by Terri Reed
“We’re here.” Jake swung their mobile command center the size of a package delivery truck to the curb out of view of the MAX stop.
Even late at night, students would be milling about. The team would contain the shooter in the train and cordon off the area to protect innocent lives. Then Archer would use the train’s PA system to communicate with the gunman.
That was the plan. But they had no time to run the scenario, and plans could go wrong.
Curling his .330 Winchester Magnum rifle closer, Brady mentally checked off his steps. Ammo first. Check. Already loaded in his rifle. If he had to shoot, it would be through glass, requiring special ammo to reduce deflection on glass penetration. Extra ammo was in his vest. Scope was fixed and calibrated. Binoculars and laser range finder snug in his pocket. He patted his vest pocket to confirm. He was ready. He could do this.
Jake cut the engine, then joined the team. He glanced at Darryl Collins, the computer tech assigned to their team, who sat behind a console. “We have eyes or ears on the train yet?”
“I’m still working with the MAX tech team to patch us through.”
“Well, get ’em. No way we’re going in blind.” Jake eyed the team, his gaze sharp and focused. “The gunman is not getting off the train with Morgan Thorsby and she’s getting out of this alive and well. You got that?”
They nodded.
“You have your assignments.” Jake clapped his hands. “Let’s roll.”
Brady slung his rifle over his shoulder and headed into the night, toward the perfect location he’d chosen in a yard abutting an apartment complex. He jogged across the road and slipped through the gate. Resting his arm on a fence post topped with snow, he took a shooting stance. He’d like to get into a more natural position, but that wasn’t an option. No problem. He’d made shots in every position imaginable as a Marine Scout Sniper. He sighted in the scope and adjusted for the wind.
“Falcon, in position,” he said into his microphone.
“Roger that, Falcon,” came Jake’s response. “Stand by. Train ETA in one minute. Audio streaming.”
With more than one agency responding to the incident, they would use code names when communicating. The group had long ago voted on an animal name for each person. Brady was tagged Falcon, as the bird and he both moved fast. Cash got Termite since they were demolitions experts. Archer, Mockingbird for his soothing voice. And Jake? He had the best name of all. Papa Bear.
“Got eyes and ears, sir,” Darryl’s voice came over Brady’s earpiece.
“Then we’re a go, Falcon,” Jake said. “TriMet has confirmed the doors will remain closed on this car and Mockingbird is patched through to the train. We’ll give Termite time to escort passengers in the other cars to a secured spot, then Mockingbird will take over.”
“Roger that, Papa Bear,” Brady confirmed. “I’m ready.”
But was he ready? He wasn’t sure. Not completely, anyway. Not after their last callout, when he’d hesitated to take the shot. He was good with taking extreme measures for hostage-taking criminals and drug dealers, but the prior callout involved a former marine. Brady had felt like he was taking out a family member. Couldn’t be helped, though. The man had lost touch with reality. If Brady hadn’t acted, the guy would have killed his wife and three sweet children.
Now Brady wasn’t sure how he’d react when it came time to pull the trigger.
The train rolled in, the brakes squealing to a stop.
Focus, man. Focus. He fine-tuned his scope and shut out everything around him. The biting wind. The falling snow. The flag flapping on the next building. The sound of Cash moving people out of the line of fire. All of it faded into the background, his eye fixed dead center on his scope.
The occupants of the car came into focus in the crosshairs. Morgan Thorsby was blonde, petite and wearing a trench coat tied over what looked like an expensive suit, but it was the gunman, Craig Shaw, who Brady was most interested in.
Brady adjusted his scope. Sighted on the T-zone of Craig’s head.
“I have a target, but no shot. No shot.” Brady kept his eyes on the scope, but wouldn’t shoot before an attempt was made to end this standoff without loss of life.
“Craig,” Archer’s voice came over the train’s speaker.
Craig’s head shot up. “Who’s that? How do you know me?”
Brady listened through his earpiece as Archer introduced himself and started the process of talking Craig into surrendering.
Craig seemed to listen, then suddenly pivoted and pounded on the door, the sound reverberating through the silent car. “Open it now or I’ll kill Morgan right here!”
“Don’t do anything rash, Craig,” Archer said over the train’s speaker. “We’ve got all the time in the world to talk this through.”
“I don’t want to talk,” Craig screamed. “I want out of this tin can, now!”
“I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to open the doors, Craig.” Archer was a tough law enforcement officer. Sharp. Intense, but he also had a soothing way about him and his voice was unhurried and comforting.
“I don’t care, man,” Craig fired back. “Get these doors open or I will shoot her. I swear I will. You’ve got five minutes. You hear me? Five minutes. If I’m still locked in here then, she dies.”
Copyright © 2015 by Susan Sleeman
ISBN-13: 9781460389249
Murder Under the Mistletoe
Copyright © 2015 by Terri Reed
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