Sneaking Suspicions (The Tharon Trace Mysteries Book 1) (25 page)
Read Sneaking Suspicions (The Tharon Trace Mysteries Book 1) Online
Authors: Jan Hinds
Thank you for reading
Sneaking Suspicions
. As an independent author, I rely heavily on the good opinion of my readers. Please take a moment to leave a favorable review on the site where you purchased this book or on Goodreads. Above all, please recommend this book to your friends. Your good word is the most powerful marketing tool in my arsenal.
I hope you are enjoying
The Tharon Trace Mysteries
. The books are not stand alone and should be read in order for the optimum reading experience.
I have included the first chapter of
Scales of Darkness, Book 2
in the series along with a purchase link.
I love to hear from my readers. You can contact me at [email protected] or on her facebook author page:
https://www.facebook.com/JanHindsAuthor
and follow me on Twitter at Jan Hinds @callmepar.
EXCERPT FROM SCALES OF DARKNESS
Chapter 1 from
Scales of Darkness, The Tharon Trace Mysteries, Book 2
:
November 23, 2056
Thanksgiving Night
The cold ache seeping into Tom Trace’s chest had nothing to do with the chill of the night. He took a deep, calming breath as he scanned the convoy through the night-vision riflescope. His task: count the number of assault vehicles and report when the last crossed into the ambush zone.
Much of Indiana is known for flat farm fields and uninterrupted horizons; however nestled in its less traveled recesses are rolling hills and lush woodlands.
During the previous week in a meeting with his lieutenants and the militia leaders for Whitley, Kosciusko, Wabash, and Huntington counties, Sheriff Simon Ellis discussed the suspected route, and together they created a plan. Highway engineers and the highway departments of four counties created a mile long mini-canyon in the middle of a dense woodland for the militia’s ambush. All traces of the existing road were covered with soil and the new road made a seamless transition with the old.
The new road cut through and covered a streambed. It ended abruptly at the Eel River. The end of the road came after a sharp curve and Tom worried that at least the first vehicle might plunge into the freezing river.
Steep wooded hillsides rose on both sides of the new road. The Whitley and Huntington militias hunkered down along ridge to the right of the convoy. Wabash and Kosiusko’s militia held the opposite ridge.
An hour after dusk the column of Mine Resistant Ambush Protected (MRAP) vehicles from the Homeland Security Citizen Army (HSCA), stretched out along the two-lane road in rural Whitley County.
Tom Trace counted forty-two MRAP Cougars. Forty-two. Four hundred twenty souls on board. In spite of the circumstances that brought them there, they were Americans. The black, tactical vehicles boasted the latest in anti-riot gear and, according to the government, were equipped to withstand any form of attack from foreign or domestic terrorists.
Was there any way to get through this night without one side or the other looking like a pack of butchers? Tom glanced to his right where Simon Ellis crouched near him behind a massive fallen log. If anyone could pull it off, it was Simon Ellis. He’d stood up to staunch secessionists and convinced them to abandon their plans to use explosively formed penetrator charges against the convoy.
Tom brushed the sweat from his brow. It was his low tech plans that Simon and the other leaders had agreed to implement. “They’re all through. Forty-two total,” Tom’s quiet voice sounded loud to his own ears.
Simon sent a text to the driver of a logging truck. The truck emerged from behind a dense thicket of trees to straddle the road where it dumped a load of huge logs, blocking the convoy’s rear avenue of escape.
Several MRAPs from the front of the convoy sped toward the back. The front vehicle, smaller than the rest, had a soldier sitting on the top manning a machine gun.
Tom released a relieved sigh, the lead vehicle escaped the river.
Simon flipped a detonation switch. A muffled rumble of explosions shook the road beneath the convoy. With a thunderous grind of screeching metal and falling debris, the MRAPs in the right-hand lane dropped into a trench eight feet wide and five feet deep as the road disintegrated beneath them. Several MRAPs that were off center of the trench tipped in sideways.
Clouds of dust and smoke swirled in the air illuminated by the haphazard beams of headlights and taillights. The nearly full moon peeked in and out of the clouds, bathing the trapped vehicles in an eerie glow.
Someone nearby clicked the safety off of his weapon. Tom’s deep commanding voice sliced through the stillness. “Hold weapons. We don’t want to take lives if we can avoid it. And we will not fire the first shot. Remember, those soldiers are still our countrymen.”
The contours of the mini-canyon afforded perfect acoustics from the center of the ridge where Sheriff Simon Ellis took command.
Matt Harris arrived soon after from the front of the line. “The front three vehicles managed to double back before the road was blown. The Huntington leader says they’re ready at the front of this side and Wabash and Kosciusko signaled they are ready on the other side.”
Simon nodded, his lips drawn in a tight line. He picked up the battery-operated megaphone from the ground at his feet. “Attention invading convoy. You are surrounded by the Indiana State militia. Exit your vehicles and surren—”
Machine gun fire sprayed the ridgeline from the turret of the small MRAP. Tom and the rest of the men dove for cover as bullets thudded into the trees around them.
Simon landed flat on his back with a grunt and a thud.
Gunfire erupted from the opposite ridge, silencing the machine gun. The HSCA answered with shots fired from holes in the sides of the transports. The militia opened fire from both sides of the road.
Simon splayed out on the ground. Tom Trace, Matt Harris, and Doctor Graham Walker rushed to Simon’s side. Doc started to check him for injuries, but Simon shook him off and cast the mutilated megaphone away. His booming voice filled the ravine. “Cease fire! Cease fire! Cease fire!”
The command resonated throughout the ridgeline and road with such force and omnipresence that neither side dared disobey.
When silence fell again, Simon’s voice pierced it with the same commanding force. “Invading convoy, lay down your weapons and agree to never take up arms against the state of Indiana, and you will be permitted to leave the state unharmed. Anyone who fails to surrender their weapons and agree will die on this road tonight!”
Tom knelt next to Simon and trained his rifle on the convoy, scanning through his night scope for movement. The passenger door on the smaller MRAP opened and a short, trim man stepped down.
Tom focused the night scope of his rifle on the dark image whose silhouette in the moonlight indicated he was adorned in full battle gear.
The man chortled as he walked toward the center of the convoy toward Simon’s voice. The bitter sound splashed up the sides of the small valley and spilled over the ridge tops.
A chill stretched down Tom’s spine.
Amused disdain tainted the man’s voice. “I am Major Zimner of the
United States
Army, commanding this unit of the Homeland Security Citizen Army. By what authority do you detain and fire on this convoy? We are simply executing a training maneuver.”
Simon’s voice held no contempt. No disdain. No amusement. His commanding tone pierced the hearts of all who heard it. “I am Simon Ellis, leader of the North Central Indiana Militia. We are under direct orders from the governor to turn back any military force trying to enter the state. You will surrender your weapons and prepare for a peaceful withdrawal.”
Zimner sauntered to the middle of the convoy. He stopped below Simon. His hand reached into his pocket.
Tom’s finger lingered on the trigger. Zimner’s actions were clear in his night-vision scope.
Zimner pulled out a cigar. He bit the tip off and spit it out. The grimace on his face showed he’d spit on all of the militia if he could. He struck a match and held it to the end of the cigar.
Tom averted his eyes until the match flair ended.
Zimner’s pockmarked cheeks drew in as he sucked on the cigar until the tip flamed and a cloud of smoke swirled about his face. He took two long draws on the cigar and blew the smoke into the night air. With the cigar in his hand he poked the air in Simon’s direction. “And what if I refuse? What if I simply order my soldiers to attack?” he called in challenge.
Simon’s voiced boomed clear in the night. “Every man here is willing to fight and die, if necessary, to protect our families, our homes and our freedom. Are your men willing to die to follow your orders to kill fellow Americans? If you order them to attack, you are volunteering to be the first to fall.”
Zimner took a deep breath and tried to mimic Simon’s commanding voice, but the result held just enough nasal quality to be comedic. “I have no problem with all of you dying tonight.” He turned his head toward the tactical vehicles. “Company atta—”
Zimner wore a battle armor so Tom fired a single shot that hit Major Zimner in his face in front of his helmet strap. He wanted to silence him without killing him.
Zimner fell. A pathetic gurgling sound emanated from his writhing body and washed through the perfect acoustics of the ravine.
Simon’s booming voice called out, “Second in command of the convoy, dispatch medical aid to your Major and decide if you will join him or save yourself and your men.”
The passenger door in the last vehicle, which was tipped on its side in the trench, opened and another soldier climbed out.
Tom shifted his aim.
The soldier was tall. His broad shoulder’s tapered to a trim physique. He jumped to the remaining road surface, laid his gun on the ground and raised his arms. “I am second in command. Medic, attend to the Major,” he called over his shoulder.
Another soldier climbed out from the same vehicle. “Yes, Lieutenant.” The medic slung his medical pack over his shoulder and ran to the Major.
The lieutenant looked up toward Simon. “What would you have us do?”
“Exit your vehicles. Leave all your weapons on this side of the convoy. My men will secure you and escort you to transport trucks.”
He turned to Tom, “You and Matt take your men down and secure the soldiers. Be careful to check for anyone hiding inside the transports.” He suppressed a groan. “Tom, you’re in charge.”
Simon wavered on his feet and said, “Dr. Walker, I think I took a couple of bullets, I think...” he slumped backwards.
Tom caught him and lowered him to the ground.
Doc waved Tom off. “Go. I’ll take care of him.”
Order Scales of Darkness
here.
Jan Hinds lives in Fort Wayne, Indiana with her husband, son and two dogs. Due to a chronic aversion to housework, and her love of nature, her home also shelters an extensive population of dust bunnies. When she can be torn away from her computer, she loves exploring the Acres Woodland Preserves with her husband and their English Shepherd, Tucker. She also enjoys experimenting with old family recipes for her Not So Secret Family Recipes cookbook series, gardening (to be accurate, watching her husband garden), and frequently participates in rabbit relocation efforts.
Grab your copy of Jan’s other books:
The Tharon Trace Mysteries:
Designed for Love:
Missed Calls
(coming 2015)
Not So Secret Family Recipes: