Burial Ground

III

7:38 p.m.

Tasker crouched on a broad branch a dozen feet up in the canopy, leaning his shoulder against the trunk. The leaves were so thick all around him that there was no way anyone could see him from below, especially now that he had rolled in mud. Saved from the brunt of the storm by the dense vegetative shield above him, it wouldn't wash away until the very last minute. By then it would be too late for his prey. Beards of moss shrouded him and vines snaked through and around the surrounding branches. He studied the ground in shades of green through the night vision goggles. He had positioned himself in such a way that if he craned his head just right, he could see the distant entrance to the domicile and the guards posted to either side of the opening, through which flames flickered. The occasional shadow crossed in front of the fire. Smoke plumed from the random holes in the earthen roof. To see any real detail, he needed to push the goggles back up onto his forehead due to the intense glow from the outer torches. What were they burning to create such bright flames anyway?

McMasters was roughly two hundred yards to the west, closer to the steep hillside, similarly hidden in the boughs of another massive kapok tree. Their watches were synchronized. In just over two hours, the siege would commence.

Their prey would never know what hit them.

The outer perimeter had been simple to breach considering there hadn't been a single guard stationed along the obsidian walls, granting them free access to half of the overgrown village, which made their initial approach far easier than Tasker could have even hoped. However, it also complicated the logistics of the final assault. The two roaming sentries would be easy to eliminate. Hell, both men had walked nearly directly beneath him twice. He could have dropped down on their heads and slit their throats without much effort. The two men flanking the entryway would prove more challenging. He and McMasters would be seen too soon if they attempted a frontal assault, so they were going to have to come around from the rear. Slipping around the sides of the building still left them too exposed for his liking, so they were going to have to scale the roof from behind. The guards would never suspect a thing, even after two quick shots through the tops of their skulls. And then there would be nothing left to do but mop up the civilians inside.

In a matter of hours, the site would be theirs to ransack as they pleased. He only wished he could account for the fly in the ointment, the lone element of unpredictability.

The thought of what had been contained in those funereal bundles made him shudder. Desiccated, scaled skin pulled tightly over a framework of thin bones, curled back from sharp, interlaced teeth. Dried feathers that crumbled with the slightest touch. Slender legs with feet like those of an ostrich, only with a hooked claw that looked strong enough to punch a hole through the hood of a truck.

He forced down the image. There was no point in chasing that line of thought. Unlike Jones, he and McMasters were prepared for this contingency.

Caressing the barrel of his rifle, he glanced at his watch.

Soon the ancient ground would again taste the blood of the dying.