James Rollins - The Eye of God - A Sigma Force Novel

With only two targets visible along the cliff’s edge, he had chosen the woman. He found the kill as exciting as sex, the penetration equally satisfying. He had left Sanjar standing, knowing Arslan would want that prize for himself later, to exact personal vengeance.

Now the cliff’s edge was empty, their quarry likely terrified and hiding. But there was nowhere to go.

Batukhan cast his gaze across the dozen mounted men spread across the dark forested slope that led toward the shelf of rock above. They were the best and most loyal of the clan.

Twelve warriors against three men and two women.

Make that one woman now.

Ideally he would spare the last woman’s life, so his men could celebrate afterward as the forces of Genghis Khan had in the past. It was their birthright and heritage, and a well-deserved reward after spilling blood this night.

They could always kill her afterward.

With a kick of his heels, he trotted his horse before his men, sitting tall in his saddle, knowing he cast a striking figure. He spoke a few words to each, showing respect, getting it back, like any good commander, readying his troops.

Once he’d made his rounds, he returned to Arslan’s side and pointed up toward the plateau. Surrounded by ice-encrusted walls, his quarry was trapped. The only way down was through this forest—that, or leaping headlong off the cliff to the rocks below. There was nowhere else to go. It would be a slaughterhouse, with their victims’ screams echoing across the mountaintops, possibly to Genghis Khan’s own tomb, where he imagined the great man relishing the blood and horror to come.

Batukhan yelled, knowing there was no further need for stealth.

The first arrow had already flown, drawing blood.

“ Yavyaa! ” he bellowed, a traditional call to battle. “ Yavyaa! ”

6:33 P.M.

As the thunder of hooves echoed up from below, Duncan crouched with Sanjar. They hid in a cluster of boulders near the snow line.

Jada remained on the far side of the steep rockslide, near the shore of the lake, out of immediate harm’s way. He had left her with his pistol and quickly showed her how to use it. She guarded over the injured Khaidu, who still lived but needed medical care soon.

After securing them, Duncan and Sanjar had joined Monk on the opposite side of the rock pile. They quickly prepared for battle, recognizing what was coming, knowing that the arrow had been sent to terrorize them, to draw first blood—a common tactic of Mongol fighters, or so Sanjar had informed them.

Sanjar urged Duncan to hurry once he heard the yell echo up from below, a battle cry to charge. “Tie it to Heru’s jess. That piece of leather hanging from his claw.”

Duncan held the damp headband in his hand and passed the dangling cord through it and secured it with a fast knot. Sanjar kept the hooded falcon close to his body, while Duncan finished.

“Let him go,” Duncan said.

Sanjar tugged the hood off and sent the bird flying from his wrist. Duncan ducked from the initial heavy flaps and studied the laptop at his knees, the screen’s glow lowered to its dimmest setting. On the monitor, he watched the falcon take flight, gaining a bird’s-eye view of the forest below, the feed coming from the tiny video camera attached to the headband. It worked even better in the air than underwater.

The falcon soared high above the treetops, circling wide. Duncan did his best to count the number of horses pounding up from below. He saw at least a dozen, in full battle regalia, like their riders. He spotted no others on the ground.

He radioed Monk, who had left the shelter of their boulders to prepare a welcome for the coming forces.

“No more than a baker’s dozen,” Duncan reported in. “All on horseback. I spotted bows, swords, and several assault rifles.”

Seems there was a limit when it came to sticking to the old ways .

“Understood,” Monk transmitted back. “Just about ready here.”

Duncan craned over the boulder to see his partner down on one knee by the rockslide. He had planted charges at its leading edge and was quickly securing them with wireless detonators. The explosives had been intended to destroy the wreck of the satellite in case it couldn’t be moved or salvaged. They couldn’t risk the Chinese or Russians getting hold of the classified advanced technology.

But matters had changed.

The plan was to hide here and lure the attackers toward the far side where Jada and Khaidu sheltered. Once within the narrow pass between the cliff and rockfall, they would blow the charges, trying to take out as many of the enemy as possible, while simultaneously closing off immediate access to the lake, keeping Jada and Khaidu safe for as long as possible.

Enemies left on this side would be for Duncan, Monk, and Sanjar to handle. Not great odds, but it wasn’t like they had a whole lot of options.

And it would take perfect timing.

Hence, their eye in the sky.

As Monk came hightailing it back toward them, Duncan kept watch on the screen. He spotted a figure leading the charge through the woods wearing what looked like a wolf’s head. It seemed like the Master of the Blue Wolves had decided to get his hands dirty this time.

“Here they come,” Duncan hissed.

The three of them ducked lower, not wanting to be seen as the mounted battle group pounded up the last stretch and onto the plateau.

On the screen, they watched the horses and riders mill about momentarily. One had a rifle at his shoulder; others had bows drawn. Upon finding no one, their leader pointed toward the rockslide and the lake beyond.

“ Uragshaa! ” he ordered, which likely meant go forward .

Drawing a curved sword from a scabbard, the Master of the Blue Wolves led his men toward the hidden lake.

Good, Duncan thought.

Maybe if they could kill their leader, the rest would break ranks and flee.

Monk had his thumb on the detonator, his eyes fixed to the screen, waiting until the first few men had trotted their horses into the gap between the rocks and the cliff’s edge.

Now, Duncan silently urged.

As if Monk had heard him, he pressed the detonator.

Nothing happened.

Or at least not much.

A blasting cap popped like a firecracker, flashing out in the darkness. The noise startled the nearest horse, sending it cantering forward, bumping and jostling the next in line. Other horses shied entirely away from the rockslide, keeping on this side.

“Cap must have fallen out of the first charge,” Monk mumbled. “That’s what I get for working in the damned dark.”

He twisted the detonator to the next charge and pressed the button again. This time a major explosion rocked the plateau. Ice and snow showered over them, shaken loose from the cliffs above.

Monk didn’t stop. In quick fashion, he blew the third and fourth charges in fast succession. Duncan’s ears rang from the explosions. Horses reared and whinnied. Riders fell out of their saddles.

“Go!” Monk ordered.

The three of them burst out of hiding, guns blazing.

As he fired, Duncan prayed Jada and Khaidu were safe.

6:39 P.M.

From the far side of the lake, Jada had watched three riders barrel into view around the rocks, the first wearing a formidable wolf mask. She had heard the retort, like a gunshot, a second before.

Then a series of loud fiery blasts had her cringing, covering her face with an arm. Boulders shattered amid a roll of smoke and rock dust. More came tumbling down to close off the lake from the other side. Smaller rocks continued to rain down, splashing into the water or bouncing over the granite shelf.

Jada held her breath, hoping the explosions had dispatched the three riders—but out of the smoke, a trio of horses thundered back into view, the beasts in full panic.