Read Online Shadow Catcher by James R. Hannibal - Free Book Online

night vision, so call out pop-ups in all areas as you see ’em. Execute at twenty-six past the hour.”
    Each team member responded in sequence, and then Quinn settled down into his scope. The focused illuminator offered a crisp black-and-white image of his target. Aside from Petrovsky and his thick, eighties mustache, only one other officer occupied the booth. How easy were they going to make this?
    Quinn checked his watch. Thirty seconds to go time. He noted the integrated wind meter on his scope display and then cross-checked the position of the crosshairs. The whole mission depended on this shot for success, but the light winds meant he could push the envelope a little. He hesitated for a moment and then adjusted his aim from the heart to the head. Petrovsky’s unnaturally large noggin made too tempting a target.
    â€œThree . . . two . . . one . . .” Quinn gently squeezed the trigger. A fraction of a second later, Petrovsky went down, hard. In perfect sequence, Haugen’s first heavy round sailed through the window of the low building, and the high-pitched whine of the dirt bikes screamed from either end of the field. Quinn shifted to Petrovsky’s lieutenant. The younger man dove for cover, but Quinn skillfully added lead and put a round into his back. He took a moment to check for movement. Knowing that his adrenaline had quickened his perceptions, he counted it out in his head. One potato, two potato, three potato.
Nothing. Both men were down. Satisfied, he sat up and donned his helmet. He flipped on his night vision just in time to see Seven put the final round into the final target. All of the guards were down. No one came out of the low building.
    â€œSix and Seven, clear that building!”
    Both men dismounted from their bikes. One of them yanked open the door to the structure and then the other crept in. A moment later, Seven raised a thumbs-up.
    â€œAll team members report!” ordered Quinn, his heart pumping.
    â€œTwo and Three complete. Good shots.”
    â€œFour and Five complete. The gate is secure.”
    â€œSix and Seven complete. The ramp is secure.”
    â€œAnd Lead is complete. The tower is secure,” said Quinn. “Good job everyone. I think it’s . . .”
    Suddenly a new voice broke into Quinn’s transmission. “Senior Airman Quinn, get your team to the exfil point and then report to me immediately.” Petrovsky did not sound happy.
    * * *
    Captain Chad Petrovsky paced back and forth at one end of the sparse room inside the building below the tower. Quinn could tell he wanted to sit down, but he couldn’t, because Haugen’s second heavy paint grenade had covered the only chair in the room with red goo. Petrovsky himself still bore the yellow residue from Quinn’s sniper round on the side of his head. An ugly lump had started to form just above his right ear.
    â€œI suppose you think you’re funny,” said Petrovsky, his mustache bristling with anger.
    Quinn tried to look as contrite as possible. “Negative, sir,” he lied. “I thought my rounds would explode on the window. I could not tell from the scope image that you’d removed the panels.”
    â€œThere are no panels!” Petrovsky exploded. “There never
were
any panels. This is a practice range. There is no glass here of any kind!” He beat his chest emphatically. “You were supposed to shoot me in the vest!” The captain paused to feel the bump on his head, wincing as his hand touched the tender spot. Then he gestured at a small cooler sitting on a table against the far wall. “And look what your teammate did to my dinner!” In a stroke of incredible fortune, Haugen’s first heavy round had sailed through the unprotected window, penetrated the fabric side of the cooler, and exploded inside. Petrovsky gingerly lifted a paint-soaked ham sandwich. “We told you there