Friendly Fire
Page 1
Praise for John Gilstrap and His Thrillers
NICK OF TIME
“A page-turning thriller with strong characters,
exciting action, and a big heart.”
—Heather Graham
AGAINST ALL ENEMIES
“Any John Gilstrap novel packs the punch of a
rocket-propelled grenade—on steroids! Tentacles of in-
trigue reach into FBI headquarters and military
hierarchy. Lines are crossed and new ones drawn.
The philosophy of killing to preserve life takes on new
meaning. Gilstrap grabs the reader’s attention in a
literary vise grip. Each installment of the Jonathan
Grave series is a force majeure of covert incursions,
and a damn good read.”
—BookReporter.com
“Tense, clever . . . series enthusiasts are bound to enjoy this new thriller.”
—Library Journal
END GAME
AN AMAZON EDITORS’ FAVORITE BOOK OF THE YEAR
“Gilstrap’s new Jonathan Grave thriller is his
best novel to date—even considering his enviable
bibliography. End Game starts off explosively and keeps
on rolling. Gilstrap puts you in the moment as very few
authors can. And there are many vignettes that will stay
with you long after you have finished the book.”
—Joe Hartlaub, BookReporter.com
DAMAGE CONTROL
“Powerful and explosive, an unforgettable journey into
the dark side of the human soul. Gilstrap is a master of
action and drama. If you like Vince Flynn and Brad
Thor, you’ll love John Gilstrap.”
—Gayle Lynds
“Rousing . . . Readers will anxiously await the next installment.”
—Publishers Weekly
“It’s easy to see why John Gilstrap is the go-to guy
among thriller writers, when it comes to weapons, am-
munition, and explosives. His expertise is uncontested.”
—John Ramsey Miller
“The best page-turning thriller I’ve grabbed in ages.
Gilstrap is one of the very few writers who can position
a set of characters in a situation, ramp up the tension,
and—yes, keep it there, all the way through. There is no
place you can put this book down.”
—Beth Kanell, Kingdom Books, Vermont
“A page-turning, near-perfect thriller, with engaging
and believable characters . . . unputdownable!
Warning—if you must be up early the next morning,
don’t start the book.”
—Top Mystery Novels
“Takes you full force right away and doesn’t let go until
the very last page . . . has enough full-bore action to take
your breath away, barely giving you time to inhale. The
action is nonstop. Gilstrap knows his technology and
weaponry. Damage Control will blow you away.”
—Suspense Magazine
THREAT WARNING
“If you are a fan of thriller novels, I hope you’ve been
reading John Gilstrap’s Jonathan Grave series. Threat
Warning is a character-driven work where the vehicle
has four on the floor and horsepower to burn. From
beginning to end, it is dripping with excitement.”
—Joe Hartlaub, BookReporter.com
“If you like Vince Flynn–style action, with a strong,
incorruptible hero, this series deserves to be in
your reading diet. Threat Warning reconfirms
Gilstrap as a master of jaw-dropping action and
heart-squeezing suspense.”
—Austin Camacho, The Big Thrill
HOSTAGE ZERO
“Jonathan Grave, my favorite freelance peacemaker,
problem-solver, and tough guy hero, is back—and in
particularly fine form. Hostage Zero is classic Gilstrap:
the people are utterly real, the action’s foot to the floor,
and the writing’s fluid as a well-oiled machine gun.
A tour de force!”
—Jeffery Deaver
HOSTAGE ZERO
“This addictively readable thriller marries a breakneck
pace to a complex, multilayered plot.... A roller
coaster ride of adrenaline-inducing plot twists leads to a
riveting and highly satisfying conclusion. Exceptional
characterization and an intricate, flawlessly crafted story
line make this an absolute must read for thriller fans.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
NO MERCY
“No Mercy grabs hold of you on page one and doesn’t
let go. Gilstrap’s new series is terrific. It will leave
you breathless. I can’t wait to see what Jonathan Grave
is up to next.”
—Harlan Coben
“The release of a new John Gilstrap novel is
always worth celebrating, because he’s one of the
finest thriller writers on the planet. No Mercy
showcases his work at its finest—taut, action-packed,
and impossible to put down!”
—Tess Gerritsen
“A great hero, a pulse-pounding story—and the launch of a really exciting series.”
—Joseph Finder
“An entertaining, fast-paced tale of violence and revenge.”
—Publishers Weekly
“No other writer is better able to combine in a single
novel both rocket-paced suspense and heartfelt looks
at family and the human spirit. And what a pleasure
to meet Jonathan Grave, a hero for our time . . . and
for all time.”
—Jeffery Deaver
AT ALL COSTS
“Riveting . . . combines a great plot and realistic,
likable characters with look-over-your-shoulder
tension. A page turner.”
—The Kansas City Star
“Gilstrap builds tension . . . until the last page, a
hallmark of great thriller writers. I almost called the
paramedics before I finished At All Costs.”
—Tulsa World
“Gilstrap has ingeniously twisted his simple premise
six ways from Sunday.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Not-to-be-missed.”
—Rocky Mountain News
NATHAN’S RUN
“Gilstrap pushes every thriller button . . . a nail-biting denouement and strong characters.”
—San Francisco Chronicle
“Gilstrap has a shot at being the next John Grisham . . . one of the best books of the year.”
—Rocky Mountain News
“Emotionally charged . . . one of the year’s best.”
—Chicago Tribune
“Brilliantly calculated . . . With the skill of a veteran pulp master, Gilstrap weaves a yarn that demands to be read in one sitting.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Like a roller coaster, the story races along on well-oiled wheels to an undeniably pulse-pounding conclusion.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
ALSO BY JOHN GILSTRAP
Nick of Time
Against All Enemies
End Game
Soft Targets
High Treason
Damage Control
Threat Warning
Hostage Zero
No Mercy
Six Minutes to Freedom
Scott Free
Even Steven
At All Costs
Nathan’s Run
JOHN GILSTRAP
A JONATHAN GRAVE THRILLER
FRIENDLY FIRE
PINNACLE BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Praise for John Gilstrap and His Thrillers
ALSO BY JOHN GILSTRAP
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Teaser chapter
Teaser chapter
Copyright Page
To Joy
Chapter One
Ethan Falk recognized the monster’s voice before he saw his face. The voice in combination with the phraseology. “Be quick about it, if you don’t mind.”
Be quick about it.
With lightning speed—the speed of imagination—Ethan was once again eleven years old, his ankles shackled by a chain that barely allowed for a full step, that prevented him from climbing a ladder without hopping. The pain was all there. The humiliation and the fear were all there.
It had been eleven years. The monster’s hair had turned gray at the temples, and hugged his head more closely. The features had sagged some and his jaw had softened, but the hook in the nose was the same, as was the slightly cross-toothed overbite. There was a way he carried himself, too—a square set to his shoulders that a decade had done nothing to diminish.
Ethan felt his face flush as something horrible stirred in his gut, a putrid, malignant stew of bile and hate and shame. “Look at me,” he whispered. He needed the confirmation.
An old woman’s voice startled him. “Are you even listening to me, young man?”
No, he wasn’t listening to her. She stood there, a silver thermos extended in the air, dangling from two fingers. “You’re out of half-and-half,” she said. Her clipped tone told him that she’d said it before.
Because reality had morphed into the past with such sudden violence, the request registered as a non sequitur. “Huh?”
“My God, are you deaf? I said—”
The monster turned. Raven, Ethan’s nominal girlfriend and fellow barista, handed the man his drip coffee, and as the monster turned, Ethan caught a glimpse of him, full-face. His heart skipped. It might have stopped.
The lady with the thermos continued to yammer.
Please need cream or sugar, Ethan pleaded silently. That would put him face-to-face with the man who’d ruined so much. The man who’d beaten him, torn him.
But apparently the monster preferred his coffee black. He headed straight to the door, not casting a look toward anyone. Whatever his thoughts, they had nothing to do with the sins of his past.
Perhaps they had only to do with the sins of his future.
“. . . speak to your supervisor. I have never—”
“No,” Ethan said. The monster could not be allowed to leave. He could not be allowed to torture others.
He could not be allowed to dominate Ethan’s life any more through recalled horrors.
Another customer said something to him, but the words—if they were words at all—could not penetrate his wall of rage.
Ethan needed to stop him. Stop the monster. Kill the monster.
He dropped the stuff he’d been holding—a tiny pitcher for the steamed milk and the spoon through which to sift it—and was deaf to the sound of them hitting the floor. People looked at him, though. Raven at first looked confused, and then she looked frightened.
“My God, Ethan, what’s wrong?”
Ethan said nothing. There wasn’t time. The monster was on the loose, out in the world, preying on other people. On other children.
Raven tried to step out in front of him to stop him—how could she know?—but he shouldered past her. He moved fast, not quite a run, but close to it. Fast enough to catch the attention of every pair of eyes in the shop.
As he passed the pastry case, he snagged the knife they used to cut bagels. It had always been the wrong style for slicing bread, with a straight edge instead of a serrated one, but they’d learned as a crew that if you kept a straight edge sharp enough, it would cut anything.
The whole rhythm of the shop changed as he emerged from behind the counter with the knife. The old lady with the thermos put it down on the counter and collapsed into a fetal ball on the floor, covering her head and yelling, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
In a distant part of his brain, Ethan felt bad that he’d scared the poor lady—all she’d wanted was a little customer service—but in the readily accessible portion of his brain, he didn’t give a shit. Maybe next time she wouldn’t be such a bitch.
The crowd parted as Ethan approached the door with his knife. He didn’t slow as he reached the glass door, choosing instead to power through it as if it weren’t there. The blast of autumn air felt refreshing after the stuffiness of the coffee shop. Invigorating. Head-clearing.
Where is he?
The shop lay in a suburban strip mall. There weren’t many people milling about, but this was lunch time, so there were more than a few. The monster could only have gone but so far. He had to be here somewhere.
He saw a guy from a Subway sandwich shop chatting on the corner with a hot girl from the quick-quack medical place next store. She wore a checkerboard scrub suit that strained in all the right places. Ahead and to the left, a lady in a red jacket carried a take-out order from the ribs joint. (“You bring your appetite, we’ll provide the bib.”) Beyond that lady, tail lights flashed on the back end of a pickup truck, followed by the white reverse lights.
Shit, he’s getting away.
He stopped himself from chasing, though, because he knew that the monster wouldn’t be in the pickup. It was too far away. He wouldn’t have had time to get that far.
Ethan pivoted to look the other way. He stepped around the corner of the coffee shop to look past the drive-through traffic.
There he was.
The monster walked easily, as if not a care in the world, on his way to the rest of his day.
Ethan took off at a run. He’d changed a lot, too, in the past eleven years. His shoulders had broadened, and he’d grown to six-two. The monster no longer had a chance of holding him down with a hand on his chest and a knee in his belly.
The monster had no chance of winning this fight.
Ethan ran at a full sprint, closing the distance in just a few seconds. When he was only ten or fifteen feet away, the monster seemed to awaken to the danger and turned.
Good, Ethan thought. Get a good look at me you son of a—
The monster led with a punch that came from nowhere and caught Ethan with withering force just in front of his ear. Light flashed behind his eyes.
But Ethan still had the momentum, and the collision took both of them to the ground between parked
cars. The monster’s head sheared a side-view mirror from its mounts, and then pounded hard against the pavement.
They landed in a tangle, with Ethan on top, in the command position. As his vision swam from the punch and the fall, he knew that quick action meant survival. The monster bucked beneath him, trying to throw him off. The guy didn’t seem scared at all. He seemed angry. If he got free—
Be quick about it.
Despite the squirming and writhing, Ethan’s right hand was still free, and it still grasped the knife. He raised it high.
In that instant, the monster seemed to understand what was going to happen.
In the next, Ethan drove the blade through the monster’s left eye and into his brain.
* * *
“All units in the vicinity of the Antebellum Shopping Center, respond to the report of an assault in progress. Code three.”
Detective Pam Hastings pulled her microphone from its clamp on the dash and brought it to her lips, keying the mike. “Detective One-four-three responding.” With the white mike still in her grasp, she used the first three fingers of her right hand on the rocker switches to light up the grill lights and their counterparts in her back window. She cranked the siren switch all the way to the right—to the Wail setting.
Known throughout the Braddock County Police Department as a lead-foot (with the Internal Affairs reports in her record to show it), she didn’t think about the future paperwork as she mashed the accelerator to the floor and let herself be thrown into her seat back as the 305-horsepower Ford Police Interceptor accelerated from cruising to holy-shit-fast in zero-point-few seconds. In that same amount of time, at least four other units likewise marked responding. Nothing drew a crowd of cops quite like violence in progress.