The Hammer of Eden
A Novel
(Sprache: Englisch)
Ein kleines, verschwiegenes Tal in Kalifornien. Hier lebt seit den sechziger Jahren eine friedliche Hippie-Gemeinde. Nun soll ihr Dorf einem Stausee weichen. Man gibt ihnen genau fünf Wochen Zeit, um das Land zu räumen. Aber die Kinder von Eden sind...
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Ein kleines, verschwiegenes Tal in Kalifornien. Hier lebt seit den sechziger Jahren eine friedliche Hippie-Gemeinde. Nun soll ihr Dorf einem Stausee weichen. Man gibt ihnen genau fünf Wochen Zeit, um das Land zu räumen. Aber die Kinder von Eden sind keinesfalls bereit, alles aufzugeben. In ihrer Not kommen sie auf eine wahnwitzige Idee...
Klappentext zu „The Hammer of Eden “
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLERThe FBI doesn't believe it. The Governor wants the problem to disappear. But agent Judy Maddox knows the threat is real: An extreme group of eco-terrorists has the means and the know-how to set off a massive earthquake of epic proportions. For California, time is running out.
Now Maddox is scrambling to hunt down a petty criminal turned cult leader turned homicidal mastermind. Because she knows that the dying has already begun. And things will only get worse when the earth violently shifts, bolts, and shakes down to its very core.
Lese-Probe zu „The Hammer of Eden “
Excerpt from Chapter 1A man called Priest pulled his cowboy hat down at the front and peered across the flat, dusty desert of South Texas.
The low dull green bushes of thorny mesquite and sagebrush stretched in every direction as far as he could see. In front of him, a ridged and rutted track ten feet wide had been driven through the vegetation. These tracks were called senderos by the Hispanic bulldozer drivers who cut them in brutally straight lines. On one side, at precise fifty-yard intervals, bright pink plastic marker flags fluttered on short wire poles. A truck moved slowly along the sendero.
Priest had to steal the truck.
He had stolen his first vehicle at the age of eleven, a brand-new snow white 1961 Lincoln Continental parked, with the keys in the dash, outside the Roxy Theatre on South Broadway in Los Angeles. Priest, who was called Ricky in those days, could hardly see over the steering wheel. He had been so scared he almost wet himself, but he drove it ten blocks and handed the keys proudly to Jimmy "Pigface" Riley, who gave him five bucks, then took his girl for a drive and crashed the car on the Pacific Coast Highway. That was how Ricky became a member of the Pigface Gang.
But this truck was not just a vehicle.
As he watched, the powerful machinery behind the driver's cabin slowly lowered a massive steel plate, six feet square, to the ground. There was a pause, then he heard a low-pitched rumble. A cloud of dust rose around the truck as the plate began to pound the earth rhythmically. He felt the ground shake beneath his feet.
This was a seismic vibrator, a machine for sending shock waves through the earth's crust. Priest had never had much education, except in stealing cars, but he was the smartest person he had ever met, and he understood how the vibrator worked. It was similar to radar and sonar. The shock waves were reflected off features in the earth--such as rock or liquid--and they bounced back to the surface,
... mehr
where they were picked up by listening devices called geophones, or jugs.
Priest worked on the jug team. They had planted more than a thousand geophones at precisely measured intervals in a grid a mile square. Every time the vibrator shook, the reflections were picked up by the jugs and recorded by a supervisor working in a trailer known as the doghouse. All this data would later be fed into a supercomputer in Houston to produce a three-dimensional map of what was under the earth's surface. The map would be sold to an oil company.
The vibrations rose in pitch, making a noise like the mighty engines of an ocean liner gathering speed; then the sound stopped abruptly. Priest ran along the sendero to the truck, screwing up his eyes against the billowing dust. He opened the door and clambered up into the cabin. A stocky black-haired man of about thirty was at the wheel. "Hey, Mario," Priest said as he slid into the seat alongside the driver.
"Hey, Ricky."
Richard Granger was the name on Priest's commercial driving license (class B). The license was forged, but the name was real.
He was carrying a carton of Marlboro cigarettes, the brand Mario smoked. He tossed the carton onto the dash. "Here, I brought you something."
"Hey, man, you don't need to buy me no cigarettes."
"I'm always bummin' your smokes." He picked up the open pack on the dash, shook one out, and put it in his mouth.
Mario smiled. "Why don't you just buy your own cigarettes?"
"Hell, no, I can't afford to smoke."
"You're crazy, man." Mario laughed.
Priest lit his cigarette. He had always had an easy ability to get on with people, make them like him. On the streets where he grew up, people beat you up if they didn't like you, and he had been a runty kid. So he had developed an intuitive feel for what
Priest worked on the jug team. They had planted more than a thousand geophones at precisely measured intervals in a grid a mile square. Every time the vibrator shook, the reflections were picked up by the jugs and recorded by a supervisor working in a trailer known as the doghouse. All this data would later be fed into a supercomputer in Houston to produce a three-dimensional map of what was under the earth's surface. The map would be sold to an oil company.
The vibrations rose in pitch, making a noise like the mighty engines of an ocean liner gathering speed; then the sound stopped abruptly. Priest ran along the sendero to the truck, screwing up his eyes against the billowing dust. He opened the door and clambered up into the cabin. A stocky black-haired man of about thirty was at the wheel. "Hey, Mario," Priest said as he slid into the seat alongside the driver.
"Hey, Ricky."
Richard Granger was the name on Priest's commercial driving license (class B). The license was forged, but the name was real.
He was carrying a carton of Marlboro cigarettes, the brand Mario smoked. He tossed the carton onto the dash. "Here, I brought you something."
"Hey, man, you don't need to buy me no cigarettes."
"I'm always bummin' your smokes." He picked up the open pack on the dash, shook one out, and put it in his mouth.
Mario smiled. "Why don't you just buy your own cigarettes?"
"Hell, no, I can't afford to smoke."
"You're crazy, man." Mario laughed.
Priest lit his cigarette. He had always had an easy ability to get on with people, make them like him. On the streets where he grew up, people beat you up if they didn't like you, and he had been a runty kid. So he had developed an intuitive feel for what
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Ken Follett
Ken Follett burst into the book world with Eye of the Needle, an award-winning thriller and international bestseller. After several more successful thrillers, he surprised everyone with The Pillars of the Earth and its long-awaited sequel, World Without End, a national and international bestseller. Follett’s new, magnificent historical epic, the Century Trilogy, includes the bestselling Fall of Giants, Winter of the World, and Edge of Eternity. He lives in England with his wife, Barbara.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Ken Follett
- 1999, 448 Seiten, Maße: 10,6 x 17,7 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Fawcett Crest
- ISBN-10: 0449227545
- ISBN-13: 9780449227541
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
Praise for The Hammer of EdenFollett ratchets up the Richter scale of suspense. USA Today
Peerless pacing and character development . . . The Hammer of Eden will nail readers to their seats. People (A Page-Turner of the Week)
The thrills hit unnervingly close to home in Follett s latest white-knuckler. San Francisco Chronicle
Riveting . . . taut plotting, tense action, skillful writing, and myriad unexpected twists make this one utterly unputdownable. Booklist (starred review)
"A model of how a thriller ought to be written. Follett keeps it crisp and rachets up the tension. . . . Time speeds up as the danger escalates." Los Angeles Times
"Follett does a first-class job of creating a fictional universe and then inviting the reader to live in it. His substantial research pays off as well, because he writes about the world of earthquakes with the same authority he displays when discussing the technical aspects of the FBI's inner workings." Newark Star-Ledger
"Amazing . . . Hollywood could have some fun with The Hammer of Eden." Orlando Sentinel
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