The action and adventure continues with
Gold Eagle Books'

November 2010 releases!

A sunken treasure yields unfathomable terror...

“If I’d rejected Garin, I know for certain I would be dead now.”

“Garin became your sword then,” Annja said.

“That’s one way of looking at it, I guess. He came along at just the right moment, much like the sword did with you. I guess that’s one of the great mysteries of life, how things seem to happen at just the right moment.”

“No coincidences,” Annja said. “That’s too easy an explanation. And I’ve seen enough to not believe in coincidence anymore.”

“It does seem to be the crutch for the unimaginative.” Sheila smiled. “Garin told me you
were something else.”

Annja smirked. “That’s only because he’s been trying to seduce me for years.”

“There aren’t many who can resist him,” Sheila said.

“I never claimed it was easy,” Annja replied with a laugh.

“You’re honest,” Sheila said. “I appreciate that.”

“So the question now seems to be how do we deal with the shark terrorizing this boat and who would dive?”

“You’re going to have to deal with it, Annja. You’re going to have to kill the shark so we can get to the treasure.”

Available November 9th, 2010, wherever books are sold.

Get ready for our September 2010 titles available at a fine book store near you as of September 14th, 2010!

Rogue Angel # 26, The Dragon's Mark

For everything light, there is something dark...

There was one more attacker

Annja whirled, expecting her final opponent to be
closing the distance between them while her attention
was elsewhere.

But that wasn’t the case. The other man hadn’t moved.

He stood watching her, hands held behind his back,
like an instructor evaluating her performance.

“Who are you and what do you want?” Annja asked,
and was surprised at the depth of anger she heard in
her voice.

Her opponent said nothing.

“I’ll give you one last—”

She never finished the sentence.

One second her opponent was standing in front
of her with both hands behind his back, and in the
next he was leaping forward, a Japanese long sword
suddenly appearing in his hands.

Annja just barely managed to deflect the strike as she
brought her own sword up.

Where the hell had that sword come from?

It was almost as if he’d conjured the thing out of
thin air….

Available September 14th, 2010, wherever books are sold.

The jungle offers escape. And another way to die.

“You think I can do this?” Annja asked.

Vic laughed. “Well, you know, you’ve got a pretty strong motivational factor going for you.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, if you don’t hold your own, I’ll leave you behind. These woods are about to turn ugly on me as well. The people I annoyed last night will be out in force looking for yours truly. I’m not hanging around any longer than I have to.”

“You’d leave me behind?” Annja asked.

“In a heartbeat, sister. I’ve got my own agenda to play to. Sorry to break your heart and all.”

Annja frowned. “You’re not breaking my heart,” she said.

Vic smiled. “Let’s get moving.”

Annja stood and rubbed on some more mosquito repellent. Vic hefted his rifle and then stopped. “Here,” he said, holding out a small-caliber pistol. “You know how to use one?”

Annja took the gun, dropped the magazine and racked the slide. As the bullet in the chamber spun out, she caught it in her hand. Then she topped off the magazine, rammed it home and racked the slide again.

“Yeah, I think I can handle it,” she said.

Vic nodded and grinned. “You’re not exactly a damsel in distress, are you?”

Look for Sacrifice May 12, wherever books are sold.

On the fringe...on the run!

New Rogue Angel adventure available March 10.

Who’s involved with this?
Annja wondered.

Someone beyond the university, certainly, otherwise she wouldn’t be the target of Arab martial-arts masters. University of Sydney professors didn’t strike her as the types to bring in hired assassins.

She stepped into another chamber, this one much smaller than the first one. It smelled ghastly, and a pan of the light showed why. The ceiling had spiderweb cracks in it. Water had trickled through and ruined the goods arrayed on the floor—long-rotted animal hides, bodies wrapped in cloth, which from their outlines looked to be nothing more than skeletons, jars that had been filled with grain and other foodstuffs and that now contained only mold.

“Ugh,” Annja pronounced. Now it was definitely time to leave.

She spun and blinked furiously, meeting another beam of light—this one aimed right at her eyes.

“Put your flashlight down and put your hands up!”

Because the light had practically blinded her, Annja couldn’t see the speaker, but she guessed it was the man she’d followed. He’d gotten behind her and hidden, waited for the right time to approach.

“Drop it now!” he ordered.

Annja had no choice but to comply.

Look for Eternal Journey wherever books are sold beginning March 10

New Rogue Angel available Nov 11 - Check it out!

Prologue

Iowa, 1978

Jack and Toby Lambert had been inseparable until the day
Toby collapsed after baseball practice. Twelve hours later in
the hospital, Jack clung to his seven-year-old twin’s hand.
Toby’s skin was a funny yellow color. He couldn’t speak, but
his eyelids did flutter when Jack spoke.

Not far from the bed, behind a curtain, Jack heard a doctor
announce to his parents that Toby’s liver had failed. He called
it something like acute. Toby would need a transplant. Jack’s
parents were instructed not to be too hopeful, for the waiting
list was long, and there weren’t a lot of donors out there.

Pressing his face against the hard hospital mattress beside
his brother’s prone body, Jack sobbed quietly. He didn’t want
his parents to hear. They had enough to worry about.

He and Toby had planned a raid on Nasty Black George’s
awful gang of four tonight. The entire neighborhood—
boasting seven boys under the age of ten—regularly organized
pirate raids and booty captures. Jack and Toby wore the
monikers “Mad Bloody Jack” and “Evil Gentleman Tobias”
proudly. No one stood in their way when they came
a-pirating. Their plunder was piled high at the bottom of Evil
Gentleman Tobias’s closet. Dirty Joe still fumed about his
pillaged Atari.

If his parents had money, they could buy a newliver forToby.
Jack knew that wasn’t possible. His mom had been putting
on a skirt and jacket every morning before he and Toby left
for school. She was looking for work, they both knew, because
dad’s job was “cutting back the fat.” Whatever that meant.

“I’ll help you,” Jack whispered. His brother had not moved
since his collapse. “Mad Bloody Jack will plunder a real
treasure so we can buy you a new liver. I promise, Toby.”

MAD BLOODY JACK KNEW just the landlubbing wreck of a
ship to raid. Hidden in the tower at the center of the playground
gym, he and Toby—er, Evil Gentleman Tobias—had
kept a keen eye over the goings-on across the street from the
city park using their plundered telescope.

The purple house with the gray shutters and wild hedges
always kept its curtains pulled shut. The craziest stream of
traffic steadily pulled up the driveway, and then away. Some
visitors were there less than five minutes. Toby timed them
on his Cap’n Crunch watch.

Pirate Silly Ned had once said his mother was always
calling the cops on that LSD house. They did nasty things, and
shouldn’t be in this neighborhood.

LSD was a drug. Jack had looked that up in the encyclopedia
on the bottom shelf in his dad’s office. It made people
see visions and act funny. And people paid a lot of money for
it. It was also illegal.

Putting two and two together, Mad Bloody Jack decided
where there was LSD, there had to be money.

He eyed the purple house through the telescope. The sun
had risen an hour earlier. Jack should be in school. But he
knew the purple house would be quiet until at least noon, so
he had to act now. Toby’s life depended on it.

Skipping across the street, Mad Bloody Jack insinuated
himself behind the freestanding purple garage, which was
where he’d seen most of the visitors go when they stopped.
Tramping a patch of dandelions, he pressed his body flat
against the wall. A good pirate should practice stealth—he’d
learned that word from last week’s spelling test. The window
on this side of the garage was blocked with black paper. He
checked and saw it was the same on the other side.

A thick steel padlock secured the door, but the wood was
old and warped. Mad Bloody Jack was able to slide a finger
under the crack at the bottom. And there, under some kind of
rug, he felt something cold and metal.

A key.

“I DON’T KNOW where he could have gotten this….” Jack’s
mother choked on her astonishment and clung even tighter to
her husband’s arm.

Her son had dumped out a pillowcase on the floor in the
bathroom attached to Toby’s hospital room. “Plunder,” he’d
muttered, and then had gaily announced the family now had
enough money to buy Toby a new liver. He dashed to his
brother’s side.

Jack’s father toed the pile of rubber-banded bills. Hundreddollar
bills. “There must be tens of thousands here.”
“We can’t—”
“Of course not. I’ll ring the police,” he said and instructed
his wife to remain in the bathroom and keep an eye on the
money.

A PIRATE NEVER GAVE UP the location of his best plunder.
Never. But when two police officers escorted Jack’s mother
from the hospital room where they’d been questioning Jack
and his father, Mad Bloody Jack became irate.

“Don’t touch my mother!” he shouted.
“They’re not going to hurt her, Jack,” his father reassured.

“Though I don’t know where they’re taking her. You have to
tell us where you got the money. Please, Jack, to keep your
mother safe.”

In a rush of fear and utter exhaustion, Mad Bloody Jack
gave the details of his raid. He didn’t take it all. There had
been too much to carry. Now would they please let his mother
go and get to ordering that new liver for his brother?

Toby died three days later. The police had confiscated the
money. Jack had been inconsolable. He’d done it. He had
found a means to save his brother’s life. And the adults—
they’d done nothing! What was wrong with them? Didn’t
they want to save Toby?

“It was never that simple,” his father said. Keith Lambert’s
face was drawn and his sigh chilled across Jack’s shoulders.


Look for Swordsman's Legacy November 11 wherever books are sold.

Gold Eagle Exclusives at Comic-Con 2008

Gold Eagle Books returns to Comic-Con in San Diego, from July 24th to July 27th, 2008. This year we’re giving away more free books then ever, as well as featuring special signing events with authors and artists who will be at the conference. You can find us at booth #1220 amidst the madness.

The following creative folks will be dropping by our booth to sign FREE books and posters while they tour the event:

AUTHOR NANCY HOLDER: Thursday, July 24, 2:00pm
USA TODAY bestselling author from the Nocturne book series. Get a free signed copy of her latest Nocturne book, SON OF THE SHADOWS.


AUTHOR JOHN HELFERS: Friday, July 25, 5:00pm
Contributing author to the Room 59 series. Get a free signed copy of his latest book, ROOM 59: AIM AND FIRE.



AUTHOR MEL ODOM: Thursday, July 24, at 5:00pm
Bestselling author of the Rogue Angel series. Get a free signed copy of his latest book, ROGUE ANGEL: GABRIEL’S HORN.



ARTIST CLIFF NIELSEN: Friday, July 25, at 2:30pm
Artist/illustrator for such series as The X-Files, Star Wars, The Crow and Silhouette Nocturne. Get a free signed copy of a NOCTURNE Comic-Con exclusive art poster.


AUTHOR C.E. MURPHY: Saturday, July 26, at 11am
Bestselling author from Luna books will be signing free copies of HOUSE OF CARDS.


ARTIST TIM BRADSTREET: Saturday, July 26, at 3:00pm
Eisner Award nominee and comic books illustrator (Hellblazer, The Punisher) and Rogue Angel cover artist. Get a free signed copy of a ROGUE ANGEL Comic-Con exclusive art poster.



ARTIST JOHN VAN FLEET: Sunday, July 27, at 11:00am
The artist/illustrator known for his work with Halo, Batman, Star Wars and our new artist for Gold Eagle’s Deathlands series. Get a free signed copy of a DEATHLANDS Comic-Con exclusive art poster.



We'll also be giving away free books from The Executioner, Deathlands, Outlanders and Mack Bolan book series, as well as our sister publishers, Luna and Silhouette. We'd love to say hello to you, so drop over to 1220 and snag some swag!

New Rogue Angel available July 8 - Gabriel's Horn

Gabriel's Horn - Here's a preview of the next Rogue Angel!

Chapter 1

Prague, Czech Republic

“He’s going to catch fire when the motorcycle hits the back
of the overturned car?” Annja Creed asked in disbelief.

“Yeah. But the real trick is when he catches fire.” Barney
Yellowtail calmly surveyed the wrecked cars in the middle of
the narrow street between a line of four-story buildings that
had seen far better days.

“When?” Annja asked, still trying to grasp the whole idea.
“When is important,” Barney continued. He was in his
late forties, twenty years older than Annja, and had been a
stuntman for almost thirty years. “If Roy catches on fire too
late, we’ve hosed the gag.”

Gags, Annja had learned, were what stunt people called the
death-defying feats they did almost on a daily basis.

“And if you hose the gag,” Annja said, “you have to do it
over and risk Roy’s life again.”

Barney grinned. He claimed to be full-blood Choctaw
Indian from Oklahoma and looked it. His face was dark and
seamed, creased by a couple of scars under his left eye and
under his right jawline. He wore rimless glasses that darkened
in the bright sunlight, and a straw cowboy hat. His jeans and
chambray work shirt were carefully pressed. His boots were
hand-tooled brown-and-white leather that Annja thought were
to die for.

Annja was five feet ten inches tall with chestnut hair and
amber-green eyes. She had an athlete’s build with smooth,
rounded muscle. She wore khaki pants, hiking boots, a lightweight
white cotton tank under a robin’s-egg-blue blouse,
wraparound blue sunglasses and an Australian Colly hat that
she’d developed a fondness for to block the sun.

“That’s not the worst part,” Barney assured her.
“That’s not the worst part?” Annja echoed.
“Naw,” Barney replied, smiling wide enough to show a row
of perfect teeth. “The worst part is that the director will be mad.”

“Oh.”
Barney looked at her as if sensing that she wasn’t completely
convinced. “Mad directors mean slow checks. They
also mean slow work. If you can’t hit your marks on a gag,
especially on a film that Spielberg’s underwriting, your phone
isn’t going to ring very often.”

Annja wondered if you had to be certifiable to be a stuntman.
“C’mon, Annja,” Barney said. “I’ve read about you in the
magazines, seen you on Letterman and kept up with what
you’re doing on Chasing History’s Monsters.You know life
isn’t worth living without a little risk.”

Annja knew her life hadn’t exactly been risk free. Actually,
especially lately, it seemed to go the other way. As a working
archaeologist, she’d traveled to a number of dangerous places,
and those places were starting to multiply dramatically as she
became more recognized.

She thought about her job at Chasing History’s Monsters.
Most days she wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse. The
syndicated show had high enough ratings that the producers
could send Annja a number of places that she couldn’t have
afforded on her own.

The drawback was that the stories she was asked to
cover—historical madmen, psychopaths, serial killers and
even legendary monsters—were usually less than stellar. Fans
of the show couldn’t get enough of her, but some of the people
in her field of archaeology had grown somewhat leery.
None of that, though, had come without risk.

“Okay,” Annja admitted. “I’ll give you that. But I’ve never
set myself on fire.”

“Roy’s not going to set himself on fire,” Barney said. “I’m
going to do that for him.”
“Oh.”
“It’s just that timing is critical.” Barney stepped to one side
as his cell phone rang. “Excuse me.”

Annja nodded and surveyed the street. The film crew had
barricaded three city blocks in Prague’s Old Town. A few
streets over, the Vltava River coursed slowly by and carried
the river traffic to various destinations.

Prague was a new experience for Annja, and she was thoroughly
enjoying it. Getting the job on the movie had been as
unexpected as it was welcome. She’d done a bit of work with
props before, but never on a motion picture of this magnitude.

Kill Me Deadly was a new spy romp that was part James
Bond and part Jason Bourne. The hero even carried the same
J.B. initials—Jet Bard.

Annja hadn’t quite understood the plot because a lot of the
details were still under wraps. She was of the impression
some of them were still being worked out, which was causing
extra stress on the set.
Three cars occupied the middle of the street. Two of them
were overturned. All of them were black from where they’d
been burned. The stuntman was supposed to hit the upright car,
catch on fire and turn into a human comet streaking across the
sky.

When Annja had heard about the stunt and had received
an invitation from Barney to attend, she’d thought about
gracefully declining. Then she’d found she couldn’t stay
away.

Now her stomach knotted in anticipation. She’d gotten to
know the young daredevil who was about to become a human
fireball. He was a nice guy and she didn’t like the idea that
something bad might happen to him.

“Okay,” Barney said as he stepped back to rejoin her. His
gaze remained on the street while he adjusted his headset.
“I’m going to need you to stay quiet for a moment, Annja.”
“Sure.” Annja gazed down the street anxiously.

Camera operators lined the street from various points of
view. All of them remained out of each other’s line of sight.
The crews had worked on the setup for hours. Before that,
they’d measured and mapped the distances on a model of the
street and the cars.

According to the computer programs Barney and the other
stunt people had run, everything would go fine. To Annja, it
was a lot like exploring a dig site she’d read about. Even
though she knew the background and the general layout, there
were far too many surprises involved to guarantee everything
was safe. Some of the early Egyptian-tomb explorers had
quickly discovered that.

“On your go,” Barney said softly. He held up an electronic
control box in both hands. “I’m with you.”He flicked a switch.

Immediately a half-dozen fires flamed to life within the
pile of wrecked cars. They burned cheerily and black smoke
twisted on the breeze.

“We’ve got fire in the hole, Roy,” Barney declared.
The throb of the motorcycle’s engine rumbled into Annja’s
ears. She watched with a mixture of dread and anticipation.
Roy Fein was one of the top stuntmen in the game. Barney
had said that a number of times over the past few days. She
didn’t know if he’d been trying to reassure her or himself.

“Steady,” Barney said. “Okay, you’re on track. Now increase
your speed to seventy-eight miles per hour.”

The exact speed had been a big concern, Annja knew. Too
much and the impact angle would be wrong and the motorcycle
might flip end over end. Too little and Roy would fall
short of the air bag that waited at the other end of the jump.

The motorcycle roared into view. Roy Fein, dressed in
dark blue racing leathers and a matching helmet, had raced
around the corner. A car followed only inches behind him.

“You’re on,” Barney said. “Hit the Volkswagen and I’m
going to light you up.”
At that moment, the pursuit car slowed and slewed
sideways. Actors inside the vehicle leaned out the windows
and fired weapons.
“I got you, kid. I got you.” Barney’s voice was soft and reassuring.
“Get that fire-suppression unit ready.”

The motorcycle rider popped a slight wheelie just before
he hit the Volkswagen. Effortlessly, the motorcycle climbed
the specially altered vehicle.

“Now,” Barney said. His finger flipped one of the switches
on the electronics box.

Immediately, the motorcycle and rider were enveloped in
flames. But something was wrong. Instead of arcing gracefully
across the distance, the motorcycle went awry.

“Kick loose, kid!” Barney yelled. “Lose the bike!” He
dropped the electronics box and ran toward the street.

Roy pushed free of the motorcycle and spread-eagled in
the air like Superman. But he wasn’t flying—he was falling.
Flames twisted and whipped around his body. He threw his
arms out and tried to adjust his fall as gravity took over and
brought him back toward the pavement.

Annja ran after Barney, though she didn’t know what she
was going to do. There was no way she could help Roy. But
she couldn’t just stand there, either.

The motorcycle spun crazily, nowhere near the trajectory
it was supposed to maintain to get near the air bag designed
to break Roy’s fall. Then it blew up.

The force slammed Annja to the ground. She tucked into
a roll and came to her feet instinctively. Slightly disoriented,
she glanced up to see where the flaming pieces of the motorcycle
were coming down. She saw Barney was on his side.
His face was twisted in agony as he reached toward a bloody
gash soaking his shirt.

Annja went toward him. She yelled for help, but couldn’t
hear her own voice. She tried again. Her ears felt numb, then
she realized she was deaf.

She dropped beside Barney and surveyed the wound. An
irregular furrow ran along his ribs. She tried to tell him that
he was going to be all right but knew that he couldn’t hear
her, either. She yanked his shirt from his pants and rolled the
tails up to his wound, then leaned on the folds to put pressure
on the wound in his side.

One of the other stunt coordinators joined Annja and
dropped to his knees. His mouth was moving. She knew he
was shouting something. He was young, tall and gangly, and
he was in shock.

Annja grabbed one of his hands and directed him to take hold
of the makeshift pressure bandage she’d created. For a moment
he froze. With authority, Annja caught his face in her palms.
She met his eyes with hers and struggled to remember his name.

“Tony,” she said. “It’s Tony, right?” She couldn’t hear herself.
“I can’t hear you,” he said.

Annja read his lips. “It’s okay,” she told him. “Your hearing
will come back.” She hoped that was true.

Sirens, muted and faraway sounding, reached her and gave
her hope that her hearing hadn’t been permanently destroyed.

Tony nodded, but he didn’t look any less scared.
“He’s hurt,” Annja told Tony. “Hold the pressure on the
wound. Like this.” She guided his hands.

“Okay,” he said. “I got it.”
“I’m going to look for a first-aid kit,” Annja shouted.
Tony nodded and held on to the rolled-up shirt.

Annja got up. Her legs were shaky. She felt her phone vibrate
in her pants pocket. Still on the move, she took the phone out
and glanced at the number. She’d been expecting a call from
Garin Braden, but the call was from New York. It was from
Doug Morrell, her producer on Chasing History’s Monsters.

She switched the phone off and returned it to her pocket.
With her hearing compromised, the last thing she needed was
a phone call.

Burning debris from the motorcycle littered the immediate
vicinity. Annja looked for Roy Fein’s body, knowing that
he might not have survived the fall and the flames. Firesuppression
teams worked the air bag’s surface. White flameretardant
foam coated the bag and made it slippery.

Some of Annja’s tension drained away when she realized
Roy had made it to the air bag. Then she saw him moving.
The distinctive motorcycle leathers bore scorch marks and
charring, but he was standing on his own two feet.

All along the street, the set teams hustled to the site. Even
with all the wreckage they’d seen and helped produce for the
movies, the shooting teams weren’t prepared for the damage
they saw now.

Without warning, another detonation occurred and the
three stunt cars erupted in flames.

The force of the explosion blew Annja from her feet and
rolled her away. A wave of heat washed over her back.
Stunned, she lay still for a moment and checked the sidewalk
around her for shadows of falling debris.

A dark mass centered over her as if she lay under a solar
eclipse. She pushed her right hand against the street and rolled
to her left. She barely made out the twisted wreckage of a
burning car falling toward her.

Gabriel's Horn - Available July 8 wherever books are sold!

Mel Odom and Tim Bradstreet will be making a special appearance at the Gold Eagle booth at Comic-con in San Diego!

Gold Eagle author and artist signing details for Comic-con coming soon!

An Excerpt from Rogue Angel: The Soul Stealer

Here's a sneak peek at Rogue Angel: The Soul Stealer, available this month in bookstores everywhere.

-----

She was being followed.

Again.

Annja Creed sighed with an almost nonchalant grin as she felt the familiar feeling wash over her. As many times and as many places as she'd been, she could tell—without even turning around to confirm it—that someone was taking more than a passing interest in her.

Even here, she thought. Even in this remote industrial complex where the concrete was as gray as the cold sky overhead, she hadn't managed to escape the eyes and ears of the locals.

The question, as always, was who was following her? Since arriving in Moscow and then taking the Siberian railroad to the northeast reaches of the former Soviet Union, Annja had kept what she thought was a low profile. She'd paid cash for her transactions. She'd used her new fake passport and booked her travels under a fake name. She'd even tossed her schedule out the window and lingered in several stops for far too long.

But it hadn't worked.

She ran down the list of people in her head who might wish her harm and then frowned. The list was long and growing longer. Every new adventure seemed to add dozens of names to the roster of folks who thought the world would be a better place if perhaps Annja Creed wasn't inhaling any more of its oxygen.

She passed the plate-glass windows of a department store advertising fashions so outdated that Annja wondered if anyone actually came in and requested them. She paused, however, and used the reflecting surface to look behind her.

Nothing.

She kept moving rather than give away the idea that she suspected she was being followed. No sense altering the hunters.

Annja knew that professionals never allowed themselves to be seen when they followed you. So the fact that she hadn't spotted anyone in the shop window might mean she wasn't dealing with amateurs.

On one level, that was good. Amateurs in this part of the world tended to be thugs and rapists who would brutalize you and then sell you off into some sexual-slavery den.

At least the professionals just killed you and got it done with.

She smirked at the thought. How my life has changed, she mused.

She turned a corner and strolled up a narrow street. Ahead of her, she could make out an outdoor market area filled with a smattering of produce, imported electronics goods and bootleg DVDs. Annja knew the mafiya controlled these impromptu bazaars. But she hoped she could use them to lose her tail.

Unless, of course, he worked for the very same gangsters who ran the marketplace. She pondered that for a moment. But she couldn't worry about that for long. Not when she had a pressing appointment to keep with Robert Gulliver, known to his friends as Biker Bob and to the rest of the world as the cycling archaeologist.

Gulliver liked riding across the world on his favorite all-terrain bike. It was how he had scouted so many famous dig sites. Before he went in to any place with loads of equipment, he would casually assess the environment from the comfort of his bicycle. So far, Gulliver had crisscrossed the globe numerous times, although this was his first outing in Siberia.

Gulliver had sent Annja an e-mail from a cybercafé in a town just outside Minsk, asking if she would join him on a scouting mission. Annja, bored with her self-imposed exile back in Brooklyn, had jumped at the opportunity.

But even she was somewhat disgruntled by the location. So far, the dour city of Magadan had failed to impress her. The entire city was formed of cookie-cutter buildings set into neat rows. The streets were all evenly paved with ancient cars zooming down them at breakneck speeds, unconcerned if they hit pedestrians. In contrast, she occasionally spotted a sleek new Lincoln Town Car that proclaimed its driver as belonging to organized crime. Poverty was rampant, and Annja had already doled out some of her money to several children who looked closer to being scarecrows than human beings.

Gulliver had promised her a spectacular adventure, but Annja couldn't see it. Not in a city so utterly drab and awash in human misery.

Still, the fact that she had someone following her at least meant that there might be a little excitement before the day was done.

She ducked under the low awning and entered the marketplace. Immediately, her ears were accosted by the sounds of techno music infused with Russian street rap. Annja spoke a smattering of Russian, but she knew better than to try to translate the music lyrics that blasted out of the nearby speakers.

And she wasn't there to listen to music, anyway.

Ahead of her, the narrow corridor seemed to twist and turn. Elderly shoppers, their heads wrapped in heavy hats and scarves to ward off the first taste of winter in the air, pushed past her, intent on finding something valuable in the midst of chaos.

One of the vendors called out to her and held up an iPod. Annja smiled but shook her head no. She knew they made the cheap knockoffs in China and shipped them north through Mongolia before they ended up here.

Besides, Annja had her own iPod back at the hotel.

She frowned. Unless someone had broken in and stolen it, she thought. She glanced back at the iPod hawker but he was already gone.

Her unpredictable turn had prompted a man thirty feet back to stop awkwardly and turn his head.

Annja smiled.

First mistake. Maybe she wasn't dealing with professionals after all.

She hurried on, aware of a pungent stench of rotting fish assailing her nostrils. Three stalls of dead fish bedded on ice bracketed the next turn. Annja glanced at them. Even the fish were gray.

She had a decision to make. She could allow her tail to continue his surveillance, or she could turn the tables on him and find out who he was. The first choice was annoying because it meant she'd never be alone. The second choice was the more dangerous of the two. Confronting a tail was always a risk. He might be following her because he wanted to harm her. Possibly, he might even kill her.

Annja closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, confirming that Joan of Arc's sword—her sword— was accessible. She could see it in her mind's eye, hovering as it always seemed to. All she had to do was reach out and grab it.

She ducked under a low-hanging portal filled with cheap polyester tapestries done up in gaudy golds and bright reds. She could see the fraying edges and knew that the quality of the material only looked good to those who knew no better and had never had anything better in their lives. To some in this remote outback of Russia, polyester was the fabric of dreams.

She risked a glance back and saw the man clearly. He had no interest in any of the wares being hawked by the vendors. His face was as dour as the rest of the city. But Annja could see the deep lines etched in his face and knew that he had a past—probably that of a hired killer. She knew finding one in this part of the world was easy. And they were always competent.

If they weren't, they simply didn't survive.

Annja made her decision. She rushed ahead and instantly heard the yells behind her as her pursuer bumped into one of the fish stalls. Ice slid everywhere and the dead fish followed, causing several shoppers to fall.

Annja ran.

More voices joined the fray. If her pursuer was with the mafiya, most likely he'd be able to enlist some help. But if he wasn't, then he was risking their wrath by upsetting one of the chief places they made their protection money.

Annja spotted an exit and took it. Fresh air smacked into her face and she saw the narrow alley ahead of her. Grateful that she'd worn her hiking boots instead of her sneakers, Annja raced down the asphalt street.

Behind her, footsteps pounded the pavement. He was close.

Annja skidded into the alley and saw that it was filled with trash. The smell of urine hung heavy in the air. She could smell cheap vodka and the aroma of body odor. Makeshift corrugated-cardboard-box homes dotted the edges of the alley. Annja had entered a town of sorts for homeless people.

She pressed on, dodging the clotheslines that hung between two buildings. Bits of spattered cloth, remnants of winter coats and shirts hung from the lines. Steam from several grates issued forth with a sharp hiss.

The entire alley seemed eerily quiet. Behind her, at the entrance of the alley, the footsteps stopped.

This was where it would get hairy.

Annja ducked low, aware that her vision was being compromised by the crowded nature of the alley. The steam, trapped by the many laundry lines and the clothes they held, seemed to hug closer to the ground, making the alley feel more like a moor drowning in early-morning fog.

Her pursuer would have moved into the alley by now. But he'd move slowly, aware that any one of the boxes might conceal his prey. He might walk right past her. Or she might ambush him.

Annja glanced ahead. Bricks. She frowned. A dead end.

Her heart hammered in her chest. She closed her eyes and tried to reach for the sword. But when she opened her eyes, it wasn't in her hands. She tried again and then it hit her.

The alley was too narrow to swing a sword.

She almost yelped when the disembodied hand grabbed her around the ankle. She yanked her leg away and shot a kick into the hand. Someone on the ground grunted and she saw the hand retreat.

This was not a place she wanted to stay any longer than necessary.

The air around her grew heavy. Annja could feel his presence now, looming and drawing down the distance between them. She ducked down by the closest cardboard box and waited.

The steam played tricks with her eyes. She thought she could see his body parting the mist like some ship on the sea. And then she saw his feet.

Without even thinking about it, Annja launched herself at him, screaming as she did so. She collided with him, knocking him to the ground. He grunted and Annja felt a breath of air come out of his mouth as the wind was knocked out of him.

She winced. Judging by the smell, he was a fan of onion bagels.

He brought his hands up and twisted, trying to push her off him. She could see his left hand reaching for something in his coat. Annja chopped down with her fist onto his forearm, hoping his coat wasn't thick enough to dull the blow.

He grunted again and rolled.

Annja slipped off him and scrambled to her feet, her hands held up high.

As he came up, Annja lashed out with a roundhouse kick aimed at his temple. He ducked under it and punched up into the underside of her thigh. Annja jerked back, surprised that he seemed so nimble after being knocked to the ground.Again, he reached inside his coat. Annja ducked her head and flew at him, tackling him around the waist. Using her momentum, she brought them both back down to the ground.

He was better prepared this time and as she landed, his hands were already trying to work the nerve clusters in her neck with his fingers. Annja could feel the sharp twinges as he dug his fingertips into the area under her ear.

She slid away and got to her feet.

"Stop!" the man shouted.

Annja braced herself. The man got to his feet and held his hands up as if he was surrendering. "I mean you no harm," he said.

Annja frowned. "Really?"

He gestured at his pocket. "Do you mind? I will prove that I am no threat to you."

"Go slow," Annja said. "If I think you're pulling a gun—"

"No gun. Just a note," he said.
Annja watched as he fished a slip of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it and gingerly handed it to her. She took it and glanced down quickly at the words written on it.

Annja, welcome to Magadan. Please follow Gregor.

He will bring you to me.

Regards,

Bob
Annja looked back up. "Gregor?"

The man smiled. "Da."

Annja smiled. "Nice to meet you."

-----

SciFi Chick Reviews Issue Two of IDW's Rogue Angel Comic

Click here to read SciFi Chick's recent review of IDW's issue two of the Rogue Angel comic! Issue three of the five-issue miniseries is out this month!

Renaissance is Here!

If you've missed the beginning of Rogue Angel, not to worry! Starting May 13 you'll be able to discover Annja Creed from the beginning with a brand new 3-in-1 collector's edition. This collection features Destiny, Solomon's Jar and The Spiderstone, the first three titles in the series, as well as cover art by Tim Bradstreet (acclaimed cover artist of DC's Hellblazer and Marvel's Punisher).

IDW's Rogue Angel #1 Hits Stores Today!

The first issue of Rogue Angel's comic book is available at comic and specialty stores today!

From IDW's press release:
Annja is an intelligent, sassy and sexy heroine who explores the mysteries of the past while living her very own present adventure. "She's one of those understated superstars who doesn't realize what an impression she makes on other people," says Rogue Angel writer Barbara Randall Kesel. "Since her love is archaeology, she's used to thinking of herself as the new kid in a world of elderly experts. Her past makes her especially guarded around other people, and she's more inclined to take point than to trust someone else to keep her safe. And while she's gained fame from her role on [fictional TV-show] Chasing History's Monsters, she's continually outshined by her costar-so she stays humble."

In the Rogue Angel: Teller Of Tall Tales five-issue miniseries, Annja's all-new adventure revolves around her drive to explore an unrecorded, shadowy history, which leads her to Virginia City in search of a rumored manuscript that could change the public perception of Mark Twain forever. Central to the story is a new character, Rashmi, who is from India and has a love of Mark Twain. "I loved the idea of someone from an entirely different culture falling in love with America's past," says Kesel. "It's a great brain-twister to think of 'us' as foreign and exotic."

Rogue Angel: Teller Of Tall Tales is scripted by Kesel (Hellboy: Seed of Destruction), who is a Harvey Award-winning writer and editor, a comics award that is presented to comic book professionals by comic book professionals; illustrated by Renae De Liz (Nightmare World); and inked and colored by Ray Dillon (Noble Causes). Rebecca A. Wrigley (Disney Feature Animation) will provide covers for the series, and the debut issue will also feature a variant cover by Rogue Angel novel cover artist Tim Bradstreet (Punisher).

Sci-Fi Chick Interviews Writer Barbara Randall Kesel

Click here to read a great interview Sci-Fi Chick did with Barbara Randall Kesel, writer of the upcoming Rogue Angel: Teller of Tall Tales comic book.

Get the Rogue Angel Comic Series Delivered to Your Door

IDW has provided us with a link to their Rogue Angel comic miniseries pre-order subscription page. You can sign up and have the miniseries delivered directly to your home. Click here and check out the details!

An excerpt from Rogue Angel: Serpent's Kiss

Annja Creed stood in a twelve-foot-deep sacrificial pit beneath a gathering storm. The storm, according to the weather reports, was hours away but promised to be severe. From the look of the skeletons on the floor of the pit and embedded in the walls, hundreds of years had passed since the last sacrifice.

The passage of time hadn't made the discovery any less chilling. Even with her experience as an archeologist—and the recent exposures to sudden death that she thought were incited by the mystic sword she'd inherited—she still had to make the conscious mental shift from personal empathy to scientific detachment.

"Are those human bones?"

Annja glanced up and saw Jason Kim standing near the edge of the pit above her. Jason was a UCLA graduate student who'd won a place on Professor Rai's dig along the southern coast of India.

Jason was barely over five and a half feet tall and slender as a reed. His long black hair blew in the strong wind summoned by the storm gathering somewhere over the Indian Ocean. Thick glasses covered his eyes, which were bloodshot from staying up too late playing PSP games in his tent. He came from a traditional Chinese family that hated the way he'd so easily acquired American ways. He wore a concert T-shirt and jean shorts. A tuft of whiskers barely smudged his pointed chin.

"They're human bones," Annja answered.

"You think they're sacrifice victims?" Jason's immediate interest sounded bloodthirsty, but Annja knew it was only curiosity.

"I do." Annja knelt and scooped one of the skulls from the loose soil at the bottom of the pit. She indicated the uneven cut through the spine at the base of the skull.

"Followers of Shakti favored decapitation."

"Cool. Can I see that?" Jason held his hands out.

Annja only thought for a moment that the skull had once housed a human being. The truth was, in her work, the body left behind was as much a temporary shelter as the homes she unearthed and studied.

Jason's field of study was forensic anthropology. His work primarily included what was left of a body. If anyone at the dig could identify the tool marks on the skeleton, it was Jason.

Annja tossed the skull up to him.

Jason caught the skull in both hands. It didn't bother him that it was so fresh from the grave. His smile went from ear to ear. He rotated the skull in his fingers. "This is the bomb, Annja."

"Glad you like it."

"Think they'll let me keep one?" he asked.

Part of Annja couldn't believe he'd asked the question. The other part of her couldn't believe she hadn't expected it.

"Definitely not," she answered.

"Too bad. Put a small, battery-operated red light inside and this thing would be totally rad. I could even have a friend of mine majoring in dentistry whip up some caps for the incisors. I'd be the first guy to have a genuine vampire skull."

"Except for the genuine part.And you'd have to explain why the skull doesn't turn to dust in sunlight,"Annja said.

"Not all vampires turn to dust. You should know that," he replied.

"Vampires aren't a big part of archaeology." Annja turned her attention back to the other bones. She didn't think she was going to learn a lot from the pit, but there were always surprises.

"I didn't mean from archaeology," Jason persisted.

"I mean from your show."

Annja sighed. No matter where she went, except for highly academic circles, she invariably ended up being known more for her work on Chasing History's Monsters than anything else. The syndicated television show had gone international almost overnight, and was continuing to do well in the ratings.

Scenes from stories she'd done for the show had ended up on magazine covers, on YouTube and other television shows. Her producer, Doug Morrell, never missed an opportunity to promote the show.

"You ever watch the show?" Annja looked up at Jason and couldn't believe she was having the conversation with him.

"Sure. The frat guys go nuts for it. So do the sororities. I mean, DVR means never having to miss a television show again."

Terrific, Annja thought.

"Kind of divided loyalties, though," Jason said. "The sororities watch you." He shrugged. "Well, most of them do. The frat guys like to watch the show for Kristie."

Okay, I really didn't need to hear that, Annja thought.

Kristie Chatham, the other hostess of Chasing History's Monsters, wasn't a rival. At least, Annja didn't see Kristie as such. Kristie wasn't an archaeologist and didn't care about history. Or even about getting the facts straight.

When Kristie put her stories together, they were strictly for shock value. As a result, Kristie's stories tended to center on werewolves, vampires, serial killers and escaped lab experiments.

"You can't go into a frat house without finding her new poster," Jason went on.

"That's good to know," Annja said, then realized that maybe she'd responded a little more coldly than she'd intended.

"Hey." Jason held his hands up in defense and almost dropped his newly acquired skull. He bobbled it and managed to hang on to it. "I didn't mean anything by that."

"No problem," Annja said.

"I don't know why you don't do a poster," Jason said. "You're beautiful."

Maybe if the comment hadn't come from a geeky male in his early twenties who was five years her junior and had a skull under his arm, if she hadn't been covered in dirt from the sacrificial pit and perspiring heavily from the gathering storm's humidity, Annja might have taken solace in that compliment.

Dressed in khaki cargo shorts, hiking boots and a gray pullover, she stood five feet ten inches tall and had a full figure instead of the anorexic look favored by so many modeling agencies. She wore her chestnut-brown hair pulled back under a New York Yankees baseball cap. Her startling amber-green eyes never failed to capture attention.

"I don't do a poster because I don't want to end up on the walls of frat houses," Annja said.

"Or ceilings," Jason said. "A lot of guys put Kristie's posters on the ceiling."

Lightning flashed in the leaden sky and highlighted the dark clouds. Shortly afterward, peals of thunder slammed into the beach.

Jason looked up. "Man, this is gonna suck. I hate getting wet."

"That's part of the job," Annja told him. "The other part is being too hot, too tired, too claustrophobic and a thousand other discomforts I could name."

"I know. But that's only if I stay with fieldwork. I'd rather get a job at a museum. Or in a crime lab working forensics."

Annja was disappointed to hear that. Jason Kim was a good student. He was going to be a good forensic anthropologist. She couldn't understand why anyone would choose to stay indoors in a job that could take them anywhere in the world.

Lightning flashed again. The wind shifted and swept into the pit where Annja stood. The humidity increased and felt like an impossible burden.

"I'm gonna go clean this up," Jason said. "Maybe after we batten down the hatches, you can tell me more about who Shakti was."

Annja nodded and turned her attention back to the burial site. The storm was coming and there was no time to waste.

WITH CAREFUL DELIBERATION, Annja checked the scale representation of the burial pit she'd drawn. So far everything was going easily, but she suspected it was the calm before the storm.

The drawing looked good. She'd also backed up the sketch with several captured digital images using her camera. In the old days, archaeologists only had a pad and paper to record data and findings. She liked working that way. It felt as if it kept her in touch with the roots of her chosen field.

She stared at the body she'd exhumed. From the flared hips, she felt certain that the bones had been a woman. She resolved to have Jason make the final call on that, though.

Lightning flickered and thunder pealed almost immediately after. The storm was drawing closer.

"Annja."

Glancing up, Annja spotted the elfin figure of Professor Lochata Rai, the dig's supervisor. Lochata was only five feet tall and weighed about ninety pounds. She was in her early sixties, but still spry and driven. She wore khakis and looked ready for a trek across the Gobi Desert.

"It is time for you to rise up out of there. The rain is coming," the professor said.

Annja looked past the woman at the scudding clouds that filled the sky. Irritation flared through her at the time she was losing.

"We must cover this excavation pit," Lochata said.

"Perhaps it will not rain too hard and we won't lose anything."

"I know. This really stinks because we just got down far enough to take a good look at what's here,"Annja said.

Lochata squatted at the edge of the pit. She held her pith helmet in her tiny hands over her knees. "You're too impatient.You have your whole life ahead of you, and history isn't going anywhere. This site will be here tomorrow."

"I keep telling myself that. But I also keep telling myself that once I finish this I can move on to something else." Annja stowed her gear in her backpack.

Lochata shook her head. "You expect to find something exciting and different?"

"I hope to." Annja pulled her backpack over her shoulder and climbed the narrow wooden ladder out of the pit. "I always hope to."

"I do not." Lochata offered her hand as Annja neared the top. "Finding something you did not expect means you didn't do your research properly. It also means extra work and possibly having to call someone else in to verify what you have found."

Annja understood that, but she also liked the idea of the new, the undiscovered and the unexpected. Lately, her life had been filled with that. She thought she was growing addicted to it.

Once on the ground outside the pit, Annja stood with her arms out from her sides as if she were going to take flight. The wind blew almost hard enough to move her. Perspiration had soaked her clothing.

"Drink." Lochata held out a water bottle and smiled.

"Hydrate or die."

Annja smiled back and accepted the water. The rule was a basic one for anyone who challenged the elements. She opened the bottle and drank deeply.

---

Rogue Angel: Serpent's Kiss will be available in stores January 8, 2008

Newsarama spotlights Mack Bolan and Rogue Angel

Click here to read IDW's Tom Waltz talking with Newsarama.com about the IDW/Gold Eagle relationship and the upcoming comics of Bolan and Creed.

IDW's Rogue Angel Comic Book Series

Annja Creed's comic book adventures begin Febuary 2008 in a monthly five-part miniseries from IDW Publishing. Rogue Angel: Teller of Tall Tales will then be collected in a trade paperback collection of all fives issues releasing in September 2008.


Rogue Angel: Teller of Tall Tales is written by Harvey Award-nominated Barbara Kesel (Hellboy:Seed of Destruction). Visuals are handled by interior arist Renae De Liz (Nightmare World), inker/colorist Ray Dillon (Noble Causes) and cover artist Rebecca A. Wrigley (Disney Feature Animation).

In this miniseries, Annja's drive to explore unrecorded, shadowy history leads her to Virginia City in search of a rumored manuscript that could change the public perception of Mark Twain forever.


IDW will be releasing two covers for the first issue: Rebecca's stunning art (appearing at the top of this post) and a variant cover featuring Tim Bradstreet's cover art that will also be appearing on the cover of our Rogue Angel: Serpent's Kiss novel (Rogue Angel: Serpent's Kiss will be available in bookstores January 2008).

Watch for more updates, and details on IDW's Executioner comic series.

Gold Eagle Books and IDW Partnership

Beginning in February 2008 IDW Publishing will be releasing comic book and graphic novel versions of The Executioner and Rogue Angel!

IDW Editor Tom Waltz shares his thoughts on the partnership: "I've been a huge fan of the Mack Bolan prose stories for many years, so I was ecstatic when IDW President Ted Adams gave me the green light to approach Gold Eagle about the Executioner license. Things got even better when Gold Eagle not only showed an excited interest in bringing Bolan's adventures into the comic book realm, but Annja Creed's (a.k.a. Rogue Angel) as well.  Rogue Angel was a new title for me when we started this process, but one I've quickly come to dig as much as the Bolan books, and I'm proud as heck to be part of the team that will bring these fascinating pulp heroes to comic book and graphic novel readers everywhere. Working with Gold Eagle has been wonderful, and our talented creators are churning out awesome stories and artwork. I can't wait for fans, old and new, to see what we have to offer."

IDW Publishing is a division of Idea and Design Works, LLC, a revolutionary creative service company with a wide range of clients. Among its best-selling titles are Hasbro’s THE TRANSFORMERS; Paramount/CBS’s STAR TREK; Fox’s ANGEL; Konami’s METAL GEAR SOLID; and Peter David’s FALLEN ANGEL. IDW’s 30 DAYS OF NIGHT film from Sony Pictures was released last month and was the #1 movie in its first week of release. IDW has other films in development at Dimension Films and Paramount Pictures as well. We're really excited to see Mack and Annja in their hands!

We'll be sharing more details and showcasing the creative teams of both comics in the next few days, so stay tuned for more!

Rogue Angel: God of Thunder hits GraphicAudio

The gang at GraphicAudio have released Rogue Angel: God of Thunder (book 7) in audiobook format this month; click here to hear Annja deal with an attack by unknown figures when she tries to collect a package near her loft.

Also available on The GraphicAudio site are audiobook versions of our Outlanders, Deathlands, Executioner, Mack Bolan, and Stony Man series.