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.
Taking advantage, Jada fired. She squeezed her trigger over and over again. She had never shot a pistol before, or any gun for that matter. So she opted for quantity versus quality.
Still, she hit one horse. It reared, the rider clinging tightly. That was a mistake. As the panicked mount turned on a back hoof, it leaped blindly, tumbling over the cliff’s edge, taking the rider, too. The man’s scream of terror as he fell pierced through the echoing blasts of her pistol.
Jada kept firing wildly.
Another lucky round caught a second man in the throat as he tried to bring his bow up. He fell out of his saddle, landing facedown in the water, splashing feebly.
The third rider, unharmed, came charging for her, a curved sword raised high. His wolf mask hid his face, making him appear a merciless force of nature.
Jada squeezed the trigger again, but it wouldn’t budge—the slide had locked back. Duncan had told her what that meant.
Out of bullets.
The rider swooped down upon her, his sword flashing in the moonlight.
Then an arrow zipped past her head, its feathers brushing her ear.
It flew and struck the horse in the neck.
The beast crashed, throwing the rider over its head toward Jada. She fled back on her knees, staring to the side as Khaidu struggled to notch another arrow to her bowstring, but the single pull had sapped the last of the young girl’s strength. Her fingers shook, pained sweat shining on her face, then the bow tumbled from her weak grasp.
The rider climbed to his feet. Behind him, his horse had fallen to its side, the stone slick with arterial blood, struck through the carotid.
Khaidu stared toward the beast with pity; plainly the horse hadn’t been her intended target. That was the man who picked up his sword and stalked toward them now. He had a palm resting on a holstered pistol.
Khaidu turned to her, the girl’s expression no less pitying. “Run . . .”
Jada took the advice, leaped to her feet, and dove into the neighboring lake.
Cruel laughter followed her down into the depths.
They both knew the truth.
Where could she go?
6:43 P.M.
Duncan ran through the chaos of horseflesh and men. When the rock pile blew, a rough head count put eight men still on this side, armed with swords and rifles. Duncan, along with Monk and Sanjar, had dispatched half in the opening moments of their ambush.