Free Time to Live: Part Five by John Gilstrap Page A

along the orders from Commander Donnelly. Matt pressed his cheek to the stock of his rifle, but kept both eyes open, focusing past the scope to the side of the house that was his responsibility. Luis, meanwhile, settled into the eyepieces of his tripod-mounted binocular spotting scope. All they needed was a target and an order to take it out. Matt felt ashamed by the thrill he felt at the thought of his first kill.
    “It’s getting damn dark out here,” Luis observed. “Why don’t they fire up the lights?”
    Matt didn’t bother to answer. Below and to his right, he could see the side-three entry team on the far side of the dune, gathering for their assault. He knew without looking that a similar team was assembling on side one. It occurred to Matt that with this flimsy sticks-and-paper construction, people better choose their targets carefully and shoot straight. The walls wouldn’t stop a BB.
    The rain and the unpleasantness of the sand meant nothing. Nothing existed but the mission. If the balloon went up, Matt’s orders were clear: take any shot necessary to keep the perpetrators from harming the hostage, or from getting away. One way or another, these assholes wouldn’t kill again.

Chapter Eight
    B rad was six feet away from Gramma when a motor sputtered to life outside the house and the blackness beyond the curtains erupted in the brilliant white light of two noontimes.
    “What’s happening?” Nicki gasped.
    “Generator,” Brad said. “They don’t want us slipping out when they can’t see. Plus, blinding us gives them even more advantage.”
    Gramma seemed not to notice the lights and the noise. All she saw was the knife in Brad’s hand. “W-what are you going to do?”
    “Not what you’re worried about,” he said. “Relax.”
    The old woman’s eyes grew huge as she realized what his intentions were. “Are you letting me go?”
    “If you fight me or bite me or try to punch me, or even just mildly piss me off, I’m going to cut your throat,” he said. He let the words settle on her. “But otherwise, yes, I’m letting you go.” Leaning down closer to her, he could see the tears welling in her eyes.
    As he reached for the cord that bound her hands, it almost looked as if he was kissing her cheek as he whispered, “When you get out there, you tell them not to rush the place, you understand? You tell them that we need some time. You tell them that if I see a face—if I think I see a face—I’m going to shoot it. Do you understand that?”
    “Yes,” Gramma said. “Yes, I understand perfectly.”
    “You tell them that this isn’t about you or about me or about Nicki. You tell them that the reason I’m letting you go is because I don’t want your grandkid to end up without anyone. I’ve been there, and it sucks.” He felt his throat thicken as he said those words, and he got to the business of slipping the blade between Gramma’s flesh and the rope that held her right wrist in place. The cord cut easily and fell to the floor. “Remember what I told you about lashing out at me.”
    “I-I remember,” she stammered. She didn’t move.
    When the second rope was cut, he helped her stand. The effort made the room spin. When she was on her feet, he moved close again, and whispered even more softly than before, “I’ve got one more thing I want you to tell them when you get outside . . .”
    * * *
    Muhammad couldn’t contain the enthusiasm in his voice as he shouted, “They’re coming out! He’s releasing the grandmother! He’s releasing her!” Matt smiled. Muhammad’s voice could not have been pitched higher if he was doing play-by-play. There were some other voices in the background, and then the young cop was all business again. “Side one assault team, get ready,” he said.
    It wasn’t Matt’s side of the building, and protocol required that he not be distracted from his quadrant of responsibility, but this kind of drama was hard to resist. He watched as the sergeant in