GhostWalkers 10 - Samurai Game

were the elite of the elite. He thought of them as “his” team. He should have been a GhostWalker. He would have made a great leader, and working for Ranier allowed him to play a very large part. He knew he was a great asset to the GhostWalker program.
    He drove a showy little silver Jaguar, racing through the streets toward his meeting with Sheila Benet. She seemed so cool, but she flashed fire when they came together. She liked the uniform and the power he wielded, and he liked melting all that cold ice. He stroked the black leather seats almost lovingly. Yeah, he had the good life. Just because he didn’t show psychic ability didn’t mean he wasn’t a true GhostWalker. Whitney had recognized his abilities and just how useful he was to the program.
    Ranier had turned on Whitney, believing he’d gone too far when his experiments on young orphaned girls came to light, but the general hadn’t looked with an open mind. Patterson had tried hard to convince him of the truth—those girls were throwaways. No one wanted them in any of the countries where Whitney had found them. Had he not taken them, they would have ended up on the streets as prostitutes. At least they served a greater purpose. Whitney gave the girls clean beds and food. Most were grown now, and Patterson had seen the facilities once where they were housed, and the conditions were very nice.
    The women were all educated and spoke multiple languages, had all been trained as soldiers and shaped into useful members of society. The general loved his GhostWalker programand fought for it with every breath in his body, but he blamed Whitney for tainting its reputation. No one wanted the experiments to come to light, but they’d been necessary and Patterson believed in what Whitney was doing 100 percent.
    The major parked in the second-story parking garage at the mall. He rarely went to malls, but Sheila had insisted they be out in the open, in a very public place. She seemed far more nervous than usual, which was unlike her. He whistled as he made his way to the escalator to take it down to the first floor where he was meeting her in the little French coffee shop. At least the coffee was good.
    She was already sitting at a small table in a corner, which afforded them a little privacy. She was dressed in her usual style, that pencil-thin skirt that showed off her hips and long legs, so elegant in stockings and high heels. There was nothing cheap about Sheila Benet. She was class all the way. He liked sitting across from her in any public situation. She was a woman who turned heads with her hair in the upswept twist and her prim-and-proper short suit jacket that hugged the full curves of her breasts and small waist. She reminded him of the pinup girls from the forties with her red lipstick and shapely figure.
    He bent to brush a kiss along her temple in greeting. He was always careful when he touched her never to take it too far that she could object. He wanted her always wanting that little bit more from him. She was the type of woman who could never fully be in the seat of power or her man would lose her. He wasn’t a permanent kind of man, but the affair was fun and ensured his favor with Whitney. He often idly wondered if Whitney slept with her, but she was very close-mouthed on the subject.
    “You usually prefer to meet in dark places,” he greeted. “What’s up, Sheila? You said it was urgent and you wanted to come somewhere very public. Is there some problem?”
    “I don’t know,” she replied in a low voice. Behind her sunglasses her eyes moved restlessly, surveying the crowded shop. “Maybe. There have been unexplained accidents lately,and I don’t want to take a chance that you might be one of them.”
    He had never seen Sheila shaken or he wouldn’t have taken the threat seriously. “I can take care of myself, honey, but thanks for the heads-up. I’ll be careful.”
    She looked up as the waitress approached the major. He asked for coffee. Sheila waited until he’d been served before she leaned toward him again. “This is huge, Art, really huge. Orders are going to come down soon to send a team back into the Congo. The president has been asked to help get rid of the rebel problems of the current regime.”
    Patterson sat up straight, a frown on his face. “How would Whitney know that?
No one
should know about that. Not even him.”
    “He’s got ears everywhere, Art. He’s a very trusted man in many circles, and for them, his