Tabora, Tanzania – December, 1979
They were getting complacent. It’d been four years since I’d last been able to find any evidence of the luchd-òl fola. In this area, such a large group of pale-skinned people stood out and was commented on. They were forgetting their training, which I was grateful for.
I approached the house in the darkness, stopping in the shadow of a shed on the neighboring property. My only goal was to get Prince Nicol out. Once he was safe, I’d hunt down the luchd-òl fola, one at a time if I had to.
I stayed in place for over thirty minutes.
There were no patrols, and I didn’t see anyone at the windows.
When I felt confident enough to get closer, I crept around the outside of the building, listening for voices.
I could hear a television, but no one moving around or talking.
I smelled four or five of the luchd-òl fola, but no Wonders.
This wasn’t their safe house. It was a trap.
The exterior lights turned on as I moved to leave. Five of them came at me, and I was gratified that I’d been right about one thing at least. They hadn’t been keeping up with their training.
Only one of the bastards got away alive.