Power Game

by Christine Feehan

  "You got my money?" He had a distinct Cajun accent.

  "It's in your account. Get us out of here."

  She could have told the fisherman he should have made certain the money was in his account. He was disposable, and as soon as he guided them to where they were going, he was a dead man. It was difficult to blame him, Cheng probably offered him more money than he'd ever see in his lifetime. Cheng was very good at finding people's weakness.

  With the local fisherman, born and raised there in the swamp, the boat picked up speed as it raced away from the laser training area heading toward the river. She knew she wouldn't lose them, not even in the dark. She was fast, nearly as fast as the boat, and she could maneuver the shallows faster than they could.

  They traveled without lights, under the stars, the local guiding them, and she followed, her heart in her throat. The water was black and she navigated by the sounds of the boat beneath the surface. Sometimes the water was so shallow she crawled through gravel and silt. Sharp sticks tore at her arms and legs. Eventually she began to tire and fell behind, but not far enough that they could actually get away from her.

  Her heart nearly stopped when she realized the engine had been cut and the boat drifted up a bayou, with only the aid of long poles. They were taking Ezekiel to a predestined location in the swamp. She had been certain they'd take him out the Gulf of Mexico to a waiting ship. What did that mean? Why would they keep him in the swamp?

  She tasted fear and with it came guilt. She'd spent far too long trying to make up her mind about the GhostWalkers. She'd let time slip away from her, and she knew why. She'd followed Ezekiel everywhere, so obsessed with him, watching him like a crazed stalker. She'd loved his stories as much as the triplets had. She had listened with rapt attention to every word, his voice soothing her, making her long for a life she knew she'd never have.

  He sang. His voice was incredible. Mesmerizing. She noticed everything about him. Not even the smallest detail escaped her. She should have been watching the others and assessing whether or not they were loyal to one another the way Ezekiel was, but mostly she found herself watching him and sometimes Nonny.

  He paid attention to the children, seemingly hanging on to their every word, but he watched his surroundings carefully, alert to any danger around them. She knew he could explode into action if there was the slightest hint of harm to the girls.

  Most of the time Bellisia spent in the water, where she felt the safest and most comfortable, where she was nearly undetectable but could be close enough to the boat that she could hear every word. She loved how soft his voice got when he was alone with the girls--or Nonny. She doubted he even knew he changed his entire demeanor.

  She'd heard the soldiers at Stennis in the boat turn Nonny away when she wanted her plant, and she'd followed her back to her "pharmacy." There was nearly an acre of pharmaceutical plants near the property where Cayenne and Trap, two of the GhostWalkers, resided. When she knew the exact plant, she'd gone to Stennis, dug it up and left it for Nonny on the doorstep. She'd put a warning note in the box underneath the plant. It hadn't been easy sneaking into the heavily guarded compound, but she liked challenges and she needed to keep her skills honed. She should have emphasized just what the GhostWalkers were up against and that they needed to be far more alert.

  The bayou narrowed until it was almost nonexistent, branches sweeping down into the water and brush growing heavily on either side. It was one of the small bayous opened up by the ever-shifting waters. It was extremely shallow--rocks and debris made up the bed, the water running just inches over it. With the branches hanging so low, few would ever think anyone would travel up the narrow waterway.

  She got to the edge of the shore where she could see drag marks in the mud where they'd pulled the boat up onto land and into thick brush. Saw grass guarded the entire outer rim. She detested saw grass. She'd found it didn't discriminate when it came to cutting one to pieces. There had to be an opening through it, because if it would cut her, it would cut them.

  Bellisia dragged herself out of the water, shivering a little in the cool night air. It was clear, a million stars scattered across the sky, but it was also windy. Somewhere in the distance an alligator bellowed. The swamp was always alive with the droning of insects, but at night it was particularly loud. All different types of frogs vied for attention. Fish jumped in the water after bugs, the splashes loud and carrying a great distance in the stillness of the night.

  The boat was hidden in the brush and she took the time to pull it back to the water's edge. Ezekiel didn't look in the best of shape and she would have to transport him out of there. She needed that boat. Just to the right of where they'd hidden the boat was a narrow opening hacked out to allow single file passage. She smelled blood, and with the brightness of stars, she saw dark splashes against the green blades as she followed the trail deeper onto land.

  She was slight, but the ground still felt marshy and unstable to her, like a springy sponge under her feet. She could see where the men had sunk much deeper, leaving behind holes filled with water. That wasn't good. Surely the local fisherman had told them it was dangerous and sooner or later the ground beneath them would simply disappear and they'd sink.

  She followed them deeper into the interior, silently cursing as her arms and legs were cut from the wicked saw grass. She couldn't imagine what was happening to the much larger men, especially Ezekiel. The trail wound around straggly trees, but it was salt water mixed with river water, and few trees grew. Most looked as if they were postapocalyptic, barren limbs rising like spiny specters, dark and twisted.

  A small camp was there, the cabin clearly thrown together, built high in case the water table rose as it did with most camps in the swamp. Clearly this cabin belonged to the fisherman aiding them. It was old and well-used, if sparse. No more than one room with a porch. The door was open, hanging by one hinge only.

  She nearly tripped over the fisherman's body. Someone had shot him in the back of the head and left him right there. Her heart accelerated in fear for Ezekiel. Why hadn't they taken him out to the gulf to rendezvous with a ship or freighter? Why take the chance of keeping him in the swamp?

  Everyone would be looking. Already, she was certain, they would have locked down Stennis and put helicopters in the air to hunt. Captains of classified teams didn't go missing without a huge search. So what did that mean for Ezekiel?

  Hearing the murmur of voices, she sank low, crawling now, dispersing her weight on the spongy ground. She had no choice but to scuttle over top of the dead man, making her way to the cabin. Bright lights were set up, aimed at Ezekiel. He was tied to a cross-pole of some sort, his arms spread wide. He was awake, but his head was down. Blood ran down both arms and legs from hundreds of thin cuts from the saw grass. At least, she thought that at first.

  The equipment, a camera and the lights had to have been brought in by boat and then carried through the marsh. The weight of the objects combined with the weight of the men had left several deeper ruts filled with water where they'd carried the heavy items. The ruts ran right up to the stairs of the cabin, and two of them were extremely deep and filled with vile-looking water.

  "I want every piece of him. Don't forget the head. Start with small cuts and go to the bigger ones. I don't want him dying for a long time."

  Everything in her went still. That was Cheng for certain, she'd recognize his voice anywhere. He always spoke in pleasant tones, when he was the least pleasant person she knew--except for Dr. Whitney.

  "I've never let you down," said an unfamiliar voice.

  That meant Ezekiel wasn't just with the two soldiers. They'd rendezvoused with others. They had a satellite link set up with Cheng and he was instructing them on the atrocities he wanted them to commit while recording it all for him.

  "We don't have a lot of time. They'll be looking for him." Now the stranger was out in the open. He was tall and thin and looked cadaver-like. Could she kill all three of them fast and take Ezekiel back? Get
him out of the saw grass and into the boat? She didn't know whom to trust. She couldn't take him back to Stennis, because any of the other team members could be involved in Cheng's plot to uncover the GhostWalker secrets.

  "I want it done right."

  They were going to take Ezekiel apart right there with Cheng watching. The samples of blood and tissue as well as body parts would be sent to the laboratory. She still didn't understand why they hadn't taken him out to the gulf. There had to be a ship out there that these men planned to use to escape.

  She moved with infinite slowness, inch by inch, out of the brush and over the spongy ground, her body blending in with the black mud and debris.

  "Is everyone in place?"

  "Of course. They won't see them until it's too late."

  She froze. More? There were more of them? Cheng's mercenaries. Why hadn't she smelled them? This was a trap for the others. Cheng knew if one of the GhostWalkers was taken, the others would come for him. Cheng was greedy, willing to sacrifice one GhostWalker so he could lure in several others in the hopes that he'd have plenty to study.

  Staring up at the underside of the cabin, she could see little bricks attached to the floorboards and the underside of the stairs. Explosives? Were they going to blow up the cabin after they took apart Ezekiel in the hopes of destroying the evidence?

  Silently swearing inventively in several languages, she slipped into the rut that would take her away from the cabin. She didn't make so much as a ripple in the water. The bad news was it wasn't that deep. She could still go under, although it was the foulest, saltiest, most horrible brackish water she'd ever been in. Still, it was her best bet for moving quickly without detection.

  She needed to find out where each of the men was hiding in the swamp and kill them before she tried to rescue Ezekiel. There was no way to escape with more of Cheng's hired mercenaries close by. She lifted her head carefully and studied the terrain. If she were drawing in GhostWalkers, men she knew had enhanced abilities, where would she hide? The brush would have to be thick. Really thick. The men would have to be spread out so that when the GhostWalkers came in to get the bait--Ezekiel--they would be caught between forces.

  Bellisia crawled from the rut, staying close to the ground, moving along the thick brush until she saw bruised stalks, some slightly bent away from a narrow animal trail. There were signs of rabbits and muskrats as well as nutria all around. She didn't want to accidentally startle any animal, giving away her position to the men waiting to kill or capture GhostWalkers. To be safe, she sent out a soothing call to the wildlife, announcing her arrival and that she had enemies.

  She touched on several varieties of mammals, but none were very close to her. Still, they gave her an indication of where the mercenaries were hiding. Wildlife would avoid them, and the numbers were concentrated a good distance from the camp.

  Bellisia used her forearms and toes to propel herself over the surface and along the narrow game trail. It was impossible for one of the men, much larger, to pass through the brush without leaving some trace behind. She followed the bruised and bent stalks until she "felt" the presence of a man.

  5

  Bellisia smelled blood. There was no sound, but the man hidden in the brush was covered in cuts just as she was from the saw grass. She inched closer, trying to circle around behind him. It wasn't easy moving without disturbing the plants. With her body weight evenly distributed over the marshy surface, she didn't sink into the brackish water oozing up from the unstable surface. She scooted on her belly, using her toes and arms to propel her forward.

  One moment she was alone with the constant drone of insects, and the next she was almost on top of him. He lay sprawled out on his belly, the toes of his boots sinking into the mire as he peered through the dense brush with his night goggles. She let her breath out and stayed very still, trying to keep her heart under control.

  She was designed to kill, and there were times it was necessary. She didn't have to like it. Knowing this man lay in wait in order to capture or kill Ezekiel's friends while Ezekiel was being tortured just a few yards from him, she realized she really had little choice. If she didn't do what she was designed to do, like it or not, she would always feel responsible for anyone he hurt or killed.

  Once the decision was made, she closed her eyes and summoned the venom. Over the last few years she'd gotten much better at controlling it. She was immune to it, but the poison was deadly. The venom mixed with her saliva and one break in the skin was all she needed to deliver it to her victim. It would quickly spread through a human being, blocking signals from the body's nerves and resulting in full body paralysis. Even the lungs were paralyzed. It didn't take long for a human to die with no oxygen getting to the brain.

  She spat into her palm and rubbed her fingertips in the venom. She could bite him and deliver the poison much more effectively, but he might get off a yell of warning and she couldn't afford the others to know she was there. She also didn't have time, not with Ezekiel being tortured.

  She found a particularly deep-looking cut on his calf and, with the direction of the wind, she brushed her fingers along that cut, making certain a good deal of the venom entered the wound. He turned his head, as she had known he would. She held herself very still, her body blending into the ground and shrubs around her. He blinked. He turned away from her and she scooted back, already dismissing him. He'd be paralyzed in three or four minutes, dead in ten to fifteen, probably less.

  Using toes and elbows, she shrank back into the shrubbery and took the narrow trail that led about ten feet from the man she'd just killed. The mercenaries would be spread out. They would surround the cabin. The second man had to be close. She kept moving steadily, working hard not to disturb the shrubbery. Again, it was the scent of blood that tipped her off that she was close to her prey.

  As she moved toward him, she caught sight of a small pack attached to the roots of a long-dead cypress tree. Her breath caught in her throat. More explosives. They were attached to the underside of the cabin, and now she'd found more. What were they planning? Enough explosives like this could sink half the marsh. She had to get Ezekiel out of there and fast.

  She didn't waste time by hesitating. She'd already made up her mind it was necessary to kill, and she did it quickly, introducing the toxin via an open wound on his thigh. There was less brush to hide in but, even looking right at her, her victim didn't see her.

  She took out victims three and four, but it cost her in time. She had to check on Ezekiel. This time she removed weapons from the two men. Knives. Guns. She found more explosives but left them alone. It wasn't her field of expertise and she didn't want to accidentally set them off.

  Covered in mud, she took time to slip into the long track of water near the cabin. Her skin instantly felt better, not so tight and drawn. She came up just as a man stepped out of the cabin onto the stairway. His name was Bolan Zhu, and she recognized him as one of Cheng's top aides. She had followed him for four days in Shanghai.

  Even there in the marsh, he wore a suit. He had a briefcase in his hand and had turned halfway back to look over his shoulder into the interior. She caught a glimpse of Ezekiel laid out on a makeshift table now, blood running over his ribs and dripping down the sides of the slab of metal. Her stomach lurched. While she'd been killing the mercenaries, they'd already been torturing Ezekiel.

  "Wait. I'm doing the spinal tap now."

  "I've got what I need to complete phase one, David. You do the tap and finish phase two with him." Zhu tapped his briefcase. "I've got the blood and tissue samples and they have to get back to the lab." He continued down the stairs in spite of the other man's protest. He actually put on speed, striding fast away from the cabin in the opposite direction of the boat.

  David, inside the building, cursed loudly, making her wince. He was clearly angry, but more, she heard the note of fear in his voice. He had reason to be afraid. She'd studied Cheng. He protected himself at all times. He rarely had a tie to any operation, a
nd through a satellite hookup, his voice had been heard. That would be unacceptable to him. His trusted aide brought out the blood and tissue samples, leaving the second phase of his operation to a man who was disposable; Cheng would insist on his death.

  The charges scattered over the marsh surrounding the hunting camp had to have been placed there to destroy all evidence--as well as any people Cheng had bribed to aid him. The Indonesian soldiers. The local fisherman. David for certain. Who knew if he used the same mercenaries all the time? Even if he did, to him, they were disposable.

  The moment David was out of sight, she reached up, caught the closest supporting pole, and began to climb. She could blend into the wood, but she was carrying weapons--something she rarely did--and she couldn't hide them. She climbed fast, aware that David was angry and afraid enough to kill Ezekiel and be done with it. On some level he had to know that if Cheng was so afraid of whoever was coming for Ezekiel, or even Ezekiel himself, that he had his trusted man leave with the blood and tissue samples, then there was a problem.

  She gained the porch and crawled across the floorboards to the partially open door. The cabin reeked of blood and death, and her heart seized at the thought that she'd left Ezekiel there long enough for the two men to carve him up. She wanted to lift the gun and shoot both of them right then and there, but it would alert any of the other mercenaries still in the marsh, and she couldn't get Ezekiel out and fight them off while she got him to the boat.

  His head was turned toward the door, his dark hair falling in on his forehead. His eyes were open. Clear. Dangerous. David was on the other side of him, bending over him, complaining to the other man in the room.

  "That arrogant prick. He left because he's certain the SEAL team is going to show up. We've got to kill him and get out of here."