Project StrikeForce

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Thanks to all the active and retired military members who helped with this endeavor. Any mistakes contained herein are entirely mine. Special thanks to my beta readers. Your feedback was invaluable.

John Frist stood a rooftop away, watching people enter the Red Cross building, the traffic noise from Arlington Boulevard blaring in the background. He pulled at his jacket as the brisk January wind knifed through him and clutched his binoculars tighter. The cold sharpened the smell of the city, the car exhaust and asphalt mixed with the barest hint of rot from the mulch around the damp shrubs below. He scanned the building across the parking lot but nobody noticed the Ryder truck parked at the entrance. The lax security was rare in the DC area.

Who would bomb the Red Cross?

He had parked the Ryder truck just minutes before, quickly making his way to his rooftop perch. It took just seconds to disable the alarm on the rooftop door. He had reconnoitered the path the week before, looking for cameras, but the route through the side stairwell was clean. Even so, he kept his head down and the jacket pulled tight.

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