Arabian Storm by George Wallace,Don Keith (Hunter Killer #5)
English | 2020 | Mystery & Thriller | ePUB | 2.8 MB
Born and raised in Eastern Ohio, Commander Wallace received his commission in the US Navy and a degree in engineering from The Ohio State University.
A terrorist mastermind will start World War III…unless a US submarine crew and a crack team of Navy SEALs can stop him first.
To US intelligence, he is known only as Nabiin.
But his followers call him the Prophet, and they will stop at nothing to follow his orders—orders that will pit the world powers against one another, and bring about his personal vision of the End of Times.
For skipper Joe Glass and his crew aboard the submarine Toledo, thwarting the seemingly unstoppable terrorist plan becomes their new mission.
Pitted in a race against time before countless civilians are killed, and assisted by a team of Navy SEALs, Joe and his crew must use their submarine, their wits, and their bravery to stop a global war…before it’s too late.
Rothbert was no more than seated before the vehicle lurched forward, barreling wildly up a narrow, winding goat path of a road, spouting blue smoke and water vapor. The village fell away rapidly in the side mirror and was soon lost from sight. The banker clutched desperately to an overhead strap, averting his eyes from the drop-off just beyond his side window. The guide nonchalantly lit a foul-smelling cigarette as he drove deeper into the mountains, one gnarled hand loosely holding the jerking steering wheel, oblivious to the instant death inches beyond the right side of the truck. The man’s expression never changed as they alternated speeding through brilliant sunshine and impenetrable fog.
Rothbert had long since lost track of time when what passed for a rutted road abruptly ended at the edge of a sheer drop directly ahead and rock walls nearby on either side of the vehicle. The guide slid the Toyota to a skewing stop and signaled the banker that he should get out. Rothbert strained to look up the solid rock, vainly searching for anything approaching a path. Nothing but smooth, vertical granite. No visible way out of this cul-de-sac except the barely visible roadway that they had just climbed. Or the endless drop dead ahead.
Without a word, the guide gunned the truck’s engine, spun the vehicle around, and disappeared in a cloud of oil smoke back down the trail. Norman Rothbert stood there, shivering, alone at the edge of the world.
Just then, a rope plopped at Rothbert’s feet, immediately followed by a small, wiry man rappelling down to where he stood. The man said nothing as he quickly wrapped the banker in a web harness attached to a pair of ropes that had dropped from somewhere up the rock face. In a horrifying second, Rothbert felt himself being lifted and swung out over the chasm. There was nothing beneath him except thousands of feet of thin air, nothing above but a couple of spindly ropes that seemed to vanish into the clouds and mist.
Then he was being hoisted upward until he was pulled onto a ledge that extended from a relatively level plateau. Several other men, identical to the one who had dropped down next to him, quickly untangled him from the harness. And there, smiling broadly, was a bearded bear of a man, of indeterminate age but well north of sixty, dressed in the Pashtun traditional partug, kamiz, and waskat, his hand extended in a friendly-enough gesture.
“Welcome to my little mountain home, Mr. Rothbert.” The clipped Oxford English was a little disconcerting. Almost as much as suddenly being hauled up the mountain face. Still off balance, Rothbert shook the extended hand, and the man bowed with a flourish. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Shaikh Babar Khalid. But while you are here in this place, I will be known to you as Nabiin, the Prophet.”