Read Online First to Kill by Andrew Peterson - Free Book Online
Authors: Andrew Peterson
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Suspense fiction, Espionage, Intelligence Officers, Undercover operations, Snipers, Snipers - United States, Intelligence Officers - United States, Undercover Operations - United States
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dust.”
“We need to let the SWAT teams know we’re coming,” Harv said. “Any ideas?”
“Yeah, we can yell.”
“Any other ideas?”
“Sorry, fresh out. As far as they’re concerned, we just took a shot at them.”
“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret this?”
“Relax, Harv, I’ve got things under control.”
His partner snorted. “I was afraid you’d say that. Hell, I guess it’s a good day to die. Let’s go.”
They took off their bulky ghillie suits and started down the mountain. Two minutes later, they reached the bottom of the incline. Not wanting to appear threatening in case they were spotted, Nathan had slung his rifle over his shoulder. There wasn’t much he could do about his Sig Sauer secured in his waist holster, because he wasn’t willing to approach an FBI SWAT team who had just been trashed by several dozen antipersonnel mines without being armed. Without a doubt, they were thoroughly pissed off.
Harv took out his scope and scanned the area ahead. “I’ve got a spotter at one o’clock, two hundred yards. Are you sure about this? Those guys are high-strung. They’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Wait here.” Nathan handed Harv the rifle and shucked off his backpack. “I’ll make the approach. Just don’t let anyone shoot me.”
“I’ve got your six.”
Nathan worked his way through the trees, covering the 200 yards in just under a minute. Twenty-five yards from the SWAT spotter, he ducked behind the thick trunk of a ponderosa and looked back toward Harv. He had to lean several feet to his left to get a clear view. Harv gave him the okay sign. Now came the really tricky part. He was pretty sure how he’d handle it. The SWAT spotter had positioned himself behind a fallen tree branch, which gave him solid chest-high cover from the front and broken cover to his right. This was a small man, he could see that right away. An old adage flashed through his head. How did it go? God made men different sizes, but Sam Colt made them all equal , something like that. Well, this guy was a little more equal. Nathan’s pistol was no match for a fully automatic MP5 in the right hands, and he figured this guy knew how to handle one. Hell, the guy was a damned expert with the thing, of course he knew how to handle it.
The downed branch where the spotter was crouched was thick, nearly two feet in diameter. Its structure fanned out to the spotter’s left while the meaty part of its splintered end faced Nathan. He judged the distance between them again: twenty-five yards, give or take. The spotter was down on one knee, sweeping the area in a back-and-forth motion with his upper body, gun at the ready. Every fourth or fifth sweep, he’d keep the arc of his motion going and look behind him. Nathan studied him for about thirty seconds and formulated a plan. Precious seconds were passing and he didn’t have the luxury of conducting a prolonged surveillance. And he sure as hell didn’t want to get sprayed with MP5 fire, so it was all about timing. He needed to make his presence known at the exact moment the man was lined up on his position. If he timed his move too early or too late, it would be interpreted as unintentional. The most likely result would be a horizontal maelstrom of copper and lead traveling at 800 miles an hour. Not a pretty picture, especially if you’re on the business end of those slugs.
Here goes.
Nathan timed it perfectly. When the man swung toward his position, he leaned out from behind the tree and said, “Don’t shoot.” He said it loudly and forcefully, somewhere between a command and a request. A tense movement of shock and surprise raked the spotter’s body with a predictable result.
He ducked behind the ponderosa a split second before the MP5 erupted. With his back to the trunk, he felt a continuous vibration as dozens of bullets slammed home. Pulverized chunks of bark shot out from either side of the tree as if sprayed with a
“We need to let the SWAT teams know we’re coming,” Harv said. “Any ideas?”
“Yeah, we can yell.”
“Any other ideas?”
“Sorry, fresh out. As far as they’re concerned, we just took a shot at them.”
“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret this?”
“Relax, Harv, I’ve got things under control.”
His partner snorted. “I was afraid you’d say that. Hell, I guess it’s a good day to die. Let’s go.”
They took off their bulky ghillie suits and started down the mountain. Two minutes later, they reached the bottom of the incline. Not wanting to appear threatening in case they were spotted, Nathan had slung his rifle over his shoulder. There wasn’t much he could do about his Sig Sauer secured in his waist holster, because he wasn’t willing to approach an FBI SWAT team who had just been trashed by several dozen antipersonnel mines without being armed. Without a doubt, they were thoroughly pissed off.
Harv took out his scope and scanned the area ahead. “I’ve got a spotter at one o’clock, two hundred yards. Are you sure about this? Those guys are high-strung. They’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Wait here.” Nathan handed Harv the rifle and shucked off his backpack. “I’ll make the approach. Just don’t let anyone shoot me.”
“I’ve got your six.”
Nathan worked his way through the trees, covering the 200 yards in just under a minute. Twenty-five yards from the SWAT spotter, he ducked behind the thick trunk of a ponderosa and looked back toward Harv. He had to lean several feet to his left to get a clear view. Harv gave him the okay sign. Now came the really tricky part. He was pretty sure how he’d handle it. The SWAT spotter had positioned himself behind a fallen tree branch, which gave him solid chest-high cover from the front and broken cover to his right. This was a small man, he could see that right away. An old adage flashed through his head. How did it go? God made men different sizes, but Sam Colt made them all equal , something like that. Well, this guy was a little more equal. Nathan’s pistol was no match for a fully automatic MP5 in the right hands, and he figured this guy knew how to handle one. Hell, the guy was a damned expert with the thing, of course he knew how to handle it.
The downed branch where the spotter was crouched was thick, nearly two feet in diameter. Its structure fanned out to the spotter’s left while the meaty part of its splintered end faced Nathan. He judged the distance between them again: twenty-five yards, give or take. The spotter was down on one knee, sweeping the area in a back-and-forth motion with his upper body, gun at the ready. Every fourth or fifth sweep, he’d keep the arc of his motion going and look behind him. Nathan studied him for about thirty seconds and formulated a plan. Precious seconds were passing and he didn’t have the luxury of conducting a prolonged surveillance. And he sure as hell didn’t want to get sprayed with MP5 fire, so it was all about timing. He needed to make his presence known at the exact moment the man was lined up on his position. If he timed his move too early or too late, it would be interpreted as unintentional. The most likely result would be a horizontal maelstrom of copper and lead traveling at 800 miles an hour. Not a pretty picture, especially if you’re on the business end of those slugs.
Here goes.
Nathan timed it perfectly. When the man swung toward his position, he leaned out from behind the tree and said, “Don’t shoot.” He said it loudly and forcefully, somewhere between a command and a request. A tense movement of shock and surprise raked the spotter’s body with a predictable result.
He ducked behind the ponderosa a split second before the MP5 erupted. With his back to the trunk, he felt a continuous vibration as dozens of bullets slammed home. Pulverized chunks of bark shot out from either side of the tree as if sprayed with a
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