Storm Eagle broke his silence, looking at the map hearing the disharmony in their voices the anger in their words. It was time.
"Do not call down Grandfather Thunder when the silent kiss of Rattlesnake will suffice." he said, in cryptic indian fashion. He knew he was something of an enigma to the others, the rest came from industrialized nations, and even though he too was an American, he wasnt the same kind of American. He wasnt one of the loud crass tourist types who barked at the sights, cursed foreign food, and complained about how stupid the rest of the world was for calling soccer football.
"We do not need explosions, we do not need thunder and fire. We move as the wind, cutting through them, between them, until like corn before the reaper, they are removed." He looked them in the eye, slowly, and inoffensively drawing his bone handled knife.
"Do you fear death so much that it must be dealt from a great distance? Take a man by surprise, and let the steel open his throat. Death comes for him and there is no sound but the wind." He took his knife and stuck it in the table, the point buried at a point in the perimeter at a corner tower, the most removed from the compound.