had inadvertently given him.
“So you’re saying Johnson goes on the mission and doesn’t come back. The team takes out the terrorist cell and along the way, Whitney’s men are in place to make certain Ekabela gets a GhostWalker to torture endlessly in return for the diamond.”
“Not exactly,” Sheila hedged. “Ekabela’s men will be there to take the GhostWalker, but we’ll have a sniper in place to kill Johnson once the diamond is in our hands and the rest of the team is out safely. He won’t suffer.”
Art was very skilled at portraying emotion he didn’t feel. He blew out his breath, shook his head, and took another drink of coffee. “That’s bullshit, Sheila, and you know it. That puts the entire team at risk. What’s to say Ekabela doesn’t go after more than one GhostWalker and keep the diamond anyway?”
“The money, of course. He needs the money for his war chest and he needs an ally like Whitney.” She looked around, lowered her voice further, and beckoned him close. “Did you get the intel on the recent jailbreak in Lubumbashi? Nine hundred and sixty-seven prisoners escaped. It appeared that eight armed men attacked the prison guards, allowing the prisoners to flee, trying to free a militant who had been condemned to death. Unbeknownst to the minister, they had three members of Ekabela’s family: another brother, a son, and a nephew. It was only a matter of time before someone gave up their true identities. Whitney arranged to help Ekabela recover them as part of the good faith deal. Ekabela needs Whitney, although his is a lost cause. He’ll never find enough followers to keep those mines for long.”
“He massacres entire villages and the children, forcing them to join with him or die. This man is no saint. His reputation is terrifying in that region. He’s not a man Whitney wants to be in bed with.”
“Of course not,” Sheila soothed. “Of course Whitney doesn’t want to deal with such a man, but he needs that diamond for the defense of our country, and he can’t chance that the local military gets enough guts to take back those mineral-rich lands, nor can he take the chance that whoever has the mines next will do business with him. The moment the diamond is in his hands, you know that he’ll destroy Ekabela. He’ll move heaven and earth to make certain the man dies, and with him, all of his terrible atrocities. The price for this powerful weapon that could end wars, for the defense of everything we hold dear, is one man. One, Art. You and I both know it’s a small price.”
The major frowned and scratched the back of his head. “These soldiers are elite, every one of them. They’ve trained extensively. Even without their psychic abilities, just the training alone is worth so much to our government. Do you have any idea how many operations these men have run, just this team alone? To give one up to the enemy, that just doesn’t sit right.”
“Of course no one wants it that way, Art,” Sheila said, leaning forward to touch his hand with her fingertips. “Dr. Whitney agonized over this decision. The mission has to take place. If we don’t sacrifice a knight, then many good men will die.” She took a small package from her purse and, with one finger, pushed it across the table at him. “Dr. Whitney really needs your help on this. Make certain Johnson is on that team when the orders come through.”
The major loved this part. Negotiation—his forte. He frowned. Drew a hand over his face and shook his head. “Ekabela will torture that GhostWalker the way they did Jack and Ken Norton. Ken is covered in scars,” Patterson said. “Sam Johnson has served this country time and time again, going above the call of duty.”
Sheila withdrew another packet and placed it carefully on top of the other one.
Patterson studied her face. Should he push? Sheila bit her lip when he remained silent. Laughter bubbled up. He had her. He sank back in his chair and shook his head. “Not this time. I’ve read what Ekabela does to people he doesn’t like. If you told him Johnson killed his brother, he’ll f**k him up so bad the man will beg for death and I doubt if Ekabela will give it to him—not for a very long time.”
She took out a third packet and placed it beside the other two. Her lips compressed tight. Patterson swept up the money. “You’d better have a sniper in place, Sheila,” he warned, knowing full well Whitney wouldn’t risk blowing the deal by killing Ekabela’s prize. “I’ll see what I can do, but Whitney blew it when he had me talk to the general. I don’t hold a trusted position anymore. He plays his cards close to his chest. He and that aide of his go way back.”
“Nevertheless, see to it that the orders change before they get to the general.”
Patterson stood up, sliding the packs of money inside his coat in the pocket specially tailored for just such lucrative transactions, satisfaction welling up. He turned from the table to walk out.
Sheila hastily plugged in her earpiece. “He’s on the move. Watch him closely. If anything happens to him, we’re all in trouble.” She had a team in place this time—Whitney’s own men, his private army of GhostWalkers on his payroll, men not quite as perfect as the elite soldiers on the teams, but enhanced nonetheless. She’d noticed those men—mercenaries—rarely lasted long. The effects of the enhancements seemed to take a toll on them, making them belligerent and always ready to fight.
Several people in the café had gotten up to pay, cutting across Patterson’s path, slowing him down. A tall, slender man in a business suit picked up his briefcase and stood, nearly running into the major. He stepped back with an apology to allow the soldier to continue his line of travel. A small Asian woman turned from the cash register with a small cough, her fist going to her mouth to politely cover the soft sound.
The major glanced back and grinned at Sheila. “See you later.” He turned and faltered in his stride, both hands going to his throat. He made a sound, much like a death rattle. He staggered, and took three more steps.
The tall man passed him, heading for the counter, his bill in his hand. Two of Sheila’s team paced alongside Patterson but from opposite sides of the room. The major once again turned toward Sheila. She could see his face was nearly purple, his lips blue.
“Move in. Move in,” she practically shouted.
Patterson went down on his knees, grabbing at the Asian woman, nearly toppling her as well. She looked frightened and backed away, toward Sheila, bumping her and bouncing off. Sheila tried to get to the major, but several customers blocked her path for a minute, rushing toward the fallen man who appeared to be choking. She was bumped and pushed in the melee, delaying her. Sheila’s team reached Patterson first, surrounding him as he fell flat on his face, gasping for breath.
“Call nine-one-one,” one of her men ordered her.
They rolled the major over. His eyes were wide-open, sightless, bulging. His mouth was open as well, giving her the impression of a fish gasping its last breath. He was definitely dying if he wasn’t already dead. Whitney could not possibly blame her for this. She pushed her way through the small crowd to Patterson’s side and knelt over him as her men worked on him. Her fingers found the inside pocket. She nearly screamed aloud. The money was gone. Gone. Right in front of her. In front of the team. It was impossible.
She took a careful look around at the crowd. She’d scoped out this very café numerous times and most of the onlookers were the same people who came in after work for coffee and a chat with coworkers or to relax before they went home. She recognized the little Asian girl who had been reading her book. She and the three Asian men who sat at a table chatting together, along with the tall gentlemen with the briefcase, worked at Samurai Telecommunications across the street. The two women laughing together were secretaries at the law offices of Tweed and Tweed.
She could practically name everyone in the room and where they worked. She’d done backgrounds on everyone including the workers here. What was she going to say to Whitney? Thank God she had been smart enough to place a tracking device in the third packet of money. She knew Patterson, knew his greed. He always managed to sound very concerned for the soldiers, but in the end he’d always been more concerned for his bank account. She read him like a book and she’d known exactly when his breaking point would be.
She looked down at the major. Two of the team members worked on him, trying to bring him back, but he was gone that fast. Disgusted, she stood up and dusted off her hands, walking with great dignity back to her table. The small tracker was there in her purse. She reached inside and turned it on. The green light blinked rapidly, telling her she was very, very close to the source.
