Chapter One
“Go, go, go!” Jimmy’s shouted command reverberated through the communications implant in Bull Ford’s ear.
Following his team leader’s order, Bull took off running. Acutely aware of the location of his backup, the other members of his team, he headed for the shelter of an outcropping. He’d already scoped out how a nearby natural rock formation would be the perfect place to take cover. He flung himself flat on his belly, hidden from view not only by the rocks, but also by the night and the black body armor he wore.
“What info do we have on the bomb?” He whispered the question so the targets wouldn’t hear. From his position, Bull could see his objective, a bomb duct-taped to a live hostage. His task was to disarm the bomb and get the hostage out alive, preferably without getting himself killed in the process. Knowing its composition would help him in disarming it.
“ Nada . You’re on your own.”
“Shit.” Bull swore softly at the information that came from Matt at the communications console.
“Shit is right, Bull.” Jack’s cocky southern drawl invaded his earpiece. The man chuckled. “Get it? Bull shit?”
“Shut up, Jack.” Jimmy reprimanded his brother and then asked, “What’re you fixin’ to do, Bull?”
“Do we have a location on the tangos?” Bull answered his team leader’s question with one of his own. Since he knew nothing about the bomb, it would be nice to at least know where the bad guys were.
“I see two targets by the hostage. Two more walking the perimeter.” BB answered. He had the best vantage point from his position on the ridge high above the rest of the team.
An idea began to come together in Bull’s mind.
“We need a diversion. I’m going to put together a bomb for a phony explosion. It’ll look and sound like a real one, but without the kick. Just lots of noise and smoke.” He ran over his plan aloud for the team. At the same time, he opened the pack he had strapped to his back and pulled out what he needed. “Trey, you have a bead on the hostage?”
“Affirmative.”
“Good. When I say three, you fire a few rounds as close to him as you can without hitting him. While the tangos are shooting back at the source of the incoming fire, that being you, I’ll lob my fake bomb near the hostage.”
“The tangos will think the hostage was hit by incoming and their own bomb blew. They’ll run like hell and you can complete the rescue. Get him to safety and diffuse the real bomb,” Jimmy finished for him. “Good plan, Bull.”
“What’s your ETA on the fake bomb?” Trey asked.
“Sixty seconds.” Bull estimated the timing, his fingers working quick but sure. “Correction. I’m done. Ready, Trey?”
“Affirmative.”
“One, two, three.” On three, the dirt around the hostage jumped, flying into the air from dozens of tiny percussions. The man taped to the explosives jumped right along with the dirt.
Bull heard him shout a curse as the fake bomb landed within a few feet of him. It detonated a second later with an explosion of noise and thick black smoke. He felt bad scaring the guy he was supposed to be saving, but there was no way to communicate the plan to him safely.
As anticipated, the tangos took off running away from the explosion. Bull ran in low. Holding a penlight in his teeth, he shined the beam on the bomb. He whipped out a knife to cut the duct tape so he could remove it from the man.
The hostage’s eyes went wide. “Don’t. There’s a trip wire under the tape. You’ll set it off.”
Bull sighed. He hated duct tape. He despised homemade bombs even more. This one looked like the typical homegrown version. The kind you get when the how-to instructions came off the internet, which meant it was unstable and could blow at any moment.
He evaluated what he could see of the bomb and the wires attached to it. With hands as steady as any brain surgeon’s, he selected one wire, held his breath and snipped. When he
“Go, go, go!” Jimmy’s shouted command reverberated through the communications implant in Bull Ford’s ear.
Following his team leader’s order, Bull took off running. Acutely aware of the location of his backup, the other members of his team, he headed for the shelter of an outcropping. He’d already scoped out how a nearby natural rock formation would be the perfect place to take cover. He flung himself flat on his belly, hidden from view not only by the rocks, but also by the night and the black body armor he wore.
“What info do we have on the bomb?” He whispered the question so the targets wouldn’t hear. From his position, Bull could see his objective, a bomb duct-taped to a live hostage. His task was to disarm the bomb and get the hostage out alive, preferably without getting himself killed in the process. Knowing its composition would help him in disarming it.
“ Nada . You’re on your own.”
“Shit.” Bull swore softly at the information that came from Matt at the communications console.
“Shit is right, Bull.” Jack’s cocky southern drawl invaded his earpiece. The man chuckled. “Get it? Bull shit?”
“Shut up, Jack.” Jimmy reprimanded his brother and then asked, “What’re you fixin’ to do, Bull?”
“Do we have a location on the tangos?” Bull answered his team leader’s question with one of his own. Since he knew nothing about the bomb, it would be nice to at least know where the bad guys were.
“I see two targets by the hostage. Two more walking the perimeter.” BB answered. He had the best vantage point from his position on the ridge high above the rest of the team.
An idea began to come together in Bull’s mind.
“We need a diversion. I’m going to put together a bomb for a phony explosion. It’ll look and sound like a real one, but without the kick. Just lots of noise and smoke.” He ran over his plan aloud for the team. At the same time, he opened the pack he had strapped to his back and pulled out what he needed. “Trey, you have a bead on the hostage?”
“Affirmative.”
“Good. When I say three, you fire a few rounds as close to him as you can without hitting him. While the tangos are shooting back at the source of the incoming fire, that being you, I’ll lob my fake bomb near the hostage.”
“The tangos will think the hostage was hit by incoming and their own bomb blew. They’ll run like hell and you can complete the rescue. Get him to safety and diffuse the real bomb,” Jimmy finished for him. “Good plan, Bull.”
“What’s your ETA on the fake bomb?” Trey asked.
“Sixty seconds.” Bull estimated the timing, his fingers working quick but sure. “Correction. I’m done. Ready, Trey?”
“Affirmative.”
“One, two, three.” On three, the dirt around the hostage jumped, flying into the air from dozens of tiny percussions. The man taped to the explosives jumped right along with the dirt.
Bull heard him shout a curse as the fake bomb landed within a few feet of him. It detonated a second later with an explosion of noise and thick black smoke. He felt bad scaring the guy he was supposed to be saving, but there was no way to communicate the plan to him safely.
As anticipated, the tangos took off running away from the explosion. Bull ran in low. Holding a penlight in his teeth, he shined the beam on the bomb. He whipped out a knife to cut the duct tape so he could remove it from the man.
The hostage’s eyes went wide. “Don’t. There’s a trip wire under the tape. You’ll set it off.”
Bull sighed. He hated duct tape. He despised homemade bombs even more. This one looked like the typical homegrown version. The kind you get when the how-to instructions came off the internet, which meant it was unstable and could blow at any moment.
He evaluated what he could see of the bomb and the wires attached to it. With hands as steady as any brain surgeon’s, he selected one wire, held his breath and snipped. When he
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