Freeman had dark brown hair that was thick and wavy. At six two he was all muscle, without an ounce of fat. His eyes were a dark blue and held an intensity; when he flicked Barry a careless glance, Barry’s gut reacted as if punched. The man had rugged good looks that had catapulted him into stardom in the modeling world. Ordinarily, Barry and the crew would have been making fun of him behind his back, but no one did—especially after one of those smoldering, scary glances. Not one single bead of sweat marred his good looks.
“Five minutes out.” The call came from the front via Freeman’s radio.
Barry held up five fingers and the five men in the helicopter barely reacted. The helicopter was coming in with guns ready. They knew they wouldn’t have much time to retrieve the wounded U.S. Rangers, Kopassus or civilians. The gunners were in position and tension mounted.
Members of the WHO, the World Health Organization, had come at the request of the government to examine the remains of the dead in Lupa Suku, a small village in a remote part of Sumatra. Every man, woman and child had died of what appeared to be a very fast-acting and deadly virus, possibly a dreaded hemorrhagic one. Before they could set up their equipment, the WHO members had been attacked by a small terrorist cell known to the government.
The Milisi Separatis Sumatra, or MSS as the government referred to them, had sprung up in the last few years. They were growing fast and were well funded. Their goal seemed to be similar to that of most other terrorist cells—to take down the government. They were now suspected of having chosen the small village of Lupa Suku to test a hemorrhagic virus, but where it came from and how they got it, no one knew. But they needed to find out fast.
The rain forest of Sumatra was rich in plants and wildlife, although over the years it had been shrinking significantly. The trees were thick, the taller dipterocarp shooting up to the sky providing shade, vines climbing them and flowers wrapping around them. Mangrove roots pulled sediment from the river, leaving large areas of peat swamps with rich nutrients promoting thicker growth at their edges. The village of Lupa Suku was surrounded by the forest and tucked in just far enough from the river to be a perfect target.
The government had sent in their special forces, the Kopassus, to rescue the single WHO representative still alive. The Kopassus were known worldwide as tough soldiers able to stack up against any army. They were well trained and very skilled. They’d been ambushed as they were trying to aid the wounded man. A small force of U.S. Rangers had been called to aid the Kopassus who were pinned down, some reportedly badly wounded. The Rangers were then attacked and pinned down as well.
It began to look as if Lupa Suku had been sacrificed in order to draw the Indonesian soldiers into fighting a guerrilla-style war on the terrorists’ home turf. Whatever the rumor, there were wounded men needing aid and six of them were soldiers of the United States. Now this team was going to try to bring those soldiers out of the hot zone—along with any Kopassus and the remaining living representative of the WHO.
“Two minutes.”
Barry held up two fingers and the team moved, readying themselves for a quick departure.
“Ten minutes is all you’ve got and then we have to get into the air,” Barry reminded them. “If we can’t hold our position, we’ll come back around for you.”
Freeman flicked him a quick glance. It was one of those looks that seemed to burn a hole right through him. Barry shivered, not liking those eyes on him. They were intelligent, focused—almost too focused. They didn’t blink, and it felt like death looking at him.
The team leader, Dr. Joe Spagnola, gave him a quick look as well. It pretty much said, “You maggot, if you leave one of my men behind, don’t ever go to sleep because I’ll be coming for you.” At least Barry interpreted the look that way.
* * *
• • •
Joe Spagnola ignored the way the helicopter crew was looking at his team. He didn’t look at them or his own men, but instead reached telepathically to his GhostWalker unit. GhostWalkers were enhanced psychically as well as physically. The first they’d signed on for; the last, not so much. Still, they were classified soldiers and they did their job, no matter how fucked-up it was.
Each branch of the service had one GhostWalker team consisting of ten members. The first team experimented on had a few major problems. Some needed anchors to drain away the psychic energy that adhered to them like magnets. Others had brain bleeds. Every subsequent team had fewer flaws until Whitney, the doctor performing the experiments, had rolled out his prize group, the pararescue team. They might have what Whitney considered fewer flaws, but they also had more genetic enhancements than any of them cared for.
He leaves us, we’ll be finding him and his candy-ass crew when we get out of here. Joe’s voice slid into their minds.
* * *
• • •
Draden’s gaze shifted, just for one moment, to Barry Font and then over to his fellow teammate, Malichai Fortunes.
There are a hundred and fifty volcanoes in Indonesia, Malichai, their fact man, informed them all telepathically. We can shove his ass out of the helicopter right into one of them if he tries leaving any of us behind.
Draden let amusement slide into his eyes for a moment but didn’t let it show on his face. Malichai had been spouting all kinds of facts about the rain forest and the wildlife at risk there. That was his way of coping in a dangerous situation, and all members of the team just let him carry on.
Their enhancements made them predators any way you looked at it. Hunters. They were very good at their jobs. They looked like soldiers. Doctors. Officers. But they were much more than that, and anyone in close confines with them felt the difference sooner rather than later. All of them could smell the fear the helicopter crew was giving off, and that fear had nothing to do with flying into a hot zone. No, Barry and the crew were used to that sort of danger—they just didn’t like their passengers.
Draden couldn’t give a rat’s ass if he was liked or not. He had a job to do. They were going into enemy territory to bring out the wounded and make certain they stayed alive until they got them back to the hospitals.
The helicopter set down with a jarring thump and Draden was out fast, running with his fellow teammates in the dark toward the southern tip of the tree line. Deliberately, they’d chosen to fly in at three in the morning, when their enemy was least likely to be at its sharpest. The sound of the rotors was loud in the night, something that couldn’t be helped. He knew the noise would draw the enemy. That couldn’t be helped either. They just needed a few minutes.
The terrorist cell had set its trap with live bait. They knew the terrain and had chosen it carefully. The MSS had the advantage, especially when the Indonesian government had wounded soldiers waiting for help. They knew the authorities would send their elite and it was a chance to mow them down.
Draden fanned out to his left while Gino Mazza went right, both flanking the others as Joe went down on one knee and flashed the tiny blue light in each direction three times. They received a response from the west. Instantly they were up and running again toward the returned signal.
Thirty feet from the thickest brush, they spread out even farther, running in absolute silence as only GhostWalkers could. Joe, Malichai and Diego Campo dropped down, their weapons ready, while Draden and Gino continued forward. Draden slipped into the cover of the brush, a place he was at home.
He found their contact ten feet in, crouched down in the thick buttresses of a dipterocarp tree. “How many wounded?” Draden asked, his voice a thread of sound.
“Fifteen.”
Draden gave a mental shake of his head. Fifteen wounded was a lot of wounded. They had room in the three helicopters, but maybe not the time to get them all in. “Can anyone besides you help get them to the choppers?”
“Two others.”
That wasn’t good either.
“Enemy?”
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“No idea of their numbers. They seem to come and go. At least we think they’re gone and the moment we move, they open fire.”
Draden nodded. “Any of you sick?”