Page 117 of Ground Truth

Even as the gas burner on the stove kept the ear-piercing squeal at full volume and the total darkness eliminated much of his strategic advantage, Flint smiled to himself.

The enemy had taken the bait.

He heard the back door open. The wind whipped it out of the intruder’s hands and slammed the door back against the dining table. A blast of cold, wet air invaded the front room, casting an even more frigid chill through the space.

Flint waited, holding his fire and his patience, as he heard the man’s footsteps cross the kitchen tile and step onto the carpet at the threshold of the great room.

Two more strides and the shooter had come far enough.

Flint reached over to the bookcase and flipped two switches.

Two battery-powered ultra-bright LED camping lanterns flooded the room with a three-hundred-sixty-degree glow of more than a thousand lumens each.

The shooter’s thermal vision goggles were not only useless but a liability now.

Assuming he was wearing body armor along with the helmet, Flint raised his pistol and shot him twice in the leg. The shooter screamed and fired back as his bones cracked and he fell to the floor.

Flint shot him again in the side of his neck, above the body armor and below the helmet, and then again for insurance.

“Two down,” Flint said aloud, although he couldn’t hear his own words over the screaming teakettle.

Flint kicked the weapon aside.

He pulled the man’s shirt up over his bloody head and tied it. There was already blood on the carpet, but nothing he could do about that.

He pulled the body outside through the back kitchen door and dumped him in the dirt. Quickly, he knelt to pat the body down, checking for ID and additional weapons. His breathing had almost returned to normal.

And then he heard the unmistakable crack of a rifle shot and hit the deck.

The bullet whizzed past the spot where Flint’s head had been a second before.

Flint furiously crabbed his way along the cold ground and inside the house.

He’d been wrong.

There were three shooters, not two.

And one was still alive.

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Chapter 56

In the kitchen, Flint closed the back door and locked it. He crouched below the level of the cabinetry to the stove and flipped off the burner under the infuriating teakettle.

He stayed low as he moved into the living room, where the blazing lights made him a clear target through the windows. He punched the buttons to turn the lights off, plunging the room into darkness again.

Flint was counting on the heavy walls and thick glass to weaken or eliminate his heat signature. Given the fog and the shooter’s location, the odds were in Flint’s favor. Small comfort.

He hurried down the hallway and knocked on the bedroom door. “Greta, I’m going outside.”

As she opened the door, she said, “I heard the gunshots. Is he dead?”

“Two men down. One left. He’s got a rifle and a thermal scope. Which means he can see your body heat in the dark if you come out of the bedroom.”

She shuddered. “So we stay in here. How long?”

“Until I give you the all clear. Okay? Just wait for me to come back,” Flint said.

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