Read Revenge of the Assassin (Assassin Series 2) Online
Authors: Russell Blake
Revenge of the Assassin (Assassin Series 2)
Revenge of the Assassin
Russell Blake
© 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Russell Blake
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, contact
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Excerpts from Russell Blake’s books
Introduction
Excerpt from THE VOYNICH CYPHER
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
Excerpts from Russell Blake’s books
King of Swords
by Russell Blake
King of Swords
is an epic assassination thriller set in modern Mexico against a backdrop of cartel violence. Captain Romero Cruz discovers an assassination plot to kill the Mexican and U.S. presidents at the G-20 conference in Cabo by "El Rey" - a super assassin responsible for some of the world's most shocking killings.
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King of Swords
in the UK
Go to excerpt of
King of Swords
The Voynich Cypher
by Russell Blake
When a sacred relic is stolen from its subterranean guarded vault, Dr. Steven Cross, amateur cryptographer, becomes embroiled in a deadly quest to decipher one of history's most enigmatic documents - a 15th century parchment written entirely in unbreakable code; The Voynich Manuscript. Stalked by secret societies, and aided by the daughter of a murdered colleague, a trail of riddles catapults Cross from England to Italy to the Middle East, where a Byzantine web of ancient secrets leads him to a revelation so profound it will change the world order.
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The Voynich Cypher in the UK
Go to excerpt of
The Voynich Cypher
Critical acclaim for The Voynich Cypher:
"The Voynich Cypher is a fast-paced, intelligently written story with twists & turns that kept me up late at night turning pages. I was as hooked by this book as I was by the Da Vinci Code -- if you liked Da Vinci, The Voynich Cypher has the same flavor -- I urge you to pick it up. A must read for any suspense lover."
Melissa Foster, bestselling author of Chasing Amanda, Megan's Way & Come Back to Me
"Russell Blake writes with a brisk intensity & pulse-pounding power. Jump in and hang on for a nonstop thrill ride."
Scott Nicholson, Liquid Fear
"Blake has never failed to deliver an intelligent, exquisitely paced thriller, packed with unforgettable characters, devious intrigue and immersive detail. He has emerged as the most consistently satisfying writer on the thriller scene."
Steven Konkoly, bestselling author of Black Flagged & The Jakarta Pandemic
"Dr. Steven Cross, aided by hot, edgy, yet vulnerable gal pal, Natalie Twain, will have you racing across Europe and the Middle East in Russell Blake's action-packed thriller, The Voynich Cypher - a taut roller-coaster ride featuring plenty of intrigue, suspense and mayhem; not to mention the kind of good-versus-evil conflicts that can only arise out of institutional religion gone bad. If you enjoyed The Da Vinci Code, this book's for you!"
John L. Betcher, bestselling author of the James Becker Thriller Series
"The Voynich Cypher is a breakneck-paced thriller that will give fans of the likes of the Da Vinci Code a dose of Russell Blake speed, mixed with gut-twisting international intrigue & suspense."
David Lender, bestselling author of Vaccine Nation, Bull Street, The Gravy Train & Trojan Horse
Most of the events and people in Revenge of the Assassin are fictional. Many of the organizations and a few of the events are not.
The state of Tamaulipas in Mexico, bordering Texas, has had numerous mass prison breaks over the last few years. It is also largely considered to be out of the control of the Mexican government.
The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms was recently embroiled in a massive ‘gun walking’ scandal where thousands of weapons were shipped into Mexico from the U.S. while the American authorities turned a blind eye. No coherent reasoning was ever offered, and the matter quickly disappeared from the public eye after a Congressional investigation that went nowhere – much as the Iran/Contra hearings never yielded any real meat.
Submarines are regularly manufactured out of fiberglass in Colombia for the trafficking of cocaine to Mexican waters, where the drugs are either offloaded to Mexican boats or left submerged with sea anchors for later pick up by Mexican craft.
The tunnels under the border in most frontier towns are a matter of regular news coverage each time one is discovered, which occurs with considerable frequency.
Massacres carried out by the Los Zetas cartel are well documented, and their descriptions in this novel are true.
The Sinaloa, Juárez and Los Zetas cartels are very real, and are now the most powerful drug-trafficking and organized crime syndicates on the planet.
Six Weeks Ago, Mexico City, Mexico. Midnight.
The pounding from the front door of the high-rise condo seemed to resonate eerily with the tinny ringing of the phone in the kitchen. Captain Romero Cruz of the Federal Police flicked the hallway light as he pulled a bathrobe on. The phone stopped its insistent trilling as he shuffled down the entry hall and then peered blearily through the peephole. Satisfied there was no obvious threat, he fumbled with the deadbolt and then opened the door.
A man in the distinctive blue uniform of the
Federales
saluted, ignoring the disheveled hair of his superior officer. He shifted nervously as he stared into space at some neutral point a thousand miles beyond his commander’s shoulder. Cruz ignored the circumstances and gestured for him to speak up.
“
Capitan
. I’m sorry to intrude. But you wanted to be alerted as soon as we had confirmation on the Tijuana situation. We’ve been calling for half an hour, but there was no answer…”
“That’s fine. I’m sorry. I had the bedroom door closed, and this phone isn’t very loud. I must have slept through it. What’s the update?” Cruz asked, cinching the robe ties around his waist as he shook off his grogginess and became more alert. Unlike when he’d been younger, now that he was in his mid-forties it took a while for him to fire on all cylinders, especially since he’d only gotten to sleep two hours earlier.
“We received word that five hundred kilos arrived at the suspect warehouse this evening, to be transported tonight or tomorrow morning at the latest. That means if we want to catch them red-handed–”
“I get it. Do we have sufficient assets there to go in on a frontal assault? And can they be ready in an hour?”
“Yes, sir. I already took the liberty of putting out the word.” He hesitated. “We have a jet standing by to get tactical leadership there by three in the morning, worst case,” the officer confirmed.
Cruz paused and considered the alternatives, and then nodded. “Then we go in. I’ll put on a pot of coffee and be ready to get to headquarters shortly. Have my car ready for me. I’ll run the operation from there.” Cruz studied the man’s face, hardened from years on the force and strained with fatigue. “It’s going to be a long one. What time did you come on duty today?”
“I got in at ten this morning,
Capitan
. I was going to quit by eight tonight, and then we started getting chatter from our sources, so I decided to stay on for a little while.”
“No good deed goes unpunished. Do we have any idea whose dope this is? Or do I even need to ask?”
“Sinaloa.”
“Ahhh. Well, let me take a shower and get ready, then. I’ll be downstairs in forty-five minutes. That’s all,” Cruz said, then waved off the officer’s parting salute.
Five hundred kilos of cocaine.
Now that was worth getting out of bed for.
“
Corazon
? Who was that? Is everything okay?” a female voice called from the bedroom once the front door had slammed closed.
“It’s fine,
mi amor
. But I need to go into the office. I’m sorry. I’ll probably be getting back around the time you’re up for work,” he apologized as he moved into the bedroom. “It’s an emergency. Go back to sleep. I’ll be as quiet as possible,” he reassured the woman peering at him from the far side of the bed, beautiful even with no makeup and roused in the middle of the night. He padded over to her and gave her a fleeting kiss. “Close your eyes, Dinah. I need to get a uniform out of the closet.”
~
Six Weeks Ago, Tijuana, Mexico. 3:27 a.m.
Monday nights in Tijuana were usually calm, the weekend’s lunacy and tourist rush having ebbed, leaving the town worked, but marginally wealthier. The weather was chilly in late March, in the low sixties, with a light drizzle having clogged the poorly drained streets with refuse and murky runoff. The industrial row of warehouses along the border wall was a no-man’s land in the best of daylight hours, and approaching midnight, only the foolhardy, the desperate or the suicidal ventured into the menacing district.
Junkyards and body shops dotted the area’s mean streets, with decrepit buildings and darkened half-completed construction punctuating the rows of tin-roofed shacks and wrecking yards. An occasional car prowled along the unlit thoroughfares, bass-heavy reggaeton booming from the lowered chassis as the shady occupants crept about their nocturnal business. Near one of the larger gray cinderblock edifices, a pair of bony stray dogs rooted through bags of refuse dumped on the sidewalks for morning collection, their furtive movement ample evidence that, even for scavengers, danger was a constant.
One of the armed guards standing watch outside the ten-foot-high, broken-glass-topped walls of a compound at the end of the cul-de-sac flicked his cigarette at the mutts, causing them to bolt from their paltry find. He grinned to himself and wiped a sheen of moisture from his brow, then glanced over to the other two men lurking at the far end of the wall, also toting weapons and on the alert for any threats. The rain had stopped twenty minutes earlier but there was still a pall of humidity mixed with raw exhaust and the reek of overflowing sewage pipes that coated everything with a noxious film. The smell of the tobacco offered slim relief from the ever-present stench that was part of the duty of guarding the complex.