FOUNTAINHEAD REGIONAL PARK ATTACK (EXCERPT ONE)

Brian Hunt was fired up, an explosion of energy, as he tore up the Bear Claw Run, the most grueling mountain bike course in northern Virginia. The young CIA officer powered through it every Saturday morning. Pumping and slithering around the switchbacks and boulders, he pounded away with sinewy legs and core muscles of iron. The image of a pouncing tiger leapt across the front of his crimson crash helmet.

He skidded through a corrugated patch of mud and leaves; shifted his weight to handle the most treacherous switchback of the run. He could manage it easily, knowing it was there. He slithered around a sharp turn to the left; then rattled along a narrow rock ledge. There was a clearing in the woods on one side on the other an ancient wooden barrier, the only thing that stood between him and the cliff that dropped precipitously to the ravine far below. 

Suddenly, two masked figures dressed in khaki and wielding rifles rose from the clearing on the left and lunged towards him. “What the fuck?” screamed Brian, instinctively swerving around his assailants. He felt a huge blow on the front of his head and heard his helmet crack as he went sprawling in the deep grass of the clearing. He was on his back, trying to gather his senses, when another masked face loomed into his vision. All he could see were the emerald green eyes. He felt a cloth cover his nose and just managed to recognize the faint, ether-like smell before he passed out.