of his body. The sound of liquid splashing in a thick stream against the broad leaves of the bushes in front of him reached her ears a second later and clued her in to what he was doing.
Taking a deep breath, she put her right hand into the otherwhere and drew her sword. Incredibly strong and unsurprisingly deadly, the ancient broadsword had once belonged to Joan of Arc, but when Annja had reunited the last of its pieces, it had become mysteriously bound to her in some kind of mystical fashion. She could summon it at will and release it back into the otherwhere when it was no longer needed. Reversing it in her grip so that the blade hung downward, she approached on silent feet. A quick snap of her wrist, the solid thunk of the pommel of her sword striking the back of the soldier’s head, and then he was tumbling to the ground, his hands still on the zipper he’d been pulling shut when she’d struck.
Annja rolled him over, made sure he was unconscious and then took a good look.
The briefing they had received before arriving at the dig site had mentioned that members of a revolutionary group had been seen moving through the region, but Annja hadn’t paid much attention to the warnings. In Mexico and most of Central America, insurgency was a way of life, and if they fell into a tizzy every single time a group was spotted by local villagers, nothing would ever get done.
Apparently she should have paid more attention this time.
The rebel soldier was dressed in a faded set of old fatigue pants and a dirty T-shirt. A new green cap with the emblem of his group emblazoned on it lay close to his unconscious form. He carried an assault rifle, an AK-47 to be exact, but unlike the rest of his uniform the weapon was new.
Someone, somewhere, was arming the troops.
She shrugged off the thought as soon as it came. It was not her problem and certainly not one she intended to get involved in. Right now, her only concern was rescuing the rest of her team from this guy’s buddies.
Annja considered taking his weapon, knowing she might need a bit of firepower, but while she knew how to use it, she felt better with her sword in hand. In the end, she ejected the submachine gun’s magazine and shoved it into the cargo pocket of her pants, then jammed the muzzle of the weapon into the mud at her feet, stuffing the barrel so that it couldn’t be used again without being cleaned. She also took the time to peel off the man’s shoelaces and used them to bind his hands and feet. Between the smack on the head and the bindings, he should be out of the fight for some time.
Satisfied, she moved off into the darkness again, slowly continuing to make her way toward the wide clearing where they had set up their main encampment a few weeks earlier.
The path ahead grew lighter, the glow coming from the portable lights strung up over the eating area outside the mess tent, and she knew she was close. As there were sure to be guards posted at the top of the pathway and she didn’t want to blunder into another one unexpectedly, she decided to slide off the path into the thicker foliage and approach at an oblique angle.
When she came to the edge of the jungle, she stopped and peered out at the camp.
Their tents had been grouped haphazardly, without any real plan or design to how they had been set up. After all, this was an expedition, not a Boy Scout camp. Whenever someone new arrived, they just selected a patch of ground and set up their tent wherever they wanted. Portable lights had been strung up here and there on poles throughout the camp, as well. While they didn’t light up the camp like broad daylight, they did do their share to banish the darkness around the most commonly used paths and in front of about half of the tents. From where she crouched Annja could see that she was to the right of the mess area and about halfway along the maze of tents.
She could also see several soldiers moving through the camp; she counted four in all. They were stomping in and out of the tents, kicking aside piles of equipment and supplies, looking for anything of value. She could also hear someone yelling something in Spanish at the other end of the camp, where the larger mess tent and command center had been set up.
She couldn’t see who it was. No matter. She’d find out soon enough.
First, though, she had to deal with the soldiers in front of her.
Annja waited until they were all either inside a tent or facing the other way, and then, when no one was looking, she left the cover of the trees behind and ran in a crouch to the nearest tent that hadn’t been searched yet. Using her sword, she cut a long slit into the rear panel and then squatted at its edge, waiting.
It didn’t take long.
The rebel came into the tent as she expected he would, head down, eagerly anticipating another iPod, cell phone or laptop computer to claim as his bounty. When he bent over to paw through a backpack someone had left open on the cot, Annja made her move. Slipping through the hole in the back of the tent she headed directly toward the soldier’s unprotected back.
She had almost reached his side when he straightened and turned. Seeing her, his eyes opened wide in fear.
“¡Madre de Dios!” he whispered, frozen in place.
Annja could only imagine what she looked like to him with her hair, face and body covered in drying muck, and a sword almost as long as she was grasped in one hand, like some vengeful spirit come back from the grave to right some ancient wrong. She didn’t give him a chance to make sense of what he was seeing, either, but rather jammed the point of her sword up under his chin and held a finger to her lips to indicate he should be silent.
“Give me your gun,” she said in Spanish.
Stiff with fear, he complied.
“How many others are there?” she asked.
His voice trembled as he said, “Five plus the captain.”
That meant she’d already taken care of the captain’s only companion, since she’d counted four men looting the tents.
Too bad for them that the odds were in her favor.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
The soldier shrugged.
Annja pushed the sword blade a bit harder and a thin trickle of blood ran down the man’s neck in response. “Don’t mess with me,” she told him. “What are you here for?”
The soldier explained that they had stumbled upon the excavation while fleeing from the police. With no money and a need to resupply themselves with both food and ammunition, the captain decided that a quick raid was in order. If they discovered that the excavation had yielded gold or other precious artifacts, so much the better.
She could hear the other soldiers laughing nearby and knew she didn’t have much time left. She was going to have to act and hope for the best.
“Give me your shirt and hat,” she told her captive.
Once he had, she made him turn around and then struck him hard on the head with the butt of his own weapon.
Two down, four to go.
Releasing the sword back into the otherwhere, she pulled his shirt on over her own muddy T-shirt and shoved her hair up under the hat. The shirt was bulky and hung down to midthigh, which should help hide her shape and size from casual view. She only needed to pass for the other man for a few moments, just until she was close enough to carry out her plan. In the dark, and with the soldiers feeling
