Codename: Ghost

Party Favors (1)

1900 HOURS, SEPTEMBER 27, 2032CE

GORTEAU COAST, EAST OCEAN

It was cold, dark, and quiet inside of the box. Few would find it a comfortable resting place. I know I didn't. My slender body was in a tight fetal position but still barely fit inside. The walls pressed against me, faintly transmitting a distant rumbling. Everything bobbed up and down, up and down, up and down. It all then gradually began to slow...

"ETA ten minutes," mission ops' silky male voice whispered through my earbud.

I tapped my nose against the back of my hand. A small glow spread across the weblike material covering it. My display circle formed, showing quartered videofeeds of the dim refrigerated cargo hold outside. All was clear.

So far so good.

Breathing in deeply, I tapped the display circle off. Silence. I tensed my arms before slamming both palms up against the lid, popping its seal. Silence. I moved the lid aside and uncurled up into a crouch. My fullbody All1 sneaking suit made me look like a shadow amidst the cold white vapors. I pocketed my four tab cams from the box's walls and hopped out, landing silently into a crouch upon the cold steel floor. My breath didn't steam, filtered by the All1 mask. I replaced the lid and slunk low through other stacked boxes. The starboard door had a dark porthole. I stopped by its hinge-side, placing my hand lightly onto its handle. Seconds ticked by. A brief flicker of exterior motion. I waited another long moment before turning the handle and slipping outside. Stars twinkled across a dark sky. The sea breeze was harsh. Sails whipped. Wood creaked. Crouching low, I kept to the shadows while the first guard continued walking away.

"ETA five minutes," mission ops' silky male voice whispered through my earbud.

Having memorized the crew manifest, no one here should surprise me. I widely avoided more guards patrolling singly, their machine guns held loose. Sailors were less observant but I took no chances. Two stealthy minutes later I was nearly across the wide deck, a jungle island waiting dark beyond its railing. The public docks were lit, along with a royal cruise liner. Yet brightest of all was the dictator's opulent mansion perched forbiddingly atop high westerly cliffs.

That was my destination.

A guard strolled towards my position, whistling. I waited silently in the dark shadow of a lifeboat until they passed, then darted forward to dive overboard. My arms snapped together like a pair of black-clad knives. They hit the water first, parting it to let me slip through with only a small splash covered up by engine noise. The supply boat advanced forward without me, leaving a choppy wake. Staying underwater, I stroked hard through salty darkness. Limited oxygen was supplied by my All1 sneaking suit. Still, by the time my feet touched an underwater slope all of my oxygen was gone and my lungs burned with suppressed need. I walked upslope slowly anyway. The crown of my head gently crested the waterline. My eyes blinked against air, then I exhaled quietly for a long, long moment. Bright lights pierced the distance, but all nearby was dark. Streetlamps marked regular intervals. I climbed up a pile of slick boulders to crouch within the last one's shadow by a road's sharp bend. Long minutes passed. Eventually, headlights shone from the distant dock where the supply boat had anchored for offloading. An armored jeep's engine-rumble neared, headlights growing in my field of vision. It slowed while passing the sharp turn. I sprinted out.

"The King has arrived at the Castle," mission ops' silky male voice whispered through my earbud.

My legs pumped hard. Tailpipe exhaust warmed my facemask. I leapt, caught the mounted spare and rolled forward into the open trunk to land crouched by stacked supply boxes. Both guards up front talked loudly to be heard over wind and engine noise. Finished turning, the driver accelerated down a straightaway leading towards rising cliffside hills.

We roared off into the night.