Zeroed target against th.., p.1
ZEROED TARGET: AGAINST THE CLOCK action thriller series Book 5, page 1
ZEROED TARGET
AGAINST THE CLOCK Action Thriller Series, Book 5
Charlie Moore
Hindsight Publishing
Copyright © 2022 Charlie moore
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456
Cover design by: Art Painter
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
For the strong and brave women in my life, I am inspired. I am grateful.
Books in the Charlie Moore world, by series
AGAINST THE CLOCK series – Six book series (Featuring Shirin Reyes, Clint Rollan, Trent Barrett & others):
Book 1 – Rogue Agent
Book 2 – Dead Reckoning
Book 3 – Hard Fall
Book 4 – Cypher Protocol
Book 5 – Zeroed Target
Book 6 – Kill Sanction
BY ANY MEANS (Featuring Clint Rollan, Trent Barrett & others)
Season 1, Episodes 1-24
Adam Dark series
Dark Days (Guest stars Shirin Reyes)
Agent Dark (Guest stars Emily Mills)
Dark Escape (Guest stars Ben Mills & more)
EXCLUSIVE: Friends & fans newsletter subscribers only
Hunting Albert Trickle (Featuring Shirin Reyes)
For a free copy of "Hunting Albert Trickle" or a list of the books in Chronological Order, or by Release Date, please visit www.CharlieMoore.info
PROLOGUE
“The silent space between lightning and thunder echoes the fight between life and death.”
THE BOOK OF SEEKAY
08:47:06
Viola Lenz pulled the white van to a fast stop close to the curb and peered through the heavily tinted driver’s side window.
Two crippled vehicles roared and squealed in red and yellow flames, framing the shattered front door of the otherwise unassuming brick veneered home. Still and twisted bodies of heavily armed men lay strewn across the entrance and under the threshold. Black clouds bellowed high into the sky. The sidewalks were bare, the street paused of all other sound or movement.
Lenz peered at the neighboring houses with practiced efficiency. Windows, doors, prying eyes, shuttered closed.
Punching through the wall of silence and secrets, sirens whaled somewhere in the distance.
Lenz frowned through the reflection of destruction glaring off the window and reached for the gun holstered beneath her dark brown leather jacket. She turned to the man beside her and motioned for him to move. “Take the rear access. Secure the asset. I’ll take the front.”
The man nodded back to her and disappeared with a soft click of the passenger door closing behind him.
“Rover 1. Confirm status. Over.” The wireless communication bud in her left ear squawked to life with the deep rumble of the inanimate computer-generated voice.
She screwed the long sound suppressor to the end of the Glock 21’s barrel and tapped the transmit button on the ear-piece. “Rover 1, on site.” She squinted out the window as an explosion rumbled from one of the burning cars on the front lawn. “Site compromised. Clear and confirm in progress.”
“Acknowledged Rover 1. Proceed. First responder’s imminent.”
Lenz glanced down the street and caught the reflection of colored light bouncing off metal roofs in the distance. She pulled at the door latch, kicked the door open, and jumped to the ground. “Copy that.”
08:47:12
Trent Barrett paced through the house with determination and detachment. It was routine. Training. He didn’t expect to find any survivors. Shirin Reyes had done what she does best. Kill.
In his mind, he traced the bullet holes, the dead bodies, the destruction, as he cleared each room. It was absolute.
The men, strewn throughout, crippled, bloodied, dead, had deserved their fate. They were monsters. In this house, they had kept two little boys hostage. Cassie’s son, Max. And Tobie, the boy that now hugged the doorjamb, watching him, too scared to wait in the bedroom alone. The monsters had taken both boys and used them as leverage.
What had these dead men done to them? What had they forced their parents to do to protect them?
Barrett checked another dead man’s body. No ID. No communication device. He moved to the next body. Nothing. He pulled the cellphone from his pocket and hit redial. Dominic Andrews answered on the first ring.
“Barrett. I was just about to call you. Got an ID on the boy. Full name, Tobie Michael Hollier. He’s in the system. His parents are defense force. Claire and Nick.”
“Got a trace on them?”
“Working on it.”
Barrett turned, saw the boy staring at him from around the corner of the hall archway. “What do they do?”
“That’s the thing, they’re low level. No significant access. The father, Nick, is a Chief Technical Officer. The Mother, Claire, is an analyst. Her file is thick, but no red flags.”
Barrett frowned. “Dig deeper, Dom. There’s a reason their son was taken.”
“Working on it.”
Barrett ended the call, walked back to the boy, and knelt in front of him. He lifted the boy’s chin until their eyes met. “Listen, kid, we’ll find your parents. We’ll get you back to them. I promise.”
The boy stared back at him.
“Your dad, his name is Nick?”
The boy paused, then nodded slowly.
“And your mom, is her name Claire?”
He nodded again.
Barrett smiled. “Very good. Well, don’t worry, Tobie, I have a very good team. The best team. They’re looking for your parents now. We’ll find them, and we’ll get you to them soon. But until then, I need your help. I can tell you’re a smart and brave boy. I know you can do it. Think you can help me?”
The boy nodded slowly.
“Great. It’ll be easy for you. I need you to keep being brave and strong.” He lifted his arm, flexed his bicep, and clenched his fist. He winked at the kid, growled and lifted the boy’s arm to copy his own. “I need you to keep being tough. And brave.” Barrett reached out and tested the boy’s bicep and feigned shock. “Whoa!”
The boy smiled, tried to hide it, then laughed. He blushed and nodded.
“Where did you get your big muscles from? Your mom or your dad?”
He looked to the side, thinking, then back at Barrett. “Both of them.”
Barrett relaxed. “You’re a good kid, Tobie. Your parents will be very proud. I’m very proud.”
The boy blinked away tears and nodded.
Barrett checked his watch, then met the boy’s waiting eyes. “Have you ever met a policeman before?”
Tobie shook his head.
“How about… a fireman?”
The boy shook his head again.
“A Paramedic?”
“No….”
“Well…” Barrett placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “If you could, which one would you want to meet the most?”
The boy glanced to the side, then back to Barrett. “I don’t know.”
He patted the boy’s shoulder. “That’s okay. I understand.” He rubbed his chin. “It’s a hard choice. They’re all heroes. They all help people when they need it.”
“Like you?”
Barrett caught himself and looked at the boy questioning.
Tobie nodded. “You help people. You’re helping me..?”
“Yes.” Barrett’s voice softened. “I am helping you.” Barrett cleared his throat, “but...” he stopped himself, looked away, then faced the boy. “You hear the sirens?” He pointed behind him.
The boy nodded.
“The police.” He made a show to listen carefully. “A fire truck.” He shook his head. “No. Two fire trucks. And an ambulance.” He looked at the boy staring back at him. “They’re all coming here to help you as well.”
“Me?”
Barrett nodded.
“Are you going to stay with me?”
Barrett froze. A sound. In the house. He clasped his hand over the boy’s mouth and held a finger to his lips. The boy stared back at him wide eyed, and nodded. He guided the boy back against the wall and gestured for him to stay put.
Barrett pulled his pistol from its holster and readied himself by the side of the open doorway. He knelt to one knee, placed his open palm to the ground and watched the open doorway as he felt for the vibrations of echoing movement along the polished wood floorboards.
He turned to the boy and pointed toward the small bed lodged against the far side of the room. The boy stared at him, blinked, wiped tears from his face, hesitated, then snapped into action and scrambled across the hall, into the bedroom and under the bed frame.
The crunch of debris beneath a heavy boot caught his attention. Barrett spun, saw a shadow of movement, the tip of a silenced pistol, and erupted forward in an explosion of kinetic force.
He slammed into the body of a large man, lifted him of f his feet and drove him backward, crashing hard into the corner of the hallway wall. Plaster cracked and disintegrated under the impact. Barrett struck out with a sharp left hook, connected to the side of the man’s head, sensed the gunman’s movement, then swung his gun down and connected with the man’s hand as the man lifted the pistol toward his ribs.
The gun fell. Barrett twisted and struck out with a left cross. The man pivoted, Barrett missed, punched a crater in the wall, pulled back, parried a counterattack with a blow to the man’s bicep and lowered his gun to fire at the man’s leg.
The large man moved fast, drew his leg back, swung Barrett’s arm out and up, then dropped in a rolling hip throw before Barrett could pull the trigger.
Barrett tucked his legs into his chest mid throw, kicked out, struck the corridor wall and felt it buckle with a crunch as it caved in. He pushed off, twisted, planted his boots against the floor, and lunged forward. Barrett struck at the bigger man’s grip on his wrist, holding the gun toward the wall. He tried to angle the gun toward the man, struck at the large man’s grip again, blocked a counterattack to his face, blocked another blow, dropped his weight, pulled his arm backward, stomped at the man’s front leg, connected below the man’s knee and pivoted right, and kicked again. The big man fell forward, corrected himself against the wall with his free arm, grimaced, and threw himself toward Barrett with a right cross.
Barrett shifted, raised his arm to block the blow, then ducked beneath it, came over the top of the man’s shoulder with a wide sweeping left hook and connected hard to the man’s ear. Barrett weaved in, under, then pushed up from his hips with a cracking uppercut. The large man’s head whipped back, and his arms dropped an inch. Barrett jumped forward with a tight hook.
The large man blocked the blow with his shoulder, and grunted under the impact, but held on to Barrett’s gun arm, twisted it, struck at his forearm, turned, struck again, leveraged the barrel of the gun up, and then out.
Barrett arched, leaned into the maneuver, loosened his grip and stretched to avoid the full damage of the arm bar. He spun from his hip, lifted his left shoulder and crashed downward into the back of the man’s exposed head with his elbow. He primed it back and struck again, and again. The large man dropped to one knee.
Barrett struck again, again, ignored the gun falling from his hand and struck again. The large man lifted his arm, blocked the last blow, rolled and scrambled for Barrett’s dropped gun. Barrett dived on top of the man, wedged his forearm under the man’s chin, angled sharply against his windpipe and pulled back hard, lodging the back of his head firm against his chest.
The large man clamped his chin, twisted to reduce the pressure, and reached for the fallen gun. His hand gripped the stock.
On top of the man, Barrett wrapped his legs around the man’s ribs and pulled up hard. The man fought it, kicked out with his legs. They both fell sideways into the wall. Slid and landed heavily on the ground.
His back to the ground, Barrett was pinned under the weight of the big man. He yelled in effort as he squeezed tighter around the man’s throat. Saw his gun rising in the big man’s hand. Pulled harder. Squeezed harder. He leaned back, leveraged off his hips and pulled up while twisting sharply to his left. He felt the cartilage and bone give way, then the sickening crunch. The large man’s chest wheezed its last breath. The hulking weight of the man dropped on top of him and fell limp.
Barrett relaxed back against the floor, gasping for breath. He reached out for his gun, his fingertips inches from the handle. He stretched, but couldn’t reach it.
Barrett dropped his arm and head to the ground and took two heavy, deep breaths. He pushed the heavy dead man’s weight up with his arms and knees, and dropped him to the side.
He sensed movement. Froze. Recognized the thwap thwap of a silenced double-tap. Heard the whine. Felt the impact of bullets whack against the body of the dead man above him.
Oh shit!
Another two rounds whirled toward him and slammed into the body above him. He scrambled backward, pulled the dead weight of the man over him like a shield. He risked a glance behind him.
His gun. So close. Too far. He lurched for it. Two bullets buried into the timber inches from his outstretched arm. He pulled his hand in, pushed further with his legs, slid closer, reached, grabbed the gun, glanced over the dead man’s shoulders. A woman paced toward him, gun extended.
He pitched the dead body up and sideways, aimed from his side, and fired.
The woman sidestepped and returned fire.
Barrett rolled. Blood, brain, bone, splattered across his face. He pushed the mutilated body above him upward and fired blindly toward the woman. She dove sideways through to another room. He scooped chunks from his face, squinted through the red muck and kept his aim steady at the corner the woman had disappointed behind.
His gun held still. Waiting. Ready.
The boy! No! She was going for the boy!
08:48:04
Viola Lenz leaned against the wall, grimaced, and looked down at the gun in her hand. The silenced Taurus 24/7 glistened in streaks of flowing red that ran in rivulets across its Polymer Grip and black trigger. She turned it in her hand, noted the bright blood over the back of her hand and glanced dismissively at torn and bloodied fabric above her elbow.
Lenz twisted her wrist out, ignored the blood running down the inside of her forearm and into her palm. She released the cartridge, swapped it with a full clip, palmed it in the gunstock and swapped the gun to her left hand. She tested her right hand. Flexed. Released. Scowled, then pushed off the wall.
08:48:08
Barrett charged around the corner, saw the woman whip toward him, raising her gun. He lunged sideways, raised his weapon and fired as the woman parried his aim wide. Barrett saw her gun arch toward his side. He blocked its movement with a thumping hammer strike, connecting hard into the flesh of her forearm with the butt of his gun. The woman grunted. The gun fell. Barrett struck out with a backhand to her head. She ducked, his blow sailed over, and buried into the plaster wall.
The woman blocked and wedged his gun against the wall, swung a tight right hook and punched the inside of his elbow. Before he could counter, she lifted the barrel and slammed downward simultaneously with an open palm strike at the base of his thumb. He grimaced as the gun spun from his grip. The pain was instant. He grabbed her by the base of her head and rammed her into the wall.
Her head cracked into the plasterboard. He pulled back and thrust again.
She blocked the impact with her forearms, kicked out at his knee. His front leg buckled. His grip loosened. She spun inward. The elbow strike to his temple missed its mark and thudded into the side of his skull. He saw black, shook it off, saw her knee rising too late. It connected hard with his cheek. He stumbled. Corrected. She was on top of him, with a flying knee to his sternum. He fell back, crashed into the edge of the hallway, twisted and fell.
The woman paced toward him, reached behind her back, and held a black-died double-edged blade. She looked at him and smirked.
Glass shattered. Metal clanged against the floor. Then, silence.
Time paused. He stared at the woman. She stared back. Then the explosions of light and sound wracked through his eyes, ears, bones.
08:48:32
Captain Ross Begg lead the charge through the front of the residence.
His team of five had hit the tarmac on the run. Their tactical van hadn’t stopped through the drop-off. It continued through to the north side of the street and waited at the end of the cul-de-sac. He and his crack response team had double-timed it across the front lawn. They had divided in the predetermined formation at the burning cars.
One man had taken each side of the house, deployed flash-bangs and rendezvous at the rear of the residence. Begg took lead and entered through the front door. Two of his men on either side and two feet behind him had deployed flash-bangs as they advanced.
Rotating lead, Begg and his men had breached each room, cleared it, and moved through the front end of the house in seconds. They moved fast. Practiced.
