Twelve Days
A John Wells Novel
(Sprache: Englisch)
Now in paperback, the New York Times-bestselling John Wells adventure from the new master of cutting-edge modern suspense.
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Now in paperback, the New York Times-bestselling John Wells adventure from the new master of cutting-edge modern suspense.
Klappentext zu „Twelve Days “
New York Times bestselling author Alex Berenson is back with another gripping tale.John Wells, with his former CIA bosses Ellis Shafer and Vinny Duto, have uncovered a staggering plot, a false-flag operation to drive the United States and Iran into war. But they have no proof and only twelve days to find a way to stop the headlong momentum. They fan out, from Switzerland to Saudi Arabia, Israel to Russia, desperately trying to tease out the clues in their possession. And meanwhile, the forces gather.
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PROLOGUETWELVE DAYS . . .
MUMBAI, INDIA
For as long as he could remember, Vikosh Jain had wanted to see
India. His family s homeland for a hundred generations. The world s
largest democracy. The birthplace of his religion.
While his friends moved out after college, he lived at home, paying
off his loans and saving money for what he knew would be an epic adventure.
The trip became an obsession. He mapped every train ride
across the subcontinent, Mumbai to Delhi, Kashmir to Madras. Finally,
when he d saved the twelve thousand dollars he d budgeted for a ten-
week trip, he bought his ticket.
What a fool he d been.
After a month, he couldn t wait to get home. He was sick of India.
Sick with India, too. He d stayed away from street food and drank only
bottled water. Even so, he found himself glued to a toilet a week after he
arrived. The cheekier travel websites called what had happened to him
the Delhi diet. It sounded like a joke, but by the time the doxycycline
kicked in, he d lost ten pounds. He could hardly walk a flight of stairs.
His skin let him pass for local, but his gut was suburban New Jersey
through and through.
Not just his gut. Coming here had taught him how American he really
was. Every time he stepped into the streets, he was overwhelmed. By
the dust coating his mouth. The shouting, honking, hawking crowds.
The pushing and shoving and relentless begging. The way the men
pawed women on buses and streetcars. He felt disconnected from all of
them, even the ones who had money. Especially the ones who had
money. He d planned to spend a week with his father s family in Delhi,
but he left after two days. He couldn t stand the way his aunt screeched
at her maids and gardeners, like they weren t people at all.
Before the trip, his parents had warned him his expectations were unrealistic.
When he emailed home to complain, long paragraphs of frustration,
his father had answered in one sentence: You need to
... mehr
accept it for
what it is. And after another long screed: Don t you see? This is why we left.
Even as Vik read those words, his stomach pulled a 720-degree spin,
like a reckless snowboarder had taken up residence in his gut. He wondered
what he d eaten this time. He wasn t scheduled to fly home for
another six weeks. But enough. Enough was enough. He clicked over to
united.com and found that for only two hundred dollars he could change
his flight. He could leave this very night. He tried to convince himself to
stay, that he would be quitting, betraying his heritage. But India wasn t
his country. Never had been. Never would be.
He reached for his credit card.
Now, after an endless taxi ride to Chhatrapati Shivaji International
Airport, an hour-long wait to enter the terminal, three bag searches, two
X-rays, and a barking immigration officer, Vik was almost free. He had
maybe the worst seat on the plane, 45A, a window in the cabin s last row.
So be it. He d be close to the toilets.
Nick Cuse had captained nonstops to Mumbai and Delhi for two years.
After twenty-eight years at Continental and he would always think of
CAL as his employer, never mind the merger or the name on the side
of the jet he could choose his runs. Most captains with his seniority
preferred Hong Kong or Tokyo, well-run airports that weren t surrounded
by slums like the one in Mumbai. But Cuse had started as a
Navy pilot, landing F-14s on carrier decks. He was keenly aware that
every year commercial aircraft became more automated. Every year, pilots
had less to do. He wanted to end his career as something other than
a glorified bus driver. Mumbai was a lot of things, but it was rarely boring.
T
what it is. And after another long screed: Don t you see? This is why we left.
Even as Vik read those words, his stomach pulled a 720-degree spin,
like a reckless snowboarder had taken up residence in his gut. He wondered
what he d eaten this time. He wasn t scheduled to fly home for
another six weeks. But enough. Enough was enough. He clicked over to
united.com and found that for only two hundred dollars he could change
his flight. He could leave this very night. He tried to convince himself to
stay, that he would be quitting, betraying his heritage. But India wasn t
his country. Never had been. Never would be.
He reached for his credit card.
Now, after an endless taxi ride to Chhatrapati Shivaji International
Airport, an hour-long wait to enter the terminal, three bag searches, two
X-rays, and a barking immigration officer, Vik was almost free. He had
maybe the worst seat on the plane, 45A, a window in the cabin s last row.
So be it. He d be close to the toilets.
Nick Cuse had captained nonstops to Mumbai and Delhi for two years.
After twenty-eight years at Continental and he would always think of
CAL as his employer, never mind the merger or the name on the side
of the jet he could choose his runs. Most captains with his seniority
preferred Hong Kong or Tokyo, well-run airports that weren t surrounded
by slums like the one in Mumbai. But Cuse had started as a
Navy pilot, landing F-14s on carrier decks. He was keenly aware that
every year commercial aircraft became more automated. Every year, pilots
had less to do. He wanted to end his career as something other than
a glorified bus driver. Mumbai was a lot of things, but it was rarely boring.
T
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Autoren-Porträt von Alex Berenson
This is Alex Berenson s ninth novel featuring John Wells. As a reporter for The New York Times, Berenson covered topics ranging from the occupation of Iraq where he was stationed for three months to the flooding of New Orleans, to the world pharmaceutical industry, to the financial crimes of Bernard Madoff. He graduated from Yale University in 1994 with degrees in history and economics, and lives in New York City. The Faithful Spy won the 2007 Edgar Award for best first novel. He is also the author of The Wolves.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Alex Berenson
- 2016, 544 Seiten, Maße: 10,8 x 19,3 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Penguin US
- ISBN-10: 0515155829
- ISBN-13: 9780515155822
- Erscheinungsdatum: 14.01.2016
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
Praise for Twelve DaysLots of thriller writers know how to work a ticking clock, and lots more come to the genre with some experience in international politics, but few put the two together as effectively as Berenson does in this compelling, globe-trotting time bomb of a novel. Action fans will get all they came for . . . but those looking for genuine insight into the subtleties of the geopolitical chess game will be equally satisfied. Booklist (starred review)
This well-written and fast-moving novel delivers more than a good plot. It illustrated how in the midst of regional chaos, a great power can jump to calamitous conclusions. This one is well worth the thriller enthusiast s time, which holds true for all the novels Berenson has written to date. Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
A fast-paced, enthralling fight to the finish . . . the sort of spy thriller that locks you in a fast and ferocious grip and won t let you go. Associated Press
An extremely suspenseful read that fans will not forget any time soon. Suspense Magazine
All espionage thrillers should be this good. This is a series that you should must be reading. Bookreporter.com
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