“Leap of leopards,” McKay corrected, ever the stickler for details. “Lions come in prides.”
Atherton hunched in on himself. “If the cats have taken the bodies, they are close.” He pointed his cast toward the ruins. “This place is riddled with hiding places. And also land mines from the many decades of war up here. You have to be careful where you step among those ruins.”
“Great,” McKay grumbled, “like we don’t have enough problems with man-eating leopards. We get land mines, too.”
Jordan had maps of the area with the land mines marked on them, but he didn’t look forward to hunting through that maze to recover the bodies — especially in the dark — but he knew that might become necessary. Any clues to who killed the archaeologists might still lie with those mauled corpses. It couldn’t have been leopards, he realized. Leopards didn’t whisper in ancient languages. So the words must have come either from a survivor or a murderer. They had to go now. The longer they waited, the less likely the survivor would still be alive, or the murderer would be brought to justice.
“How big are these cats?” Jordan asked.
Azar shrugged. “Big. I’ve heard of males as big as eighty kilos.”
Jordan did the math. “That’s about a hundred seventy-five pounds.”
Scary, but not too bad.
McKay chuffed his disagreement. “Then you’d better look at this.”
He flicked to another picture and showed a paw print with a shiny quarter next to it, using the coin to reveal the perspective of its size.
Jordan felt a deep-seated cold fear, a primal reaction to when his ancestors huddled in caves against what hunted the night. The paw print looked to be eight inches wide, the size of a small dinner plate.
“I found another line of tracks, too.” McKay showed them on his camera.
He ended on another paw print, again photographed with a quarter, only this one was smaller — not by much, but clearly different.
“So there are at least two cats hunting here,” Jordan said.
“And both a lot larger than a hundred and seventy-five pounds,” McKay added. “I’d estimate twice that, maybe more. The size of African lions.”
Jordan stared over at the misty ruins, remembering the tale of two African lions, nicknamed The Ghost and The Darkness, who terrorized Kenya for almost a year during the turn of the century. The two lions were said to have killed over a hundred people, often pulling them out of their tents in the middle of the night.
“We’re going to need more firepower,” McKay said, as if reading Jordan’s mind.
Unfortunately, his team had traveled here light, one weapon each. They had expected to come and go before dark. Plus, with the Ranger unit standing nearby, it had seemed like plenty of protection.
That is, until now.
A crackle from the radio caused both Jordan and McKay to wince and grab for their earpieces. It was Cooper.
“I’ve got movement over here,” Cooper radioed in. “Inside the village. Spotted a flicker through one of the windows.”
“Stay put,” Jordan ordered. “We’ll join you. And be on the lookout for leopards. We may not be alone out here.”
“Got it.” Cooper’s voice sounded more annoyed than frightened. But he hadn’t seen the tracks.
After Cooper passed on his location, Jordan led the others to the far side of the village. He found Cooper crouched with Farshad by a jumble of boulders at the edge of the village. The ruins of Shahr-e-Gholghola rose behind their position. Jordan felt uneasy turning his back on that mountainous graveyard to face the village.
“Over there,” Cooper said, and pointed his rifle at a small mud-brick house with a snow-dusted thatched roof. The door was closed, but a window faced them. “Someone’s in there.”
“Or maybe you’re jumping at shadows,” McKay said. “The Rangers cleared every building. They found nothing.”
“Doesn’t mean someone didn’t sneak back here when we weren’t looking.” Cooper turned to Jordan. “I swear I saw a flash of something pale pass by that window. It wasn’t a gust of snow or a trail of mist. Something solid.”
McKay showed Cooper the pictures of the giant paw prints.
Cooper crouched lower and swore. “I didn’t sign up to be a big game hunter. If that’s some big lion in there—”
“Leopard,” McKay corrected.
“I don’t give a flying fart what it is. If it’s got teeth and likes to eat people, I’ll let McKay’s big ass take point.”
“Fine by me,” McKay said. “Especially since we know there are at least two of them and the professor here thinks they’re holed up in that craggy hill behind you.”
Cooper glanced over his shoulder and swore again.
Jordan settled the matter. “Cooper and Farshad, stay here with the professor. I’ll take McKay and Azar and check out that house.”
With his H&K pistol in hand, Jordan led his two men toward the targeted house, feet silent in the newly fallen snow. He was confident his weapon had enough firepower for whatever hid in this house. Still, he kept looking over his shoulder, wishing he had more ammunition.
As Azar kept his weapon fixed on the window, he and McKay approached the door. They slipped to either side and readied themselves. Jordan glanced over and got a silent confirmation from his teammate.
Upon Jordan’s signal, McKay stepped up and kicked the door in.
It burst open with a loud crack of wood.
Jordan ran low inside, weapon at his shoulder. McKay kept post, standing higher, sweeping the room with his own gun.
The home was a single room with a small table, a corner stone oven, and a pair of straw beds, one large and one small. Empty. Just as the Ranger search team reported. Cooper had been wrong, which both surprised and relieved Jordan. He should have known—
“Don’t move, Sarge,” McKay said from the doorway.
He obeyed, hearing the urgency in his teammate’s voice.
“Look slowly up. At your eight o’clock.”
Jordan shifted his eyes in the direction indicated, barely moving his head. He followed the mud-brick wall to where it met the thatched roof. Half hidden by a rafter, a pair of eyes shone back at him, as if lit by an inner fire. A rustling of straw whispered in the quiet room as the hidden watcher slipped deeper into the nest of thatch, a perfect hiding place, using the musty, stale straw to mask any scent.
Smart.
Jordan slung his weapon back and lifted his empty arms.
“It’s okay,” he said softly, gently, as if he were encouraging a skittish colt. “You’re safe. Come on down.”
He didn’t know if his words could be understood, but he hoped his tone and mannerisms made his intent plain.
“Why don’t you—”
The attack came suddenly. The shadowy lurker leaped from the rafters, coming down with a rain of dry thatch. McKay’s weapon twitched up.
“Don’t!” Jordan warned.
He caught the diving shape in his arms, recognizing the simple need in that falling form. He had been raised with a passel of brothers and sisters, and now nieces and nephews. Though he had no children of his own, he knew that plain desire. It went beyond language and country and borders.
A child needing comfort and reassurance.
Small arms clasped around his neck, a soft fiery cheek pressed against his own. Thin legs wrapped around his waist.
“It’s a little girl,” McKay said.
A terrified little girl.
She quaked in his arms, shivering with fear.
“You’re safe,” he assured her, while silently hoping that was true. He turned to McKay. “Bring Cooper and the others inside.”
McKay dashed out, leaving Jordan alone with the child. Jordan guessed the girl was no more than ten. He crossed to the table and sat down. He unzipped his coat and wrapped it around her, cradling her thin form against his chest. Her small body burned against him, feverish through the pajama-like garment she wore. He read raw terror in her every twitch and soft sob as she hovered at the edge of shock.