So it was that, as before, he was the first to hear the wags. He was aware of the handset sitting heavy on his hip, but he was unwilling to use it. Ryan had wanted them to maintain as much of a radio silence as possible, in case of eavesdropping. The others would hear the wags soon enough in the quiet of the desert night. The only thing that concerned Jak was being ready for the wag that would come his way— for he had no doubts that Ryan and J.B. were correct, and that the five vulnerable points would be those that were hit.
So Jak stayed, patient and silent, keeping his senses alert. He could hear the wags roll from the blacktop and separate, the notes of their engines changing pitch with their directions, and forming a strange harmony on the dark desert air.
One of them was headed toward him. He increased his rate of breathing, keeping it deep to oxygenate his blood. He exercised his supple muscles, easing all signs of strain and cramp from them. He had to be ready for them when they arrived, which would be only a matter of seconds.
The wag rolled across the dark earth, silhouetted against the lighter sky. Jak could see from his position that there were only two occupants in the wag. They wouldn’t be able to see him, as they were showing no lights in an attempt to disguise their position from where they thought a patrol might be. In the quiet, it was impossible for a person to truly disguise his or her position in a wag, but at least with no lights it would take longer to locate…unless it was already known where it was headed.
Jak smiled as he readied for attack, a humorless smile, his lips drawing back over vulpine teeth. His Colt Python was still tucked in his camou pants. Speed was essential in getting out of concealment and into space to move freely. If he needed an immediate weapon, he always had a leaf-bladed knife ready to palm.
The wag rolled to a halt, and the albino heard a muttered exchange between the two occupants as the engine cut out. One, called Murphy, was the driver. Greenberg was the name of the other mercie, and they exchanged a few comments about getting the job done before the sec had a chance to get over to them, and get the hell out. “We were lucky the other night,” he heard Greenberg say, adding, “Those bastards are too good. Let’s hope the big score really works.”
The two mercies climbed from the wag, taking in the surrounding area and judging it to be empty. They were wary, but beneath that they betrayed the security they felt by a certain relaxation of posture. Despite the wish to be wary, everything told them that they were alone, and they wouldn’t be prepared for attack.
Jak tensed every muscle in his body, every sinew taut and ready to explode. His eyes darted from one prey to the other, and also around the surrounding area to judge the best places to move, to duck and cover if necessary. Not that he would need it.
The two mercies had both looked into the back of the wag to remove the plas-ex they would need for their bomb when Jak moved. Although his clothing was dark, it was only the shadow of cover that had kept his startling white face and stringy white mane out of view, and as he leaped from his hiding place, it seemed to the two men as they turned at the sudden sound as though a white bird with a terrible beak and eyes of fire had sprung from the darkness.
The sight was so unexpected and so terrible that it froze them for a second.
A second was all that Jak needed. The man named Murphy caught a leaf-bladed knife, thrown while in flight with such accuracy and force that it entered his left eye, spinning in the air and skewering into his brain, entering the frontal lobes behind the eye socket and rendering him devoid of movement but with enough awareness to know the terrible fact that he had been chilled.