By Jack Coughlin, Donald A. Davis
Time to Kill is a pulse-racing mystery approximately Islamic terrorists bent on providing Egypt into the palms of America’s arch enemy—Iran
In Jack Coughlin and Donald A. Davis' most modern mystery in The manhattan Times bestselling sequence that includes American sniper Kyle Swanson, the Sphinx, a logo of Egypt’s historical historical past and tool, is blown up through terrorists. a trip to Cairo by means of Iran’s nationwide football crew leads to a bloodbath. Egyptian missiles sink an Iranian vessel within the pink Sea. The Muslim Brotherhood is at the march, operating backstage to impress a warfare among Egypt and its strong neighbor, Iran—a struggle that may definitely lead to an Iranian victory. what's at stake is not anything under overall keep watch over of the Suez Canal wherein many of the world’s oil flows.
Behind the coup is a sinister double agent known as The Pharoah whose target is a enthusiast Islamic regime on Israel’s borders. to prevent an immediate army war of words with Iran, the U.S. turns to grasp American sniper Kyle Swanson and his staff, Trident. utilizing ruthlessly exact specific kills, they pass undercover to coach the Iranian management a lesson and forestall a warfare which may strangle the world’s oil provide and reason the dying of hundreds of thousands.
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Example text
When he saw me he got up and took a Sig Sauer pistol from the table, stuffing it into his waistband, the grip hanging over the lip of his drawstring pants. We shook hands and he walked me over to my bike. He straddled it, started it up, and rode the throttle in neutral. He yelled over the engine, “That Spectre pistol Core's selling you? ” “Mommy. That's too much for a pistol, Bird. It was me I'd charge you three hundy” “That's cool of you, dude, but he ain't budging. ” I stuck my chin at the bike.
Or get shot here and let my partners waste him? Or hope one of them gets a clean line on him right this second? Or lie down and try to stay out of the way of everyone's bullets that were sure to puncture the Monte Carlo any second? Or, or, or … drop the keys? Yes, drop the keys. If I was going to die, then he was going to die too. I pulled the keys out of the ignition and let them fall into the footwell. ” “Motherfucker—” I leaned forward and Provestgaard did too. Mellor, who was closest to the passenger's side of the car, stuck his revolver in the rear window gap and emptied it.
Shoot, in that year, 1987, he probably even had his own computer. It didn't appeal to me. The bullet put the rush of the streets in me and through me. It guaranteed I'd never direct anything but myself, and convinced me that large desks were for castrated dummies. I thought, Fuck that, I'm gonna be an undercover. ” AUGUST 2001—JANUARY 2002 IF ANYTHING, THE shooting proved that my job, and therefore my life, was not glamorous in any way. Pathetically, I'd imagined that undercover life would be like Miami Vice—full of cigarette boats, fast cars, expensive clothes, and perfect tens in bikinis sitting in my lap while I negotiated with drug kingpins.