A U.S. gold heist turns an African nation into a war zone...


The Executioner slowed and looked back at the American
Embassy

Kinshasa might be boiling with political intrigue,
but something Bolan had seen or heard in the CIA
observation room had put him on edge.

The instant he stepped outside the gate, Bolan
knew what it was. No fewer than three different
factions watched the front of the embassy. By
entering and leaving so openly he had become a
target.

Quinn had let him become a new pawn in a game
of political intrigue that he neither wanted nor had
the time to deal with.

Bolan was diving for cover when the first bullet
tried to find a home in his flesh. He rolled behind
a burned-out car and came to his knees, reaching
for his pistol. He scanned the area where the shots
must have come from, but saw nothing. A quick
glance in the direction of the embassy showed the
marines were alert but not willing to come out to
his aid.

The Executioner was on his own. As usual.

Look for Fire Zone wherever books are sold, October 13, 2009.

Rogue U.S. security forces profit from Afghanistan's heroin trade...

“A report?” Brognola said. “I’d like to see it.”

“I misspoke. Call it a rumor, if you like.”

“I don’t like rumors,” the big Fed stated. “Who are
these valued contractors?”

The black eyes pinned him. “Let’s cut the crap.
State officially objects to any unauthorized Justice
programs you may be running in Afghanistan. That
comes from the top. I hope it’s clear enough for
you.”

“It’s crystal clear,” Brognola said, rising to his feet.

“I can assure you without fear of contradiction that
Justice has no unauthorized programs running in
Kabul, or anywhere else. And that comes from the
top. Have a good one.”

Brognola felt them staring daggers at him as he
left. He had a problem now, a leak, and he would
have to deal with it before he and Bolan landed in a
world of hurt.

Look for Altered State wherever books are sold, October 13, 2009.

A new spark in the Middle East could ignite the ultimate global conflagration...

BROGNOLA STOOD WHERE HE WAS, WAITING

“In addition to the church in that cowboy state
of yours,” the voice said pompously over the
speakerphone, “the third suicide bomber I sent
to Israel has just eliminated close to four hundred
infidels in Tel Aviv.”

The President remained cool. “I hadn’t even heard
of the first two yet,” he said, glancing at Brognola.
“They must not have been very big.”

The voice that responded turned angry. “They were
exactly the size I wanted them to be.”

Brognola was listening to one of the biggest egos
he’d ever encountered in his long career.

“And, Allah willing, there are far bigger things to
come,” said the Iranian president.

“Are you declaring war on the United States?” the
Man asked.

But the leader of the free world got no response.

All he and Hal Brognola heard was a click as the
line went dead.

Look for Sky Sentinels wherever books are sold, October 13, 2009.

The search for a legendary creature has never been deadlier....


Annja knew there was no way she
could turn her back on her friend

Jenny had to be protected—if not from the external
threats, like the mysterious gunmen, then from herself.
Annja had seen obsession kill people and knew that
Jenny could easily fall prey to the same fate. I won’t let
her die, she thought.

Joey came back into the camp, dragging branches
behind him. “She still out?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Suddenly Annja heard a low howl of some sort. It
sounded like a cross between a coyote and a banshee.
She looked at Joey. “What the heck is that?”

Joey busied himself thatching a roof together. “I don’t
know. Now, if you’ll help me make this shelter, we can
get to bed and hopefully forget we ever heard that.
Because it’s not something I’ve ever heard before.”

“Never?” Annja asked.

“Never,” Joey said. “But whatever it is, it sounds like
it’s coming this way.”

Look for Footprints wherever books are sold, September 8, 2009.

A struggle for survival in a land of sudden death...



The ceremony was over

“I don’t know what it is we’ve stumbled into, but I’m
thinking it looks mighty big, J.B.,” Ryan said.

“Agreed,” J.B. said, quickly glancing behind them.

The Armorer pointed to the open door ahead and Ryan
took the lead, jumping onto the raised step and ducking
through the door and into the car. J.B. followed, trotting
up the step and out of the sunlight.

The interior smelled of incense, heavy and cloying, and
thick drapes hung over the windows, blocking out the
dawn light.

A lone figure sat at the table—a woman wearing a hood.
She looked up as they entered, lit by the candle before
her, and Ryan saw the deep lines of age crisscrossing
her face.

“Come in, gentlemen.”

Ryan glanced behind him, checking to see if the
sec men had followed them into the car, but no one
was there.

As they stepped closer to the elderly woman,
Ryan saw what it was that sparkled on her cheeks—
twin tears of blood. And then he felt the world drop
from beneath his feet.

Look for Alpha Wave wherever books are sold, September 8, 2009.

A power struggle has deadly consequences....


“If you do not cooperate, this
will be the day you die!”

Santiago gestured to his men. They moved to stand
one on either side of Bolan, gripping his arms
and moving him across the cell to stand in front
of a closed door on the far side. Santiago himself
reached to free the bolts that held the door shut. He
grasped the handle, ready to open it.

“In Miami you caused us a great deal of trouble. A
number of our people died because you refused to
back away. You made it clear you would refuse to
stop searching for Maggie Connor. Congratulations,
you have found her.”

Santiago pushed the door, then stepped aside so the
Executioner could be shoved toward the opening.

It was another cell. A cold and hostile place.

Bolan was staring at Maggie Connor. Or what was
left of her.

Look for Dark Alliance wherever books are sold, September 8, 2009.