Murder Game (48 page)

“East Coast Team down,” Kadan announced. “The jet’s standing by, let’s move out.”

Ryland handed Kadan the binoculars and pointed toward the small cabin near the lake. “Lily and Flame have been working around the clock to get us as much information as possible on these suspects, but the one called Hawk, we can only speculate is the same Hawk the Reaper teamed up with a few years ago. We just don’t have enough on him to be certain. But there’s no doubt that this one is Scorpion. He’s holed up here by himself, pounding on a heavy bag and running every day. He looks to be in bad mental shape.” He glanced again at Kadan. “I did what you asked me to do. Did you clear it with the general?”

Kadan nodded. “I’ll go in and have a chat with him. It’s the best I can do for him.”

“Nico’s in place,” Ryland said. “Keep him away from the door and outside if possible.”

Kadan took a packet of papers from inside his jacket, slipped his gun in his belt at his back, and checked for his knife. “Nico, if you have to do it, take him out clean, no pain.”

Nico didn’t respond. He always took them out painlessly, one shot. Kadan was reluctant to eliminate Tom Delaney, Sr., and Nico understood why. The man had a wife and child and a good service record, complete with plenty of medals. Murder had never been his choice and he fought it—was still fighting it.

Kadan made his way down to the cabin. Walking. Giving Scorpion plenty of time to see him coming. Tom Delaney turned to watch him approach, his body covered in sweat, his face a mask of pain, knuckles bloody from hitting the heavy bag without gloves.

“Tom Delaney.” Kadan made it a statement as he nodded his head in greeting.

Tom shook his head, a look of relief on his face. “I wondered who’d come for me.”

“Kadan Montague, sir. If you don’t mind, I’d like to propose something to you.”

Delaney reached down toward a cooler.

“Please don’t do that, sir,” Kadan said. “Nico has a gun on you and he never misses.” Deliberately he used the name of a sniper most on Special Forces teams would recognize instantly. “I’d like you to hear me out.”

Delaney straightened slowly, keeping his hands out away from his body. “You know what I’ve done.”

“Yes sir. And I know what was done to you. Your profile was tampered with when you applied for psychic enhancement. You should never have been placed in that program. When you were enhanced, they also did genetic enhancement, raising the levels of hormones to make you super-aggressive. We know that you fought it. Unfortunately, the person who chose you for this program needed an eighth player for his game of murder. When you weren’t cooperative, he began to use your own mind against you. You get headaches and bleed from your nose, mouth, and ears, right?”

“How do you know that?” Delaney looked around and lowered himself slowly to the wooden bench behind him, his hands still out in front of him in plain sight. “My head feels like it’s in a vise and I can’t control myself. I’m afraid for my wife, my son.” His breath came in ragged gasps as he fought to keep from breaking down. “I go crazy. I killed someone, beat him to death, and for a little while the voices stopped. But they’re back again. I tried to get help. I went to the veterans’ hospital. I’m afraid for my family, for others, but they just gave me some drugs. I begged to go into the hospital.”

Kadan had read the report on his desperate cry for help. “You were programmed, both genetically and psychically, to murder, and you’ve fought it.”

Delaney shook his head again, pressing his fingers tight against his eyes. “I couldn’t control it. I don’t really remember beating that man to death, but I did, with my bare hands.” He flexed his fingers. “I tried eating a bullet, but I couldn’t. I kept thinking if I could get help . . .”

“He’s in your head. Pressuring you to do what he wants.”

“Who?” Delaney’s head snapped up, his eyes hard.

“I’m going to get him for you,” Kadan said. “In the meantime, I’m offering you one chance. If you fail, you’re terminated. No second chances, no talking, I’ll put a bullet in your head and you’ll never see it coming.”

“I don’t trust myself. Just do it now. It’s a relief. I don’t want to hurt anyone else. I hit my wife. Damn it, I
hit
her, with my fist. I could hear myself screaming to stop, but I couldn’t. And her face, when she looked at me . . .” He closed his eyes. “Just do it, man.”

“I want to have you transported to a hospital. A doctor will try to undo or counteract the damage done with the genetic enhancement. Once I terminate the man pulling your strings, the pressure as well as the voices in your head should be gone. We can’t get back the man you killed, but you can do your best to make up for it. You were a good soldier. The papers in this packet say you still are. As far as your wife and child will know you are on a mission. If you succeed, you’ll come back to them, but you’ll remain under the general’s command and serve your country when needed. If you don’t succeed, you will be terminated immediately and you will be buried with full military honors. Your wife and child will never know what happened to you and will receive your insurance benefits as befitting the widow and family of a fallen soldier.”

“Why would you do that for me?” Delaney asked suspiciously.

“Because I’ve had to kill four people today and I’ll kill four more by tomorrow morning. You’re worth saving, and I don’t want to have to look into your wife’s eyes and know I didn’t try. I don’t want to have to go home to my woman and have her know I didn’t try. I signed on for psychic enhancement, but no one asked my permission for genetic enhancement. Whatever happened to you could just as easily have happened to me.”

“In return for this offer, what do I have to do?” Delaney sounded wary. He was a soldier, Special Forces, and his every instinct would be to keep information to himself.

“You have to do exactly what I laid out for you. I don’t need you to tell me anything about how you got into this or who did it with you. We’ll take you to a hospital at an undisclosed location. You will be allowed one phone call to your wife where you will tell her you were called up for a special mission you can’t talk about. Tell her you love her and to wait for you, to give you one more chance. Let her know you’ll probably be gone several months. Cooperate with the doctor. I won’t lie to you: We don’t know how to undo the genetic enhancements; the doctor will probably have to counteract them in some way. I have no guarantee for you other than my word as a fellow GhostWalker that I’m telling you the truth.”

Tom Delaney turned his face away, but not before Kadan saw him choking with emotion. “Let’s do it then,” the soldier said gruffly. “And if it doesn’t work, promise me you won’t let me leave that place alive.”

“You have my word on that.” Kadan motioned him to stand and turn around, indicating that he put his hands behind his back. “It’s safer for you. You’ll have guns on you all the way to the transport vehicle. They’ll knock you out so the voices can’t reach you.”

Tom Delaney stood quietly while Kadan put handcuffs on him. “Look man. I know I don’t deserve it, but if something goes wrong, tell my wife I really loved her. She has to know I really love her and my boy.”

“I’ll take care of them. You have my word.”

Kadan led him back toward the top of the hill, where Ryland had a van ready. Ryland gave Delaney no time to change his mind or think about things; he knocked him out with one swift shot of the air syringe.

“The puppet master is a dreamwalker. You’re certain he can’t get to Delaney that way?” Kadan asked.

Ryland shrugged as he watched the van head out toward the waiting plane that would take Delaney to the small up-to-date facility Lily had built in the mountains of Montana. “It’s Nico’s concoction and he says no dreamwalker can get past that barricade.”

“Five down,” Kadan said and climbed into the SUV.

Jason Sturges, aka Bull, weaved his way cautiously through the animal pens, making his way in the dark along the narrow paths between fences. The steers pawed at the ground and bellowed occasionally, restless and distressed over the unfamiliar scents and the intruding shadows flitting through their territory. A few stomped their feet and pushed against the fences, rattling the boards with their heavy weight.

Bull smiled and crouched a little lower, listening to the waves of restless cattle. The man who was trying to blackmail him was somewhere near the lower fences. He could tell by the way the curious cattle swung their heads. He knew animals and he knew how to fight. Confident, and rather amused, he inched toward the lower pens where the bulls were kept.

Come alone,
the voice had whispered hoarsely on the telephone. Hell yeah, he’d come alone. Maybe he should have invited a couple of his teammates to come along for the fun, but sometimes a man just needed to have his own good time. He’d have bragging rights after he killed his blackmailer. Anyone dumb enough to mess with a bull deserved the horns. Inwardly he laughed at his own joke and kept pressing forward, following the call of the cattle.

“Gator’s directing the cattle,” Nico reported into Kadan’s ear. “He’s herding Bull your way. I can’t always get a clear shot. He’s got a lot of cover.”

“Tell Gator to keep him moving. I want him in motion at all times so he’s easier to spot.”

The report on Bull had been astonishing. As a soldier, he had a good reputation, was reputed to be excellent at his job, and had no damaging reports in his file. As crazy as the man was, Kadan had expected to find a few rumors floating, but Bull was either lucky or good, and Kadan had the feeling he was just that good. Flame had uncovered an alarming pattern of deaths on Bull’s team. Nearly every mission a man was lost. His team had the highest loss rate of any team in the service, yet no one had questioned that each downed man was a legitimately explained death.

Sturges had been a serial killer long before he’d been enhanced. Flame had covered his high school and college years. There’d been dead students every year, and again, he’d never been so much as suspected, but Kadan was certain the man had been killing for years.

“He’s close now, Kadan, and he’s aware something’s up.” Nico said. “I don’t have a clear shot.”

Kadan hadn’t expected less of Bull. The man was highly skilled and a GhostWalker. He couldn’t fail to have radar. Sturges was in his sight now, moving slow, a gun in one hand, a knife in the other. He moved with a fluid ease, light on his feet, covering territory but staying in the shadows and keeping the cattle between him and everything else.

Without warning the man sprang, leaping into the air, twisting and firing several shots in Kadan’s direction. Bullets hit around him, but none came too close. His instincts were more than good; Sturges had a sense of survival. He was back on the ground, flattening himself against the pens while the cattle stirred restlessly, running from one side to another, forcing Gator to struggle to keep them contained.

“No shot,” Nico reported calmly. “He’s fast, he’s good, and he knows he’s cornered now. He’ll be dangerous.”

Kadan said nothing, rolling beneath the fence, worming his way through the cattle, using his elbows to propel him, relying on Gator to keep the big steers from stepping on him. The mud and straw stank, drowning out any scent the other man was giving off.

Without warning Bull charged the fence, at the last moment rolling under it, not leaping over, giving Nico nothing to spot. Sturges almost landed on top of Kadan, his knife slashing across Kadan’s back, kissing skin and laying out a burning brand that stung like hell. Kadan rolled, coming up to meet the other man, the two bodies slamming together hard, each locking the other’s wrists so they knelt, shaking with power and strength, gazes locked as well.

Sturges hissed, recognizing the GhostWalker and for the first time realizing he really could die. He allowed one elbow to bend and rocked back, trying to throw Kadan. The grip on his wrists was relentless. He couldn’t move either hand. He lunged forward with a head butt. Kadan shifted as if he’d been waiting for the move. Using Sturges’s forward momentum, he flung him forward and up into the air. His head topped the fence and the cattle for just one split second.

Nico squeezed the trigger and Sturges fell, landing hard, his arms and legs flopping loosely while the cattle milled around him and blood pooled in the straw.

Kadan retrieved the knife and gun. “Rye. Send in the cleaners. That’s six and we’re on the clock.”

“It took a little bit of time to locate these two, and we got lucky,” Ryland said, moving through the vineyard. “Flame hacked into the Reaper’s computer and found this little hideaway the two own together. Apparently they’ve set up a range for target practice. She saw an invoice for some hefty equipment. When I say target practice, I’m talking moving targets, like we use in the urban training.”

“So what are they doing?” Gator asked.

“They’ve built quite a small city back here. We did a series of aerial photographs and the buildings are mostly shells.”

“A stage.” Nico glanced at Kadan. “They practice the murders here, so they can perfect each one before they carry it out.”

“The details matter,” Kadan said. “They’re serious about getting the most points possible for each allotted murder. That’s like the Reaper. He’s a perfectionist and would be very serious about winning if he entered the game.” He looked around at his team. “This,” he waved his hands toward the compound, “is a perversion of everything we believe in. Our training, every soldier who went through months and years of training to
save
lives. They’ve warped the skills given them and the training practices, in order to perfect murder. They disgust me, but don’t for one moment think they don’t know what they’re doing. I know the Reaper. I’ve worked with him and he’s good. Better than good. You can’t afford one mistake.”

“Do we know what kinds of psychic or genetic enhancements either of them have?” Nico asked.

Ryland shook his head. “There’s no documentation. Not in any files Lily could find on Whitney’s computer or in any of the ones Flame hacked into on the suspects themselves. There isn’t a whisper among the teams, either. We’re going in blind.”