Page 1 of Ground Zero

Chapter 1

Part One

San Diego, California

March 2010

7:00 AM

Crockett

Typically,I am burning up the pavement by 5:00 AM, but today I am two hours late for my five-mile run.

The twins are to blame. They showed up unannounced at my door around ten last night, needing my rocket to love them to the moon and back. How could I refuse?

This morning, I chose to change the route I ran to accommodate early morning traffic and decided to go through the residential neighborhoods. It's a school day, drivers will be more aware of pedestrians, and I will be less likely to be run over by an inattentive driver.

It was a good choice and an even better decision.

As soon as I spot the white van, I know something is not right. It is out of place. The residents who live on this street don't drive vans. They drive luxury cars and SUVs.

While the white van may be a work crew arriving early to repair someone's plumbing or an electrical issue, my training tells me it isn't. As a former US Navy SEAL, I was part of America's Special Warfare Operators, and I served as team leader of Bravo. It goes without saying, I trust my extensive training.

Angling to get a better view, I jog onto the sidewalk and stop behind a tree to observe them without being seen.

There are no identifying markings on the side of the van. The windows are down, and the two men in the front have their arms resting on the edge of the door. They are wearing black hoodies.

I decide to hang back and observe them.

In the next few minutes, the neighborhood comes alive with organized chaos. Some adults and children exit their homes, load into their vehicles, and drive away. While others hang out in their front yards, waiting for their ride to pick them up, chatting with their next-door neighbors, or looking at their phones. All are unaware that danger may be lurking in the white van.

When the school bus turns onto the street at the opposite end, the van's engine comes to life, and the brake lights glow an ominous warning.

Children move to the curb along the street, waiting for their turn to board the bus. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I see the intentions of the men in the van.

This is a snatch and grab in broad daylight.

Two houses away, I see their target. A young teenage girl slings a heavy backpack onto her shoulders and moves to her designated pickup point.

I have to choose which decision to make. Let my presence be known and scare the kidnappers away before they make their move, or sit back and wait, let them commit the crime, then stop them before they can get away.

As a civilian, the first choice is the one I should make. I have no authority to act in any other capacity.

However, I am a special breed of warrior, trained to protect and defend American's right to live free. I cannot turn that off.

I decide.

I will continue to serve as a guardian to my fellow Americans and defend those who cannot protect themselves.

I pull my weapon from my holster and wait behind the tree, watching how they operate.

The van's brake lights go off, and it begins to creep forward. The young girl looks at her phone, oblivious to her surroundings. When she stops at the edge of the curb, all hell breaks loose.

The sliding door on the van's side and the passenger door open, and two men bailout, charging the unsuspecting girl.

My adrenaline spikes and my training brings the chaos under my control. The calm of battle settles over me. Every sense heightened. Every movement is composed—every decision backed by discipline.

When the men are a few feet away from her, she looks up from her phone. Shocked, she freezes.

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