By Ethan Cross
Francis Ackerman Jr. is considered one of America's so much prolific serial killers. Having stored a low profile for the earlier 12 months, he's able to go back to paintings – and he's extra brutal, crafty, and hazardous than ever.
Scarred from their previous battles, designated Agent Marcus Williams can't shake Ackerman from his brain. yet now Marcus needs to concentrate on catching the Anarchist, a brand new killer who medications and kidnaps ladies earlier than burning them alive.
Marcus is familiar with the Anarchist will strike back quickly. And Ackerman continues to be unfastened. yet worse than it is a mysterious determine, unknown to the specialists, who controls the activities of the Anarchist and lots of like him. he's the Prophet – and his plans are extra poor than even his personal disciples can imagine.
With assaults coming from each part, Marcus faces a race opposed to time to avoid wasting the lives of a gaggle of blameless humans selected as sacrifices within the Prophet's ultimate darkish ritual.
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Extra info for The Prophet (Shepherd, Book 2)
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.