Total Mayhem Read online

  Praise for JOHN GILSTRAP

  and his thrillers

  SCORPION STRIKE

  “Relentlessly paced as well as brilliantly told and constructed, this is as good as thrillers get.”

  —The Providence Journal

  “A sizzling beach read for military action fans . . . the perfect summer read for thriller fans.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “The series deserves attention from anyone who enjoys plot-driven thrillers.... Grave is, as always, a solid series lead.”

  —Booklist

  “This Jonathan Grave installment is pure John Gilstrap . . . on steroids!”

  —BookReporter.com

  “Grave, Boxers, and the rest of the gang are all back in Scorpion Strike, another action-packed thriller from John Gilstrap that’ll have readers on the edges of their seats.”

  —The Real Book Spy

  FINAL TARGET

  “Fast-paced and well-plotted.”

  —Booklist

  “Exciting. . . . Fans of epic adventure stories will find plenty to like.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  FINAL TARGET

  “A superbly crafted thriller that will leave you craving more! Final Target is a nonstop, action-packed thrill ride.”

  —TopShelf Magazine

  “Fans of Jeffery Deaver and Harlan Coben will find lots to love in the novel’s action, suspense, political intrigue, twists, and deceptions.”

  —Woman Around Town

  FRIENDLY FIRE

  “If you only read one book this summer, make sure it’s Friendly Fire, and be ready to be strapped in for the ride of your life.”

  —Suspense Magazine

  “A blistering thriller that grabs your attention and doesn’t let go for a second!”

  —The Real Book Spy

  NICK OF TIME

  “A page-turning thriller with strong characters, exciting action, and a big heart.”

  —Heather Graham

  AGAINST ALL ENEMIES WINNER OF THE INTERNATIONAL THRILLER WRITERS AWARD FOR BEST PAPERBACK ORIGINAL “Any John Gilstrap novel packs the punch of a rocket-propelled grenade—on steroids! Gilstrap grabs the reader’s attention in a literary vise grip. A damn good read.”

  —BookReporter.com

  “Tense, clever. . . . Series enthusiasts are bound to enjoy this new thriller.”

  —Library Journal

  END GAME

  AN AMAZON EDITORS’ FAVORITE BOOK OF THE YEAR

  “Gilstrap’s new Jonathan Grave thriller is his best novel to date—even considering his enviable bibliography. End Game starts off explosively and keeps on rolling.”

  —Joe Hartlaub, BookReporter.com

  DAMAGE CONTROL

  “Powerful and explosive, an unforgettable journey into the dark side of the human soul. Gilstrap is a master of action and drama. If you like Vince Flynn and Brad Thor, you’ll love John Gilstrap.”

  —Gayle Lynds

  “Rousing. . . . Readers will anxiously await the next installment.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “It’s easy to see why John Gilstrap is the go-to guy among thriller writers when it comes to weapons, ammunition, and explosives. His expertise is uncontested.”

  —John Ramsey Miller

  “The best page-turning thriller I’ve grabbed in ages. There is no place you can put this book down.”

  —Beth Kanell, Kingdom Books, Vermont

  “A page-turning, near-perfect thriller, with engaging and believable characters . . . unputdownable!”

  —Top Mystery Novels

  DAMAGE CONTROL

  “Takes you full force right away and doesn’t let go. The action is nonstop. Gilstrap knows his technology and weaponry. Damage Control will blow you away.”

  —Suspense Magazine

  THREAT WARNING

  “Threat Warning is a character-driven work where the vehicle has four on the floor and horsepower to burn. From beginning to end, it is dripping with excitement.”

  —Joe Hartlaub, BookReporter.com

  “Threat Warning reconfirms Gilstrap as a master of jaw-dropping action and heart-squeezing suspense.”

  —Austin Camacho, The Big Thrill

  HOSTAGE ZERO

  “Jonathan Grave, my favorite freelance peacemaker, problem-solver, and tough-guy hero, is back—and in particularly fine form. Hostage Zero is classic Gilstrap: the people are utterly real, the action’s foot to the floor, and the writing’s fluid as a well-oiled machine gun. A tour de force!”

  —Jeffery Deaver

  “This addictively readable thriller marries a breakneck pace to a complex, multilayered plot.... A roller coaster ride of adrenaline-inducing plot twists leads to a riveting and highly satisfying conclusion. Exceptional characterization and an intricate, flawlessly crafted story line make this an absolute must read for thriller fans.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  NO MERCY

  “No Mercy grabs hold of you on page one and doesn’t let go. Gilstrap’s new series is terrific. It will leave you breathless. I can’t wait to see what Jonathan Grave is up to next.”

  —Harlan Coben

  “John Gilstrap is one of the finest thriller writers on the planet. No Mercy showcases his work at its finest—taut, action-packed, and impossible to put down!”

  —Tess Gerritsen

  “A great hero, a pulse-pounding story—and the launch of a really exciting series.”

  —Joseph Finder

  “An entertaining, fast-paced tale of violence and revenge.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “No other writer is better able to combine in a single novel both rocket-paced suspense and heartfelt looks at family and the human spirit. And what a pleasure to meet Jonathan Grave, a hero for our time . . . and for all time.”

  —Jeffery Deaver

  AT ALL COSTS

  “Riveting . . . combines a great plot and realistic, likable characters with look-over-your-shoulder tension. A page-turner.”

  —Kansas City Star

  AT ALL COSTS

  “Gilstrap builds tension . . . until the last page, a hallmark of great thriller writers. I almost called the paramedics before I finished At All Costs.”

  —Tulsa World

  “Gilstrap has ingeniously twisted his simple premise six ways from Sunday.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Not-to-be-missed.”

  —Rocky Mountain News

  NATHAN’S RUN

  “Gilstrap pushes every thriller button . . . a nail-biting denouement and strong characters.”

  —San Francisco Chronicle

  “Gilstrap has a shot at being the next John Grisham . . . one of the best books of the year.”

  —Rocky Mountain News

  “Emotionally charged . . . one of the year’s best.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “Brilliantly calculated.... With the skill of a veteran pulp master, Gilstrap weaves a yarn that demands to be read in one sitting.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Like a roller coaster, the story races along on well-oiled wheels to an undeniably pulse-pounding conclusion.”

  —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

  ALSO BY JOHN GILSTRAP

  Scorpion Strike

  Final Target

  Nick of Time

  Friendly Fire

  Against All Enemies

  End Game

  Soft Targets

  High Treason

  Damage Control

  Threat Warning

  Hostage Zero

  No Mercy

  Six Minutes to Freedom (with Kurt Muse)

  Scott Free

  Even Steven

  At A
ll Costs

  Nathan’s Run

  JOHN GILSTRAP

  TOTAL MAYHEM

  A Jonathan Grave Thriller

  PINNACLE BOOKS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Praise

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 John Gilstrap, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PINNACLE BOOKS and the Pinnacle logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-0-7860-3982-1

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-3982-5

  Electronic edition:

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-3983-8 (e-book)

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-3983-3 (e-book)

  To Benjamin Charles Branch.

  Welcome to the scrum, kid!

  Chapter One

  Tom Darone had seen a lot of people die in his day, but not like this. The lady in the blue coat—the first to go down—made a barking sound and then folded in on herself. Tom’s first thought was that she’d suffered a seizure, or maybe a stroke. She sat two spaces down from him in the bleachers and one row closer to the football field. Her emergency happened at the same second when Number 19 of the Custer Cavalrymen intercepted a pass at the end zone, robbing the Hooker Hornets of a go-ahead touchdown.

  In all the excitement, nobody saw her collapse. Then her husband noticed. “Anita?” he said as he stooped to help her.

  Then the crowd erupted with a new kind of cheer.

  People pointed, and Tom followed their fingers to see that a player had collapsed on the field. Was that blood?

  Then two more players fell. A chunk of helmet erupted in a gruesome spray from a fourth.

  The lights went out. In an instant, the field went from the artificial daylight brightness that is unique to nighttime football to true darkness.

  Anita’s husband shouted, “Oh, my God, she’s been shot! Help me!”

  A ripple of four spectators to Tom’s right fell side by side among yelps of pain.

  The field was under attack.

  Tom watched with a strange sense of detachment as the panic hit. Home now only two months from his sixth deployment to the Sandbox, and six weeks into his new status as an unemployed vet, the reality of the moment crystalized in an instant. The first survival challenge would be to avoid being trampled in the stampede.

  The panic around him didn’t blossom or bloom. It erupted. Those who’d been hit—and the people who loved them—hunkered down, while everyone else fled. In a single instant, hundreds of people decided that survival trumped everything. A few were so overwhelmed by the enormity of the swirling action that they simply shut down, but they were the minority. Most people ran. They had no obvious destination, and they had no apparent plan. Most didn’t even know where the exits were, so they followed the people ahead of them on the assumption that strangers were smarter than they were.

  The mayhem grew to critical proportions in mere seconds. Tom realized in a rush that he was in the epicenter of the kill zone. As the sea of spectators pushed and tumbled past each other—and as bullets continued to find their marks—Tom dropped to his stomach into the foot-trough of the bleachers and rolled to his right. As he dropped into the matrix of the metal support structure, his boot found a foothold, and then so did his hands.

  From there, it was like climbing down a ladder designed by a funhouse architect. Nothing was level, and no edge was smooth, but at least the spacing was even and predictable. And gravity was on his side.

  Above him, the screaming continued, along with the horrid percussive sounds of bullet impacts. The entire structure of the bleachers trembled as the human tsunami created its own earthquake, and Tom was struck with another critical concern. Structures like bleachers were not designed for this kind of dynamic load. If the structure collapsed with him under it, his body would likely not be found for weeks.

  As he dropped the last few feet to the ground, his feet crunched on gravel and litter. Above and around him, others were beginning to follow his lead and scrambled down the scaffold-like support structure.

  Now what? Exiting to the field was out because that clearly was part of the shooter’s target picture. A fence ran the length of the bleachers along the back, but he remembered from his own days as a football player—could it really have been only nine years ago?—that there was a way to sneak in, unless the never-ambitious maintenance crew had finally gotten around to fixing it. The hole had been there since Tom’s oldest brother had played ten years before him. And as far as he knew, there’d been no turnover in the maintenance staff.

  Tom pressed himself up against the fence as he moved toward the center of the bleachers. In the reduced light, he hoped that when he came upon the opening—

  There it was, right at knee level, a section of chain link that had been pulled back. If he could have seen better, he was certain that he’d find the ground still littered with empty beer cans that displayed the whole reason for the opening to be there in the first place. These days, kids got expelled for such things, but could teenagers have changed that much over the years?

  Tom bent at the waist and squirted into the open, where the horrors continued. Out here the darkness was less absolute, with partial illumination spilling in from towering lights from the BMW dealership on the other side of Spring Hollow Way. In the dim light, he tried to ignore the aimless running and screaming. He was getting the hell out of here, and that meant making a beeline toward the driveway and the street beyond.

  Ten yards from the fence, everything changed.

  A cop lay dead next to the door of his cruiser, his windshield a shredded mass of broken glass. Blood poured from wounds in his head and shoulders. To the right, parked immediately behind the first cruiser, a second cruiser sat si
milarly shredded, its officer slumped behind the wheel.

  Tom Darone’s battlefield instincts kicked in.

  This was no random shooting. This was a coordinated attack, and at less than a minute into it, the bad guys were winning big. They’d targeted the school’s power plant to bring darkness and chaos, and then they’d taken out the armed element of their opposing force. This was going to be a slaughter.

  But where was the shooter?

  The bullet holes in the cruiser answered his question. The rounds had all entered from the front of the vehicle—from the west, the scoreboard end of the field. The shooter wouldn’t be there. A carefully choreographed assault like this included a viable escape plan, and a rickety spiral ladder from the ass end of the scoreboard wasn’t it.

  The screaming of the crowd had crossed the pain threshold, and football fans were still falling.

  So, where was the sound of the gunshots?