Page 3 of Fatal Strike
A feeling ofnowsuspended. She gently pulled the trigger back.
The explosion. Then impact.
The familiar kickback shook her body.
The man went down, releasing the small boy.
Jon’s man also slumped onto the floor, and the little girl he’d been holding broke free. Leah reached for her binoculars. SWAT raced toward the Barton home. She panned her scope to the women, who drew their children close, covering them in tears laced with terror and joy. An intimate moment not meant for Leah’s eyes, but if she were there, she’d hold them tightly. She pulled away from viewing the crime scene.
While relief flowed through her body, there was no celebration for two men’s deaths. A critical situation had been neutralized.
Scrutinizing the outside area, she spoke into the mic again. “Looks like the hostages are okay. Can you confirm?”
“Affirmative,” the SWAT commander’s low voice responded. “Riesel, Colbert, SAC Thomas will contact you within fifteen minutes.”
“Riesel, I’m heading your way,” Jon said.
After packing her gear, she texted SAC Thomas, her normalprotocol upon completing an assignment. She left the house, this time through the front door, noting the airy beach decor. Arelaxed atmosphere for those who needed a getaway. Leah walked toward the SWAT team at the Barton home. Her gear weighed her down in the heat, and right now it felt twice as heavy.
Jon ambled her way. His stride and erect shoulders exuded confidence. Danger drew him like a magnet. She bore the same chemicals in her brain.
A trait they needed to stay alive.
Jon’s responsibilities in the FBI organized crime division, specifically gangs, kept him busy when he wasn’t working directly with the SWAT team.
He filed this morning’s mission into a part of his brain labeled “process later.” There was value in trekking through every moment of a sniper mission. This part of analyzing himself had more to do with ensuring he remained mentally strong than providing an explanation or justification for his actions.
To the bureau, the mission’s success was critical, and the actions would be reviewed later. To Jon, success meant his ability to emotionally detach and then reel in his human instincts. When the job turned him into a machine—or an animal—he’d resign.
Leah Riesel approached him. “Can you give me a ride back to Houston? My chopper left me.”
“Sure. I assume the after-action review will be mid- to late afternoon.”
They’d both go through the debrief later in Houston. Part of the job. If they’d failed at the Barton home, SWAT would determine what went wrong on-site there and repeat in Houston.
Ambulances shrieked closer to the crime scene. Galveston police stopped a KHOU TV van before it drove into the Barton driveway. The van backed up and parked on the side of the road. Three newspeople emerged with equipment and broadcast lights, signaling they were going live.
“Here come the reporters.” Leah’s tone avoided condescension. Simply a fact.
“At times, I’d like to eliminate the police radios in the newsroom.”
“And deny media the fun?”
Jon detected her slight smile. So she did have a sense of humor, contrary to popular reports that her attitude gave stoics a run for their money.
One of the reporters rushed toward them. “We have what appears to be FBI SWAT. Can we have a word?”
Jon surveyed the beach and flatland around them. “Not at this time.”
The man was not deterred. “This must have been quite an ordeal for the hostages. Who’s the other woman with Mrs. Barton? Did you take the kill shots?” The reporter pressed a mic to Jon’s mouth. “When will the FBI make a statement?”
Leah and Jon ignored the reporter and walked toward Jon’s truck.
Once there, he started up the engine and waited for the cool blast of AC. Their phones, like appendages, alerted them to a text. They both focused on the message from SAC Thomas.
Don’t leave Galveston. New case for both of you. Will do action review at 6 p.m. today. Call me.
Jon set his phone on the dashboard, pressed in SAC Thomas’s number, and tapped Speaker. One mission over and a new one beginning.
