Lethal Game

by Christine Feehan

  At first the man refused to take it, gently shaking his head, not wanting to take from a kid on the street who didn’t have much more than him. Malichai had insisted. When he got home that night, he didn’t tell Ezekiel what he’d done, but refused to share Zeke’s food. When he was shivering so much from the cold and Zeke had snapped at him to get under his blanket, he’d done that, because when Zeke got pissed, you just obeyed.

  “I can take it, Rubin,” he said. He’d grown up on the streets. He was tough.

  18

  Malichai thought he’d seen everything. He’d been all over the world. He’d gone to various countries during their celebrations, some with strange rituals and unbelievably extravagant and gorgeous costumes, he’d even seen—on television—the strange and wonderful Comic-Con and Dr. Who conventions, with their seas of people dressed in various attire fitting the themes of their favorite pop culture hero or heroine.

  What he’d not seen before was the mixture of people from countries around the world coming together dressed in everything from suits to sarongs, women covered in veils from head to toe, and men with turbans and others dressed in nothing but board shorts and sandals. There seemed to be a lot of smiles and nodding, some tried talking in signs; others spoke in halting English or other languages to try to communicate, but they tried.

  He noticed phones were out and many people were using apps to translate what they wanted said. He watched the monitors closely. It was impossible to say one person stood out in the crowd because of the way they were dressed. The mix was so strange, with people from different countries dressed in more traditional clothing and some in more religious garb in order to show their solidarity with what the conference was all about. Ideas. Just people bringing together ideas on how to better understand one another and their cultures.

  Malichai’s job was to identify any of Callendine’s men moving through the crowd. The SEAL team had placed vehicles equipped with jammers if needed to stop the remote detonation of any bomb Callendine or his men might set off. If Callendine saw the vehicles out front and around the sides of the building he would know immediately why they were there, but that couldn’t be helped. They could only hope the bombs were all about remote detonation, because if they weren’t, each bomb would have to be defused. They would have to find every one of them. All team members were looking for bombs in or around every support beam, primarily the major ones.

  He hoped they were wrong, but he had a bad feeling, that nagging one that always told him he was right. He didn’t like knowing, but that radar had saved not only him but his fellow GhostWalkers on more than one occasion. He kept looking through the bank of screens, watching carefully not only for Callendine’s crew—and he had faces taped to the van’s whiteboard stretched just above the bank of screens—but also to catch glimpses of Amaryllis, just to know she was safe. He hadn’t seen her in the last few minutes and that made him antsy. He despised that he was sidelined. It didn’t matter how important Ezekiel told him this job was, and he knew it was; he wanted to be there, where the action was—and watching over Amaryllis.

  “Anything?” Avery, one of the techs assigned to watch as well, asked.

  “Not so far,” Malichai said. “This is like looking for a needle in a haystack. How do you do it all the time?”

  Avery was considered one of the best techs at gathering information. The other team members spoke of him with admiration and respect. Malichai knew the value of a man who took his time and double- and triple-checked all information for his men in the field. He never stopped until he had them back safe at home. Avery was that man. He was also the man who would sit patiently in a van for however long it took, looking into a bank of screens until his eyes wanted to bleed until he discovered the enemy and how best to stop them.

  “I could ask you the same thing. Your expertise is the field. You know what you’re doing, and you attack it with confidence. This is mine. My world. It’s how I can make certain you all come home. It’s how I can make the world safer for them.” He indicated all the people moving through the multitude of doors as they entered the building.

  His gaze never once left the screens, reminding Malichai to keep his eyes on the ones in front of him as well. He had studied the faces of Callendine’s crew so long they were burned into his brain. He didn’t need to look up at the reminders. These men were the ones Callendine had elected to take on the mission the vice president had sanctioned whether knowingly or unknowingly.

  “Man moving out the second door,” Avery said suddenly.

  Malichai’s gaze jumped to the second door. “Yes. Son of a bitch. That’s one of them. We’re right. We called it. Damn it, they really are going to blow this place up.”

  The man was named Sergeant Kolt Michigan and he was very militant. He’d been under Callendine’s command for several years, just as Mills and Major Roseland Salsberry had. Callendine had spread his influence through his men, along with Liam Hamilton. Someone that connected in the White House, particularly if the vice president was somehow involved as well, would influence the men over years in the direction Callendine wanted them to go. He would be able to see the ones he would have trouble with, and he’d simply have them transferred to another command.

  Kolt Michigan coming out of building now. Second door. Bellisia, you’re nearest. Can you take him down without anyone noticing you? If Callendine is watching him, he can’t be warned, Malichai said. Wait for confirmation on bomb before you take him. It should be on one of the major supports near the second door. As soon as it’s found, let Bellisia know she is cleared to take out her target.

  I’m on it, Ezekiel said.

  There was a brief, tense silence.

  You have the go, Bellisia, Ezekiel confirmed. The bomb is here.

  It’s a go, Bellisia confirmed.

  Bellisia was very small. She had blue eyes and blond hair and was at home in the water. Right now, she was trailing behind Kolt, very close to him, but she was so small that she was lost in the sea of legs. Malichai caught glimpses of her. At times, small bluish rings rose on her arms, crept up her neck to splash across her skin. Her clothing covered those tell-tale signs of danger. She matched Kolt’s pace exactly and as his hand collided with her face, she delivered the deadly bite, but pulled back into the crowd as he swung around.

  Kolt frowned, looked at his hand, didn’t see anything on his skin. He was wearing gloves and his wrist had just felt a momentary flash, as if a bug had bitten him right over his vein. If he hadn’t been so hyperaware, he wouldn’t have noticed. He rubbed the spot and kept walking. He had quite a bit of time to get the hell out of there, but he walked briskly all the same. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the place when it blew. There were too many families there, too many children. That bothered him more than he thought it would. Still, they had to be sacrificed. They had to go. He kept walking.

  Sweat broke out. For some odd reason, that little vein in his wrist throbbed and his forearm felt numb as he hurried to his car. The parking garage where he’d left his vehicle was a distance away and he had to weave through all the people on the sidewalk making their way to certain death. Just thinking about it made him want to vomit. Every step seemed harder to take. He rubbed at his arm, which had—weirdly—gone numb.

  It was becoming harder to breathe. He made his way up the ramp to the second story of the parking garage where his truck was. They had a rendezvous point at a safe house Callendine had taken over as a backup plan. He yanked the door to his vehicle open and crawled inside. Sweat dripped from his forehead into his eyes, stinging. His heart pounded. Maybe he was having a heart attack. He pulled out his phone, but his fingers didn’t seem to work and he dropped it.

  Kolt found himself slumping over on the seat, unable to move. He stared up at the ceiling of his truck wondering what the hell had happened. His entire body seemed as if it was going numb. He was having trouble breathing. He tried to fight for every b
it of air he could. When he began to vomit, he couldn’t turn his head to the side, he couldn’t move any part of his body. He could only look up and realize he was already dead. He just had to wait until every part of his body shut down.

  “You’ve got to get word to your unit,” Avery said. “He’s going to get away.”

  “He’s already been dealt with,” Malichai assured. “Ezekiel’s found the bomb.”

  For the first time Avery’s gaze came up and fixed on him. The tech took a long look and then his gaze was back on the screens.

  Remote detonation is the backup. Working on bomb now, Ezekiel said. Can we get the people out of here?

  We chance Callendine setting off the other bombs. We know there has to be more. Can you get that one, Zeke? Malichai asked, his stomach churning.

  All of them had extensive training in explosives, but that didn’t mean jack if the bomb was out of their expertise. Too many people were at risk. They’d have to chance Callendine setting off the rest of the bombs. The jammers might work to stop him.

  I can get this. Clearly, they’re using standard tech, nothing fancy. They didn’t expect us to be coming after them.

  Malichai could no longer see Bellisia in the crowd, she’d slipped inside where she might have a chance of spotting a member of Callendine’s crew. He doubted if any of Callendine’s men would know what she looked like or be expecting her, and she was too fast and too good at what she did. So far, it didn’t appear as if Callendine knew about the GhostWalker program or who was in it.

  “There’s suspect number two, James Rodenburg,” Avery said. “He’s moving fast, coming out of door number four.”

  Malichai studied his screen to make doubly sure. There couldn’t be mistakes. “I’ve got him.”

  Shylah, you’re up, can you take James Rodenburg? Tall, jeans, tee, about thirty-five, he’s to your left, just exited the fourth door. Has a woman and child blocking him at the moment. You need to take him some distance from everyone, and there can’t be any trace back to us. Draden, he’s just now coming out of the fourth door, so the bomb should be close. Find it fast and give us the go-ahead.

  He didn’t know Draden’s wife as well as the others, but he did know she was reputed to be an assassin few could match up to.

  I’ve got him, Shylah assured. There was absolute confidence in her voice.

  Bomb’s here, Draden confirmed. Do not let him walk away.

  Shylah was dressed in jeans and a tee as well. Her wild hair was pulled back in a high ponytail and she was devoid of makeup. Freckles spread across her nose, making her look very young. She smiled at several people and her smile was so engaging, it was impossible not to smile back. She didn’t try to hide. She was tall and even memorable. She knew it and she carried herself with confidence. She stayed about fifteen feet behind Rodenburg.

  He headed up the street toward the same parking garage Kolt had used. Shylah stopped to look out over the street into a green strip of vegetation just below. She coughed and put her fist over her mouth and turned her head back toward her destination as she took a few steps.

  Rodenburg slapped the side of his neck and looked around. His palm came back bloody. Blood poured down the side of his neck to his shirt. He took several steps, not knowing what exactly happened. There was a sting. Nothing else. He found himself on the floor of the parking lot. Several people gathered around him, looking anxious. A young girl bent over him, touched his neck and shook her head.

  “I have no idea what’s wrong, someone should call an ambulance.”

  Rodenburg wanted to tell them that it would be futile to call for an ambulance. He was fairly certain that they were all at the bed-and-breakfast where guests and cops were burning or already murdered. The world just slowly faded away.

  It’s done, he’s down. I’ll be back in a few minutes when I can slip into a crowd unseen.

  I’ve got the bomb he left behind. Looks easy enough to dismantle. They gave themselves time to get out. I guess no one wanted to sacrifice their own life for this venture, Draden said.

  Get on it, Malichai advised. His gut was churning beyond belief. That was two of the six men Joe had finally confirmed were missing along with Salsberry, Mills and Callendine, all from Callendine’s unit. Two. He needed Avery to work his magic.

  “All the way to the other side. Coming out. Carter Jorganson,” Avery announced in that same calm tone he used. The man was a machine sitting in that van and finding the faces in the midst of so many.

  Malichai detested what he had to do next. Amaryllis. Carter Jorganson, all the way to the left. He’s coming out of the building now. He’s all in black. Jeans, boots, tee and he’s wearing a distinctive black jacket. He even has black hair. Can you take him without being seen? Callendine can’t spot you or know Carter is being taken.

  I’ve got this. Amaryllis sounded cool and very confident.

  Malichai had seen her nearly panicked when Owen and his clones had shown up, yet in every other situation she had handled herself with no problem. She hadn’t been able to pull the trigger on Owen, yet she was going after Jorganson as if she had no problem with it. He wasn’t certain what Whitney had done to her to keep Owen safe, but he hoped it was only Owen.

  I’ve found the bomb, Gino said.

  It’s a go, Amaryllis. Gino has the bomb.

  “Keep looking, Avery. There’s three more of these assholes,” Malichai said.

  He knew the reminder was unnecessary, but it was all he could do when his butt was sidelined and his woman was out there, going up against a trained soldier. She couldn’t be seen or recognized by the enemy. Both Joe and Ezekiel had assured him, after talking to her at great length, that she could handle herself, but he wanted to protect her. He wanted to be out there in the field, working with them to make certain they kept every one of those innocent people safe.

  The moment they rounded up Callendine’s crew, they would shut everything down, but for now, they could only try dismantling the bombs as they found them and hope they had time before Callendine realized his own unit was compromised.

  Jorganson had to restrain himself from pushing his way through the crowd of sheep. That’s what they were, nothing but fucking sheep, blatting on and on about peace. There was no peace. There would never be peace. These same people would piss themselves if they were ever in a real situation where they had to fight for themselves or someone else. They wouldn’t do it. They would cry like babies and expect someone else to take care of them and then they’d condemn them. Hell was coming and they deserved it.

  He managed to keep from shoving an older woman dressed from head to toe in a colorful sari; she walked with grace, but so damn slow he wanted to scream at her. It wasn’t like the bomb was going off soon, but Callendine wanted them well away so there was no chance of them being identified or near the convention center when it blew. He wanted them, if possible, on a plane, in the air. He had to get to his car. He’d rented a sports car and had parked it in the parking garage just up the street on the lower floor. He liked the car and looked forward to driving it one last time. He concentrated on that as he moved around another group of people.

  Someone jostled him and that pushed him into a young woman. She was a cute little thing with red hair and incredible dark eyes. She caught at his wrist to keep from falling as she stumbled. For one second, he thought he felt a jab through his glove on his left hand, but her fingernails weren’t long and she looked almost dainty.

  “I’m so sorry,” she murmured and moved away, back into the group of peace-minded people.

  He was almost sorry she was one of those sheep. He kept walking briskly, now that he was out in the open and he could breathe without taking in the stench of sheep. He made it all the way to his car before he realized he wasn’t feeling much in the way of his body. No pain at all, but it was almost as if he was paralyzed. He could barely move. He sank behind the wheel
of the sporty car and reached for the starter, but his arms didn’t want to work. The paralysis was real. It slowly consumed his entire body until he was incapable of speech or even thinking. It continued until his brain could no longer tell his body to breathe and his heart refused to pump.

  It’s done. Cone snail venom amped up like only Whitney can do it, Amaryllis confessed. Coming back in my red wig and nice little getup.

  Malichai didn’t want her to come back. She was much safer away from there. The cameras were picking up all sides of the building and the teams were spread out and moving from main support to support in the hopes of finding more of the bombs. They were certain there would be six of them. Three were being taken care of. There were three more.

  “At the back exit. Closer to the hotel. I almost missed him. Ray Valli,” Avery identified. “I’m sorry. Can you get your people there in time?”

  Bellisia? Can you get to the back exit? Ray Valli is there. White shirt. Jeans. Cowboy boots. He’s moving away fast.

  I can take him, Bellisia assured.

  Malichai nodded to Avery but didn’t look away from the screen. Joe, he’s at the back entrance. We knew they would have to block that as well.

  They’d done a mock-up of how they would blow the buildings and take out as many people as possible. Controlling the front and back exits was essential.

  I’m on it. Joe’s voice was grim. I was already looking around back here. There’s a dark hallway I’m certain he came out of. I heard a door open and close. Damn it, bomb’s here, and it’s a mother.

  Ray Valli wanted to get away from the convention center as quickly as possible. He’d questioned the orders more than once to the others. They just didn’t make sense to him. He knew the orders had come from the White House. Callendine had told him. The others had reassured him over and over, but these people were citizens of the United States. Okay, not all of them, but the majority. Weren’t they the ones they were sworn to protect? He set the bomb just like he was instructed, but he wanted to tell the families to take their kids and run. He didn’t. He just stared at them, imagining them with their bodies in pieces. That made him sick. He’d seen enough of that shit in other countries. He didn’t need to see it in his own—especially when he was the one responsible.