Shadow Game (GhostWalkers) Read online

  “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t. I can’t find his original data. It wasn’t in his office here or at home. I tried both computers and I’m going over his reports now to see if I can spot anything that will help me to figure it out.” Lily allowed her extreme fatigue to show, pushing her hands through her hair. “I’ve given you all the information I know at this time, but I’ll continue looking.”

  Higgens snorted his disgust. The general shoved his coffee cup across the table, splashing dark liquid onto the highly polished surface. “Who knows about this?” The general continued glaring at those in the room.

  “It’s classified, only a few people,” Colonel Higgens answered. “Aside from those of us in this room, General Ranier and the techs here at the lab.”

  “Keep it that way. We need to contain this and mop it up as soon as possible. How the hell could this happen? Can any of you tell me that? With all the security, how could they have pulled this off?”

  There was a small silence. Again it was Higgens who responded. “We believe they’ve been testing the security, setting off the alarms, shutting down the cameras, and manipulating the guards, practicing for the last couple of weeks.”

  The general exploded with rage, his hands curling into two tight fists. “What do you mean manipulating the guards?” he roared, his face so red Lily feared he might have a stroke.

  “I’ve already explained it, sir. It’s part of their standard training,” she explained patiently, “planting a suggestion to look the other way. Very useful when infiltrating enemy and terrorist camps and in hostage situations. They are capable of unbelievable feats. They use their minds to coerce the enemy without the enemy knowing.”

  “And these men are out there somewhere right now? Walking time bombs, men who very well could become mercenaries or, worse, who could go over to the other side?”

  Lily lifted her chin at the man. “These men were chosen for their loyalty, their patriotism. I can assure you, sir, they will never betray their country.”

  “Their loyalty became a question the minute they became deserters, Dr. Whitney, and make no mistake, that is just what they are. Deserters!”

  EIGHT

  THE wind tore through the trees, bending trunks nearly double, sweeping branches along the ground. The chain-link fence loomed and Ryland leapt up, catching the links, scrambling up and over in one smooth move, landing on his feet in a crouch. He remained low to the ground and silently signaled to the man on his left.

  Last man clear.

  Raoul “Gator” Fontenot dropped to his belly and scooted along the ground toward the sound of the baying dogs. Telepathy was one of his weakest talents, but he could tune in to animals. It was his job to direct the guard dogs away from the other members of his team. Knife in his teeth, he moved through the grass along the fence line, willing the lightning to stay in the clouds. Too many guards were swarming along their escape route, and even with Ryland’s tremendous control, to manipulate all of them was an impossibility. It took a collective effort and, through necessity, they were scattered.

  Waves of fear and aggression poured from the guards, compounding the danger to the team. All of them were feeling ill from the tremendous energy being generated.

  Coming up on you now, Gator.

  Gator glanced back toward Ryland, caught the swirl of his fingers, and nodded in understanding. He transferred the knife to his right hand, blade flat along his wrist to hide the telltale glint of steel, and dropped all the way down on his belly, breathing softly, inaudibly, willing himself to be a part of the earth. The dogs were eager, rushing toward the fence, toward his comrades. The enormity of his task shook him for a moment. He had to lie there in plain sight, trusting his captain to keep the guards looking the other way while he directed the dogs to a false trail. One slipup and they were all dead.

  The rain beat down on him, a steady assault. The wind howled and moaned as if alive and protesting the unnaturalness of what they were doing. Of what they were.

  Captain. It was the best he could do with his lack of telepathy, a one-word protest against having the lives of so many in his hands.

  This is a piece of cake for you, Gator. A pack of hounds dogging our heels is nothing to you. That was Captain Miller, coming through. Gator’s stomach settled a bit.

  A walk in the park. Kaden threw in his two cents, laughter in his voice, as if he were enjoying the adrenaline rush after their forced confinement. Gator found himself smiling at the thought of Kaden loose on the world.

  At once he felt the movement of the others and knew Ryland was so tuned in to him that he was already directing the rest of the team forward. The men would be ghosts moving through the storm, but he couldn’t worry about them. And he couldn’t worry about being seen or captured. Gator put his fate in the hands of his team leader and narrowed his world to the approaching dogs.

  Ryland strained to pierce the dark veil of the rain-swept night, watching for the guards and dogs as their pursuers neared the fence. He trusted Kaden to keep the other men moving. His job was to protect Gator and the two men behind him. Ryland was worried about Jeff Hollister. Hollister was in bad shape, but game enough, struggling not to slow the team. He had barely made it over the high chain-link fence with help from Gator and Ian McGillicuddy. McGillicuddy lay beside Hollister somewhere behind Ryland, holding position to protect the weakest member of his team.

  The dogs were acting frenzied now, picking up the scents, rushing toward them. Almost abruptly they stopped, sniffed the ground, turned in circles, not obeying their handlers to move forward. One large shepherd took the lead, swinging south, away from the escaped prisoners. The other dogs rushed to follow, baying loudly.

  Gator pressed his throbbing forehead into the soft, wet earth in an effort to alleviate the pain brought on by such intense concentration and use of energy. The fear emanating from the guards was like a disease spreading and infecting everyone it came in contact with. The guards had been told the men were dangerous killers and all of them were extremely nervous.

  Mass hysteria. Ryland’s voice was soothing in Gator’s pounding head. I know you’re all comfortable there, but don’t go to sleep.

  Gator rolled toward Ryland, judging his position and working his way back as soundlessly as he could. The misdirection of the dogs wouldn’t hold for long, but it gave them a few more precious minutes to cover their tracks and get to safety.

  Ryland reached out and touched Gator to let him know his tremendous effort was appreciated. They began inching their way forward across the open meadow, flanking Hollister and McGillicuddy.

  Clear. Kaden reported his group had made it to the other side of the meadow without incident.

  Take them forward. We’re right behind you. Gator cleared our back trail but it isn’t going to last. Ryland was uneasy. He glanced toward Jeff Hollister. The man’s face was etched with pain. Even with the black swirling clouds and vicious rain, the darkness of the night, he could see the lines there. Cursing Peter Whitney silently, he slowed the pace even more. The agony in Jeff’s head radiated out of him to touch every member of the team. Jeff needed the medication Ryland had ordered them not to take, fearing it was too dangerous. Now he wondered if he had given Hollister a death sentence with that order.

  Hang in there, Jeff. You’re almost there. I’ve got meds lined up to help you out.

  I’m slowing you down.

  Don’t communicate! Ryland protested sharply. You can’t afford the effort. Ryland feared Jeff would have a seizure if the assault on his brain continued. Unease was growing in him. Fear for his men, the sudden chilling premonition of danger. Ian? Ian McGillicuddy was a human antenna for trouble. He could sense danger coming.

  Oh yeah, we’ve got trouble. It’s coming fast.

  Ryland scuttled forward on his belly, angling once again toward Gator. Move it, Jeff. Get him up, Ian, run flat out toward the cars. Wait no more than five minutes and then get Jeff clear.

  We’re not leaving you behind. Jeff’s voice
was unsteady, harsh with pain.

  Ryland’s heart swelled with pride. Even as ill as Jeff Hollister was, he put the members of the team first. That’s an order, Jeff. You and McGillicuddy clear out in five minutes.

  Ryland felt it then, the burst of malignant energy pouring over him. Instinctively he rolled to protect Gator, covering the man’s back even as he faced upward. His hands met the solid bulk of flesh and blood.

  He didn’t see the knife so much as he felt it as it came swiftly toward him. It was reflex and training that saved him, his hand closing solidly around his assailant’s wrist to control the weapon. Recognition crowded in. Russell Cowlings had come out of the night and attacked them. Ryland rolled away from Gator, taking the heavier man with him. Planting his foot squarely in Cowling’s chest, Ryland launched the man over his head.

  Cowlings landed with a soft thud, rolled, and came up in a half crouch. Ryland leapt to his feet, his hand slapping away the darting knife as the man came at him a second time. They circled each other cautiously.

  “Why, Russell, why would you betray us?”

  “You call it betrayal, I call you deserters.” Cowlings feinted another attack, threw himself forward when Ryland stepped to the side, going in low and mean, blade up to do the most damage to the soft parts of the body.

  Ryland felt the tip of the knife slice his heavy shirt, belly level. He was already whirling around, catching Cowlings’s wrist and taking him down so that Cowlings’s legs flew up and he landed hard. Counter-moving, Cowlings turned his wrist to get control of the blade of the knife. He yelled as he did so, calling out to the security guards for help.

  “Go, Gator, get clear,” Ryland ordered as he locked Cowlings’s arm, pointing his little finger back behind him so the man’s body followed. Cowlings was forced to drop the knife or allow his hand to be broken. The knife dropped to the ground and Ryland kicked it hard, sending the weapon spinning some distance away into the taller grass.

  Man down. Jeff is down. He’s having a seizure. Ian Hollister reported in his usual calm voice.

  “Gator, go,” Ryland repeated. Help Ian get Jeff clear.

  Cowlings tried to lash out with his legs, scissor-kicking in an attempt to bring Ryland down. “Yeah, send him away,” Cowlings spat. “It won’t matter, you know, they’ll all die.”

  Ryland moved to the side, planting a vicious back kick squarely on Cowlings’s thigh. “Is that what Higgens told you? Is that why you sold us out, Russ? Did Higgens convince you we were going to die?”

  Cowlings swore and spat on the ground. He turned his head to glare up at Ryland. “You’re just so bullheaded, Rye. What’s wrong with using our skills to make money? Do you know what Peter Whitney is worth? What that daughter of his is worth? Why should they get all the money while we take all the risks? The employees at Donovans make more money than we do.”

  Cowlings came in fast, smashing two hard jabs at Ryland’s jaw. Both punches were blocked and Ryland retaliated with a body blow going straight up toward the throat. Cowlings managed to reel backward, barely escaping the lethal attack.

  Ryland was aware of the dogs again, the sounds of excited voices getting closer. “This is about money, then, is it? It’s about your greed, Cowlings, not death?” Ryland snapped. “You aren’t afraid of dying, are you? Why is that? Did Higgens give us all something to cause these seizures?”

  Cowlings laughed. “They’re all going to die, Miller. Every last one of them. You can’t save them and then who is going to be valuable? Higgens will need me.”

  “You’re dancing with the devil, Russ. Do you think the colonel is acting in the best interest of our country? He’s selling us out.”

  “He’s smart enough to see that money can be made. You’re in the way, Miller, you were from the start with your Boy Scout attitude. Hell, we tried twice to kill you and you just won’t die.”

  “Higgens will get rid of you the minute he doesn’t need you.”

  The sound of the dogs was getting closer. Someone had heard Cowlings yell and had turned the pack around.

  “He’ll always need me. I can tell him things no one else can. He knows it and he’s not going to kill the golden goose.”

  Ryland moved in fast, using the speed he was known for, a blurring motion of hands and feet, driving Cowlings backward. He didn’t feel any of the blows Cowlings managed to land, his adrenaline protecting him. His world had narrowed, focused on his opponent. There were few who could defeat him in hand-to-hand combat. Ryland was in a life-or-death battle. Russell Cowlings wanted him dead.

  Cowlings grunted as Ryland landed a round kick to his ribs, smashing into bone. The air whistled out of his lungs and he dropped like a stone, fighting for breath. The security guards and the pack of dogs were already too close, coming toward Ryland at a dead run, with only the fence separating them. Ryland kicked Cowlings hard in the head, hoping to knock him out. He spun around and sprinted across the open meadow away from Gator, Hollister, and McGillicuddy.

  Ryland’s boots slapped the mud hard, making noise, drawing the attention of the dogs. The animals bayed wildly, dragging at their leashes until their handlers allowed them to slip free. At once the dogs ran to the chain-link fence and began tearing at it in a frenzy. Some dogs tried to leap it, others to climb, still others to dig.

  Small circles of light danced and wavered in the sheets of rain, the guards’ vain attempt to illuminate the area. Ryland zigzagged across the grass, making more noise so that the guards might hear him even over the loud barking of the dogs. It took a moment for the men to react, but they did as he wanted, running along the fence toward his position and away from his men. As long as they were running parallel with him, no one thought to stop and cut the fence to let the dogs through. It gave Ryland a few more precious minutes to cover more ground so his men had time to get their downed comrade clear.

  He was grateful for the strong winds and pouring rain, for the thunder and lightning rocking the skies. It would be a while before a helicopter would be put up in the stormy skies in an attempt to track them. His men would be safely away in the cars Lily had waiting for them. Her security man, Arly, had left the various cars parked at different points at least two miles from the laboratories.

  Ryland heard the warning rattle of the fence and turned away from it, sprinting toward the nearest group of buildings. One of the guards snipped the fence, widened the opening to allow the dogs to pour through. They rushed in a pack toward Ryland, eager to hunt their prey. The guards followed, ducking through the fence in hot pursuit.

  Ryland’s boots smacked the pavement loudly as he raced across the street and leapt up on top of a parked sedan. He jumped, his fingers catching hold on the edge of the eaves of the storefront. It was a poorer section of town and the buildings were old and run-down, but the wood held up as he dragged himself onto the roof.

  We’re clear. Ian indicated they had located one of the cars and were safely away. We can circle around and pick you up.

  Jeff? Ryland wanted medical care for the man as soon as possible. There was no telling what was going on in the overstimulated brain. He raced across the roof and leapt to the covering of the next building. It was slick from the rain and he slid precariously, fell on his backside just as a barrage of bullets whistled by him.

  He needs medical attention. Give us your position.

  Ryland crawled across the roof, not taking a chance on skylining himself with trigger-happy guards. If Cowlings was telling the truth and he’d already been a target twice, chances were good the guards had been ordered to shoot to kill. The roof had a door leading to a small stairwell. I’ll make it to you. Stay in position. Shots have been fired. Stay out of the area.

  The door was locked. Ryland didn’t waste time, he simply crawled to the far side of the building and peered over into the street. There was a small overhang to shade the entrance to a store. Ryland dropped onto it, fought for a purchase in the rain-soaked wood, slid a few inches before he caught himself. From there he jumped
to the sidewalk. The landing was hard, jarring him.

  There was an alley a few feet to his right but he didn’t trust that it would bring him to the street he needed. He forced air into his body, slowed his breathing, and melted into the shadow of the building. There was only the sound of the rain as it poured from the skies. The roar of the wind as it showed its fury. Clouds boiled overhead, black cauldrons of spinning dark angry threads spawning veins of lightning arcing from cloud to cloud. Ryland’s luck held and the lightning didn’t flash close to him, allowing him to slip silently through the street to the corner where the car was waiting with the motor running and the passenger door open.

  He leapt into the seat, slamming the door closed as Gator took off so fast they fishtailed in the rain-soaked road. Ryland turned to look at Jeff lying so quiet and pale on the backseat. “Is he alert?”

  Ian shook his head. “He’s been down since the seizure. Gator and I carried him to the car, but we couldn’t bring him around. I hope the lady doctor knows what she’s doing or we’re going to lose him.”

  There was silence in the car. Too many had been lost already. None of them knew if it was inevitable or not.

  LILY stared out the window as the limousine glided through the rain-wet streets. She’d left her little car in the parking lot and was thankful that John had come to get her. Where was Ryland? Had he made it to the house yet? She felt almost numb with terror for him. She didn’t expect to feel this way. She couldn’t think of her father, or the conspiracy. She couldn’t think about the other men somewhere out in the ferocious storm fighting their way to freedom. She could only think of him. Ryland Miller.

  She ached for him. She closed her eyes and he was there, behind her eyelids, sharing her skin. It was revolting and juvenile and illogical, but none of that mattered. She couldn’t force her thoughts away from him. She had to know if he was alive or dead. If he was injured. It frightened her how strong her need was to see him, to touch him, to hear the sound of his voice. She didn’t dare reach out to him telepathically, not when the stakes were so high and his total concentration was needed where he was.