Power Game

by Christine Feehan

  "Good morning," Ezekiel greeted. "This is Lieutenant Draden Freeman Doctor, Master Sergeant Gino Mazza and Master Sergeant Mordichai Fortunes. They will be assisting with your training. Expect to be pushed to your limit for the success of this mission. We have determined that the time on target will be limited to no more than three minutes."

  He watched the Indonesian soldiers as he laid it out for them. What they were doing was extremely dangerous. He wanted to know that he could count on every man to have his soldiers' backs. He knew their reputation, and they were good men to have at one's back, but he didn't know them and he wasn't about to lose any of his men on this mission.

  "SBT-22 will be transporting us to and from the objective. We'll have to move about seventy meters from the drop-off and pick-up point to reach the target building. Satellite images have shown the hostages being moved to and from the building, so we know that they will be there."

  Keeping his eye on the Indonesian soldiers, the six unknown to him in a combat situation, he continued, "We expect heavy resistance. The latest video the terrorists sent show the hostages were alive as of last night. However, they plan to execute the hostages in one week. Two of them look to be in such bad shape that we're not certain they'll last that long. Therefore, we have four days until we deploy to Indonesia. This will be cutting it close. Everyone, gather around the sand table."

  Ezekiel preferred to use the mini sandbox. He had set up a scale version of their objective. It was easy to change as more intelligence came in the closer they were to the execution of their mission. He waited until they were surrounding the sand table and he knew everyone could easily see.

  "This is a to scale mock-up of our objective, the buildings, guard towers, fences and so on. This is the Musi River that will provide us with our infil and exfil route. We will be staging here at Palembang City on the southernmost point of this island. There are docks already there that we will use. An Indonesian Marine unit is getting things prepared there as we speak."

  Again, he kept his eyes on the Indonesian soldiers. Four of them appeared to be paying close attention. The other two exchanged glances and then looked around the room, seemingly more interested in their surroundings than the mission. He caught Gino's eye and glanced toward the two. Gino moved in between them. He wasn't polite about it.

  "Nineteen kilometers west is Sri Jaya, that is where we will find our men. This is a small village of mostly innocent people. We will need to make certain we positively identify our targets before we engage them. We are not going to see images of dead women and children on CNN. I cannot stress this enough. Anyone encountered with a weapon will be designated Tango and will be put down."

  He gestured to the whiteboard he had set up. "On the whiteboard is a diagram of where each man will be and which boat they will be on. You will ride that position every time. We will drill on this until we can load and unload without thinking about it. I want it automatic. Natural. You were born doing it."

  The two soldiers he most worried about had gotten with the program and seemed to be paying attention. He breathed a sigh of relief. The Indonesians had a good reputation for being extremely well trained. The training to become a member of their elite forces was one of the most difficult in the world.

  "Each man needs to know the job of the person on either side of him so that they can take up his portion of the mission if he's taken out of the fight." He waited until every eye was on him. "Gentlemen. We will not leave a single man behind, including any of ours that may be killed. If one of ours is killed, he comes home. Everyone comes home."

  He felt his gut tighten as he looked at the two Indonesian soldiers who hadn't been paying attention earlier. Rather than nod or look determined or even stone-faced, the two exchanged another smirk.

  "Does that amuse you?" he challenged them. He didn't care for political bullshit or why he was briefing and training the men for the mission rather than Senior Chief Petty Officer Wallace. He only cared that they succeeded in their objective and brought the hostages home as well as all his men--and that included the two clowns.

  The other four Indonesian soldiers stiffened, one turning and saying something in a low whip of a voice to the other two. Both snapped to attention instantly.

  "No, sir," the one introduced as Amar Lesmana said.

  "Good." Ezekiel would have liked to get rid of both of them on the spot. He had a bad feeling about them, but he was used to the respect his rank and experience gave him. He was a government experiment, classified, and a member of an elite force. No one questioned him and they damn well listened when he spoke--especially if he was the one with the plan to keep them all alive.

  "When we disembark the boats, we'll need to move with a purpose to our assigned location. Team Alpha will be a four-man extraction team--Mordichai, Draden, Gino and me--who will move into the building and gain custody of our men. The rest of you will be on security. You will be divided into three six-man teams: Bravo, Charlie and Delta. Bravo team will take up position here."

  He indicated on the sand table just where he wanted them. "They are responsible for ensuring the rear entrance to the target here and taking out any squirters that may try to escape. They will effectively have Alpha's six while they are retrieving the HVTs--high value targets. Charlie will be here, securing the main approach."

  Again he indicated the position on the sand table. "Delta will be at the main entrance keeping it secure for the Alpha team. When we have custody of these targets, we will do a quick assessment of their condition and then move to the extraction point for exfil. SBT-22 call sign 'Wolf Pack' will be providing copious amounts of 'whup ass' for us to be able to get to them. Then it will be a luxurious cruise to our staging area where the Marines who held down the fort will be waiting to render any advanced medical aid needed."

  He hoped he wouldn't have to be the one rendering it on the boat. He'd done it, operated right in the middle of hellfire, but it wasn't something he wanted to repeat often.

  For the next couple of hours he went over and over the information, drilling it into them so each man knew exactly what he was doing, where he would be and what the men beside him would be doing. Finally, he let them go.

  "You have twenty minutes for chow and then we'll start the crawl through."

  Ezekiel watched the men file out. He went over everything he'd said, the step by step of how the mission would play out in a perfect world. No mistakes. No accidents. No Murphy's Law. They went over the contingency plans if and when things went "pear-shaped"--which they usually did.

  They were ready to take it outside. Ezekiel sighed. They should be ready for the first walk-through. He had drilled each team member on every detail until they knew the entire mission inside and out. They knew the number of buildings, the spacing between them, even the color of each. They knew how long each portion of the mission should take. So why was his gut nagging at him? Why did he have such a sense of unease?

  Each team member knew where they would go and what responsibility they had in the objective. They had to know everything so if one team member went down, someone else could readily take up the slack. That was especially important in the chain of command, and he'd made certain they knew everything. If the leader went down, the next in order of command had to step up immediately to fill the job, all the way down the chain. They knew that. It was time to take them into execution phase.

  Ezekiel cursed under his breath and stared out the window for a long time, turning the pieces over and over in his mind, trying to figure out what was wrong. Because something was. Something was off.

  He wasn't a friendly man. He didn't have to like them, and he didn't give a damn if they liked him. He wasn't there to be a friend; he was there to make certain they came home alive. That, maybe, was the trouble. He didn't like two of the Indonesian soldiers. Usually when he trained others for a mission, he felt some sort of camaraderie with them. They were fighting on the same side. They were brothers in battle. They had certain things in common. He c
ould decide to request two new team members, but there would be a political upheaval, and the two soldiers had toed the line once their commanding officer had snapped them back to attention.

  "What's the problem, Zeke?" Gino--Phantom--asked. His voice, as always with Gino, was pitched low. He didn't talk much, and he was the best tracker of all of them, other than Ezekiel. Like Zeke, he was a hunter with an exceptional sense of smell. He moved like a ghost through almost any terrain. Cool, almost black eyes, black shaggy hair, a hint of a shadow on his jaw, wide shoulders and lean without an ounce of fat on him, he was a man most others avoided.

  Ezekiel shook his head. "Two of those soldiers have the wrong attitude, Gino. I just plain don't like or trust them. I can't even say why. There's no good reason. I've trained a few foreign soldiers now for specific missions and with all of them I've felt some sense of camaraderie, but these men . . ." He broke off because what could he say? They paid attention. They learned. They knew the mission. They just seemed off to him. Disrespectful. Even to the other Indonesian soldiers. He didn't want his fellow soldiers to go into combat with them.

  "Clearly they've seen combat," Gino pointed out, playing the devil's advocate. "They know what they're doing. They know their way around weapons."

  "And yet I give them an order and they're slow about responding. They do it, but they're casual about it. They have to look at each other as if they can't be bothered or maybe they're amused by what I'm telling them." He sighed heavily. "More than that, it's just a gut feeling. I don't like what my gut's saying to me."

  Gino nodded. Clearly he didn't really want to go into combat with them either. "I'll have Flame run more background checks on them, see if she can turn up anything that doesn't fit."

  "They wouldn't be here if they weren't seriously vetted, but I'd appreciate that, Gino. No matter if she finds something or not, if they don't perform any better in the field, then I'm going to have to make a harsh decision that might have political ramifications. Politics don't matter to me, and I'll be damned if I'll send a fellow soldier into combat with one of these jokers if I don't feel they'll have my soldier's back."

  He cleared his throat and continued staring out the window. "I met someone yesterday. A woman. A waitress at one of the restaurants in the Quarter. Her name is Bellisia Adams. At least that was what she called herself. The restaurant was Nourriture Joyeuse. I know it isn't much to go on, but ask Flame to see if she can find out anything about her."

  "Should we be worried?"

  Ezekiel shook his head. "It's personal. I liked her, but I'm busy here. I can't exactly start dating someone right in the middle of this. I just want to know I can find her again if she takes off. It didn't sound like there was anything holding her here."

  Gino nodded. "Will do. What's next?"

  "Crawl phase."

  Gino lifted a hand. "I've got this down, been making the run-through. I'll get on this and check with Cayenne, make certain everything's all right. The other team will show up soon to take over protection for the family."

  Ezekiel nodded, turned away and then swung back, suddenly recognizing the casual disinterest for what it was--pure bullshit. "Stay away from her, Gino. She's no threat to us." Even as he said it, he wasn't altogether certain. He seemed suspicious of everything and everyone lately. Even a pretty waitress he'd met randomly--and liked.

  Gino just looked at him, and Ezekiel swore softly. "Sometimes, Gino, this life we lead is fucked-up."

  "You got that right."

  "Their gumbo isn't nearly as good as Nonny's."

  "Doesn't surprise me," Gino said, lifting a hand before he went out the door.

  Ezekiel had never minded the physical enhancements as some of the other GhostWalkers did. They hadn't signed on for it, but they came out from under the anesthesia with an entire new set of genes. It was done. It couldn't be taken back. He could see better, smell better, run faster, disappear when he had to and hunt the enemy in any terrain. That made him invaluable to his country. And that was without psychic enhancements. He was a military secret, and meeting a woman, even randomly, called for her to be checked out. He didn't have to like it, but he had to do it.

  The next phase of training--the "crawl phase"--consisted of literally walking them through each part of the mission. They simulated the boat ride and swim, forming up exactly as they would when riding in the boat. They simulated getting out of the boat and into the water and then the order and formation of the swim and walking to the objective.

  Once they had repeated the getting in and out of the boat and the swim, they walked, step by step where each man would go and what he'd do while on the objective. Each soldier acted out what he would do during the assault. Each man would say "Bang-bang, I am neutralizing this specified target," when shooting. If using a grenade, they did the same thing indicating what type of grenade was being used. He kept them at it, repeated the sequences over and over, the soldiers simulating firing at the paper targets.

  Ezekiel paid particular attention to the Indonesian soldiers. All performed without hesitation, remembering their exact positions and what they were supposed to be doing. They didn't have a lot of time to rest. He only had four days to drill this into them to keep them alive and to bring the hostages out alive. He took them to the next phase--the walk phase.

  They went through everything at a faster pace, firing blanks and using simulated grenades. Dummies were set up, using the exact height and weight of the targets to be rescued. Paper targets were replaced with dummies. He included the boat ride and swim, and he worked them far after the sun had gone down over the swamp and canal. He dismissed them only when they were all exhausted, sending them to the barracks for chow and rest.

  They had no time to mess around. Before light they were at it again, first in the briefing room and then the crawl-through phase followed by the walk-through. The Indonesians proved why they were regarded as elite, even the two soldiers Ezekiel had been concerned about. He was fairly certain the other four soldiers from their Kopaska Unit had straightened them out.

  He took the men through the next phase, the run phase, where everything moved at actual speed. They had live rounds and grenades. There was a mix of paper targets and live people to avoid as they raced to simulate the rescue of the high value targets. They worked the entire procedure over and over, from boarding the boats to securing the hostages and getting out fast.

  When he was completely satisfied that each member of their team knew exactly what he was doing, he introduced various wounds and kills to different players. In each phase the trainers randomly "killed or wounded" members of the team. The members of the team had to adapt to the situation. During each various run, a card was issued to various players with an injury on them. No one knew who would get what or when. The injuries could occur at any time, from boarding the boat to the actual "safe" area.

  Ezekiel had them repeat the run over and over, as many times as possible throughout the day. They only had a couple of days left to work together as a team, and he wanted to throw in as many surprises and disasters as possible, making them have to improvise, adapt and overcome each obstacle.

  It was hot as hell, the humidity adding to the misery of repetition and constant action. That was a good thing, he told himself. He needed the men to work in an environment exactly like the one they'd be carrying out their mission in. Indonesia had high humidity. He reminded the men often to hydrate. The insect population was having a feast, mosquitoes bingeing on any exposed skin.

  He worked them long into the night, and that meant resupplying the water more than once, but it also meant they were coming together as a team. Each man moved smoothly and efficiently, and they watched one another's backs. Halfway through one of the fastest runs, his stomach cramped and his vision blurred. He blinked several times and found himself staggering.

  He took a slow look around him. All around him, the men were breaking their positions, vomiting and staggering around, hanging on to trees to stay upright and some going
down, doubling over in what appeared to be agony. The wind blew and fog had begun to creep in. He blinked several times to clear his eyesight, but instead of getting better, it got worse. Alarms went off in his brain, but he couldn't think what to do.

  "You okay, Captain Fortunes?" Amar Lesmana bent over him solicitously. "Let me help you." He took Ezekiel's arm.

  Ezekiel felt the sting of an insect on his neck. A burn. He slapped at it and hit the back of a hand, rather than the bug he was expecting. "What the hell?" Half turning, he struck the Indonesian soldier hard in the gut, doubling him over. He recognized he was in trouble immediately. Whatever the man had injected into him was fast-acting. He was losing focus and strength. His legs went out from under him and he found himself on his knees.

  Mordichai. That was all he could get out before something hit his head savagely and he saw black.

  What was wrong with them? They were supposed to be such a hotshot team, men enhanced physically as well as psychically. So, okay, maybe the physical was working, but they didn't seem to have the least bit of psychic talent at all. Bellisia stayed in the water where it was impossible for anyone to detect her presence and watched as the men being trained went down, one by one.

  She'd left a note warning them under the plant in the box she'd left on the doorstep for Grace Fontenot. Ezekiel had no business being with those treacherous bastards. Clearly Cheng had gotten to them. The man did business with the terrorists in Indonesia all the time. Everyone knew that, didn't they? Whitney certainly knew it, as did Violet.

  Just thinking of the woman made Bellisia furious at herself for not trying to take her out when she had the chance in China. Now, the two traitors were loading Ezekiel's body into a boat. She couldn't tell whether he was alive or dead. She assumed they wanted him alive. That would definitely be Cheng's preference.

  She slipped noiselessly under the water, sending out warning vibrations to keep any alligators from thinking she might be a tasty snack. The boat cut through the water heading down the canal, away from Stennis. At the turn, just under a sign proclaiming the dangers of traveling the canal due to laser training, a man crouched in the denser brush on the shore. They stopped the boat and he took over.