Samurai Game (Ghostwalkers, #10)(120)
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.
The rising sun found them four miles from town where they settled in for the day. It was far too risky in the more populated area to travel. With the sun, the rain faded into a mist and then gradually disappeared altogether.
“We’ll rest here,” Ryland decided. “Try to scavenge up some food, find a water source, and clean up a bit.”
They all carried baby wipes and basic hygiene necessities and it felt good to take some of the grime of battle and travel off. Water came from a creek that ran into the nearby Congo River. Kyle, Jonas, and Gator went looking for food for everyone. Kyle managed to come up with a couple of dozen bananas and Jonas collected wild yams. Gator built a fish weir in the creek and captured a few tilapia.
Sam and Nico dug an oblong hole and built a fire in it. Using green limbs, they built a rack over the fire and cooked the fish and yams. They all sat back, finally satisfied, feeling as if they’d attended a virtual feast. The food was much needed, as it had been some time since they’d consumed any of their rations.
“We’re going to revise our plan a little and go with a new strategy for the night,” Ryland said. It was evident that while the others collected and cooked food, Ryland and Kadan had been working on a new plan. “We’ll split into two teams. The teams will do independent recons of two different routes to port. We’d like to find a small boat to take us down the Congo River to the Atlantic. When we’ve completed our recons, we’ll meet back up at a designated ORP and make a decision how to proceed. Any questions?” Again there was no pause. “Good. Let’s get it done, gentlemen.”
Sam, Nico, Kadan, and Jonas headed out, traveling fast, as soon as they’d settled on an objective rally point. Sam slipped into the brush, close to the port. The place was heavily guarded, presumably to keep the rebels out. Armed men in uniforms paced restlessly. Several stood together, talking quietly, smoke and laughter drifting back toward him. He worked his way all along the river, trying to find some means of transportation, but the security had the place locked down tight. Cursing under his breath, he made his way back to his three team members. All of them shook their heads silently.