warning. He barely had time to raise his arms in his defense before Tasker's weight slammed down onto him. He palmed the man's forehead and hammered his head against the ground. Ribs cracked and bushes rustled. He pressed harder, driving his prey's skull into the mud with such force that the man had no choice but to tip up his chin.
Fatal mistake.
Tasker slashed his knife across the exposed throat. A flash of reflected silver and warmth splashed across his cheek. There was a high-pitched shriek. He clapped his hand over the man's mouth and nose, but the noise originated from the severed trachea. The voiceless scream faded to a whistle, and finally to a gurgle.
The blood no longer spattered Tasker's face and torso, but poured out onto the wet earth.
He rode out the body's final spasms until it eventually stilled under him.
Tasker removed his hand from the lower half of the man's face and rose just high enough to see over the tangle of shrubs. The two sentries still stood in the blinding light to either side of the doorway. Neither of them so much as looked in his direction.
Perfect.
He swiped the blade on his pants, returned it to its sheath, and swung the rifle around until he cradled it in his bloody hands.
There was a crashing sound from the west. A man cried out.
Tasker ducked and sprinted toward the source of the commotion.
'Webber?' a voice called from across the clearing. 'Morton?'
McMasters had spoiled their advantage. It would only be a matter of moments before the other guards split up to investigate. One would head out into the forest, weapon at the ready, while the other would hold his post.
He heard more thrashing in the bushes. The forest was playing tricks with the acoustics. It almost sounded like the noises originated behind him.
Bursting through the thicket, he nearly slammed into McMasters, who knelt over the bloody mess of what had once been a short Hispanic man.
McMasters looked up at him. The black paint on his face glistened with the fresh application of blood, and it appeared as though a large chunk of his ear had been cut off. No. It had been bitten off, just above the conch. He held his left arm tightly against his chest, a guarding posture that suggested either a broken rib or a dislocated shoulder.
Rage boiled inside of Tasker. He wanted to lash out at McMasters, but now was not the time.
Voices echoed through the forest. It wouldn't be long before they initiated the search for their unresponsive patrolmen.
The swift death he would have granted his subordinate was no longer in the offering. For his carelessness, Tasker promised himself that he would prolong McMasters's suffering and subject him to unendurable agony.
He shoved McMasters ahead of him into a wall of saplings and around the ruins of a hut.
Speed was of the essence.
Behind him, the forest came to life with threshing sounds, as though the trees themselves were being torn apart.
II
Colton called for his men again, but there was still no answer. How long had it been? A minute? Five?
Sorenson looked over at him expectantly, awaiting his orders. His eyes were wide with fear, yet he would do whatever was required of him.
Colton had to decide their course of action right now. He was out of time.
Shrubs rustled at the edge of sight against the jungle, bowing violently in sections. They were out there, and they no longer tried to hide their numbers. He couldn't see them, but with the way the underbrush shook, there had to be dozens of them. Either that or they were fast. Really fast.
'Morton and Webber are dead,' Colton finally said.
'Don't you at least want me to try to---?'
'They're dead, soldier. Tell me you have any doubt.'
Sorenson opened his mouth to object, then let it fall slowly closed. His jaw muscles bulged several times and his eyes narrowed to slits before he finally found his voice. 'What are your orders?'
'Hold your post. Nothing gets past us. If anything moves, you send it right back to hell. Clear?'
'Crystal.'
'What's going on?' Merritt asked from behind him.
'Can you still handle a rifle?' Colton asked.
'What happened to the other---?'
'Can you still handle a goddamn rifle or not?' Colton snapped.
'They're gone, aren't they?' Sam asked. Colton could hear the tears in the woman's voice, but he had neither the time nor the patience to coddle her.
'Get in the back of the chamber. Don't come anywhere near this doorway again until I signal that everything is safe.' He reached back and shoved her into the room. 'Merritt. I need to know right now if you can---'
'Where are they?' Merritt asked.
Good. He hadn't frozen up.
'In the bottom of the crate under the GPR. Arm yourself and take up position between the doorway and the others. If anything manages to get through us, you're the last line of defense. And you'd better make every shot count.'
If Merritt said something else, Colton didn't hear it. He focused on the lighted patch in front of him as he swept the barrel of his rifle across the tree line and listened for any sound to betray his adversary's intent. The sheeting rain tore through the glow and pounded the already muddy ground. Torchlight reflected from the expanding puddles and lit the front halves of the tall trees, throwing blankets of shadow behind them. A flash of lightning shimmered on the wet leaves before darkness again advanced with the rumble of thunder.
III
Tasker led McMasters around the western edge of the clearing, careful not to stray into the light. The sentries hadn't split up as he had assumed they would, but that didn't faze him in the slightest. He adjusted his plan on the fly as he always did, and in the process of doing so, was struck by a bolt of inspiration. Rather than just killing two birds with one stone, he could kill all of them every bit as easily. It wouldn't be nearly as much fun as cornering those cowering inside the stone dwelling and executing them in front of each other, but in one swift stroke, the deed would be done and they would have the ruins all to themselves.
Bushes rustled behind him and something splashed in a puddle off in the jungle to his left. Their stalkers were growing more bold by the minute. Fortunately, his masterful solution ought to serve the dual purpose of scaring them off as well.
It was the most perfect plan ever devised. Too bad there would be no one left to share in his triumph when all was said and done, and he was staring out over the Caribbean from the balcony of his private villa.
He paused when they reached the back side of the palatial structure and signaled for McMasters to do the same. Other than the clamor of the rain and the stealthy movement in the trees, he heard nothing, no sign that their ruse had been detected.
With a nod, he guided McMasters over the mounds of rubble that had nearly been reclaimed by the earth to
