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Fatal Strike

By DiAnn Mills

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SPECIAL AGENT LEAH RIESEL scanned the headlines on her
phone. A prosecutor from Galveston had been found murdered
behind a construction site, the second apparent victim of gang
violence in two days. Both deaths were caused by rattlesnake
venom injections to the heart. Before she could pull up additional
reports on the woman’s untimely death, Leah’s phone
rang.
“Riesel, hostage situation in Galveston,” the SWAT commander
said. “Grab your gear. The chopper takes off in five.”
“On it.” She took a last lingering look at the half-
eaten
blueberry
donut and coffee on her cubicle’s desk.
Could this have anything to do with the two murders in
Galveston?
Before most of the city began the workday, Leah boarded a
1
Little Bird helicopter beneath whirling blades and the pressure
of a critical operation. Dressed in full camo and shouldering
her sniper gear, she inhaled the rising temps. Feverish Houston.
With the familiar air transport sounds ushering in memories of
past missions, her adrenaline kicked in.
A pilot from the tactical helicopter unit lifted the chopper
into the air for the twenty-
minute
ride to Galveston. She recognized
him from previous assignments involving aircraft used
to deliver SWAT and the elite hostage rescue teams to crisis
incidents. This morning her focus eliminated any chitchat.
Leah grabbed sound-
canceling
headphones and contacted
the SWAT commander already on the ground. “Riesel here.
Special Agent in Charge Thomas briefed me on a home invasion
that’s turned violent.”
The SAC would be watching the operation at the Crisis
Management Operations Center.
“Negotiations have gotten us nowhere.” The SWAT commander’s
voice rose above the chopper’s blade-
snap.
“Two
unidentified men are holding two women and three children
at gunpoint. Galveston PD estimates they’ve been inside the
home for at least an hour. Demanding we leave the area after
giving them five hundred grand and a gassed-
up
speedboat.
Clock is ticking with forty minutes max. We’ve backed off as
far as they know.”
Leah swiped through pics taken with telephoto lenses and
sent to her phone. Each ski-
masked
man held a child as a shield.
Leah detested the savagery and the horrific emotions the hostages
must be feeling.
“We’re located on San Luis Pass Road on the western section
of the island. Nearest house is five hundred yards away. Owners
are in Europe. We’re in contact with the agency managing it.”
FATAL STRIKE
2
She didn’t need a key to access the home.
The SWAT commander continued. “One of the hostages is
the owner of the home, Amanda Barton.”
“Is there a Mr. Barton in the picture?”
“Divorced. Lives in California.”
Unlikely the ex-
husband
was behind this.
“Agent Jon Colbert will be on scene shortly,” the commander
said. “He had a deposition early this morning in Texas City and
drove on to Galveston. Over the weekend, his SWAT partner
had emergency knee surgery. Out for six weeks.”
And Leah’s partner had left the city yesterday on vacation.
The luck of the draw meant she and Jon would be working
together. “I’ll contact you as soon as we land.”
Jon Colbert, a sniper who had excellent marksmanship and
a stellar reputation, also worked organized crime. But she and
Jon had never worked together. The idea of teaming up with
an agent she barely knew made her uneasy. If a sniper mission
required a partner, she preferred an established relationship
where she would know how the person processed information.
Shoving aside her doubts, she narrowed her thoughts on
what lay ahead. The precarious situation and local law enforcement’s
inability to negotiate added up to why she and Jon had
been assigned to the case.
She grasped her backpack, lighter than usual with only a
spotting scope, ammo, water, communication equipment,
extra batteries, granola bar, and a handheld radio. Her Glock,
as comfortable in her right hand as a toothbrush, found its spot
in her back waistband. She touched her H-
S
Precision heavy
tactical rifle.
The sooner she got to Galveston, the sooner she could provide
intelligence and help neutralize the circumstances. Her
D IANN MILLS
3
priority was seeing the women and children freed from these
ruthless men.
  
Jon received a text from Special Agent in Charge Thomas that
Leah Riesel had left the Houston FBI office and was en route
to Galveston. He’d met her a few times, and they’d qualified
together. Attractive woman—
dark-
brown
hair, light-
olive
skin,
New Yorker with the accent to prove it. Her professionalism
in the violent crime division wavered between exceptional and
extraordinary. A touch of toughness. Jon had heard not to make
her mad—
she
had earned the nickname Panther for a reason.
He remembered her stats—
number
three in the US for distance
shots. Good thing he wasn’t easily intimidated.
Once the chopper landed, Leah would be transported in an
unmarked car to a vacant house more than a quarter of a mile
away from the Barton home. No point in making the two men
more trigger-
happy
when they’d warned law enforcement to
back off.
The SWAT commander spoke through Jon’s radio attached
to his collar. “Thermal imaging confirms four adults and three
children inside the Barton home. The men claim they’ll kill the
children first. We have fifteen minutes.”
In Galveston, Jon stopped at Broadway and Sixty-
First
Street. Tourists persisted in the middle of the thoroughfare,
pushing strollers, riding surrey bikes, and enjoying the day.
Some were dressed for the beach and others clutched what they
needed for their excursion. All hindered his turn. Obstacles in
his mission. If they knew the situation not far from them, they’d
grab their loved ones and speed home. Each moment delayed
FATAL STRIKE
4
his shot and shoved the hostages closer to death. A chilling composure
took over his emotional, mental, and physical reactions.
The busy street finally cleared. Jon turned west onto Seawall
Boulevard and drove on to San Luis Pass. The hostage site was
four and a half miles beyond there.
Were the two men inside the Barton home wannabes looking
to make a name for themselves? Strung out on drugs? Was
this a personal vendetta? No matter how this ended—
either
a
surrender or he’d be instructed to take a shot—
their
moment in
history would likely be the lead story on tonight’s news.
His phone alerted him to an incoming call. He responded
before the first ring ended. “Colbert.” The chopper’s rhythmic
whir reverberated through his phone.
“Riesel here. Landing in five at Galveston Island State Park.
SWAT commander has given me a location on the west side of
the Barton home.”
“I’ll be on foot by then. Taking a position on the east, beach
side.”
“I’ll need seven minutes to get into place,” she said.
“Okay.” No need to remind her of the ticking clock.
He touched End and whipped his truck onto a beach-
access
road where police officers had instructed residents to shelter in
place. He switched off the engine. Grabbing his gear, he bolted
down the beach. A Galveston police officer stopped him, and
Jon handed him his ID. Seconds later, he moved toward his site.
A sultry breeze blew across the water, and he recalculated his shot.
Crouching low, he moved past police SWAT standing guard.
FBI SWAT held the position Riesel was headed for. They were
racing against time, a commodity that stopped for nothing or
no one. At any moment, one of the armed men could pull the
trigger on those inside the Barton home.
D IANN MILLS
5
Restraint.
Control.
Tense muscles relaxed.
His heartbeat slowed.
A clear head laid out the steps before the kill shot.
No mistakes.
Precision.
Accuracy.
A chance for the women and children to live another day.
Near a sand dune, he tuned out the occasional seagull and
the waves rushing against the shore. After wiping the sweat
from his hands on his pants, Jon set up his rifle and scope,
activated his radio, and spoke to the SWAT commander and
Leah Riesel.
FATAL STRIKE

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