Soft Target

by Stephen Hunter

Genres: General Fiction; Action & Adventure; Thrillers

Synopsis

Ten thousand people jam the aisles, the corridors, the elevators, and the escalators of America, the Mall-a giant Rubik's Cube of a structure with its own amusement park located in the spacious center atrium. Of those people, nine thousand nine hundred and eighty-eight have come to shop.

The other twelve have come to kill.

Ray Cruz, one of the heroes of Hunter's last bestseller, Dead Zero, is in the mall with his fiancée and her family. The retired Marine sniper thought he was done with stalking and killing-but among the trapped thousands, he's the only one with a plan and the guts to confront the self-proclaimed "Brigade Mumbai." Now all he needs is a gun.

FBI Sniper Dave McElroy has a gun. But positioned on the roof of the vast building and without explosives or fuses-or the go-ahead from his superiors-he is cut off from his targets and forced into the role of witness to the horror unfolding below.

Having learned the lessons of Columbine, the feds believe that immediate action is the only solution. But Douglas Obobo, the charismatic and ambitious commandant of the state police, orders cooperation, tolerance, communication, and empathy for the gunmen. He feels that with his superior negotiating skills, he can make contact with the shooters and gently nudge them into surrender. But what if their goal all along has been unparalleled massacre-and they're only waiting for prime time?

Release date: December 6, 2011

Publisher: Simon & Schuster

Print pages: 272

Sample

Soft Target

2:47 P.M.–3:19 P.M.

The bullet hit Santa Claus beneath the left eye.

It shattered his skull, blew a large exit wound from the rear of that vessel, and drove a bright red spatter pattern across the pale satin of his throne like some sort of twisted abstract painting. Worse still, the ballistic energy unleashed an upper-body spasm that shook his hat comically askew, and it slipped off his face and caught on his ear and hung there like a large red sock.

The four-year-old girl sitting in his lap stared not so much in horror but in fascination. She understood that this was “different” but had no larger context against which to compare it. She had no acquaintance yet with the concept of horror and the human fear of seeing the body’s vaults penetrated and eviscerated, but she picked up immediately on the appropriate response from her mother, who grabbed her and started screaming as the hundreds of others clustered around Santa’s throne began to do the same.