GhostWalkers 10 - Samurai Game

Sam, contact Azami.” He sent the men a small smile. “She’s got a freighter off the coast waiting for us and a company jet in Turkey. We’ll make it home,” he assured.
    “The coast is a long way off,” Kyle said, “and there’s bound to be a few really pissed off rebels looking for us.”
    “We’ve been here before,” Ryland reminded with a small, resigned shrug.
    Sam used a small radio Azami had given him. “Firefly, Firefly, do you copy? This is Burning Man, over.”
    “This is Firefly. Burning Man, we have you five by five, over.”
    “Coming your way, over,” Sam said. “It’s a go.”
    “Copy that, Burning Man, it’s a go. Waiting on you, over.”
    “Give me that,” Ryland held out his hand for the tiny radio. He even snapped his fingers, impatience on his face.
    Reluctantly Sam handed it to him. Ryland spoke into it. “Firefly, this is Burning Man leader. Are we secure, over.”
    “Totally, Burning Man, over.”
    “Duncan Forbes, CIA man holding hands with Whitney, made a call to someone at Bragg. I want them both. Do you copy?”
    Sam sucked in his breath. Ryland had just included Azami in their trusted circle.
    “Copy that, Burning Man, consider it done. Firefly out.”

C HAPTER 19

    M isery was tramping through hostile jungle for thirteen hours with the steady fall of rain. Long, silver sheets dropped from the sky, the drops making their way through the thick leaves of the canopy to fall in an endless, relentless stream. Everything and everyone was thoroughly drenched. The trees seemed closer at night, the tangled vines, thick and roped, hanging like nooses over their heads, ready to trap them.
    The team walked in single file in absolute silence, continually alert for snakes, animals, insects, and hostiles. Sam had been in the rainforests hundreds of times, but he couldn’t recall a more miserable journey. The feeling of being abandoned was strong, thrown away by an ungrateful government, left to die in a country they’d tried to help. He knew what Azami felt like, thrown away like so much trash. Anger mixed with trepidation with every step they took.
    He was a man, trained for this shit. He’d signed on, knowing at any moment he could be burned. Azami had been an infant when Whitney had taken her from the orphanage. She’d been eight years old when Whitney had abandonedher on the streets of Japan. He’d experimented on her until he was certain her only use was a heart transplant the doctor was certain would kill her. Sick and dying, he’d had her flown in a box to Japan, taken by strangers to an alley known for sex trade, and dumped her—threw her away as he’d just been thrown away.
    Anger smoldered in the pit of his belly—not for himself, but for Azami. Walking through a dark, hostile jungle couldn’t be any worse than a child waking up in a country she didn’t know, bruised and battered.
    It was a four-day walk to Matadi and they wanted to find a car, but they needed a ride where a vehicle could actually travel, and most of the roads were blown to hell.
    Kadan’s voice hissed a soft warning in his ear. Sam went down on one knee, sliding his gun into firing position. They all remained absolutely silent. Their point man just indicated trouble.
    A rebel patrol moved like wraiths, filtering through the trees just a few meters from them. The patrol continued on past them, and Sam let out his breath, his muscles relaxing a little. The rebels suddenly halted, one man moving out of the line into the trees, just off the animal trail they were using as a path. He opened his fly and suddenly looked straight at Kadan.
    Kadan was no more than a foot from him, blending into the shadows as he often did. The man blinked and looked away. Kadan didn’t move, remaining absolutely silent and still. Above his head the branch came alive, a snake lifting its head curiously to stare at the soldier. The reptile’s movement drew the rebel’s attention. He took a step closer, peering at the snake, machete raised. And then his eyes widened and he screamed, a high-pitched cry of absolute shock, to see a man so close to him.
    “Contact, one o’clock!” Kadan yelled as he shot the soldier in the head.
    The rebels opened fire simultaneously with the GhostWalker team, a mere five meters apart. The entire confrontationlasted forty-five seconds, but it seemed an eternity of hell with the shock of the bullets flying and men screaming. Monkeys screamed their fear and rage, adding to the