Shadow
Catcher
by
James R. Hannibal
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLURB:
From
James R. Hannibal—a veteran combat pilot with Top Secret clearance
from the U.S. government—comes an electrifying high-tech thriller
in the great tradition of Tom Clancy…
Over
ten years ago, Air Force major Nick Baron was part of a failed
special ops mission that left a B-2 stealth bomber at the bottom of
the Persian Gulf. Now, leading his men—the Triple Seven Chase
team—Baron must find the bomber and dispose of it for good before
any unfriendly nation can steal the onboard technology for its own
purposes. But as the team embarks on its mission, there are greater
dangers waiting.
When
the CIA intercepts a call signal from an operative in China long
thought dead, the Triple Seven Chase team is given the perilous task
of retrieving the lone soldier from deep within the Chinese
wilderness. There is only one plane for such a dangerous mission: the
Shadow Catcher, a plane with capabilities beyond anything that has
ever flown.
What
Baron and his men don’t know is that the enemy is already among
them—and that the Shadow Catcher itself may be the ultimate prize.
From
Chapter 1
Kuwait
March
18, 2013
A lone
Westerner weaved his way along the crowded sidewalk in front of the
Souk Sharq in Kuwait City, suffering the uneasy glances and
occasional loathing glares of the locals. They did not bother him;
with his flaxen hair and fair skin, such looks were unavoidable. On
another day, he might have indulged his audience by slowing to gaze
up at the beautiful souk, playing the part of the wandering tourist,
admiring the high towers and ornate arches that hearkened back to the
glory days of the Persian Empire. But not today. There was no time.
For ten
years, the objective had lain hidden, dormant. For ten years, the
secret had remained sealed in its watery vault. Now that he was back,
he felt like that seal had been broken, as if his mere presence in
the Persian Gulf had started a race against an unknown enemy. And
somehow he knew he was already behind.
Once
inside the souk, Air Force major Nick Baron moved into the shadow of
a pillar. Now free from the usual disdainful looks, he let his steel
blue eyes slowly drift over the crowd, scanning the potpourri of
faces for something much more dangerous: recognition. He found none.
Finally satisfied that he was not being watched or followed, he
turned his attention to finding his teammate. It did not take long.
Nick
slowly shook his head and sighed.
Major
Drake Merigold stood in the center of the Grand Corridor at the base
of a beautiful two-story water clock, staring up at the Jules Vernian
sculpture with his mouth slightly agape. He wore an orange and blue
Hawaiian shirt that hung untucked over his khaki shorts. He could not
have stood out more amid the drab garb of the locals if he had worn a
fluffy red wig and big floppy shoes.
The two
field operatives of the Triple Seven Chase squadron had arrived on
separate flights, on separate carriers, under assumed names. Each had
used a unique, indirect route to reach the souk, where they were
supposed to quietly join up before heading out into the gulf to meet
the rest of the team. The stakes of this mission demanded strict
adherence to the principles of covert movement. But then how could
Drake be expected to fully grasp the stakes? No one had told him the
real reason they were here.
“Magnum
PI called,” said Nick, joining his comrade at the water clock. “He
wants his shirt back.”
Drake
nodded, still looking up. “It’s called hiding in plain sight,
boss.” He was nearly a head taller than Nick, with broad shoulders
to match and chiseled Greek features. With his flawless dark hair and
obnoxious shirt, he looked like a movie star about to go on a cruise
rather than a military operative. He glanced around the wide
corridor, pulling the loud shirt away from his body and fanning it to
take advantage of the air-conditioning. “They did a good job
rebuilding. The last time we were here, an Iraqi missile had just
crashed through the ceiling. You’d never know that there was once a
huge crater right where we’re standing.”
“They’ve
had ten years to fix it,” said Nick. “We’ve been away a long
time.”
For the
first time since Nick had stepped out of the shadows, Drake looked
him straight in the eyes. “So, why are we back?”
Nick
dropped his eyes from Drake’s to check his watch. “The others
should be reaching the rendezvous point soon. It’s time we got out
there.”
Drake
frowned. “You’re starting to act like the colonel.”
“Just
pick up your bag and let’s go.”
Nick
shifted the strap of the duffel bag that hung over his shoulder and
started walking toward the central rear archway, the exit to the
marina. Like Drake, he wore civilian clothes to hide his military
affiliation, although his choices were a little more understated. His
dark gray button-down shirt hung loose on his shoulders, masking the
solid build beneath. Both men carried civilian duffel bags with
enough gear to get them through a few days on the water, just as
Colonel Walker had directed.
Warm
salty air rushed over him as Nick pushed open the glass double doors.
He started down the stairs to the wooden boardwalk, where several
docks extended out into the gulf. Each had room for twenty small
craft and each was nearly full, a forest of masts and canvas. Other
than the whip and snap of the sails in the gentle breeze, all seemed
quiet. Nick felt the temptation to relax.
The
doors to the Grand Corridor clicked closed behind him, wrenching his
senses away from the pleasant atmosphere. He paused halfway down the
stairs. Scanning farther down the docks, he spied a pair of locals in
the common white thaubs and keffiyehs. He watched them for a few
moments as they prepared to launch a blue and white runabout,
probably for an evening pleasure cruise. They looked harmless.
At the
end of the third dock, he found a black dinghy waiting at the
prescribed slip. He held it fast and tossed in their bags while Drake
jumped on board and prepped the motor.
Within
minutes, Drake had the throttle fully open, accelerating out into the
open waters of the Persian Gulf. Every so often, he steered into a
wave, sending white spray over the bow and onto Nick.
“I
know you’re doing that on purpose,” said Nick, wiping the oily
gulf water from his face.
“Just
trying to lighten the mood,” replied Drake. “You gotta learn to
relax, boss.”
“I’ll
relax when the mission is complete and the team is safely back at
Romeo Seven.”
“You
know that ain’t true.”
Nick
refused to respond. He was in no mood for friendly ribbing, and he
feared that in a few hours’ time, Drake’s usual jovial temper
would sour as well. Before the day was over, Drake would accuse him
of betrayal, and he would have every right to.
Twenty
minutes later, another craft appeared on the horizon. Despite his
fears, Nick managed a thin smile. The commander of the Triple Seven
Chase was well known in the covert ops community as an acquisitions
wizard. Colonel Richard T. Walker had just pulled another rabbit out
of his pointy hat, and this time she was a big one.
Nick
estimated the vessel to be at least 250 feet long with a 50-foot
beam. She looked fresh from the dry dock, with unblemished white
paint and a thick red stripe along the rails. She was well equipped
too, with three golf-ball-style radomes amidships and a docking
station jutting out from the rear beneath two heavy salvage cranes.
“Illustro
ex Caliga,” read Nick, squinting at the black lettering near the
bow of the craft.
“It
means ‘Illustrious Sea Monkey,’” said Drake.
“I
don’t believe you.”
“Good
call.” Drake scratched his chin in thought. “If I remember my
Latin correctly, it means ‘Illumination out of Darkness.’” He
guided the dinghy to the aft station, cutting his speed to a crawl
and then inching into position in an agonizingly slow attempt at
docking.
“Well,
that was ugly, Merigold,” said a booming voice from above. An
imposing figure leaned against the rail of the upper deck. With his
gray crew cut and perpetual scowl, Colonel Walker carried the aura of
a man in full US Army service dress, even when wearing a golf shirt
and khakis.
“Hey,
I fly airplanes, not boats,” retorted Drake, slapping the tubular
black hull of the dinghy. “I’m used to touching down on a solid
surface at a hundred and fifty knots, not wallowing in to a moving
target at five. You should be glad I didn’t ram this thing into
your little rental here.”
Walker
ignored Drake’s attempt to bait him. “Hurry up, gentlemen,” he
said. “We have a lot of work to do before dark.”
“And
what work is that, sir?” asked Drake, hopping onto the ship’s
dock to secure the dinghy.
The
colonel’s usual scowl faded into a grim smile. “Preparing to
raise a ghost from our past, Major Merigold,” he said. “Preparing
to raise a ghost from our past.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR
Bio and Links:
James R.
Hannibal is a former US Air Force Stealth Bomber pilot with over a
thousand hours of combat experience including over-watch, close air
support, and HVI captures. He graduated from the US Air Force Academy
in 1997 with a bachelors of science in Middle
Eastern
Studies and earned a masters of science from Central Missouri State
University in Aviation Safety Sciences. His flying career included
the A-10 Warthog, B-2 Stealth Bomber, MQ-1 Predator, T-38 Talon, T-37
Tweet, and the Boeing 737, 757, and 767. When he is not flying or
writing thrillers, James occasionally reviews for the New York
Journal of Books.
Buy
links:
IndieBound
- www.indiebound.org/book/9780425266885
Walmart
- http://www.walmart.com/ip/31893105
Social
Media:
Facebook
– http://www.facebook.com/JamesRHannibal
Twitter
– http://twitter.com/JamesRHannibal
Website
– http://stealthcommand.com/
Shadow
Maker:
How far
will collateral damage from a CIA drone strike reach?
When a
suicide bomber shatters the peace of a winter afternoon on the
National Mall in Washington, D.C., former pilot and undercover
Cerberus operative Nick Baron receives an eerie invitation from the
chess app on his phone—a mysterious figure named The Emissary wants
to play.
Nick and
his covert unit—the Triple Seven Chase team—soon find themselves
drawn into battle against an unknown opponent who has resurrected an
ancient order of assassins: the legendary Hashashin. And there is a
long-awaited prophecy being fulfilled by a series of violent attacks
which may culminate in a final apocalypse over Jerusalem.
As the
Triple Seven fight to stop each attack, Nick tries to keep The
Emissary on the hook by playing their digital chess game. The lines
between the game and the fight begin to blur, as every time Nick
loses a piece on the board, he loses one of his men. And if Nick
cannot find a way to stop the terrorist mastermind, a checkmate may
kill millions…
Wraith:
After
the towers fall on 9/11, Lieutenant Nick Baron and the rest of the
81st Fighter Squadron are desperate for action. But CENTCOM puts them
on the sidelines, leaving the young Warthog pilots restless—and
reckless. Then the unthinkable happens. During a high-risk training
flight, a rookie wingman slams into the ground.
In the
darkness that follows, Nick wonders if he will ever learn to trust a
wingman again—or even learn to trust himself. He will soon find
out. Despite the black mark on his record, Nick’s application to
the elite Stealth Wing is approved. A recruiter for a new covert team
has taken note of Nick’s unique combination of skills. Suddenly
Nick is swept into Operation Cerberus—a top secret mission that
will take him from a harrowing flight over a black testing facility
to a fight for his life on the Iraqi Dunes.
“Hannibal
brings together a terrific mix of real air technology with intrigue
and nonstop action. A true suspenseful story that will keep you
turning the pages until the exciting finale; it really is a great
tale.”—Clive Cussler
“Get
out of the way, Nelson DeMille. Brad Thor—you’ve got
competition!”—Raymond Benson
“A
feast for thriller lovers!”—Grant Blackwood, New York Times
bestselling author of The Kill Switch
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