Chapters (96)
- Cover
- Berkley titles by David Ricciardi
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- CHARACTER LIST
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EIGHTY-FIVE
- EIGHTY-SIX
- EIGHTY-SEVEN
- Children of Fallen Patriots Foundation
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
But Pickens still had the situational awareness he’d developed on the football field and the reflexes to match. He tucked his arm in to protect his ribs and received only a deep cut to his biceps. He seemed impervious to the pain as he spun around and once again raised the sword.
The two men were five feet apart, circling each other.
Pickens’s arm was bleeding heavily, but he was holding the Ngulu sword over his right shoulder and wagging it from side to side, like a batter waiting for a pitch.
Jake feigned an attack, but Pickens didn’t bite. He kept circling, the sword constantly in motion.
Jake was standing in front of the French doors when the big man shifted his hands. Jake recognized the grip as the one Pickens had used for the earlier baseball-swing attack.
Jake was ready for it when it came.
He dove onto the terrace and rolled onto his side.
Pickens tried to check the swing, but he’d already committed. The sword connected with the poured-concrete wall.
The hundred-year-old blade shattered into a dozen pieces. All that was left was a gnarled metal shank at the end of the wooden handle.
Jake lunged with the karambit and raked the blade down Pickens’s thigh, severing two of the muscles in his quadriceps.
Pickens screamed in pain and lashed out furiously, whipping the axe handle at Jake and connecting with his forehead.
It was a solid blow, and the knife fell from Jake’s hand as he almost lost consciousness.
He was on his back on the terrace, dazed and unarmed, his face covered in blood.
Pickens limped over and moved in for the kill.
“I tried to warn you off.” He spoke through gritted teeth as he raised what was left of the sword over his head.
Jake braced his body on the ground and kicked up, using his hips and legs for power. He drove his heel into Pickens’s groin with so much force that it lifted the two-hundred-forty-pound man off the ground.
Pickens dropped the sword and clutched his crotch. Practically delirious, he staggered backward onto the terrace, tripped over the warlord’s body and crashed into the railing. He tried to prop himself up but his injured leg couldn’t support his weight and he tumbled into the courtyard.
Jake heard a thud.
Then a splash.
Then a scream.
He walked to the edge of the balcony and switched on his night vision goggles. In the middle of the compound was the large courtyard he’d seen from the satellite images, complete with ferns, flowers—and a pond.
And in the middle of the pond was a fourteen-foot-long crocodile, pulling Pickens to the bottom.
Little Yaxaas.