The Devil Colony(148)

But Jordan was winded, his clothes damp and torn in places. Clearly Ryan’s instructions had been ignored.

Jordan skidded next to him as the screams grew louder, setting Ryan’s teeth on edge.

“I’ve got movement out in the woods!” Marshall yelled. “Shadows all around. Every direction!”

“Sorry that took so long,” Jordan said. “We didn’t want to be spotted until we had the valley completely encircled.”

The young man shifted up and stared beyond the boulders.

As the major’s gaze turned in the same direction, he noted that the kid seemed to be purposefully avoiding eye contact. Across the valley floor, the remaining members of Bern’s team, leaderless now as the giant lay flat on his face in the grass, milled about in the valley. Some ducked back into cover.

But there was no cover any longer.

A sharper cry pierced the valley, and a volley of arrows swept out of the forest and dropped from every direction, hailing down atop the commandos’ positions. Screams of shock and bloody pain now joined the war cries echoing off the wall.

Rifles fired at shadows.

Return fire followed from the forest.

Commandos fell one by one. Ryan could now make out shadows as the hidden hunters moved in. They wore no recognizable uniform. He spotted some military outfits, but most of the men simply wore jeans, boots, and T-shirts—though a few had on nothing but breechclouts and moccasins.

But they all had one thing in common.

They were Native Americans.

With the war clearly won, but not wanting to take any chances, Ryan waved to his men. “Get to our packs, haul them over here.”

In case things went sour again, he wanted ammunition.

Jordan sank back down, breathless, and explained. “Before flying here, Painter had Hank and me roust up men we trusted fully from our tribes, from others. He arranged transports and helicopters. Once Painter knew where in Yellowstone we were going, he had our forces dropped into place before everyone got here. He didn’t trust that the French guy wouldn’t pull something like this.”

Damned right, there . . .

“Our guys kept hidden way back in the valley. They came close to being spotted a few times, but we know how to move through the woods unseen when we want to. Once the fighting started, I went out to report on force levels and positions to coordinate the attack.”

Ryan stared at Jordan with new eyes. Who was this kid? But he was still pissed.

“Why didn’t Crowe tell me? Why didn’t he involve the Guard to begin with?”

Jordan shook his head. “Seems there was some concern about infiltration. I don’t really know. Some problems out east with traitors in the government. Painter wanted to go old school here, sticking to his blood.”

Ryan sighed. Maybe that was for the best.

Jordan searched around the castle. “Where’s Kawtch?”

Ryan realized he hadn’t seen the mutt since he’d gotten shot. He felt a flicker of guilt for his disrespectful lack of concern. The dog had saved his life.

Jordan spotted the small body in the weeds, not moving.

The kid rushed over. “Oh, Kawtch.”

Before Ryan could offer sympathy or apology, Boydson came running up, threw down his pack, and held out the radio. “It’s for you. Washington has been trying to raise you.”

Washington?

The major lifted his radio. “Major Ryan here.”

“Sir, this is Captain Kat Bryant.” Ryan could feel the urgency in her voice pouring steel into his spine. Something was wrong. “Do you have access to Painter Crowe?”

Ryan looked over to the hole. With no radio contact through solid rock, someone would have to go down there. “I can reach him, but it might take a few minutes.”

“We don’t have a few minutes. I need you to get word to Painter immediately. Tell him the physicists have revised their timetable based on cleaner data. The cache will explode at six-oh-four, not six-fifteen. Is that understood?”

Ryan checked his watch. “That’s in four minutes!” He lowered the radio and pointed at Jordan. Ryan needed to send someone Painter would trust without hesitation. “Kid, how fast can you run?”


6:00 A.M.



Painter pointed his flashlight into the treasure vault behind the Holy of Holies.

Hundreds of stone plinths supported golden skulls of every shape and size: fanged cats, ivory-tusked mastodons, domed cave bears, even what looked like the massive skull of an allosaurus or some other saurian beast. Amid them also stood scores of canopic jars, some etched with ancient Egyptian motifs, possibly originals carried over from their ancient home. But there were clearly others that had been modeled on local animals: wolves again, but also birds of every beak, mountain lion and other cats, grizzly bears, even a curled rattlesnake.