VENGEANCE IS MINE...and mine, too.
"a powerful, new novel which introduces a brilliant,but simple and effective strategy, that could harm Israel,
even bring it to its 'knees' and by extension, the Jews...
Americans, too."
usual publicity seeking terror suspects are quiet. Surprising. Rumors surface that American and Israeli authorities have committed atrocities to frame members of Islamic organizations. A fast-building groundswell seems to believe so. Enter two detectives from Utah, considered amateurs by sophisticated FBI agents, who delve into the mystery. Then tragedy strikes close to home—it becomes personal. Is Detective Coughlin a renegade, a vigilante or a man with deep feelings and a willingness to stake and sacrifice everything for a noble but illegal cause? Is the law moral? The evolving events are set against a background of real-world issues, ever-changing morals and deeply loving relationships. Is there a future for Coughlin as the detective is tested by both fate and evil beings? The arduous journey, to restore an element of truth and justice in society, and meaning in his own life, might be outside the realm of the possible. Does this end justify any means? You decide.
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Clearly this is a work of fiction. However, many places described within the book are of locations where we have walked, hiked, climbed and enjoyed the privilege of absorbing and feasting upon great beauty, mystery and often, stunning scenes. A privilege indeed!
A Couple of extracts from the novel.
From the prologue:
Dressed in black, face covered in a balaclava, hands-gloved, a nightstick held deftly in his left hand, the tall figure slipped into a dark room on the 8th floor of a run-down block of apartments. At 3:12 am, there was little movement about and none in the apartment but his own. Although the passage from where he entered was hardly well-lit, compared with his current position, it was almost blinding illumination. He waited for his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. No moon, no nightlights or even reflected light made it difficult to maintain perspective. He tip-toed toward the bedroom after closing the front door gently. It clicked ever so slightly. He had surveilled the apartment twice before but in daylight. It made a difference, a huge one. He listened for breathing. Nothing. The intruder hoped he hadn’t chosen the wrong time. The apartment number was correct. He had seen the villain enter hours earlier. He doubted he had since left; the tenant never went out after about 10pm. He had watched the occupant’s movements for a week. He hated it when he second guessed himself. Where was his confidence? Obviously, slipping … and quickly.
He moved silently forward hoping no obstacles lay carelessly on the floor. He tried to follow a path through the middle of the room. He knew the bedroom came off a short passage linked to the joint living/dining room in which he now crept. He thought he heard a sound. He froze. There it was again. A whistle. A snore. He wouldn’t mind the occupant taking a walk to the bathroom. It would make his task easier. Nothing. He had probably turned in bed. He continued. He stepped on a soft spot. A creak broke the silence. The intruder halted again, listening for variation in breathing. ‘No change’, he almost sighed because he still heard nothing other than the whistle and light snore.
The door to the bedroom appeared shut but on closer inspection was in fact slightly open—he caught a break. His eyes were beginning to view shapes and forms. Finally, he was growing accustomed to lack of light. Should he enter the room or wait impatiently for the occupant to visit the bathroom? Simple. He had the stick, the advantage, the initiative. He pushed the part-way open door gently. It creaked. He did not chance it. He had to commence the assault soon, more likely, at once. The last creak was his signal. He took out the flashlight, rushed into the room, shone the light on the bed in time to see a young male begin to rise wearily. Taking no chances, he whacked him across the face and then struck him repeatedly on the shoulders with the nightstick. He may have cracked a bone or two. He hoped so. He had little sympathy. He knew it hurt like heck.
“Hands behind your back. Now. Move.”
A Proposal of Sorts:
“This is such a beautiful setting, Clyde. I love your imagination. Who would invite a girl on a hot date such as this … to go rowing? Dress casually smart you said and then I find myself on a rowboat. I’m pleased I did not wear a short skirt.”
“I’m not so pleased about the short skirt, though. I’m sorry if this is not what you like. I thought it might be a little different from a typical restaurant date. I wanted to surprise you—guess it did not turn out that way. Am I wrong? Besides, I had and still have an ulterior motive.”
“An ulterior motive. Sounds intriguing. Are you considering throwing me off the boat by any chance?”
“Funnily enough, should I not attain the goal I seek tonight, I might just do that.”
“Now you’ve aroused my curiosity.” She paused. “At least one of us is aroused from time-to-time,” she smiled with a glint in her eye.
“My, my. You sure know how to stick the knife into the side,” he smiled back. “Why don’t you move it slightly higher, then you can relieve the itch I have, at the same time.”
The more time he spent with the woman, the more he loved her. She amused, entertained and at times made him question himself. He could not take his eyes off her. In his mind, she was the most beautiful woman, no, person he had ever come across. She was truly someone with whom he wished to spend the rest of his days. He understood, despite life’s many complications and difficulties, one could still live in bliss by finding and joining with a soulmate. Take on the world as a team. You needed two things—love and trust—and the latter was the more important value.
He continued to row the boat on still waters, the only disturbance coming from his oars breaking the glass-like surface. No other boaters sailed the lake, a body of water positioned a little outside Park Cities. The moon shone brightly in a cloudless sky, but the real treat was its soft light reflecting off the water. With no breeze on a cool, end-of-summer evening, it seemed Clyde had chosen the perfect night for such activity, or so he thought. Michelle complemented it with her beautiful presence including a captivating smile. The venue and activity puzzled her, particularly as Clyde had not even hinted at the evening’s main event. She hoped the highlight was not the time spent on the water. The boat approached the lake center, close to a protruding beacon. Clyde lifted the oars, placed them on the side and was careful not to cause any drips to wet his beautiful companion. He looked ahead and slightly right toward the restaurant. Soft light bathed the structure in lilac and pink hues. He pointed it out to Michelle including the reflection off the lake surface. It was near-perfect.
He looked at her lovingly and announced, “I have something to ask you, Michelle.”
“You finally want to ask whether you can join me on the hike,” she grinned.
“That’s a given, my dear. No. I’m afraid it’s not as important as that. I would like to say that I have given this long, deliberate consideration and deep thought. But I didn’t.” He hesitated for a moment and moved a little to the side. He removed something from his pocket.
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