Susan Sleeman - High-Caliber Holiday

“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.”

TWO

“Dumb cops,” Craig muttered as he gestured at the door with his gun. He obviously thought Archer was no longer listening, but Brady knew his teammate was not only listening, he was intently watching.

“I could help you with them,” Morgan Thorsby said. “As an attorney, I can act as a go-between to negotiate your demands.”

“Demands? I don’t have demands. I just want to get off the stupid train with you in tow.” He massaged his forehead with his free hand.

“They’ll let you off if you surrender your gun,” Morgan continued.

Brady was surprised she had the presence of mind to talk so calmly to a man holding her life in his hands. Even more surprising, Archer didn’t shut her down. Maybe she was saying the right things and Archer thought she could help.

“And then what?” Craig asked. “I step off the train and some hotshot kills me? No, thanks.”

“You have it backwards. If you don’t surrender the gun, that hotshot you mentioned is going to go to work and you won’t get off the train alive.”

“Fine. But if that happens, I’m taking you with me.” He grabbed Morgan and jerked her head back, planting the gun against her temple again.

“Wait. Let me talk to the negotiator when he comes back on. I’ll tell him you haven’t harmed anyone and that you’re going to surrender. You can give me the gun, and we can walk out together. Then I’ll represent you or find a good criminal lawyer for you.”

Brady heard the underlying tremble in Morgan’s tone but it was still soothing, almost hypnotic. If Brady were the shooter, he would gladly do what she asked.

Craig took a step back. “You’d represent me, even after this?”

“Yes,” she said. “You’ve been drinking to mask your loss. If you had a clear head, you—”

“I’d do the same thing.”

The guy’s biting tone said he was planning to pull that trigger. It made Brady want to end this now, but he wouldn’t do so without Jake’s authority.

Craig stood unmoving and staring at her. Suddenly, something caught his attention in the distance and he spun.

“No!” he shouted. “It’s a trick. I can see them—all of them—cops...coming for me. Well, they won’t find me. I’ll make my own way out.”

He jerked his finger. The gun erupted. Bullets blasted into the window, the safety glass cracking and splintering, but holding.

“Falcon, you are clear to take a shot,” Jake announced.

“Roger that, Papa Bear.” Brady’s gut cramped as he dropped his finger to the trigger. Took a deep breath. Released a long hiss of air. Prepared to squeeze. Craig— no, the target , Brady reminded himself—shifted, his eyes coming into view. Filled with rage, with pain.

Brady hesitated.

Craig started for Morgan, bending toward her. Brady had to act now or the window of opportunity would be gone. He quickly adjusted and squeezed the trigger. The bullet sliced through the air. Craig suddenly lurched forward, Morgan falling in the other direction. She hit the ground, disappearing from the scope.

Brady’s mouth dropped open. He didn’t think his shot hit Craig. Looked more like he’d fallen. But what about Morgan? His bullet couldn’t have hit her, could it? Even if it hadn’t, his moment of hesitation had given Craig a chance to move closer to Morgan and changed Brady’s angle. Maybe it had put Morgan in the path of shattering glass. He wouldn’t know until he had a chance to get inside the train car and look around.

“Move, move, move,” came Jake’s voice as he dispatched the team to secure the gunman and train.