GW10 Samurai Game

by Christine Feehan

  “I’m Sam Johnson.” He didn’t offer his hand, but bowed a second time, this time to her—that small woman who packed such a punch he felt her like an electrical current running through his bloodstream.

  The taller of the two men stepped forward with a slight bow. “I am Daiki Yoshiie. This is my brother, Eiji, and my sister, Azami Yoshiie.”

  The woman cast her eyes to the ground, but not before he saw something dark and intelligent swirling there. In one brief glance, she had appeared to take in everything about her surroundings. When she bowed, she looked more a regal princess than the demure woman walking two steps behind the powerful men who ran Samurai Telecommunications.

  Sam studied the trio without appearing to do so. He was good at sizing up the enemy, which was exactly why he’d been sent to pick up the three VIPs. Outsiders were rarely allowed inside the compound. The risk of allowing anyone inside where security precautions could be determined was great, but they needed these people and, after all, they were computer nerds—right? His radar had gone off the moment he approached them, and he had no idea why. They looked exactly as they had in every news report and interview they’d done, yet they gave off some strange vibe that set the hair on the back of his neck up just like hackles.

  Sam watched the way they moved, that easy flow across the ground. Perfect balance, feet under shoulders, rolling muscles. Even the woman—as small as she was—had that same flow of a fighter. Whoever these people were, they were not just computer nerds. They didn’t spend days and nights in front of a screen or sitting in a chair. Yet even that could be accounted for. Their father had been a famed swordsman and ran a school training students in martial arts. It would stand to reason that all three would be skilled, but his gut didn’t accept the explanation.

  Possible Charlie. He raised the alarm reluctantly, sending the alert to his two team members lying up on the roof-tops, both armed and very dangerous.

  It was the woman whose gaze jumped to his face. She felt that small pulse of energy where neither man had. That meant … Sam refused to look away from her. This woman had secrets, and it was up to him to protect the two GhostWalker teams and their families relying on his judgment. She aroused his interest; more than that, she intrigued him, but the safety of the compound came first, and she definitely was far more than she appeared with her business suit and her demure expression. A man could get trapped in those dark, liquid eyes, so velvet soft and inviting, filled with intelligence and piercingly bright. Her dark eyes slipped from his gaze and shifted toward the rooftops. Oh, yeah, she was sharp, this one.

  What had she missed? Thorn took another slow, careful sweep of the airport and the outlying buildings. Nothing seemed out of place, but Sam was not alone and he’d definitely communicated telepathically with someone else. The spike in the electrical current had been sharp, a certain sign of psychic energy. Although it had been far too long since she’d felt such a surge, there was no way she didn’t recognize it. She’d spent a good portion of her childhood feeling that spike when Whitney experimented with the other girls, using her body as his lab rat.

  She could almost smell psychic energy. She associated that spike and scent with acute pain. She wanted to press her hand to her stomach to still the sudden churning. She thought she was past all that. All the years her adopted father had put into training her in the way of the samurai. She should feel at peace anywhere she was. She accepted death as part of life. She wasn’t afraid of this man or anyone else, but those childhood memories were forever entrenched in her brain.

  The lives of both Daiki and Eiji were in her hands. They trusted her—trusted her judgment. Had she started this game before she was ready? It was war, pure and simple. She had declared war on Peter Whitney, and all of them would be at risk until it was finished. He had tortured her, used her for his ghastly experiments, and then disposed of her when he thought her of no more use to him.

  Many times her adopted father had pointed out to her the huge mistake Whitney had made. Whitney had seemed omnipotent—godlike—to the orphan girls he controlled in his laboratory, yet had not known the considerable power Thorn wielded. She had been a child but she had managed to keep her psychic gifts secret from him—in effect, she’d defeated him. There was honor in what she’d accomplished, Yoshiie had assured her. She hoped he would think what she was doing now was honorable.

  “We so appreciate you making the trip,” Sam said, keeping his voice low, showing no emotion, but he watched them closely. Lily had outstanding intelligence on anyone she did business with. She would never have invited these three to the compound if she had any suspicions. “We’ve arranged for you to stay with us. Do you have your bags?”

  He shoved his hand through the thick mass of curls on his head, watch facing out, scanning the faces of each of the three VIPs from Samurai Telecommunications. If these three were imposters, the facial recognition program would catch it immediately. He couldn’t explain what made him so uneasy, particularly about the woman. There were no covert looks, nothing to make him worry, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about them. He was careful, watching them closely, and he couldn’t discern a signal between them, but he was certain something unseen by him had passed between them.

  “We do not want to impose on your kindness. We will stay in the local hotel,” Daiki said with a small smile.

  “Unfortunately, our home is miles up the mountain, Mr. Yoshiie,” Sam said. “Trying to get you back and forth would eat up most of the work time. It would really be more convenient for you—and for us—if you stayed with us. We have accommodations apart from the main house. You would have plenty of privacy.” He wanted them where he could see them at all times, and he wanted Lily to send him the results of the facial scans immediately.

  Again, he didn’t see them exchange any signal, nor was there a sharp spike in the energy around them as if they were speaking telepathically, but his brain refused to settle. Every nerve ending was on high alert. He watched them all very closely, observing their interaction, and there wasn’t a single thing out of place, not one, yet he found himself more certain than ever that something wasn’t right.

  As strange as it seemed, he was coming to believe that it was the woman, not Daiki, who was in charge. There was absolutely no reason why he would feel that way. The reputation of the Samurai Telecommunications company was spotless, and always, it was Daiki at the helm, Eiji and Azami flanking him, but Sam found he didn’t believe it. They were almost too smooth.

  Of course they would be, he argued silently with himself, they had gone to high-security companies all over the world; yet he found himself certain that the woman was the boss, not the imposing male doing all the talking, which was shocking. Samurai Telecommunications was in the news all the time. It was an international corporation with offices in London, Tokyo, Washington, DC, and San Francisco. They were investing in Africa as well as making headlines by investing in Turkey. Eiji was usually the spokesperson, but Daiki was the undisputed leader and lauded to be the brains. Azami was always with them, but clearly in the background.

  Even with Dr. Lily Whitney-Miller, who was an acknowledged genius, Sam was used to being the smartest person in the room, often overlooked because he was a soldier, and people automatically discounted the brains of a soldier. He had the feeling Azami Yoshiie might be the smartest person in the room wherever she was—and those around her overlooked her because she was a woman. She stayed in the background deliberately, just as he often did. He found he could gather more intelligence that way, and he would bet his last dime that she used exactly the same tactic.

  He wasn’t certain why he was so on edge or felt as if they were in the opening gambit of a lethal chess game, but his alarm system was shrieking at him—loud.

  Lily says all three are who they say they are. Nicolas “Nico” Trevane relayed Lily’s assurances. He was the undisputed best shot of the team, a sniper renowned for making impossible shots and the man Sam most wanted as a backup at
that moment.

  It was Sam’s call then. Bring them up? Or dump the high-resolution satellite for the time being? Sam let his breath out slowly. There was no doubt the woman felt that small surge when Nico relayed Lily’s acknowledgment of the three identities. Her gaze had jumped to his and then once more did a careful survey of the rooftops.

  The first and second GhostWalker teams had made their homes in Montana, high in the mountains, their lands bordered by the Lolo National Forest. They were completely self-sufficient and could live for years off the land if they needed to do so. They had an impressive arsenal built up between the two teams as well as vehicles for winter, small planes, and a helicopter. Lily’s money had been put to good use. This high-resolution satellite would allow amazing surveillance. They had far too many enemies. They needed a secure way to check every order as well as to communicate with the other two teams making their fortress in San Francisco.

  “This way,” Sam directed, making up his mind.

  Again a flutter of indecision settled in his gut. This had never happened before. Sam always recognized an enemy. His eyes were enhanced. He saw tiny details others missed. He was highly skilled in recognizing lies. Their facial expressions remained serene, not giving away anything, yet some tiny flicker of signals his brain caught but he hadn’t yet defined told him something was off.

  As a rule, he was a gentleman and would offer to carry the woman’s bag, but he wanted his hands free. He hoped Nico or Kadan “Bishop” Montague, a powerful anchor and shield, lying up on the rooftops with a sniper rifle, would take note of that precaution. They both knew him, knew the way he worked. Anything out of the ordinary would alert them to possible danger.

  Thorn curled her fingers around the handle of her small travel bag. She couldn’t spot the shooters, but she knew they were there—she felt them now. The taste of psychic energy was in her mouth, impossible to ignore. Once she entered the SUV that would take them to the very lair of the GhostWalkers, she would no longer have a choice, not without killing someone. She would be fully committing her brothers to their course of action. Neither Daiki nor Eiji was enhanced, although they were well versed in the way of the samurai—Mamoru Yoshiie and his school had seen to that. They were extraordinary warriors, and she knew she could count on them. They had worked smoothly together over the last few years, but this would be their most dangerous mission yet. Did she have the right to risk their lives?

  “Ma’am?” Sam prompted.

  She sent him a small, demure smile, her gaze flicking to his. The moment their eyes met, she felt that hard punch in her stomach. A million butterflies took wing. He definitely had an effect on her. She gripped the handle of her bag and lifted it, indicating she would follow him.

  It was now or never. She had already set her plan in motion. She had to know all the players, and this man was a sacrifice, a “knight” in Whitney’s game to be given to a ruthless killer to be tortured before he was disposed of. It was possible she could make him an ally. In any case, if she managed to pull this off, she would have eyes and ears in Lily Whitney’s camp here in Montana, and the GhostWalker teams would want the satellite software installed in their San Francisco fortress as well. This would be her biggest step in her war against Whitney, and his own daughter could very well be his downfall.

  GhostWalkers, as a rule, could detect one another fairly easily, and they always felt psychic energy when it was used. She had learned she was an exception—even Whitney hadn’t known she had powerful psychic gifts. So far, that single distinction hadn’t let her down, but Sam Johnson might prove to be the one person who was able to “feel” her psychic energy even when she wasn’t using it. She knew that was part of the code of identity. They all “felt” that subtle pulse their bodies gave off when they were in close vicinity to one another. She controlled that pulse, just as she could control her heart and lungs.

  Sam led the way to the SUV. Had Nico and the Bishop not been watching his back, he would have had a difficult time leading the way across the open parking lot to his vehicle. The sense of danger grew instead of dissipated. Every step raised the hair on the back of his neck, but he never broke stride or gave away that he was worried. The trio acted the part of businessmen, but somehow they didn’t feel that way to him. Every sense remained alert, and he actually felt the pulsing of the venom sacs implanted along his wrist from one of Whitney’s insane experiments. For his body to react with such intensity, he was certain he wasn’t wrong—that something was not right about their three guests.

  The facial recognition program would be nearly impossible to beat and certainly would have detected one of them as being imposter, raising the alert immediately, but Lily had confirmed the identities of all three. Clearly, the taller man was really Daiki Yoshiie, founder of Samurai Telecommunications, and the other two were his adopted brother and sister. The company had risen fast, gaining an impeccable reputation internationally. It was said that the company was run by the code of Bushido and that their word was gold.

  Sam knew the exact position of all three of the visitors. They had fanned out as they followed, the woman directly behind him. None of them made noise when they walked, not the slap of the soles of their feet, not the soft brush of the material of their clothing. Still, he “saw” them. He had the ability to “feel” and map out anything behind him. He practiced each step in his mind. At the first sign of attack, he would step back and to his left, crowding Eiji, while he disposed of the woman first, believing she was the real threat. He would have to follow through, snapping Eiji’s neck and using him as a shield against Daiki’s attack. It would have to be one move, not two, killing Azami and then Eiji immediately after.

  Nico would definitely take out Daiki. Still, Sam was armed and he added the second move, shooting Daiki the moment he had disposed of Eiji. He practiced over and over in his mind until he knew every move smoothly. All the while he kept his breathing easy and his stride casual. They crossed the parking lot without incident.

  Unlocking the SUV, he opened the front passenger door. Daiki slipped inside, much to Sam’s consternation. He had expected the woman to take the front seat. She flashed him one look, her expression covered by the sweep of her lashes, and went around the vehicle to take the seat behind the driver. A muscle twitched in Sam’s jaw. He wanted the woman where he could see her. The two men didn’t raise his hackles in the same way she did. The last thing he wanted was for her to be sitting behind him.

  Sam took Daiki’s bag and stowed it in the back, then gathered Eiji’s as well and placed it carefully in the storage space. There were three rows of seats in the SUV, making the luggage space small, but the visitors seemed to be traveling light. Azami had kept her bag very neatly with her. He would have liked to get a feel for the weight of that bag. She was definitely the threat his body was reacting to.

  He had been fully briefed on them. Little was known of Azami before Mamoru Yoshiie had adopted her. Rumors flew about Yoshiie, yet nothing was concrete. He was reputed to be a direct descendent of a famous samurai and his family had passed down to him all the fighting skills and way of life of the samurai. He was known as a master craftsman of sword making. He seemed a quiet, gentle man who led a family life. He had a good reputation from all who knew him, and yet the rumors persisted until the man was shrouded in myth, becoming a thing of legend.

  It was whispered in Japan that Mamoru Yoshiie earned his real living as an assassin. The yakuza were rarely spoken of, especially in polite company, and when it was implied Yoshiie had some association with them, that had been firmly denied by the yakuza itself. They left the man strictly alone and some said it was Yoshiie one went to if they were in trouble with the local crime lord. Sam doubted if any of it was true until he’d met Yoshiie’s adopted daughter and his sons. All three moved with the skill of a consummate fighter.

  “We were expecting at least two bodyguards to accompany you,” Sam directed his statement to Daiki. “We do have accommodations for them as well if you would fe
el more comfortable.”

  “Azami and Eiji are my bodyguards when we are installing software for a satellite as important as this one. We know that most companies do not want strangers living and working where sensitive material might be exposed. We endeavor to make our clients as comfortable as possible.”

  That made sense and it explained the way Azami’s eyes had continually swept the small airport and the roofs of the buildings, but it didn’t explain the way his body reacted so strongly to her.

  “Why are we waiting?” Azami inquired very politely.

  Sam couldn’t keep his gaze from shifting to the rearview mirror. Azami wasn’t looking at him—or Daiki. She peered through the tinted windows, obviously expecting trouble.

  “We know a man of Daiki’s stature has enemies,” Sam said, his tone very matter-of-fact. “We had men in position to cover anyone taking undue notice of your arrival. They’ll be here in a moment or two.”

  He kept his glaze glued to the rearview mirror, observing Azami’s reaction to the news. She turned her head slowly and met his eyes in the mirror. He felt the impact all the way to his toes. His blood went hot, rushing through his veins, flooding his groin with need. He kept his expression composed, but only with effort. She was potent, that sweet, demure-looking bodyguard sitting directly behind him. He had no doubt she could take off his head in seconds. So much for the intellectual, computer-nerd types.

  She inclined her head, regal princess to the peasant who had just scored. She had known his men were out there all right—she wasn’t in the least surprised—but she didn’t like them climbing into the SUV and seating themselves directly behind her and Eiji, neatly flanking them, taking away any advantage they may have had.