The Scorpio Illusion: A Novel
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
“Don’t ever begin a Ludlum novel if you have to go to work the next day.”—Chicago Sun-Times
Tyrell Hawthorne was a naval intelligence officer—one of the best—until the rain-swept night in Amsterdam when his wife was murdered, an innocent victim of the games spies play. Now he’s called out of retirement for one last assignment. For Hawthorne is the only man alive who can track down the world’s most dangerous terrorist.
Amaya Bajaratt is beautiful, elusive, and deadly—and she has set in motion a chilling conspiracy that a desperate government cannot stop. With his life and the life of the president hanging in the balance, Hawthorne must follow Bajaratt’s serpentine trail, a path of seduction, betrayal, and the looming threat of death. Racing from a millionaire recluse’s fortress to the social whirl of Palm Beach, from the Oval Office to treacherous Caribbean waters, Hawthorne will uncover a sinister network of well-placed men and women who exist to help this consummate killer—and the shattering truth behind the Scorpio Illusion.
“Breakneck . . . readability.”—The New York Times Book Review
“A high-voltage tale of drama and suspense.”—The Denver Post
licensed pilot who free-lances his services, mister,” said the copilot, also handing Hawthorne the demanded items. “Get the names and pertinent information, Major,” Tyrell continued, giving the wallets and passports to Neilsen. “Go inside and turn on a light.” “Right away, Commander.” Cathy walked rapidly into the glass house. “Major … Commander?” cried the pilot. “What the hell is this? Gunshots, a burning airstrip on a fancy estate, and the military? What did those sons of bitches get us
“Exactly. Someone stayed behind, someone who knows Van Nostrand’s dead and wants to pick up whatever he can from an estate filled with high-priced goodies.” “Then why the gatehouse log? It’s not silver or crystal or an art object.” Tyrell squinted, staring at Neilsen in the moonlight. “Thank you, Major, you just told me something I should have realized. Our illusive stranger is further up the totem than I considered. That log is worthless, except to somebody who knows how important it is. I’ve
through the door of Neilsen’s room. “Bought what?” asked Hawthorne. “The fact that I volunteered for an underwater gravity-free bathysphere that sprung an oxygen leak in my lungs! Hot damn!” “Let’s eat,” Cathy said. Room service arrived forty-five minutes later, the interim spent with Hawthorne studying the gatehouse entry log, Poole reading the newspapers he had purchased at the stand in the lobby, and Catherine taking a warm bath, hoping to “wash away a dozen or so anxiety attacks.” They
guerrilla tactics so well, the Spanish conquistadores ran like hell to stay out of their way … and also to stay away from their evening barbecues, where the king’s men would naturally be the main entrees. Von Clausewitz would have approved, both strategically and psychologically.… It all happened long before the slave trade; whole spread-out civilizations held together by huge drums and war canoes and leaders who meted out justice from island to island, like the traveling judges in the Old West
does she live?” “Where does she live—where do they all live? Right here, with maids to clean their rooms, do their laundry, and fix them damn good meals. Let’s get something straight, big gun. I was an officer too, and I know how to keep my mechs in top form.” “You mean if your front door isn’t replaced—” “They’ll stay away. Wouldn’t you?” “Hey, Jackson—” “Don’t bother,” the lieutenant said. “You got tools somewhere, whoremaster?” “Downstairs, in the cellar.” “I’ll go look.” Poole