By Don Pendleton
A global long past MAD
Jihad moves the center of Indonesia in a vicious terrorist onslaught to grab keep an eye on of the full sector. The collusion of neighborhood extremist factions and the main robust international terrorist community has produced a powerful enemy with the means--and the will--to unharness genocide.
As a part of covert U.S. intervention within the quandary, Mack Bolan and key Stony guy operatives are tasked with discovering the terrorists' stronghold and guns of mass destruction. yet time is operating out and the enemy's process and ability are placing the chances at 0 for a winning mission.
Nations are below siege in a global long gone insanely incorrect, and Bolan is on the epicenter of the insanity. yet he's been there sooner than. And there's a fashion out....
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Example text
He missed a meeting with me this morning and did not answer his page. ” Langdon felt a sudden chill realizing that he was about to see a dead body. His stomach had never been particularly stalwart. It was a weakness he’d discovered as an art student when the teacher informed the class that Leonardo da Vinci had gained his expertise in the human form by exhuming corpses and dissecting their musculature. Kohler led the way to the far end of the hallway. There was a single door. “The Penthouse, as you would say,” Kohler announced, dabbing a bead of perspiration from his forehead.
Although his people did not celebrate Christmas, he imagined that this is what it must feel like to be a Christian child, sitting before a stack of Christmas presents, about to discover the miracles inside. He opened the album and examined the photos. A lifetime of sexual fantasies stared back at him. Marisa. An Italian goddess. Fiery. A young Sophia Loren. Sachiko. A Japanese geisha. Lithe. No doubt skilled. Kanara. A stunning black vision. Muscular. Exotic. He examined the entire album twice and made his choice.
6 Sixty-four minutes had passed when an incredulous and slightly air-sick Robert Langdon stepped down the gangplank onto the sun-drenched runway. A crisp breeze rustled the lapels of his tweed jacket. The open space felt wonderful. He squinted out at the lush green valley rising to snowcapped peaks all around them. I’m dreaming, he told himself. Any minute now I’ll be waking up. “Welcome to Switzerland,” the pilot said, yelling over the roar of the X-33’s misted-fuel HEDM engines winding down behind them.