GhostWalkers 10 - Samurai Game

grandson were somewhere up in those mountains. Lily Whitney-Miller was married to a GhostWalker. She had worked with her father on some of the experiments. If anyone knew Whitney’s location, it would be his daughter.
    “These people are professionals with abilities similar to mine,” she reiterated quietly. “Do not take chances. If things go bad, don’t worry about me, just get out fast.”
    Daiki frowned at her. “You are repeating yourself, Azami,” he reprimanded. “Are you certain you’re ready to do this?”
    “I’ve waited all my life for this moment. Whitney is a monster and he has to be stopped,” she replied. “It is my destiny to find a way to cut him off from those he manipulates into aiding him, and then I will be able to stop him.”
    “We’ve had years to practice our roles,” Eiji pointed out. “We’ve played this out in front of the entire world and we won’t make a mistake. Believe in the skills our father taught us, little sister.”
    Daiki bent close. “We are brilliant businessmen to the world, but our father taught us the way to live, to be, and we are extraordinary warriors. We will not fail you or ourselves.”
    “Heads up,” Eiji warned.
    “Mr. Yoshiie?”
    Thorn turned slowly, her breath hissing out at her reaction to that low masculine voice. Serenity, she reminded herself as a powerfully built, coffee-skinned man with heavy muscles and an easy, fluid walk approached. His dark eyes were filled with intelligence and his curly black hair invited a woman to run her fingers through it.
    Thorn was rarely shaken by anything, especially by the appearance of a man—after all, she’d trained with very fit men for years—but for some reason, this man shook her when no one ever did. He walked with the confidence of a GhostWalker, very skilled, an exceptional warrior who knew his worth. Sam “Knight” Johnson.
    She’d studied his file in great detail. He was renowned for his hand-to-hand combat skills and he’d been a member of the team that had gone into the Congo to rescue Ken Norton. There was nothing in his files to indicate what psychic skills he had or what Whitney had done to enhance him, but the way he walked, fluid, his body flowing over the ground, made her think of a great jungle cat. She noticed he made no noise when he walked and when he stopped, he went absolutely still.
    Sam Johnson had multiple degrees in molecular biology, biochemistry, and astrophysics as well as nuclear physics. He’d been an orphan, raised in numerous foster homes before General Theodore Ranier and his wife, Delia, had recognized the extraordinary intelligence of the boy who had stolen their car. The general talked the court intoallowing him to be responsible for Sam, and then he and his wife had taken the boy in. It was the general who had seen to it that Sam was educated. Only after satisfying General Ranier’s demand for a higher education did Sam make the decision to follow in the general’s footsteps and join the army.
    His career had been—extraordinary. He was highly decorated and had run multiple covert operations successfully, building a reputation in the Rangers before joining the GhostWalker program. There he had received additional specialized training as well as enhancements, once again performing with excellence, honor, and courage. He had run numerous missions in Yemen, searching, finding, and taking out high-profile al-Qaeda targets, again without any recognition or fanfare. He was brilliant, an amazing soldier, and had contributed significantly to his country’s safety, and yet this was the man Whitney was so willing to sacrifice.
    “Welcome to Superior,” Sam said with a slight bow. “Thank you so much for coming.”
    His bow, though Americanized, was not in the least awkward, she decided. She could see why the GhostWalkers would send him as an emissary. He was almost courtly, his manners impeccable. Intelligence shone in his eyes and, she reminded herself, he was a GhostWalker, capable of things no one would ever believe.
    If both Teams One and Two trusted this man to vet visitors, she would have to be very careful. It didn’t help that his voice nearly mesmerized her—and maybe that was an enhancement right there. He was the enemy. She had to think of all of them as her enemy. She kept her eyes downcast, presenting one of her best disguises, hiding in plain sight. Few people ever looked past the powerful Daiki Yoshiie, part owner of the largest