Dead Centre (Nick Stone, Book 14)
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The new Nick Stone thriller from the bestselling author of Bravo Two Zero.
January 2005: Nick Stone is in tsunami hit Banda Aceh on a job to retrieve incriminating evidence of an oil deal. When looters arrive a fight breaks out and a man, Mong, is killed. Nick makes a promise to his dead friend to protect his widow, Tracey.
March 2011: Nick is in Moscow filling his days at a private gun range when he is lifted by heavies and taken to meet an oligarch. The oligarch wants Nick to track down his kidnapped wife and son. It transpires that the oligarch has married Tracey and so Nick is given the opportunity to fulfil his promise to Mong. Nick follows the trail from Mogadishu to Nairobi, from Courchevelski to Bristol, on a mission to unravel this complex and explosive plot. He eventually tracks down Tracey and her son and leads a rescue mission, all guns blazing, only to find that Tracey is dead and the boy is missing.
There's only one man the boy can be with, and one place, which only Nick knows... Nick goes after him, and he has vengeance to wreak.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
About the Book Somalia – a lawless, violent land, ignored by the West, ripped apart by civil war and famine, fought over by drug-fuelled, gun-crazy clan fighters. They want the world to sit up and take notice. They have a new and terrifying weapon – pirates. And now, the pirates have in their possession the young son of a Russian oligarch, snatched from a luxury yacht in the Seychelles. His father wants him back, will pay anything, stop at nothing to retrieve his boy. Up to now everything he
out. Ant vaulted over the side and took the wheel. BB reversed towards the wagon, muzzle still glued to the back of Stefan’s head. The rest of us shuffled backwards towards the Cargomaster. Mr Lover Man shouted, ‘Tracy, no! No!’ Like a banshee, she zoomed past me. Her body convulsed with sobs as she ran. ‘Take me, take me! Not my baby, please!’ I bellowed, ‘Tracy, stand still. Stand still!’ But she didn’t. Of course she didn’t. BB threw the boy onto the flatbed with Dec and swung round to
the Second World War and the Russians called the Great Patriotic War. They had little interest in what had happened elsewhere. Fair one – more Russians were killed between ’41 and ’45 than all the other Allies put together. And eight out of ten Germans killed were dropped by the Soviets. In Western history books, those little details always seem to get lost in the footnotes. The ‘Years of War’ had five terraces, one for each year of the conflict, and 1,418 fountains, one for every day. They
The lining of the helmet stank of stale sweat and beer and cigarettes. I hoped I didn’t have to keep it on much further than the end of the platform. 19 15.00 hrs I DUMPED THE helmet and heaved my parka back on as soon as I emerged once more into the wind and snow. It was already starting to get dark. Sunset was at six at this time of the year. The lights of GUM did their best to make up for it, glinting off the wet cobblestones of Red Square. Before perestroika hit its stride, all
features didn’t belong in a place like this. ‘Why did you come back to Somalia? Things must have been a lot better in Minneapolis. You’re an American citizen, aren’t you?’ ‘Yes.’ He shrugged. ‘But I am young, and I am a Muslim. It doesn’t matter what passport you hold. My father wanted me to stay, to keep on trying. Even a McJob …’ He looked at me and smiled. ‘It may not look like it, but it’s better here. I send money to my father, he sends it to others in Minneapolis who need it. It’s better