Toxic Game (GhostWalkers 15)

It wasn’t hard to look the part. He needed clothes and he chose a soldier approximately his own height and weight. He took the guard as he approached the river with his automatic carelessly thrown over his shoulder. The man was too busy eating and drinking as he walked his rounds, certain that the enemy wouldn’t be foolish enough to come back.

Draden left him in the heavy brush, removed his mask and then walked boldly back to the village. He cradled the weapon as if it were his best friend—and right then it probably was. He moved with absolute confidence, keeping his face hidden in a hood, presumably to avoid the steady downpour. No one challenged him as he went past the guards right into the heart of the village.

He skirted the small marketplace, snagging a papaya off the rickety table of one of the local farmers. The man made a rude gesture but didn’t stop him, and two nearby soldiers snickered. Calmly, he pulled out a large knife and peeled the fruit, dropping the peelings as he walked in the general direction of the commander’s cabin. Again, he wasn’t challenged, not even as he got close enough to see into the windows.

There were three guards rotating around the structure and they were bored beyond words. One was smoking. A second stopped briefly to chat with the smoker before continuing his circuit. Draden paused, in plain sight, digging his knife into the papaya to remove the seeds before slicing off a piece and putting it in his mouth. The juice ran down his fingers and he licked at them, seemingly enjoying the fruit. All the while he timed the guards’ rotation.

They couldn’t be on all sides of the house since there were only three of them. In spite of the rain, the sunroof had been left open and that was his entry point. He knew the roof would be slick, but it would get him inside. He waited, mentally running over each move in his mind, perfecting it until there were no mistakes. There was always the potential for that unfortunate, unforeseen complication that could fuck up a perfect operation, but other than that possibility, his plan was nearly foolproof.

The second the guards broke apart, he was all business, gaining the porch as if he owned it, swinging up onto the eaves, holding the automatic so it didn’t clank against the wood and long fronds making up the roof as he made his way up the steep pitch to the open sunroof. He’d chosen the darkest side, where the shadows from the forest would help him blend in.

He glanced down into the interior and then entered, again without hesitation. He had memorized the layout after studying it before, and the moment his feet hit solid flooring, he went low and looked around, a full sweep, to ensure he had entered without being seen. Adrenaline pumped through his body, heightening his senses until each was razor sharp.

Movement came from the bedroom, and he took a moment to sweep the rest of the small house to ensure he and his target were alone. Satisfied, he once more put the mask on to be certain he wouldn’t leave any of the virus behind and headed for the other room. The commander sat at the desk, head in his hands, pushing at his hair over and over. He didn’t look happy.

Draden walked right up behind him and removed his sidearm. “Don’t make a sound or I’ll shove this knife right through the base of your skull.” He spoke in the local dialect, and immediately the man stiffened.

“I speak English.” The man stared straight ahead feeling the tip of Draden’s knife. It wasn’t in any way trifling. He preferred smaller knives, but when you wanted to make a statement, you did it big. He wanted this man cowed and willing to talk.

“I suggest you listen and obey every word. Do not cry out for help. If you do, I won’t kill you outright. I’ll gag you and slice you into little pieces.” To make his point, he trailed the tip of his knife from the base of the man’s skull down along the left side of his spinal column, cutting through the clothes and leaving a thin streak of blood.

The man nodded his head.

“Your name?”

“Intan Lesmono.” The new commander mumbled it. There was a tremor to his voice. He kept his eyes fixed on the wall across the room, holding himself very still.

“I’m a little pissed, Intan. Not only did you wipe out the people of Lupa Suku, but you infected me. Do you know what that means to you? If I sneeze on you or breathe too hard, you’re going to die a very ugly, painful death. Just like the death you condemned those people to.”

Lesmono shook his head. “Not me. I didn’t have anything to do with that. I swear …”

“I saw them. Men. Women. Children. All dead. And they died hard.”

Lesmono made a choking sound. “I know. I didn’t have anything to do with it. They needed money …”

“Who? Who needed money?”

“Agus Orucov. He grew up here. We all know him. Worked for a big shot in the U.S. and they had a falling-out. He claimed he developed the virus, but his former boss somehow cut off their funds.”

He was talking too much. Telling him things he wasn’t asking for. Either he expected company, or he really was horrified that they’d wiped out so many innocent people.

“They had a buyer, big money, but they need some kind of vaccine against it. They thought they had it, but something went wrong. They tested it on a couple of Orucov’s enemies. That’s the way he is. He holds a grudge. They were in school together as kids, and he still is angry at them. Maybe he thought the vaccine would work, but it didn’t.”

That explained the three men who had died before those in the village. “Where’s the rest of it? You still have more of it.”

A sob escaped Lesmono’s throat. “I don’t know how to get rid of it. I don’t want it around me, my men or these people. This was my village. I grew up here.”

“You knew the people of Lupa Suku.” Draden made it a statement.

Lesmono nodded, his head hanging. “Yes.” It came out a whisper.

This man had taken charge, but he wasn’t happy with what had gone before him. Draden wanted to feel sorry for him, but he didn’t. Lesmono hadn’t done anything to stop his former commander from killing innocent people.

“Where is it?”

Lesmono pointed a shaky finger to the door that was on the side of the desk where he sat. Draden’s heart gave a powerful jerk of shock. What the hell were they thinking?

“Take it out.”

Lesmono shook his head. “I’m not touching it.”

“Open the door.” To emphasize that he meant business, he let Lesmono feel the very, very sharp edge of his knife, by tracing another path from the base of the skull down the right side of the spinal column, leaving a second trail of blood.

Lesmono reached down and pulled open the door. There was a small desk refrigerator built inside. Keeping the knife at the base of the new commander’s skull, Draden opened the refrigerator door. A small metal case was inside surrounded by ice packs. Clearly no one knew what they were doing with the virus.

“Take it out carefully. I’m already infected so I could care less if you accidentally drop the thing.” Draden kept his tone matter-of-fact.

For the first time, Lesmono turned his head slightly toward the window, and Draden felt him fill his lungs with air. He was far more afraid of the virus than he was the knife. Draden slammed the blade through the base of his skull. The new commander fell forward and face-planted onto the desk.

Draden checked the case. It was filled with ice, and sitting in a bed of cooling foam was a plastic ampule containing only a couple of drops, but that was all that was needed to wipe out a good portion of the world. Drops. He shook his head as he closed the case. What were the three men thinking? It was insanity.

Tucking the case inside his shirt, he moved in silence across the room to the other living space where the sunroof remained open in spite of the rain falling. The earlier, soft rain was now falling at a steady pace and the floor was saturated. He easily made it to the roof but had to lie prone, stretched out in plain sight while the guards made their rounds. Then he was on the porch and back on the ground, walking away, hood pulled up and his weapon in his arms.

Without hurrying, he made his way

through the village. Because he acted completely confident and in control, no one challenged him. He kept to himself. He could speak the language, but he didn’t look like a native and he wasn’t taking chances, especially now that he had the virus. He would have used any means necessary to gain the information he needed on the whereabouts of the remainder of it, but he’d gotten a lucky break in finding the commander had a conscience.

He headed away from the river, back toward heavier forest. Somewhere, Shylah was hunting. He wanted to join her, but he needed to get the ampule back to the remote lab and inform Trap it was there. Joe would send someone immediately to collect it. He had the times Whitney had the use of the military satellite. He had about three hours. Tigers could easily leap ten feet straight up and he used that ability to get into the trees where the arboreal highway afforded him fast movement without detection.

He had been careful to close the cabinet in the desk, leaving the commander slumped in his chair for his men to find. He knew he was already going to be gaining a reputation, a phantom in the forest, one darted with the virus but sneaking into the village and killing whenever and whomever he felt like.

He began to make his way back through the trees the same way he had come, hoping to find evidence of Shylah’s work. When he reached the place they had split up, he went ten feet farther, and just under the tree he saw two bodies. The men lay facedown in the rotting vegetation. He couldn’t see how they had died. Their injuries had to be in the front. That made him frown. She’d faced them. She hadn’t shot them because the sound of the bullets exiting the gun would have reverberated through the forest and carried back to the guards surrounding the village.

Curious, he leapt to the ground and turned one man over. There were two small wounds at the left side of the neck—two holes with thin metal needles sticking out of them. She had severed the external and internal carotid arteries and had either thrown the needles or used a blowgun. Either way, it took tremendous skill to hit exactly where she needed to with such a small weapon. He inwardly whistled low, gaining new respect for his partner.