Kingdom of Bones (Sigma Force #16)

“Do as he says,” Gray ordered. Still, he kept his pistol raised and flicked a glance at Benjie. “What do we do from here?

“These buggers are smart, deviously so. They’re also extremely territorial. Remember, we invaded their space. They could’ve attacked us at any time, but they only threatened when we tried to return to the ATV. There’s got to be a reason.”

Gray realized the jackals must have been hiding inside the church all along. Still, the pair had kept quiet, silently evaluating the threat, strategizing how to deal with it, even offering Gray’s group an opportunity to leave unmolested.

But then we returned, closing again on their hiding place . . .

A new noise intruded into the stalemate. A hungry, plaintive mewling rose from inside the church.

“Pups,” Benjie said.

Gray winced.

No wonder they’re defending this place.

The shadows around them moved in closer, revealing glimpses that flashed back into hiding. They were impossibly fast.

“What do we do?” Gray repeated.

“Slow moves. Glacially slow.” Benjie’s voice trembled, but he tamped down his terror enough to instruct them. “Angle away from the church. Toward the rear of the ATV. And don’t look them in the eye.”

Benjie demonstrated, shifting one foot, then the other. He kept his gaze down, his shoulders hunched with a bowed back. “Creep low,” he whispered. “As if your tail is tucked.”

“I don’t have a tail,” Kowalski said. “But my balls are tucked plenty high.”

“Good,” Benjie said. “Keep them there.”

The group edged toward the open rear of the ATV. Though the vehicle was only ten yards away, it seemed an impossible distance. Especially when each step raised the hackles of the guarding pair.

Gray held his breath—then one of the jackals lunged and snapped in their direction. Gray crouched lower, tightening his aim.

“Don’t,” Benjie whispered.

It took all of Gray’s effort to loosen his finger on the trigger. He glared down his gunsight at the jackal.

The beast backed off, but not out of fear.

“It’s just posturing,” Benjie explained. “A display of aggression. Ignore it.”

Kowalski grunted. “Tell that to my wet drawers.”

“That might help actually,” Benjie said. “Urine leaking is a sign of submission.”

Kowalski scowled. “I’m really beginning to hate you.”

They closed in on the ATV. The open rear cargo door beckoned.

Almost there.

Another step, and a sharper cry rose from inside the church. A small shape came hurdling out, passing between the adults, aiming blindly toward their group. It was one of the pups. It did not see where it was going, its head twisted to look behind.

The reason for its panic appeared.

Across the church threshold, a large snake shot out, writhing with incredible speed, chasing down its prey. Its body was as thick around as Gray’s forearm.

The pup tripped over its own paws and tumbled onto its side, skidding across the wet leaves. The snake swept to it and reared high, flaring a crimson hood. It hissed and bared its fangs.

Cobra.

The larger jackals screamed in fury, but they were frozen in confusion, faced by opposing threats to their den. They surely had other pups inside, too.

Luckily, Kowalski did not have a constitution for indecision. A sharp whine discharged from his weapon, followed by a flash of silver through the air. The cobra’s head flew high as a pair of razored disks severed its neck. Its body writhed in the air for a long breath, then fell in a dead slither to the ground.

The pup jerked back to its legs and, with a yelp, raced back toward the refuge of the dark church. It passed between its towering parents and vanished inside.

The adults resettled into postures of shivering hackles and snarling threat, but they came no closer. Even the shadows to either side slipped deeper into the forest.

“Keep going,” Benjie urged. “Don’t count on their good graces lasting for long.”

They heeded this warning and crossed the last of the distance at a faster pace.

Once there, Gray let out his breath and herded everyone inside. He pulled the rear hatch closed behind him.

“Kowalski, get us moving.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Kowalski landed heavily in the driver’s seat and keyed the ignition. The Shatun’s engine growled to a deafening roar. Before they could leave, a huge shape bounded in front of them, landing between the headlights. The jackal lunged up, planting its enormous paws on the windshield. Claws scratched the glass as it snarled and spit in fury.

Kowalski glared back. “You’re welcome, asshole!”

He put the vehicle in reverse and shot backward. The jackal dropped down and paced before the church, its tail whipping the air.

Kowalski spun the ATV, pirouetting it in place. They were all thrown across the swinging rear compartment. Once facing east, Kowalski took off again.

Benjie regained his seat and stared back toward the church. He was trembling all over. But it wasn’t the neurotoxin retaking hold, only the aftereffects of adrenaline seeping away.

Gray knew the feeling all too well. He clapped the young man on the shoulder. “You did good back there.”

Benjie swallowed hard. “Just goes to prove. Respect nature, and it’ll try its best to do the same.”

Kowalski heard him. “Unless it tries to eat you, then all bets are off.”

Gray ignored him and followed the beams of the headlights out into the darkness. The jungle filled the world. As he stared out, he remembered a canto from Lord Tennyson about the brutality of nature. The poet had described its savagery as red in tooth and claw.

As Gray considered this, he pictured the pair of jackals protecting their young, a species known to mate for life. Even the rest of the pack had gathered to protect the same, showing mutual cooperation.

In this regard, it seemed Benjie knew more about nature than Tennyson.

Gray decided to take that wisdom to heart.

Especially as it just saved our lives.

Still, Gray also remembered what else the young biologist had warned about this jungle, about the heart of the Congo, about the changes happening here.

The deeper we go, the worse it will get.





Fourth





19


April 24, 9:35 P.M. CAT

Katwa Mining District, Democratic Republic of the Congo

Tucker raced the cigarette boat down the dark river. A bank of clouds obscured the stars and moon. Despite the gloominess, he ran without lights. Thankfully, his night-vision goggles allowed him to read the river well enough.

Without slowing, he whisked the boat smoothly around floating logs and other obstacles. Overhead, lightning flickered within the depths of the clouds, looking like sunbursts through his goggles.

He was grateful for the dark night, but any attempt at stealth was belied by the boat’s screaming engine. Tucker prayed that the noise, echoing in all directions, would defy pinpointing their location—at least for long enough.

“Any luck?” Tucker called over to the neighboring seat.

Monk had Tucker’s radio in hand, trying to raise Ndaye on the horn, to summon the helicopter for an air-evac. “Nothing but static,” he reported.

Tucker bit back a curse. They had already tried the satellite phone, too. Communications continued to be suppressed. Clearly, whoever had locked down this section of the Congo had vast resources and access to advanced hardware. Then again, that was evident enough from the battalions of robotic Q-UGVs patrolling the island.

“This is bad!” Frank hollered from the bow. He had positioned his stolen machine gun atop its bipod, pointing its muzzle forward. “We should’ve cleared the island’s jamming tower by now.”

Monk lowered the phone in defeat. “De Coster must have other towers spread throughout here.”

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