Rook (The Bowers Files Book #2) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Steven James

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266 pages

English

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Description

An arsonist has struck a top-secret research facility at a key US naval base. But it's not just a random terrorist attack. These people were after something specific. When Special Agent Patrick Bowers is called in to investigate, he is drawn into a deadly web of intrigue and deception. With his own criminology research being turned against him and one of the world's most deadly devices missing, Bowers is caught up in a race against time to stop an international assassin before it's too late.Full of fast-paced action and mind-bending plot twists, The Rook is an adrenaline-laced page-turner that will keep readers up all night. Book 2 in the Bowers Files, this riveting look into the criminal mind is the perfect follow-up to James's well-reviewed The Pawn.

Sujets

Thriller

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 août 2008
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441216298
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	3 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0202€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

“Steven James introduced the game in The Pawn and now continues with the intriguing, spine-tingling adventures of FBI agent Pat Bowers in The Rook . Steven James’s ability to use modern investigative techniques to solve his criminal mysteries places him at the forefront of current mystery writers. [This is] a book you hate to put down even when you reach the end.”
E. Cleon Glaze, retired FBI agent
“Steven James was one of last year’s best surprises. In this second Patrick Bowers novel, James ratchets up the thrills and chills, the twists and turns, and our connections with the characters. This is first-class suspense, with threads of wisdom tying it all together. I’m panting for the next book already.”
Eric Wilson, author of A Shred of Truth and Expiration Date
“Steven James does it again! The Rook is a riveting nail-biter that takes the reader on a wild ride of suspense, thrill, and danger. Steven James delivers a powerful storyline that seamlessly combines the edginess of contemporary crime-solving stories with the real-world struggles of romance, broken families, loss, and honor.”
John Thurman, counselor and radio personality
“Steven James has certainly done his homework. His level of detail and knowledge in the area of the military characters is superb. Having spent a large portion of my life in the US Navy Special Forces defending our country in such locations and situations, I can say that he has hit the nail on the head on this one. His characters almost come to life as you read his books. I could not put this one down! Top-notch work.”
LT Robert Bess, US Naval Special Warfare/Naval Special Operations

© 2008 by Steven James
Published by Revell a division of Baker Publishing Group P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287 www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2010
Ebook corrections 7.25.2013, 02.27.2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC
ISBN 978-1-4412-1629-8
For David and Kellie
The heart of the sons of men is full of evil, and madness is in their heart while they live, and after that they go to the dead.
Ecclesiastes 9:3 King James Version
That motley drama—oh, be sure It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin, And Horror the soul of the plot.
“The Conqueror Worm” Edgar Allan Poe
Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
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Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ad
Back Cover
PROLOGUE
Thursday, November 5, 2008 Washington, DC 5:32 p.m.
The Chevy Tahoe sloshed to a stop in the soggy patch of unseasonably thick snow, and Creighton Melice stepped into the twilight.
He scanned the decrepit Washington DC neighborhood. Drug dealers on the corners. A few blank faces staring at him through the windows of dead buildings. Thick shadows spreading across the street. Creighton drew in a breath of the stale air. Ah yes. Being in the rotting core of the city as the day died around him made Creighton Melice feel right at home.
His lawyer, Jacob Weldon, whispered nervously out the window of the SUV. “So, do you want me to wait for you, then?”
Creighton glanced at him. Weldon. A timid little man with overripe eyes.
“No. I’ll be all right.”
“Be careful.” Weldon sounded relieved.
“I always am.”
Less than three hours ago Creighton had been in custody. Dank cell. Second-degree murder charges—and most likely a long prison sentence. But then, just as Creighton was rehearsing his story, Weldon showed up and announced he’d made bail. “You’re a free man,” he said.
“Don’t screw with me.”
“I’m serious.”
“Who? Who paid it?”
Weldon shook his head. “I don’t know. Someone. A friend.”
Creighton scowled. “How could you not know? Didn’t he have to sign for it?”
“Sent someone. A big guy, I’ve seen him before, sitting in on the preliminaries. But he was just a delivery boy. Someone else footed the bill.”
“A friend, huh? Well, none of my friends have that kind of money.”
“Maybe you made a new one. C’mon, let’s get you out of this place. Whoever it was wants to see you.”
So they left the jail, drove around long enough to make sure no cops were trying to keep an eye on him, and then ended up here at 1311 Donovan Street in front of this vacant gray building wearing a tilted sign that read “The Blue Lizard Lounge.”
The place Creighton’s new friend had chosen for the meeting.

After Weldon’s Tahoe had disappeared around the corner, Creighton scoured the ground for a weapon, snagged a broken beer bottle, and leaned his hand against the dilapidated dance club’s metal door. It clung to its latch for a moment and then creaked open.
A hallway stretched before him, lit only by a meager network of lightbulbs dangling at odd angles every six feet or so.
He didn’t like any of this. The meeting. The confined space. Some guy he didn’t even know paying his bail. Creighton tightened his grip on the neck of the bottle. He’d only used a broken bottle as a weapon once. That night had ended well for him, not so well for the guy who’d been hitting on the woman who was about to become his girlfriend. He figured he could do at least as much damage tonight if he needed to.
As Creighton approached the end of the hallway, he could see two doors, one on each side. A single word had been scrawled on each door. And, while it was hard to tell for sure in the dim light, the words looked like they might have been painted with blood. He reached out his hand. Felt the word Pain .
Still damp.
Tasted it.
Yes. Blood.
The word Freedom had been painted on the door across the hall.
Creighton glanced behind him. Only an empty hallway. Then he inspected the doors, checked for light seeping beneath them. Nothing. Looked around the hallway one more time.
Nothing. Just an empty hallway that terminated here. At these two doors.
Freedom or pain.
Creighton pressed his ear up to each door in turn. Listened. Not a sound.
He needed to make a choice.
The decision was easy.
Creighton chose pain.
With a soft click, the door mouthed open into a narrow entryway. Maybe fifteen feet ahead of him, a tightly focused light sliced through the center of an adjoining room, probably the abandoned club’s dance floor. A spotlight?
Why a spotlight?
Creighton smelled cigarette smoke. Someone was waiting for him.
His new friend.
Creighton crossed the entryway, and as he stepped into the harsh light, a voice halted him. “That’s far enough.” The voice was electronically altered, but to Creighton, the speaker sounded male.
Creighton paused.
At the other end of the room, about twenty-five feet away, sat a figure with an industrial-strength halogen work lamp glowing behind his chair. Even though the person was starkly backlit, Creighton could clearly see that whoever it was had a gun.
“You chose the correct door, Creighton.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see.” He shielded his eyes, then gestured toward the gun. “So, did you set me free just so you could shoot me?”
Electronic laughter ricocheted around the room. The person motioned his gun toward the bottle Creighton was holding. “And did you come here just so you could slice me?”
“Maybe.”
A pause. “I want to offer you something.”
“I don’t work for anyone, and you can’t buy me off. So, if you’re gonna shoot me, make it a good shot because if you just wound me, I’m coming for you.” Creighton raised the cruelly tipped weapon. “I’m pretty quick, and if I make it across the room, I’m going to bury this in your belly. How’s that for an offer?”
“Now, now. Don’t I even get a thank-you? Your bail was no small sum, and we both know you won’t show up for the trial. That’s quite a little chunk of change I paid just to have you come here and threaten me.”
Creighton tried to catch the tenor of the person’s real voice, but whoever it was, he must have had a microphone up to his mouth that changed the pitch and tone of every word as he spoke.
“Well,” said Creighton. “I never asked for your help.”
A coarse voice coming through the mic. “Mr. Melice, I’ve been, how shall I say, following your career.”
“So, you’re a fan. Well, that’s just great.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. I am a fan. You have a great gift.”
“Oh, is that what you call it.” It wasn’t really a question. Silence stained the room. Creighton waited for the guy to reply, and when he didn’t, Creighton turned his head and tapped the broken bottle against the back of his neck. “The base of the neck, right there, or maybe the back of the head, would be your best choice. Although from that range you better know what you’re doing. I’m turning to go now. Take your best shot.” Creighton expected to hear the click as the guy snapped off the safety; it would tell him a lot if he did. None of the guys he’d worked with ever used a safety.
Creighton took two steps. Then heard the voice again.
“I know why you chose this door.”
Creighton paused.
“I can get you what you want.”
Creighton turned. “No one can get me what I want.”
“My friend, you wouldn’t b