Burial Ground

II

1:48 p.m.

There were only two of them left now, but Tasker was unconcerned. This merely altered his plans and increased his stake. They were only up against eleven, maybe half of which had any military training. The remainder were civilians, who didn't pose the slightest threat. And he and McMasters maintained the element of surprise. Once their prey discovered the source of the wealth they sought, they would attack under the cover of night. With a rotating two-man patrol, it would be easy enough to isolate one set of guards and take them out, which would buy several hours to sneak into the camp and dispatch the rest while they slept unaware. The plan was perfect in its simplicity, and the risk involved was minimal at best. Assuming everything fell into place by nightfall, by this time tomorrow, their biggest problem would be how they were going to transport their fortune back out of the mountains. And that was one problem he didn't imagine he'd mind one little bit.

The only variable was the natives. Once the lone native who had eluded them returned to the village and told them about the slaughter, they would come after McMasters and him again, and this time in greater numbers. Or perhaps after witnessing the extent of the massacre, they would simply go back to minding their own damn business. Maybe on their way back out of the jungle, he and McMasters could make a detour, scale that little wall of theirs, and show them exactly what they had to fear from the outside world and the technological advancements in military weaponry.

He smiled at the thought.

The overhanging trees fell away as the path rounded a steep stone cliff. To his right, all he could see were dark thunderheads hovering over a seamless mat of green forest that stretched clear to the infinite horizon. A layer of mist clung to everything, made fuzzy by the onslaught of rain. The wind screamed along the northern face of the mountain and buffeted them with enormous droplets.

Tasker lowered his head and advanced into the storm. The path thinned until it was merely a rock ledge on the sheer slope. A mess of vines cascaded from above and covered the trail, making their footing even more tenuous. The tonal quality of the gusting wind changed. He recognized it immediately as the sound of a gale blowing across a hollow cavity in the cliffside. A moment later, he discovered a gap where the vines had been hacked away to reveal a maw of shadows.

He glanced back over his shoulder, nodded to McMasters, and stepped from the ledge into the darkness. The gray light from the outside world reached past his shoulders to silhouette the structures against the rear wall. Dust hung in the air on the aged stench of a crypt. He paused and donned his night-vision goggles, drawing contrast in shades of green. The giant humanoid sculptures reminded him of the abstract art that was all the rage, a substitute for talent and training if you asked him. The odd structures to either side were reminiscent to some degree of the conjoined townhouses in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco, had they been built from mud by primitives. The site obviously wasn't of great importance, or their prey would still be here.

Something drew his eye at the base of the statuary, a recessed concavity, inside of which twin reflections sparkled. As he approached, the object took form. The reflections came from twin jewels set into some sort of bust. Not just a bust. A golden bust. He knelt before it and stroked the tacky residue of age from the smooth creation. It was some sort of idol to a long dead god; a sharp-toothed skull with gemstones for eyes, set on a bed of feathers. He carefully lifted it and appraised it. It had to weigh fifteen pounds. If that headdress had fetched a seven-figure sum, then this one piece alone could make all of their efforts worthwhile.

McMasters whistled appreciatively behind him.

Tasker set the skull back into the recess and studied the surrounding structure. He knocked against the plaster. Hollow. He turned to face McMasters.

"Tear it down."

Together they slammed the butts of their rifles repeatedly through the adobe and tore away the fractured sections. Dust billowed out and the rotten smell intensified. He had no doubt that bodies had been walled inside. If the people who had interred them were like so many other prehistoric societies, he was bound to find the most prized possessions of the dead with their remains.

By the time they were finished, the six faces lorded over a massive black ruin that swirled with dust. Debris was heaped everywhere. Inside was a platform built from rocks and wood, on top of which were several egg-shaped bundles of rotting fabric. Tasker grabbed them one by one and threw them to the ground, then scoured the shelf. He brushed aside piles of dust, plaster fragments, and feathers to reveal the coarse wood. There were no artifacts.

Unsheathing his knife, he turned his attention to the burial bundles and slashed the cloth. McMasters tore them apart behind him. The smell became unbearable. What in the world had they buried in there?

"For the love of God," McMasters groaned.

Tasker slit the final bundle and returned to where his partner hovered over the first.

"What...?" he started, but as soon as he stepped around the other man, he could clearly see the source of the foul aroma.

Tangles of dry fur, still attached to withered chunks of desiccated meat had been packed between the outer blanket and the greasy one beneath.

Tasker shoved McMasters aside and ripped through the second layer to find a stuffing of feathers.

"Where's the gold?" he growled through bared teeth.

He tore through another layer of fabric, crisp with the fluids that had long since soaked into the blanket and hardened, and jerked the frayed sides apart to expose the mummified corpse at the core.

Tasker stared down at the body for a long moment before looking over at McMasters, who had paled noticeably.

"What the hell is that?" McMasters asked, and took a stumbling step in reverse.

Tasker knelt before the carcass to study it more carefully.

There was nothing remotely human about it.

He pictured what was left of the three Peruvian guides they had found in the forest and the bloody mess that had once been Jones. And this...thing, exploding from the rainforest in a flurry of teeth and claws.

The sooner they finished their mission the better.