Whatever his benefactor had done to require this level of protection didn’t matter to Thet, nor to his men. Nobody knew, although there were constant rumors and speculation — that he had murdered his family, or was running from a rival criminal syndicate, or had deserted from some army and was a wanted man. Whatever the case, he was Pu’s friend, and Pu had been doing business in the region forever. That was good enough for Thet.
He hugged his rifle closer as he eyed the rain distrustfully.
There was evil afoot in the night. He could feel it.
The men swept the jungle in front of them with their weapons, the bravado they had displayed back in the camp now faded into a dull acceptance of getting soaked while their peers slept. But they weren’t paid to be comfortable. They collected their money to keep the white man safe, and that is what they would do, even in the middle of a torrential downpour. The rain pelted their unfamiliar rain gear with wet thwacks as they edged along the trail that ran in a rough oval around the clearing.
“Ack-”
The man bringing up the rear pitched forward face-first into the mud, a bloody shaft protruding from his chest. By the time the other two had registered that he hadn’t tripped, the guard in front of him had been similarly impaled and dropped his rifle, clawing at the razor-sharp point that had appeared as if by magic from his sternum. The third man was raising his rifle defensively when an arrow skewered him through his left eye, and he collapsed without getting a single shot off, having never seen his killer or heard anything besides the briefest of whistling as the arrow sliced the air on its trajectory to his brain.
Jet stepped cautiously towards the corpses, another arrow notched, and kicked the flashlight into the underbrush before melting back into the brush, her night vision goggles and black face paint lending her the appearance of a nightmare demon with attitude.
Three down. That left seven or so to go.
She had considered letting the rest of the gunmen come to her and picking them off in the jungle, but didn’t want to alert the target that he was under attack. If he disappeared, she might never find him again. This was her only chance, so she had decided to bring the battle into the camp before the remainder of his entourage knew what hit them.
She adjusted the black leather quiver, still full of arrows, so that it wouldn’t impair her ability to get the P90 into play and then turned towards the camp, the sleeping men’s fates all but sealed.
Thet was restless. The men had been gone for too long. The buzz of anxiety that roiled in his gut was growing, and his survival instinct was warning him to wake the men.
He was preparing to rise and walk to the first hut when a blinding shriek of pain shot through his right lung, and he found himself gasping for breath as he fumbled with his rifle. A second silver shaft caught a stray bit of light from the flickering fire before slicing through his throat. Thet keeled backwards off the rock he was seated on, dead before he hit the ground.
Jet crept towards the dark buildings, their outlines glowing in her goggles, and then froze when she heard the tarp draped across one of the doorways crackle and an arm emerged. She pulled the bowstring back to her ear and waited for the man to show himself, and watched as a guard exited, scratching himself, and then darted through the rain for the latrine.
The arrow caught him mid-stride ten feet from the building, and he gurgled as he fell, then moaned before laying still. She hoped that nobody had heard him, but then saw the tarp pull back again, and another figure exited, holding a rifle.
In a fluid motion she pulled another arrow from the quiver, notched it, and sent it whistling towards his head. The arrow caught him in the jaw and stabbed through his mouth, protruding through the back of his head and imbedding itself in the wooden wall behind him. He screamed, a jarring, raw sound, prompting Jet to launch another shaft at him, this one piercing his heart.
But the damage had been done. The scream had alerted the other fighters. After a brief pause, two more came barreling through the door, and the tarp on the building next to it flew aside, and a rifle barrel poked out. Instantly weighing her options, she retreated, gliding into the shadows at the jungle’s edge. The smudge of the fire provided dim illumination, but it was a scant flicker within the heart of the downpour and not enough to give her away.
Jet watched as four remaining guards moved out of the buildings in a huddle that bristled with gun barrels. She notched another arrow. They were really making it almost too easy.
By the time any of the men could react, two were dead or dying. The remaining two fired blindly in a panic, desperately sweeping the jungle around them with their weapons, but Jet was already on the move and was sliding behind their huts even as they emptied their guns in vain.
The smaller of the pair realized his mistake as his weapon clicked empty — in their haste to take on their attackers they hadn’t thought to bring spare clips.
When an arrow severed his spinal cord, he tumbled into the second man, whose life, in turn, was extinguished by the shaft’s companion two seconds later.
A figure tore out of the doorway of one of the remaining buildings, running as hard as he could for the stream. Jet followed his progress, with the softness of the arrow’s flight next to her cheek, and then, adjusting for his speed and the distance, released the bowstring with a twang.
She watched as the man dropped, having almost made it to the jungle’s edge.
Jet waited, ears alert for any threats, but heard nothing. She could make out the outlines of the buildings as clear as day through the goggles and saw no one.
Then the tarp of a hut drew open, and Hawker stepped out, hands in the air.
“I’m unarmed,” he called in English, and then in Thai.
She studied him, waiting for any trick.
He took another step forward, rain streaming down his face. “I repeat. I’m unarmed.”
Jet scanned the surrounding structures warily but saw nothing. With a fluid motion, she dropped the bow and shrugged the quiver off, placing it and the P90 on the ground beside her, then un-holstered the silenced Beretta and moved to the first building, ignoring Hawker for the moment. She peered through the back window and confirmed that it was empty, then repeated the process on the next two.
“Move towards the fire,” she called and saw the surprise play across his face upon hearing her voice. It never ceased to amaze her how many men believed that their violent world was only inhabited by males.
He took cautious, plodding steps, his bare feet squishing on the muddy ground, before stopping ten feet from the subdued flames.
Hawker studied Thet’s corpse with interest. “Arrows? You used arrows?”
Jet could have sworn she saw the beginnings of a smile. Just a trace, fleeting, then gone.
She moved towards him, gun trained on his head, and watched as he registered her on the periphery of his vision.
“Keep your hands above your head.”
“I will.”
She reached to the small of her back and withdrew a pair of black anodized handcuffs, then tossed them at his feet, her pistol unwavering.
“Put those on.”
“Hands in front or behind?”
“Do you think I’m an idiot? Behind. Turn so I can see you putting them on. Don’t try anything or I’ll blow a kneecap off, and then it’s going to be really painful for you to ride out of here.”
“Is that what you’re thinking we’ll do? Ride out of here? That’ll be kind of hard with no horses, won’t it?”
“The cuffs,” she said.