Dire Distraction by Dee Davis Page B

and granite stood sentry to an opening that was barely more than a crevice.
    “Welcome to the front door,” Sydney said, from the shelter of the copse of ferns and saplings they’d chosen for cover.
    “I’m not seeing movement,” Avery replied, lifting his field glasses for a closer look.
    “My intel puts the main force on the other side. A guardhouse, usually with three or four men. It’s set back from the entrance a bit.” She reached into one of their bags and produced the schematic she’d brought with her. “This isn’t verified, of course, but from what we could see, this is the basic layout.”
    The passageway was indeed narrow, stretching about fifty feet before opening out into the narrow canyon that housed Strum’s compound. Horseshoe-shaped, the canyon was surrounded by rocky hills lined with ancient trees, the jungle almost obscuring where the canyon ended and the hills began.
    The outpost itself sat at the end of the canyon. A semicircle of stone buildings. Aside from the guardhouse just beyond the opening, there appeared to be no additional fortifications. Only a clearing through the trees and a rough road that led back to Shrum’s compound.
    “Two of us, four of them. Not bad odds.”
    Sydney couldn’t help but smile. Avery had cojones. She had to give him that. “Unfortunately there’s more,” she said, sobering as she continued. “There are another two guards patrolling the perimeter out here. And on top of that, two more out here somewhere, on point. Keeping watch.”
    “My money is on the trees.” He nodded up at the towering coconut palms as well as the ancient teaks. “It’d be easy enough to set a sniper up there. If not that, then maybe the rocks themselves.”
    Sydney shot a look at the outcroppings. One of them stood almost erect on its own, like a dagger thrusting fifteen or more feet out of the earth. The other folded into the surrounding hills, making it seem more like a half-buried statue. But like the first, it rose high into the surrounding trees.
    Vines laced their way up both sides, leaving the rock moisture-slick and shining in the half-light. The roots of an ancient banyan tree curled around the base of one outcropping like a python squeezing its dinner. And the branches of a mahogany tree arched down over the opening like a shield.
    “What about up there somewhere?” She pointed toward the rocky sentries. “Seems like that’d be a good spot for a sniper too.”
    “Roger that.” He lowered the glasses and handed them to her. “I’m not seeing any movement at all. Have a look and see if you can find something.”
    She lifted the binoculars to her eyes and scanned first the surrounding treetops and then the outcroppings. Besides the undulation of leaves and branches and the never ending patter of the rain, there was nothing visible.
    “I don’t see anything either, but that doesn’t mean that they’re not there.”
    As if to refute the statement, something shifted and caught the dappled light, reflecting for a moment. Sunlight on metal.
    “Wait,” Sydney said with a frown. “Over there, between the mahogany and the rocks.” She handed him the glasses, her gaze still fixed on the spot just above the opening. For a moment, there was nothing. And then again, there it was, a quick flash.
    “That’s the barrel of a gun. I’d make book on it.”
    “So we know there’s at least one sniper. And given his position, I’m thinking walking in through the front door isn’t looking all that hospitable. My guess is he’s all about shooting first and asking questions later.”
    “Agreed. And if there’s one—there’s got to be another.” He lifted the glasses again, scanning the tree line. “There.” He nodded with satisfaction, pointing to a rain tree just to the south of their position. He handed over the binoculars, and she took a look.
    At first, it seemed like there was nothing to see, but then the wind rattled the trees and the branches shifted,