Chapter 9 - The Ghost in the Hallway
“Upstairs is clear! Move, move, move!”
The lead tactical officer placed his boot on the first wooden step of the staircase, his rifle barrel sweeping upward toward the dark hallway where I knelt.
I didn't fire. In twenty years of combat, you learn that a gun isn't an instrument of anger; it’s an instrument of leverage.
As the officer reached the third step, leaning his weight forward, I lunged outward, grabbing the barrel of his carbine and jerking it violently downward while stepping inside his guard. Before he could scream, I swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing hard onto the carpeted landing.
He groaned, dropping his weapon, but his radio clipped to his shoulder squawked instantly.
“Unit Two! Report! What’s going on up there?”
“We’ve got movement on the second floor! Send backup to the rear—!”
I didn't let him finish the transmission. I brought the heel of my boot down firmly on his radio emitter, snapping the plastic casing, before grabbing the operative by his tactical vest and tossing him effortlessly down the flight of stairs into the arms of his advancing partners.
Chaos erupted below.
“Contact! Contact on the stairs! He’s armed!”
Bullets chewed through the drywall inches from my head, showering white plaster dust across my shoulders. A slug shattered the family portrait hanging by the linen closet, glass raining down like broken diamonds.
Instead of waiting to be pinned down, I dove backward into Evan’s bedroom, rolling across the floorboards and pulling myself up beneath the window ledge. The tactical team was moving up the stairs now, their suppressive fire walking steadily toward the doorway.
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I popped the latch on Evan’s bedroom window, pushed the screen out into the cold night air, and slipped out onto the shingled roof of the back porch just as the bedroom door was kicked off its hinges with a tremendous splintering crash.
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