Thrilling praise for
Tess Gerritsen is an automatic must-read in my house.
If youve never read Gerritsen, figure in the price
of electricity when you buy your first novel by her,
cause, baby, you are going to be up all night. She is
better than Palmer, better than Cook Yes, even
better than Crichton.
Stephen King
[Gerritsen] has an imaginationso dark and
frightening that she makes Edgar Allan Poe
seem like goody-two-shoes
Chicago Tribune
Superior to Patricia Cornwell and
as good as James Patterson
Bookseller
Its scary just how good Tess Gerritsen is
Harlan Coben
Gerritsen has enough in the locker to seriously worry
Michael Connelly, Harlan Coben and even the great
Denis Lehane. Brilliant.
Crimetime
Gerritsen is tops in her genre.
USA TODAY
Tess Gerritsen writes some of the smartest, most
compelling thrillers around.
Bookreporter
Also available by Tess Gerritsen
IN THEIR FOOTSTEPS
UNDER THE KNIFE
CALL AFTER MIDNIGHT
NEVER SAY DIE
STOLEN
WHISTLEBLOWER
PRESUMED GUILTY
MURDER & MAYHEM COLLECTION
Omnibus Never Say Die Presumed Guilty Tess Gerritsen
Prologue
1970LaosNorth Vietnam border
THIRTY MILES OUT of Muong Sam, they saw the first tracers slash the sky.
Pilot William Wild Bill Maitland felt the DeHavilland Twin Otter buck like a filly as they took a hit somewhere back in the fuselage. He pulled into a climb, instinctively opting for the safety of altitude. As the misty mountains dropped away beneath them, a new round of tracers streaked past, splattering the cockpit with flak.
Damn it, Kozy. Youre bad luck, Maitland muttered to his copilot. Seems like every time we go up together, I taste lead.
Kozlowski went right on chomping his wad of bubble gum. Whats to worry? he drawled, nodding at the shattered windshield. Missed ya by at least two inches.
Try one inch.
Big difference.
One extra inch can make a hell of a lot of difference.
Kozy laughed and looked out the window. Yeah, thats what my wife tells me.
The door to the cockpit swung open. Valdez, the cargo kicker, his shoulders bulky with a parachute pack, stuck his head in. What the hells goin on any He froze as another tracer spiraled past.
Got us some mighty big mosquitoes out there, Kozlowski said and blew a huge pink bubble.
What was that? asked Valdez. AK-47?
Looks more like .57-millimeter, said Maitland.
They didnt say nothin about no .57s. What kind of briefing did we get, anyway?
Kozlowski shrugged. Only the best your tax dollars can buy.
Hows our cargo holding up? Maitland asked. Pants still dry?
Valdez leaned forward and confided, Man, we got us one weird passenger back there.
So whats new? Kozlowski said.
I mean, this ones really strange. Got flak flyin all round and he doesnt bat an eye. Just sits there like hes floatin on some lily pond. You should see the medallion hes got round his neck. Gotta weigh at least a kilo.
Come on, said Kozlowski.
Im tellin you, Kozy, hes got a kilo of gold hangin around that fat little neck of his. Who is he?
Some Lao VIP, said Maitland.
That all they told you?
Im just the delivery boy. Dont need to know any more than that. Maitland leveled the DeHavilland off at eight thousand feet. Glancing back through the open cockpit doorway, he caught sight of their lone passenger sitting placidly among the jumble of supply crates. In the dim cabin, the Laos face gleamed like burnished mahogany. His eyes were closed, and his lips were moving silently. In prayer? wondered
Maitland. Yes, the man was definitely one of their more interesting cargoes.
Not that Maitland hadnt carried strange passengers before. In his ten years with Air America, hed transported German shepherds and generals, gibbons and girlfriends. And hed fly them anywhere they had to go. If hell had a landing strip, he liked to say, hed take them thereas long as they had a ticket. Anything, anytime, anywhere, was the rule at Air America.
Song Ma River, said Kozlowski, glancing down through the fingers of mist at the lush jungle floor. Lot of cover. If they got any more .57s in place, were gonna have us a hard landing.
Gonna be a hard landing anyhow, said Maitland, taking stock of the velvety green ridges on either side of them. The valley was narrow; hed have to swoop in fast and low. It was a hellishly short landing strip, nothing but a pin scratch in the jungle, and there was always the chance of an unreported gun emplacement. But the orders were to drop the Lao VIP, whoever he was, just inside North Viet-namese territory. No return pickup had been scheduled; it sounded to Maitland like a one-way trip to oblivion.
Heading down in a minute, he called over his shoulder to Valdez. Get the passenger ready. Hes gonna have to hit the ground running.
He says that crate goes with him.
What? I didnt hear anything about a crate.
They loaded it on at the last minute. Right after we took on supplies for Nam Tha. Pretty heavy sucker. I might need some help.
Kozlowski resignedly unbuckled his seatbelt. Okay, he said with a sigh. But remember, I dont get paid for kickin crates.