Title: The Lone
Wolf Agenda
Series: Bob &
Liz Danforth, #4
Author: Joseph
Badal
Publisher: Suspense
Publishing
Publication Date: June
25, 2013
Genre: Thriller
Blog Tour: 1
August to 31 September 2013
Hosted by: Partners
in Crime Tours
SUMMARY
With "The Lone Wolf Agenda," Joseph
Badal returns to the world of international espionage and military action
thrillers and crafts a story that is as close to the real world of spies and
soldiers as a reader can find. This fourth book in the Danforth Saga brings Bob
Danforth out of retirement to hunt down lone wolf terrorists hell bent on
destroying America's oil infrastructure. Badal weaves just enough technology
into his story to wow even the most a-technical reader. "The Lone Wolf
Agenda" pairs Danforth with his son Michael, a senior DELTA Force officer,
as they combat an OPEC-supported terrorist group allied with a Mexican drug
cartel. This story is an epic adventure that will chill readers as they
discover that nothing, no matter how diabolical, is impossible.
EXCERPT
James
Sullivan watched the Bombardier Global 7000 aircraft slowly taxi away from the
terminal and breathed in the heavy odor of aviation gas exhaust. Like ambrosia,
he thought. He hooked the fingers of both hands in the chain link fence that
separated him from the Santa Fe Airport tarmac and squeezed the wire as though
to bend it. He gripped the fence so firmly to stop his hands from shaking. He
always got the shakes at times like this, just as some men trembled at the
prospect of sex and others shook when confronted by danger. But what was about
to happen was better than sex and had nothing to do with fear. He shook out of
satisfaction that he was about to finish a job that soon would result in the
deaths of infidels.
The
setting sun painted the plane’s white skin red, reflecting bloody shards of
light off its windows. Sullivan knew it was time to go but he couldn’t tear
himself away. Just another minute. He watched the plane turn to make its way to
the runway; heat plumes from its twin engines swirled in the cold early evening
New Mexico air.
Sullivan
released his grip and flexed his fingers to encourage circulation. He removed
his baseball cap, ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair, replaced the cap on
his head, and walked to his white Chevrolet pickup truck parked near the
terminal building. He took a suitcase and a canvas satchel from the pickup,
carried them to his co-worker Renee Morales’s Saturn sedan parked two slots
away. After he unlocked the Saturn with the keys he’d stolen out of Renee’s
desk drawer inside the terminal, he got in, started the motor, and slowly drove
away along the access road. Sullivan held the steering wheel tightly, first
with one hand and then the other to ease each in turn from the pain he
inflicted on them.
At
the Santa Fe Bypass Road, he stopped for the red light, then turned right,
watched his speed. After a couple miles, he took the entrance ramp onto southbound
Interstate-25 and accelerated to the legal speed limit of 75 miles per hour. He
let the heavy flow of commuters pass him on their way home to Albuquerque.
Five
minutes later, at 3 p.m., Sullivan glanced right as he passed the Santa Fe
Racetrack, just before the La Cienega exit, and noticed the glint of light that
was the Bombardier jet climbing into the cloudless sky.
The
mood on the airplane was exuberant: Ten CEOs of energy companies were aboard,
already well-lubricated with alcohol and enthusing about the three-day oil and
gas industry retreat they’d just attended in Santa Fe.
Fifty-four-year-old
Fred Zook, CEO of Premier Exploration & Development, leaned his bulk
forward against his seat belt, fighting the rising aircraft’s G-force, and
nodded at his long-time friend and fellow Yale University graduate, Jeffery
Raines, the head of Farragut Oil, seated across from him.
“You
as excited about this as I am?” he asked, raising his bushy eyebrows into two
upside-down V’s.
Raines
smiled and ran a hand over his bald head. “Enough to wet my pants. These oil
shale and gas formations will not only make all of us even richer, they’ll also
alter the geopolitical and economic universe.”
Zook
opened his arms to include all of the plane’s passengers. “If we can keep this
coalition together, and the environmentalists don’t kill the deal, and the tree
huggers in Congress don’t ruin things, and the President doesn’t order his EPA
to stop us . . ..”
Raines
slowly wagged his head. “Yeah, there’s all of that. But the world is different
now. The American people are fed up with decisions that do nothing but cost
them more money at the gas pump and cost more in lives lost to war in the
Middle East just to preserve our energy interests there.” He shrugged. “I’ve
thought a lot about this. This is way more important than just profits. This is
about our country’s survival. We need to make sure none of us ever forgets
that.”
“Well
said,” Zook replied. Then he laughed and added, “But there ain’t nothin’ wrong
with profits.” From his aft-facing seat, he glanced out his window and shielded
his eyes from the blazing sun, now a melon-red fireball. He was about to turn
back to Raines when a flash of brilliant-white light drew his attention toward
the ground.
“What
the hell was that?” he blurted, pointing at the window.
“Oh
my God! It’s the terminal building. An explosion.”
James
Sullivan was two miles past the La Cienega exit when the flash of light from
the bomb in the airport terminal bloomed in his peripheral vision off to the
northeast. But he concentrated on the horizon ahead, where he knew the
corporate jet’s flight path would take it. He counted seconds with his fingers
against the steering wheel, knowing the jet would soon reach an altitude of ten
thousand feet -- the level at which the altimeter triggering device would
detonate the bomb he’d placed aboard.
Fred
Zook thought a prayer of thanks, while he looked into Jeff Raines’s startled,
wide-eyed gaze. Then he thought how lucky he had been all his life, and raised
his glass of scotch to clink against Raines’s glass, when everything in his
consciousness suddenly fractured into minute particles.
James
Sullivan drove Renee Morales’s Saturn he’d taken from the Santa Fe Airport
parking lot and dumped it in the Sandia Casino employees’ lot on the north side
of Albuquerque. After he hotwired one of the cars there, he drove to his
girlfriend’s apartment.
Sullivan
guessed Susan Gaithers, a nurse who worked the night shift at a local hospital,
would be asleep when he opened the door to her apartment at 4:30 p.m. They’d met in a club a week after he
arrived in new Mexico. He told her he was starting law school at The University
of New Mexico in the fall, swept her off her feet, and moved in a few days
later. The arrangement had provided him with a roof over his head without
having to go through the process of a background check associated with an
apartment lease, or having to provide a credit card for a motel room. He used
her telephone at will, not exposing his cell phone to possible eavesdropping.
And Susan was a tigress in bed. All in all, not a bad situation. He was
surprised when he walked into the apartment and found her crying; on the couch,
telephone in hand. She wore a halter undershirt and bikini underpants.
“Oh
my God!” she yelled. She rushed to him, threw her arms around his neck, and
planted kisses on his face.
“What’s
wrong?” Sullivan asked.
“Don’t
you know? There was an explosion at the airport about an hour ago. Felicia from
work just called and woke me up to tell me about it. She wondered if you worked
today. I was just about to dial your cell when you walked in.”
“That’s
awful,” he said. “I got off early today. I must have just missed the
explosion.”
“Thank
God!” she exclaimed. “Thank God!”
“You’re
trembling, babe,” Sullivan said. “I’m okay.” He looked over her shoulder at the
television and saw the results of the bombs he’d planted. He smiled, pushed her
back so he could see her face. “It’s nice to know you care so much about me.”
“Care!”
she said. “I don’t care about you, you idiot. I love you. Don’t you know that?”
“Of
course I know that. I love you, too.” He kissed her lips and said, “You
standing there with almost nothing on, looking sexy as hell, reminds me of one
of the reasons why I love you.”
Susan
smiled back at him. “You never get enough.”
“I’m
just so damned happy to be alive; I can’t think of any better way to celebrate
than making love to you.”
She
took his hand and led him into the bedroom.
Sullivan
was overwhelmed by her passion. She showed him in many ways how deeply she
loved him. He thought for an instant what a shame it was to have to kill her.
PURCHASE LINKS
ABOUT the AUTHOR
Joseph
Badal worked for thirty-eight years in the banking and financial services
industries, most recently serving as a senior executive and board member of a
NYSE-listed mortgage REIT. He is currently President of Joseph Badal &
Associates, Inc., a management consulting firm.
Prior
to his finance career, Joe served for six years as a commissioned officer in
the U.S. Army in critical, highly classified positions in the U.S. and
overseas, including tours of duty in Greece and Vietnam. He earned numerous
military decorations.
He
holds undergraduate and graduate degrees in International Finance (Temple
University) and Business Administration (University of New Mexico). He
graduated from the Defense Language Institute, West Coast, and from Stanford
University Law School’s Director College.
Joe
serves on the boards of Sacred Wind Communications and New Mexico Mutual
Insurance, and is Chairman and President of The New Mexico Small Business
Investment Corporation.
Joe
has had five suspense novels published, including Shell Game, which was
released in 2012. His next novel, The Lone Wolf Agenda, will be released in
June. He writes a blog titled Everyday Heroes. His first short story, Fire
& Ice, was included in an anthology titled Uncommon Assassins, in 2012.
Joe
has written dozens of articles that have been published in various business and
trade journals, and is a frequent speaker at national business and writers’
events.
AUTHOR LINKS
1 comment:
Great post! I have seen rave reviews on this title and can't wait to read it.
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