SEVENTEEN

KNIGHT REACHED THE top of the mountain without incident. He’d seen no sign of man or beast. He believed anything living with half a mind or a speck of instinct would have taken off after the battle that raged below. He took up position on a rocky outcrop overlooking the jungle below. The high perch provided a view to the horizon, but he’d need Superman’s X-ray vision to see anything moving beneath the canopy. What he could see clearly was a range of mountains—the Annamites. The forest thinned out and then ceased to exist near the top of each mountain, which provided him with a view of anything moving on them. But the most important view was down the slope. The jungle was dark with shade provided by the canopy, and much of the slope was concealed behind layers of tree trunks. For amateur snipers, it would prove an impenetrable shield behind which enemies could move freely. For Knight, it was just the kind of challenge he excelled at solving.

Knight felt secure in his hiding spot, surrounded by large rocks and clumps of tall grass. His backside was hidden from view, even from those who might look down from the mountain’s peak. And below him . . . well, anyone below him would be dead before realizing he was there.

Plunging his hand into one of the many pockets of his pants, Knight found his custom-made silencer. The barrel of the PSG-1 lacked threads that a silencer would normally need to screw onto a weapon, so he’d had one made for it. Confusion and stealth were the compatriots of all good snipers, especially when you wanted no survivors. A shot echoing from above would let the target know from which angle to hide. Seeing the man next to you suddenly lose his head without any indication of direction was enough to freeze any soldier in his tracks. Knight slid the silencer into place and tightened the clamps that held it.

He quickly detached his optical sniper scope and replaced it with a heat-sensitive infrared scope. Unlike his night vision scope, the infrared scope didn’t magnify visible light—he’d be blinded in the bright daylight pounding the mountaintop—rather it detected heat variations against the ambient temperature. Typically a living creature would show up as red, orange, and yellow blobs against a blue/green background, but with the air reaching one hundred degrees beneath the broiling canopy, which held the heat in, a human being would appear as a slightly cooler spot. Hard to detect, but easier than using the naked eye to pierce through darkness.

With the scope attached he lay down, propped open the rifle’s bipod, and searched for targets. He didn’t have to look for long. Running from his position were two men. Trees momentarily blocked his view of them, but he tracked them smoothly as they descended. He looked for their weapons and found a distinctive, cold blue shape—AK-47, the staple weapon of the world’s poorest armies. The gas-operated assault rifle, being the most numerous weapon of its kind on the planet, was cheap, compact, and powerful. But at this range, they didn’t stand a chance against Knight’s rifle.

The two men moved quickly—nearly running. Either they knew he was watching, which he doubted, or their mission was complete and they were heading home.

Not so fast, Knight thought. If he could stop these two, the rest of their squad might wait around for a minute longer before leaving. And that might be just enough time to let King and Queen catch up.

Knight slowed his breathing and closed his left eye while he looked through the scope with his right. His finger stroked the trigger gently—foreplay before the kill. He tracked the first man’s head, bobbing up and down and shrinking slowly as he moved farther away.

His finger twitched and a bullet was sent noiselessly through the air. A second later, the man in front pitched forward and tumbled. The second man didn’t miss a beat, though. He jumped over the first man’s body and quickened his pace. These men were highly trained. They didn’t react to death, which meant they didn’t fear death. Death Volunteers, Knight thought.

“Who wants to volunteer next?” Knight said. “Go on, you can raise your hand.”

Knight pulled the trigger again and the second man went down, his head hanging from his shoulders. Knight scoured the area for more targets and found none.

Realizing he hadn’t seen where the first man had been hit and not wanting him to radio a warning, Knight began pushing himself up. He’d have to make sure they were both dead.

Then he heard the grass rustle behind him. He focused on his surroundings without moving a muscle.

It wasn’t windy. Not even a breeze.

Knight rolled onto his back without taking his eye off the scope. He saw a massive red shape fill the scope. He pulled the trigger.

His weapon was knocked aside as a tremendous weight slammed into his chest. But then it was gone, tumbling down the rocks behind him. He’d hit it.

It screamed in pain. But the noise wasn’t fearful. It was angry.

Knight realized he’d shot one of the creatures from the field—one of the things that had torn the VPA scouts apart and thrown a human limb at him.

Brush exploded below as the creature ran. Knight tried to find it again through the infrared scope, but it was gone. He looked with his naked eyes and saw a wave of brush bashing left and right as the creature retreated. But he couldn’t see it through the scope. Its body heat matched the surrounding air.

Definitely not human, Knight thought.

Then he noticed a change in the movement of the brush. The swath of moving foliage grew wider, spreading out into a V. A loud hooting and breaking of branches rose up from the mountainside below.

The beast was coming back.

With friends.