Snake took the bait without hesitation after finding out no one would be there but him and the two models, late at night. It was extremely low budget and they weren’t paying for much other than the bondage props. Snake’s voice had indicated immediate interest, and he’d been seen twice scouting the location earlier in the day, noting how remote it was.

Gator and Jeff took up their positions, shirts off, barefoot, Jeff tying Gator as Snake strode in. They introduced themselves and Snake set up his lights and camera.

“Make it tight. You want this to look real,” he said. “I’ll tie you,” he added and caught up the ropes. “We’re going to have fun tonight.” He knotted the rope, pulling until Jeff’s circulation was cut off.

“Hey, man, too tight,” Jeff complained.

Snake drew a knife and grinned. “That’s the least of your worries tonight. I’m going to film the real thing, slicing little pieces off of you. People pay big money for films like this.”

“Yes, they do,” Kadan said quietly from behind him. The knife slid in, a kill stroke. Kadan helped the body fall to the floor. “Three down.”

Blade was a man with a huge superiority complex. He wanted control and he wanted to be in charge. He enjoyed being cruel and publicly humiliating others. Kadan doubted very much that he’d take public humiliation well. Kadan hadn’t worn a uniform in a long while, but he donned his, immaculate as always, and with Gator and Ian, entered the bar where Blade was known to hang out.

Blade held court at the pool table, women hanging around him and several men standing respectfully to one side. When he missed a shot, Kadan snickered. Gator and Ian both grinned, shaking their heads, turning away in dismissal to lean on the bar and whisper. Several of the women noticed the three broad-shouldered men and moved away from Blade to investigate the newcomers. It didn’t take long for Blade to realize he was no longer the center of attention. He threw his pool cue down and stomped over, shoving one of the women out of his way. The woman stumbled and would have fallen if Ian hadn’t caught her.

Kadan reached out in a blurring motion and casually and quite brutally slapped Blade. “Keep your hands off the lady.”

Blade’s face turned cherry red. A sound escaped his throat, much like the roar of a freight train. He’d been Special Forces, enhanced, his body in shape, he hadn’t even seen Kadan move and the blow had rocked him. A few of the men he’d ridiculed in the bar snorted derisively but hastily stilled their laughter when he glared around the room. Opening and closing his fists, he jerked his head toward the door.

“You want to take this outside?”

Kadan looked him up and down, his expression remote, dismissive. “You’re not worth my time. I just came in for a cold brew. Someone else can teach you manners.” He turned his back and swallowed the rest of his beer. “You ready?” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to be at the old airstrip in about twenty minutes.”

Ian and Gator drained their glasses and they swaggered out, leaving Blade smoldering, furious, poised on the edge of violence.

“He’s on you,” Jack’s voice said softly. “Following about a mile back. You hit the son of a bitch pretty hard, bro. There’s no way he isn’t going to try to kill you.”

“Stay on him, Nico,” Kadan said.

Jack, Ken, and Mari were all also snipers with reputations. Blade would have four rifles trained on him when he moved in to confront Kadan. Gator and Ian would be backing him at a much closer range.

Once at the old airstrip, Kadan slowed his vehicle, allowing Gator and Ian to bail out, running along the brush, crouched low to make their way to the hangar where they both got into position. Ken, Mari, and Nico had already gone high. Jack joined them as soon as he was able, coming in from the north and finding a nice limb to stretch out on.

“In position,” Nico said. “He’s approaching.”

“I see him,” Kadan said, and turned, a scowl on his face as the car roared up, sending plumes of dirt into the air.

Blade burst out of the car, slamming the door. “You son of a bitch. You think you can just bitch slap me in front of everyone and walk away clean?”

“No, I thought you’d follow me,” Kadan said, his voice as cold as ice.

Blade paused, hand gripping his knife. He looked around, suddenly realizing that he was alone with someone who had eyes like twin glaciers. “Who are you?”

“The name’s Kadan. Kadan Montague. I’ve been called Bishop in some circles. You give the GhostWalkers a bad name. You give every soldier a bad name.”

Blade’s face lost color as he began to back toward his car. “Why’d you bring me out here?” he demanded and threw the knife.

Kadan dove for the ground, rolling, coming up right at Blade’s feet, knife sliding upward in a standard figure eight, cutting arteries along the way. He kept moving, getting away from the pumping streams of blood, his face dispassionate, his heart rate never going up. He watched the man die and then he turned and walked away.

“East Coast Team down,” Kadan announced. “The jet’s standing by, let’s move out.”

Ryland handed Kadan the binoculars and pointed toward the small cabin near the lake. “Lily and Flame have been working around the clock to get us as much information as possible on these suspects, but the one called Hawk, we can only speculate is the same Hawk the Reaper teamed up with a few years ago. We just don’t have enough on him to be certain. But there’s no doubt that this one is Scorpion. He’s holed up here by himself, pounding on a heavy bag and running every day. He looks to be in bad mental shape.” He glanced again at Kadan. “I did what you asked me to do. Did you clear it with the general?”

Kadan nodded. “I’ll go in and have a chat with him. It’s the best I can do for him.”

“Nico’s in place,” Ryland said. “Keep him away from the door and outside if possible.”

Kadan took a packet of papers from inside his jacket, slipped his gun in his belt at his back, and checked for his knife. “Nico, if you have to do it, take him out clean, no pain.”

Nico didn’t respond. He always took them out painlessly, one shot. Kadan was reluctant to eliminate Tom Delaney, Sr., and Nico understood why. The man had a wife and child and a good service record, complete with plenty of medals. Murder had never been his choice and he fought it—was still fighting it.

Kadan made his way down to the cabin. Walking. Giving Scorpion plenty of time to see him coming. Tom Delaney turned to watch him approach, his body covered in sweat, his face a mask of pain, knuckles bloody from hitting the heavy bag without gloves.

“Tom Delaney.” Kadan made it a statement as he nodded his head in greeting.

Tom shook his head, a look of relief on his face. “I wondered who’d come for me.”

“Kadan Montague, sir. If you don’t mind, I’d like to propose something to you.”

Delaney reached down toward a cooler.

“Please don’t do that, sir,” Kadan said. “Nico has a gun on you and he never misses.” Deliberately he used the name of a sniper most on Special Forces teams would recognize instantly. “I’d like you to hear me out.”

Delaney straightened slowly, keeping his hands out away from his body. “You know what I’ve done.”

“Yes sir. And I know what was done to you. Your profile was tampered with when you applied for psychic enhancement. You should never have been placed in that program. When you were enhanced, they also did genetic enhancement, raising the levels of hormones to make you super-aggressive. We know that you fought it. Unfortunately, the person who chose you for this program needed an eighth player for his game of murder. When you weren’t cooperative, he began to use your own mind against you. You get headaches and bleed from your nose, mouth, and ears, right?”

“How do you know that?” Delaney looked around and lowered himself slowly to the wooden bench behind him, his hands still out in front of him in plain sight. “My head feels like it’s in a vise and I can’t control myself. I’m afraid for my wife, my son.” His breath came in ragged gasps as he fought to keep from breaking down. “I go crazy. I killed someone, beat him to death, and for a little while the voices stopped. But they’re back again. I tried to get help. I went to the veterans’ hospital. I’m afraid for my family, for others, but they just gave me some drugs. I begged to go into the hospital.”

Kadan had read the report on his desperate cry for help. “You were programmed, both genetically and psychically, to murder, and you’ve fought it.”

Delaney shook his head again, pressing his fingers tight against his eyes. “I couldn’t control it. I don’t really remember beating that man to death, but I did, with my bare hands.” He flexed his fingers. “I tried eating a bullet, but I couldn’t. I kept thinking if I could get help . . .”

“He’s in your head. Pressuring you to do what he wants.”

“Who?” Delaney’s head snapped up, his eyes hard.

“I’m going to get him for you,” Kadan said. “In the meantime, I’m offering you one chance. If you fail, you’re terminated. No second chances, no talking, I’ll put a bullet in your head and you’ll never see it coming.”

“I don’t trust myself. Just do it now. It’s a relief. I don’t want to hurt anyone else. I hit my wife. Damn it, I hit her, with my fist. I could hear myself screaming to stop, but I couldn’t. And her face, when she looked at me . . .” He closed his eyes. “Just do it, man.”

“I want to have you transported to a hospital. A doctor will try to undo or counteract the damage done with the genetic enhancement. Once I terminate the man pulling your strings, the pressure as well as the voices in your head should be gone. We can’t get back the man you killed, but you can do your best to make up for it. You were a good soldier. The papers in this packet say you still are. As far as your wife and child will know you are on a mission. If you succeed, you’ll come back to them, but you’ll remain under the general’s command and serve your country when needed. If you don’t succeed, you will be terminated immediately and you will be buried with full military honors. Your wife and child will never know what happened to you and will receive your insurance benefits as befitting the widow and family of a fallen soldier.”

“Why would you do that for me?” Delaney asked suspiciously.

“Because I’ve had to kill four people today and I’ll kill four more by tomorrow morning. You’re worth saving, and I don’t want to have to look into your wife’s eyes and know I didn’t try. I don’t want to have to go home to my woman and have her know I didn’t try. I signed on for psychic enhancement, but no one asked my permission for genetic enhancement. Whatever happened to you could just as easily have happened to me.”

“In return for this offer, what do I have to do?” Delaney sounded wary. He was a soldier, Special Forces, and his every instinct would be to keep information to himself.

“You have to do exactly what I laid out for you. I don’t need you to tell me anything about how you got into this or who did it with you. We’ll take you to a hospital at an undisclosed location. You will be allowed one phone call to your wife where you will tell her you were called up for a special mission you can’t talk about. Tell her you love her and to wait for you, to give you one more chance. Let her know you’ll probably be gone several months. Cooperate with the doctor. I won’t lie to you: We don’t know how to undo the genetic enhancements; the doctor will probably have to counteract them in some way. I have no guarantee for you other than my word as a fellow GhostWalker that I’m telling you the truth.”