Murder Game (GhostWalkers, #7)(119)

“In position,” Nico said. “He’s approaching.”

“I see him,” Kadan said, and turned, a scowl on his face as the car roared up, sending plumes of dirt into the air.

Blade burst out of the car, slamming the door. “You son of a bitch. You think you can just bitch slap me in front of everyone and walk away clean?”

“No, I thought you’d follow me,” Kadan said, his voice as cold as ice.

Blade paused, hand gripping his knife. He looked around, suddenly realizing that he was alone with someone who had eyes like twin glaciers. “Who are you?”

“The name’s Kadan. Kadan Montague. I’ve been called Bishop in some circles. You give the GhostWalkers a bad name. You give every soldier a bad name.”

Blade’s face lost color as he began to back toward his car. “Why’d you bring me out here?” he demanded and threw the knife.

Kadan dove for the ground, rolling, coming up right at Blade’s feet, knife sliding upward in a standard figure eight, cutting arteries along the way. He kept moving, getting away from the pumping streams of blood, his face dispassionate, his heart rate never going up. He watched the man die and then he turned and walked away.

“East Coast Team down,” Kadan announced. “The jet’s standing by, let’s move out.”





Ryland handed Kadan the binoculars and pointed toward the small cabin near the lake. “Lily and Flame have been working around the clock to get us as much information as possible on these suspects, but the one called Hawk, we can only speculate is the same Hawk the Reaper teamed up with a few years ago. We just don’t have enough on him to be certain. But there’s no doubt that this one is Scorpion. He’s holed up here by himself, pounding on a heavy bag and running every day. He looks to be in bad mental shape.” He glanced again at Kadan. “I did what you asked me to do. Did you clear it with the general?”

Kadan nodded. “I’ll go in and have a chat with him. It’s the best I can do for him.”

“Nico’s in place,” Ryland said. “Keep him away from the door and outside if possible.”

Kadan took a packet of papers from inside his jacket, slipped his gun in his belt at his back, and checked for his knife. “Nico, if you have to do it, take him out clean, no pain.”

Nico didn’t respond. He always took them out painlessly, one shot. Kadan was reluctant to eliminate Tom Delaney, Sr., and Nico understood why. The man had a wife and child and a good service record, complete with plenty of medals. Murder had never been his choice and he fought it—was still fighting it.

Kadan made his way down to the cabin. Walking. Giving Scorpion plenty of time to see him coming. Tom Delaney turned to watch him approach, his body covered in sweat, his face a mask of pain, knuckles bloody from hitting the heavy bag without gloves.

“Tom Delaney.” Kadan made it a statement as he nodded his head in greeting.

Tom shook his head, a look of relief on his face. “I wondered who’d come for me.”

“Kadan Montague, sir. If you don’t mind, I’d like to propose something to you.”

Delaney reached down toward a cooler.

“Please don’t do that, sir,” Kadan said. “Nico has a gun on you and he never misses.” Deliberately he used the name of a sniper most on Special Forces teams would recognize instantly. “I’d like you to hear me out.”

Delaney straightened slowly, keeping his hands out away from his body. “You know what I’ve done.”

“Yes sir. And I know what was done to you. Your profile was tampered with when you applied for psychic enhancement. You should never have been placed in that program. When you were enhanced, they also did genetic enhancement, raising the levels of hormones to make you super-aggressive. We know that you fought it. Unfortunately, the person who chose you for this program needed an eighth player for his game of murder. When you weren’t cooperative, he began to use your own mind against you. You get headaches and bleed from your nose, mouth, and ears, right?”

“How do you know that?” Delaney looked around and lowered himself slowly to the wooden bench behind him, his hands still out in front of him in plain sight. “My head feels like it’s in a vise and I can’t control myself. I’m afraid for my wife, my son.” His breath came in ragged gasps as he fought to keep from breaking down. “I go crazy. I killed someone, beat him to death, and for a little while the voices stopped. But they’re back again. I tried to get help. I went to the veterans’ hospital. I’m afraid for my family, for others, but they just gave me some drugs. I begged to go into the hospital.”

Kadan had read the report on his desperate cry for help. “You were programmed, both genetically and psychically, to murder, and you’ve fought it.”

Delaney shook his head again, pressing his fingers tight against his eyes. “I couldn’t control it. I don’t really remember beating that man to death, but I did, with my bare hands.” He flexed his fingers. “I tried eating a bullet, but I couldn’t. I kept thinking if I could get help . . .”

“He’s in your head. Pressuring you to do what he wants.”

“Who?” Delaney’s head snapped up, his eyes hard.

“I’m going to get him for you,” Kadan said. “In the meantime, I’m offering you one chance. If you fail, you’re terminated. No second chances, no talking, I’ll put a bullet in your head and you’ll never see it coming.”