Page 88 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier

Plata was in the unit directly across from him. The mercs were all in various states of shock and disorientation, no doubt in proportion to their level of drunkenness the night before—or was it the same night? He couldn’t tell. Cabrillo craned his neck to see farther down the line. Four cages down from Plata, he spotted Linc, who locked bleary eyes with his. They exchanged a quick nod.

Good to go—whatever happens.

Juan was suddenly aware of the aches and pains racking his body, and the cool feeling of plate steel beneath his hands. He saw a device locked onto his wrist, like an oversized Apple Watch, but with a steel band that couldn’t be removed. The large glass face was blank, displaying nothing.

Cabrillo heard the metal clank of a rolling steel door opening beyond the platform and beyond his sight. Moments later, several men and two women walked onto the platform. All but one of them wore indistinct civilian clothing. One of the women and three of the men were East Asian. Two other men were Black. Others were blond or brunette Europeans. Some carried a distinct military bearing with close-cropped haircuts to match.

The youngest of the bunch was a South Asian man with shoulder-length hair pulled into a ponytail and sporting a close-shaven beard. Cabrillo identified him as an Indian national. He wore a one-piece flight suit with camel-colored Merrell tactical boots and, strangely, black gloves. He wore no weapon of any kind.

But it was the exceptionally large middle-aged man in the center of the group, a bearded Japanese man, that stood out. Beyond his imposing size, the man carried himself with the self-possessed confidence of a warrior who had never known defeat.

One tough customer, Juan told himself.

The bearded giant stepped closer, separating himself from the others, including a small band of armed and uniformed bodyguards, whostood back in the shadows. He tented his long fingers as he prepared to speak.

Juan sighed.

What fresh hell is this?

?

“My lords of war,” the bearded Japanese man said, “allow me to introduce myself. I am your employer. I am the Vendor.” He gestured to the others standing next to him. “We have been observing you over the course of your time here. Your performances were exemplary—far exceeding my expectations. You are to be congratulated.”

The Vendor slow-clapped his enormous hands and the others joined him.

Juan’s gut knotted with a sickening certainty.Not good.

“What game are you playing, Plata?” the Russian shouted. Several other mercs cursed in agreement.

Juan couldn’t see the ex-Wagner’s face. He was in the same row of cages as he was.

Plata white-knuckled his cage bars and shook them as he turned his head to face the Russian.

“Does this look like a game to you? I don’t know what’s happening!”

The Vendor turned to the Russian.

“Don’t blame Señor Plata. He was unaware of the new contract terms I initiated.”

“What new terms?” Plata asked.

The Vendor addressed the room. “You all signed a contract to work for me and are still in my employ. The mission has changed—but so has the compensation. It will make you very rich.”

“Nobody gives money away,” McGuire said, his Irish lilt slurred by the knockout gas. “What’s the catch?”

The Vendor gestured broadly toward the group of dignitaries around him.

“These distinguished men and women have come from all over the world to observe and evaluate a live-fire demonstration of my latest infantry combat system.”

“You treat us like this? And you expect us to demonstrate your system?” Dragu? asked.

“No, my lords of war, you are not the systemdemonstrators. You are the systemtargets.”

A wave of angry protests flooded the room.

“I didn’t sign up for any of this!” the Syrian shouted.

The Vendor frowned quizzically. “You want out of your contract?”