Ameriguns

By Scott King

When threatened, you can run or fight....

After surviving a shooting, FBI Agent Nathaniel Ryder is forced to confront his worst fears as AMERIGUNS, a secret group of gunmen, put Washington, D.C., under siege.

The deeper Ryder digs into AMERIGUNS, the more dangerous things get.

Caught in a deadly game between the law and DC insiders, only Ryder can put an end to the killings.

Filled with action, intrigue, and edge of your seat suspense, Scott King's Ameriguns is an all-too-real political thriller set in the shadow of the Capitol's dome.

Pick up this page turner today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott King
• Release date: Sep 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781539125945

Book preview

1

May 13 th 5:48 p.m.

---

Nathaniel swiped his finger across his phone’s screen to answer the call and heard the unmistakable pop-pop of gunfire.

Nate? A frantic female voice asked.

Lori?

Nate, you gotta get here. Sheer panic filled Lori’s voice. There’s a man with a gun.

The wedding his brother and sister-in-law were attending was four blocks south along the Potomac. Average police response time in D.C. was nine minutes. That was too long.

Nate, please. I’m scared.

Nathaniel flicked off the stove and rushed to the front door of his townhouse. He threw open the broom closet and punched in a nine-digit pin to unlock his gun safe.

His fingers wrapped around the cold handle of his 9mm Glock duty pistol. He knew it wasn’t loaded, but checked anyway out of habit, popping out the magazine and shifting the slide back.

Nate, are you still there?

I’m here, Lori. He held the phone between his cheek and shoulder, using both hands to load the gun. And I’m coming.

Nathaniel threw on his shoulder holster, double checking to make sure he had two extra magazines and his badge. He hid the gun under his FBI raid jacket. No reason to scare folks on the street and best to be wearing the navy blue coat when the Metropolitan Police showed up.

Lori, are you somewhere safe?

I’m in the bathroom. Well, one of the rented porta-potty trailers.

Nathaniel clicked the gun into the holster and charged out the front door, not bothering to lock it behind him.

The sun was low in the sky, drenching N Street in shadows. Rush hour traffic clogged Wisconsin Ave. That would cut MPD response time by a few minutes. He would be on his own when dealing with this gunman.

Lori, did you see the guy with the gun?

Yes.

Describe him to me.

White guy. Not as pale as me. He had a tan. Twenty-four, maybe twenty-five? She paused and took a long breath. He had blond shaggy hair, like that hipster cut, and was wearing a green t-shirt and acid wash jeans. It’s so weird they're back in style.

I need to put you on hold, Nathaniel said.

No, you can’t!

Lori, I have to call this in on the chance that no one else has called 911 yet with a description.

Please, don’t go.

He ignored her, put the call on hold, and called 911.

District of Columbia 911, what is the exact location of your emergency?

My name is Nathaniel Ryder. I’m a field agent for the FBI. There is a gunman at the Georgetown Waterfront Park. The shooter is a Caucasian male, mid-twenties. Long blond hair and last seen wearing a green t-shirt and jeans.

Sir, is everyone all right?

I’m responding now, Nathaniel said. Send SWAT along with emergency medical care.

Nathaniel swapped the call.

I’m back, he said.

Oh god, Nate, Lori sobbed with her voice wheezing on the way out. The gunshots are getting louder. I think he’s getting closer.

Lori, you’ve not mentioned Dave… He trailed off, letting the unspoken words form the question. He needed to know where his brother was, but he was terrified to ask.

I don’t know. It’s cocktail hour. The wedding wrapped, and he went with the wedding party down to the water with the photographer. I was going to catch up after using the bathroom.

How long ago was that?

Five minutes before I called you.

Nathaniel crossed the Wisconsin Ave canal bridge. The colored bricks of the buildings blurring by as he got closer and closer to Georgetown Waterfront Park. He could see tents set-up on the other side of K Street. Past the tents, the Potomac River had a grayish-green hue.

He was close enough now that even with the traffic he should be able to hear gunshots. There weren’t any.

A thud, like a door being kicked in, sounded through the phone.

Lori?

She didn’t respond. A heartbeat later the phone went dead.

Fuck! Nathaniel shoved the phone into one of the many interior pockets of his raid jacket.

Running full sprint, he passed under Whitehurst Freeway and then the fountain by the entrance to the park. Usually packed, no barefoot children or their photo-taking parents were in sight. The nearest pedestrians were blocks away and running.

It was a good sign. If others were running, it meant someone else might have called 911 before he did. That could shave a few minutes off the MPD response time.

A gun fired to Nathaniel’s left. Rapid. Loud, echoing off the condos to his back. It was too fast to be a handgun. Most likely a semi-automatic rifle.

He said a quick prayer, hoping to God his brother and Lori were safe, and unholstered his 9mm.

2

May 13 th 5:52 p.m.

---

The portable restroom trailer wasn’t what Nathaniel had pictured. It was long like an office trailer and had two separate sets of stairs on each side, one leading to the men’s room and the other to the women’s.

The men’s door lay on the ground, kicked in. Nathaniel ignored it, making his way to the women’s. He tested the knob. Unlocked. He steadied his breathing and brought his Glock to the ready position. In a fluid motion, he flung the door open and dropped to a knee.

A woman screamed.

Lori? Nathaniel asked.

The farthest of three stalls flung open. The cheap metal frame clanged against the faux marble tiles of the portable bathroom’s walls. Lori exited. Her chestnut-colored hair, which had been stylized an hour ago, now hung frizzled, and her eyes were bloodshot from crying.

If she hadn’t been the type who believed in minimalistic make-up, Nathaniel was sure that dark streaks of mascara would have been running down her pale cheeks.

Nathaniel holstered his gun a moment before Lori wrapped her arms around him. Tears dripped off her chin.

I thought… I thought you were him, she said, pressing her head into his chest.

The phone went dead.

I dropped it. She let go of him and turned, looking at the wall separating the women’s room from the men's. Someone made a banging sound. I jumped and dropped the phone in the toilet.

I need to go find David. I want you to leave, head back toward my hou—

No.

I need to do my job. He struggled to keep a calm tone but knew showing any fear would only freak her out more. I can’t do that if I have to worry about you. Please?

Is it safe?

I saw no one between here and K Street. You should be fine.

She nodded.

Stepping back, Nathaniel unholstered his 9mm and moved to the portable bathroom’s entrance. He checked the outside and then motioned for her to follow.

Gunshots sounded again. This time much closer.

Go! He ordered, pointing away from the noise. Now!

Lori pinched her cobalt dress near her hips and pulled up. With the full range of movement for her knees, she kicked off her high heels and ran without looking back.

Waiting to make sure she was clear, Nathaniel approached the wedding tent. It was set up on the concrete path beside the river. White and closed on all sides, a low hum suggested the tent was air conditioned.

Crouching, Nathaniel lifted the tent flap and entered.

His chest heaved, and he tasted bile.

Rows of tables set up for the reception were littered with bodies. Broken glass and spilled drinks mixed with blood, pooling on the paved ground.

Nathaniel couldn’t imagine a battlefield would be as bloody. This was a one-sided fight. A pure massacre. Men in suits lay piled on one another. Women in dresses with hair done-up lay unmoving.

A knocked over fondue fountain buzzed, its chocolate having broken free and hardened around the shoes of a dead boy no older than six.

Streaks of blood suggested that the deaths weren’t quick. These people had bled out, crawling and trying to escape the carnage before being cruelly gunned down.

Nathaniel stopped counting when he spotted the twenty-third dead body. It was too much to bear, and there was nothing he could do for them. He had to focus on the living and those he still might be able to save. He had seen no one wearing the groomsmen suits or anything resembling a bridesmaid dress. That meant David could still be alive. He had to hurry.

Instead of crossing the tent and disturbing the scene, he slid out the way he'd entered and circled around the front.

A catering tent stood across from the main one. He peeked in and saw nothing unusual or any signs of gunfire.

The shooter must have started with the reception area, and then when he hadn’t found the wedding party must have gone to the river, not bothering with the caterers.

A block away stood The Washington Harbour, a complex packed with high-end restaurants, apartments, and a small dock used for booze cruises and party boats.

It would be an ideal location for the photographer to take the wedding party. The Potomac with Roosevelt Island’s spring green trees in the background would be perfect for photos.

Gunfire sounded again. Straight ahead.

Nathaniel ran, not bothering to holster his gun.

He rounded the corner of the harbor, stepping onto an old style boardwalk. Fifty yards ahead he saw the shooter, a white man in a green shirt, though he was more clean cut and better built than Lori had implied.

The man had the butt of a rifle pressed into his shoulder and held it level, in a ready to fire position. What the fuck do you think I want?

Kneeling on the ground before the shooter was a woman in a strapless wedding dress. In her arms, she cradled an unmoving man in a tux. The man's blood seeped into the dress’s train, wrapping around the bride like a scarlet nest.

The bride said something in response but was too far away for Nathaniel to hear. He needed to get closer. He couldn't risk taking a shot at a target so far away. At this distance, he could accidentally strike the bride or miss and tip off the shooter.

Nathaniel brought his gun into a high ready position and shuffled forward rolling from toe to heel to keep his aim steady.

Scanning the area, Nathaniel noted two limp bodies along the boardwalk. He prayed one wasn’t David.

Speak up, Margret! The shooter rolled the r’s in her name dragging it out in a mocking manner. I can’t hear you.

Why are you doing this? she asked.

I want you to know how it felt when you took him away from me.

He never loved you, she said. Not like that.

You don’t know what you're talking about. The shooter lowered the tip of the rifle. Not all the way, just enough so he was no longer pointing directly at the bride.

At thirty yards, Nathaniel felt confident he could hit his mark. He squared his feet and aimed, timing it so when he inhaled he could pull the trigger, breathing into the shot.

3

May 13 th 6:04 p.m.

---

A crack of gunfire sounded from behind Nathaniel.

Heat tore into his left calf. The fiery sensation shifted to pain, like a million fire ants biting at once.

Nathaniel's leg gave out, and he fell sideways. A heartbeat before his shoulder crashed into the boardwalk he lifted his finger off the 9mm’s trigger, not wanting to misfire.

Nathaniel’s head smashed into the wood, and he bounced, landing on his side. Pain took over, clouding his thoughts. It radiated up and down his left leg. His vision blurred, and he thought he would pass out.

As the pain became too harsh to manage, a tingling numbness crawled up his thigh. The fire became replaced with a sense of clammy coldness.

He recognized it as shock. A drop in his blood pressure. There could be no doubt. He'd been shot. Not by the angry gunman, but by someone else. Had there been two shooters and he'd failed to properly check his flank?

With every ounce of energy he had left, Nathaniel lifted his head. Crouched behind a concrete pillar, he saw David and two bridesmaids. The women had cell phones held outward as if recording video.

David seemed unharmed. No wounds or torn clothing. Even in a time of panic, his brother had a confident coolness about him, dressed in a white tuxedo like a black James Bond. Nathaniel envied his brother’s strength.

David’s eyes scrunched together and then widened. Nathaniel?

Nathaniel wanted to raise a hand and motioned for his brother to lie down. He wanted to yell a warning, but when he tried, his arm flopped onto the boardwalk.

David stood as if to rush to his brother’s side.

The pop-pop of a semi-automatic rifle sounded. Blossoms of red formed on David’s white tux. He patted his chest and looked surprised at seeing red on his fingers.

No! Nathaniel screamed.

With all his effort, Nathaniel shifted his weight and tried to bring his gun up, but his hand was too shaky.

The shooter unleashed another series of shots. They tore into David, shredding his tux.

A moment later a single gunshot fired, this one again from behind Nathaniel. It struck the shooter in the neck. Blood sprayed outward, speckling the boardwalk and the crying bride.

At the same moment,