They stayed as alert as possible with the pits in the road jarring them every few minutes. The rain fell in the same endless gray sheets, obscuring vision. At times the bald tires slid in the mud, sending them slamming into each other. They were packed like sardines in the back, but they weren’t walking.
Three hours later, as they hit the top of a hill, the radiator began to steam and the engine abruptly seized.
“Okay, boys,” Ryland said. “Time to put the LPCs back to use.”
The men groaned and lifted their leather personal carriers out of the truck. Ryland laughed at them. “Too much good living. You’re all turning into pansies. The truck saved us over a hundred miles of walking and a few days on top of that, so stop your bellyaching. We’ve got twenty-three miles until we get to Matadi. Let’s get this sorry ass truck pushed over the edge so it looks like the abandoned wreck that it is. We need to get out of sight and make certain nobody saw us arrive.”
After ascertaining they hadn’t been spotted, they traveled twenty klicks from the truck, set up security, and settled in to wait for nightfall.
Duncan Forbes sank into his favorite seat at his favorite pub. “Whiskey.” He needed it. And he had a damn good reason to celebrate. Everything had gone to hell in the Congo, but he’d gotten out alive and he’d had his revenge on the f**kers. Who did they think they were, anyway? They’d treated him like dog shit. “Elite, my ass,” he said aloud. Yeah, they were so damned elite that they were going to die in that jungle, hopefully tortured by those equally idiotic rebels.
“Make that two,” General Fielding said and slid his butt into the seat across from Forbes. He smiled at the woman seated at the bar. A pretty little thing. Delicate. Asian. The little cap of jet black hair was intriguing around her fragile face. She had the longest lashes he’d ever seen. Her lips were …
“You’re staring,” Forbes said with a tight laugh. “She’s probably on the clock.”
“I can find out after we have our drink. It was a long flight to Washington.” He glanced again at the woman, catching her eye. This time she smiled. “I wish I was in uniform, but that always attracts undo attention. Women, however, fall all over me when I’m wearing it.” He turned his head and suddenly he was all business, looking like the commander he was. “What the hell went wrong out there? I don’t like leaving my soldiers behind.”
“Sacrifices have to be made, General. If we’re going to have a strong military, we need the right people leading,” Forbes said. “These men not only blew a multimillion-dollar project, but more important, they blew months of negotiations. If the president gets those mines back, we won’t have access to what we need for the weapon. He’s not going to be so easy to deal with as a bunch of hotheaded rebels with no real agenda.”
Fielding sighed. “Still. They were soldiers. Good soldiers.”
Forbes shot him a look. “What do you know about them?”
“Not much.” The general shrugged, his gaze straying back toward the woman at the bar. She was leaning over the bar, talking to the bartender, flirting a little as the man put the whiskeys on the bar for the waitress. She had picked up her clutch and seemed to be getting ready to leave. He didn’t want her to leave. She was the only prospect he could see for salvaging the night.
The waitress scooped up the drinks and brought them over to the table. Forbes reached for his money, but she shook her head and indicated over her shoulder. “She bought it for both of you.”
Forbes took his drink with a sigh of relief and downed half of it, before smiling an acknowledgment. “I don’t think that uniform is going to matter one way or the other, General. That little tart is looking for some fun with you.”
The general picked his drink up and waited until the little Asian girl had slipped off the barstool and was fully facing him. He raised his glass in a toast to her and took a large swallow. She smiled back at him and sauntered over, taking her time but holding his attention with her large, exotic eyes.
She stopped at the table as Forbes downed his drink and signaled for two more. The general managed another healthy swallow, looking her up and down over the rim of his glass.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said softly, very softly, her voice just the merest thread of sound.
“Thank you for the drinks,” Fielding said. He went to put his hand on her hip, but she glided a few steps and his hand fell through empty air.
She smiled. “You don’t have me to thank. These drinks are courtesy of the GhostWalkers you thought you left behind in the jungle. Enjoy them, gentlemen, they’ll be your last.” She spoke so soft, so sweetly, it took a moment for her words to register.
Forbes opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Alarm spread across his face. He clutched his chest.
The general scowled at her. “What the hell are you saying?”
She was already gone, walking out of the bar with unhurried steps, the bar door swinging closed behind her.
The waitress brought the second round of drinks to the table. Forbes half stood, still clutching at his heart. He suddenly fell, going to his knees, his chair tipping back. “Oh, my God,” the waitress said. “Bill, I think he’s having a heart attack. Call an ambulance.”
As the words left her mouth, Fielding tried to stand and went down, smashing his head on the table, his hands gripping the edges so hard the table overturned. Several people ran to help. No one noticed the man removing the two glasses from the floor and pocketing them, leaving the newly spilled whiskey glasses beside the overturned table. He left the bar as the paramedics arrived.
Eiji walked out of the bar and down the sidewalk, using the same unhurried pace his sister had. He turned into the alley where she waited, once more in jeans, with her long hair pulled back in a ponytail. As he walked down the alley toward her, he reversed his light-colored coat to the darker blue side, slicked his hair back, and waited while Azami deftly changed the laces in his shoes to a bright pink. They both donned backpacks they had stashed. He dropped his arm around her shoulders, and they emerged onto the next street on the other side of the block, Eiji hailing a cab.
Daylight gave way to darkness, although there seemed to be little difference with the constant rain in the jungle. Sometimes the rain let up for a short while and then it would start again in earnest. They continued their journey toward the port where the GhostWalkers hoped to “acquire” a boat.