Pursuit of Terror--excerpt

I continue to labor on my first-ever book idea.  I have a rough draft of about 1/3 of it completed with the entire thing done in my head.  So, I thought I'd post an excerpt here and see what, if any feedback I could generate.

I'm also open to publishing ideas--format, self vs. the chance of finding a publisher willing to look at a first effort, etc.

Feel free to offer your thoughts!

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...from Chapter 2

Two pairs of flash-bangs went off almost simultaneously, filling the building first with blinding white light and noise and then a choking mixture of dust and smoke. Those inside didn’t notice the smoke because the shock of the bangs had literally made the structure and their bodies shudder to the core, as if an unseen fist had reached inside each man, striking his heart and spine.  The large room was thrown into confusion. Some were vaguely aware of shafts of light piercing the haze and dancing around. Men were shouting.

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At the sound of the bangs coming from across the road, Willie’s body tensed and flung itself away from the vehicle without a conscious thought. He spun, looking wildly both for the source of the noise and a suitable place to hide. Now his ears were ringing and he could feel the icy rush of adrenaline coursing through his body, his heart in his throat. He could hear voices, shouting voices, men shouting. Who were they and what was happening? What were they saying? His gaze swept left toward the rear of the vehicle he’d been inspecting and he froze. In the darkness, his eyes seized upon a man coming at him silently, but quickly. Willie tried to scream, but all he could get out was a barely audible squeak.

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Joaquin Perez, one of the spindly Mexican nationals who had been loading an SUV near the entrance had simply sat down when the flash-bangs went off. Still confused, he struggled to his feet in an effort to get out. He was met, however, with a dull thump in his chest and he fell to the ground again. Suddenly, he felt the rough tread of a boot on his back and neck. The ground was illuminated immediately around him and he felt gloved hands roughly pull his arms behind his back. Suddenly, his hands were restrained in hard, flat bands. Just as suddenly, he was alone in the darkness and confusion.

The entry teams, two teams each consisting of two dozen men, moved smoothly around the large room, using the lights affixed to the fore ends of their weapons sporadically, to check nooks and crannies that could conceal a man and to maintain the confusion and panic of those they sought. They moved swiftly as well, maintaining a steady cadence of shouts to keep the targets disoriented and off-balance. “Get down! Get down!” Those who failed to get the message were, like Joaquin, given brusque assistance in complying.

Curt Harris was third through the door and was moving with his group. He was now second behind Jason Dean, each man having alternately gone left and right upon entry. He swept his weapon light under vehicles and in between as he moved. Occasionally, his light would reveal an ashen face, eyes wide with terror staring back at him.

“Suspect!” he shouted. “Get Down NOW! Don’t move!” as the man crumpled to the ground, teammates moved around him to secure him. They moved on. 

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