Solid Muscle (Unseen Enemy 5)

Hunter Sullivan was flat on his stomach, staring through the binoculars, his dark eyes fixed on the farmhouse in the distance. He saw Michael Ferguson go to the car again, carrying what looked like a suitcase this time. He looked around and even from this far away, Sully could see that he was on edge, ready to snap.

Ferguson went back into the farmhouse and Sully waited, not lowering the binoculars for even one second. When Ferguson re-emerged dragging the bound, gagged man, Sully almost groaned aloud. This was the nightmare scenario that he and his boss Dallas Foreman had discussed – and now it was playing out right in front of his goddamn eyes.

Fuck. Nobody’s going to like how this ends.

Ferguson shoved the man into the front seat on the passenger side and said something. The man nodded, looking terrified. Ferguson checked his gun, went back in the house, came out alone with keys in his hand. Yep, Mark was right: Ferguson was definitely on the move.

And with a hostage. Goddammit.

“So what do you think, man?”

Sully lowered the binoculars and glanced over at Mark. “Yeah. We’ve got to make a decision. Soon.”

Mark Hayden nodded, his mint-green eyes cool. He looked over his shoulder at the four local cops standing way back, hidden by some bushes on the side of the dirt road.

“These boys aren’t up for this.”

“No, I know.” Sully ran his hands through his dark hair. “Call Dallas. We need to get a green light on this clusterfuck.”

Mark nodded again, his thumb already on the speed-dial to Dallas. From his position flat on the ground, he stared around, barely taking in the breathtaking scenery. They were about a mile outside of Meadow, Utah and God knows, the tiny town of just over three hundred souls was aptly named: there was nothing but open, green space as far as he could see. Charming, quiet, idyllic. And right now, it was the scene of a hostage situation with a brutal, violent, and heavily-armed man at its center.

“Talk to me.” Dallas’ voice was harsh, not wasting any time on bullshit small-talk. “You got eyes on Ferguson?”

“Yeah. He’s got the male hostage in the car, and they’re about to pull out.”

“The woman?”

“No sign. She must still be inside the farmhouse.” Mark hoped hard that she was alive.

“How many guns have you seen?”

“Two. But he’ll have more.”

“Yeah, that’s for damn sure.” Dallas sighed. “How are the local cops?”

Mark glanced over at them again. The oldest one was pushing retirement age, the youngest barely looked twenty. Sully had already quizzed them about their experience in hostage situations, and had been met by blank stares and lots of shuffling of feet in the dirt.

None of them had any military training or background, and they had admitted to rarely even discharging their weapons in the line of duty. Meadow was a peaceful little farming community and their jobs reflected this: it was painfully clear that these four men were adept at breaking up the occasional bar fight and tactfully handling domestic problems – but they were way out of their depth when confronted by a monster like Michael Ferguson.

Mark turned his back on the men now, kept his voice down. “They’re inexperienced.”

Dallas paused. “You and Sully will need to take point.”

“I know.”

“They going to object to that?”

“I don’t think so. They know Mr. and Mrs. Halloway well, and all they seem concerned about is getting them out of this alive.”

“What about the Utah State Troopers? I thought they’d be on the scene.”

“Yeah, well.” Mark shrugged. “There was a pissing contest about jurisdiction and now it is what it is – the local guys have their egos intact and were high-fiving about that until about an hour ago, when reality suddenly hit.”

“That they’re not fucking up for this.”

“You got it, boss.”

“Yeah, OK. But they’ll let you take it away from them?”

“I think they now see that they don’t have much of a choice.”

“So who’s going to take the shot? You or Sully?”

“Oh, Sully… no fucking debate.” Mark looked up, saw Sully’s black eyes fixed on his face. “He’s done this way more than I have.”

“Good. Put him on.”

Mark extended the phone to Sully. “You’re up.”

Sully took the phone. “Hey, Dallas.”

“You OK with this, Sullivan?”

“I’m good.”

Back in Denver at the Solid Security office, Dallas nodded. Normally, he’d be the one to handle this kind of long-distance kill, but Hunter Sullivan was one hell of a second-best choice. He may not have Dallas’ extensive sniper background, but he was an expert at surgical speed shooting and accurate within a quarter of an inch, and that made him damn qualified. Dallas had no reservations about the man’s skill.

“OK.” Dallas sat back in his chair and sighed. “You’re good to go, then. Tell the cops that Mark will get Ferguson out of the car and try to reason with him, and you’ll be hidden. We may still take him alive, though I highly doubt it. So if things even hint at maybe, possibly, going south, you take the shot. Quick and clean and no complications.”

Sully nodded. “No complications. Just like I like it.”