The Devil Colony (Sigma Force 7)

“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.

“We’ll never be able to move all this in time,” Chin said. “We have only fifteen minutes.”

Kowalski nodded. “Time for Plan B, boss.” He looked over at Painter. “You do have a Plan B, right?”

Painter headed back into the main temple. “We can try to move as much as we can. Maybe lessen the chance it’ll ignite Yellowstone’s caldera.”

Kowalski followed, pitching other ideas like hardballs. “How about we come down here with blowtorches? Doesn’t heat kill this stuff?”

“Take too long,” Chin said. “And I don’t think a flame’s even hot enough.”

“Then how about we drop a bunker buster up top.”

Painter fielded that one. “We’re too deep.”

“What about the nuclear option?”

“Last resort,” Painter said. “And we might end up causing what we’re trying to prevent.”

Kowalski tossed his arms high. “There’s got to be something we can do.”

As they entered the Holy of Holies chamber, a thin figure burst through the gold chain curtain. He skidded to a stop, gaping momentarily at all the gold.

Kai stepped toward him. “Jordan . . . ?”

He held up a hand, panting to catch his breath. “Washington called . . . timetable got shortened . . . stuff is gonna blow at six-oh-four.”

Painter didn’t have to check his watch. His internal clock had been counting down all on its own. Two minutes. All eyes stared at him for some solution, some insight.

They were out of options—except for one.

He pointed to the door. “Run!”

Chapter 41

June 1, 6:02 A.M.

Yellowstone National Park

Two minutes . . .

Kai raced with the others through the massive temple. Jordan stuck to her side, which helped keep her on her feet. A part of her simply wanted to crash to her knees and give up. But Jordan would glance her way, silently urging her to stay with him—and she did.

Plus she had another massive incentive.

Ashanda was running alongside her like a juggernaut. If Kai fell, she was sure the woman wouldn’t even slow; she’d simply drag her along. Past Ashanda’s shoulder, Rafael was being carried between his two soldiers, hanging from their shoulders.