The Striker
An Isaac Bell Adventure
(Sprache: Englisch)
Detective Isaac Bell returns in the remarkable new adventure in the No.1 New York Times - bestselling series.
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Detective Isaac Bell returns in the remarkable new adventure in the No.1 New York Times - bestselling series.
Klappentext zu „The Striker “
Turn-of-the-century detective Isaac Bell goes undercover as a coal miner for his first solo mission in this novel in Clive Cussler's #1 New York Times bestselling series. It is 1902, and a bright, inexperienced young man named Isaac Bell, only two years out of his apprenticeship at the Van Dorn Detective Agency, has an urgent message for his boss. Hired to hunt for radical unionist saboteurs in the coal mines, he is witness to a terrible accident that makes him think something else is going on that provocateurs are at work and bigger stakes are in play.
Little does he know just how big they are.
Given exactly one week to prove his case, Bell quickly finds himself pitted against two of the most ruthless opponents he has ever known men of staggering ambition and cold-bloodedness who are not about to let some wet-behind-the-ears detective stand in their way.
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Also by Clive Cussler
Title Page
Copyright
Map
PROLOGUE
BOOK ONE: COAL
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
BOOK TWO: FIRE
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
BOOK THREE: STEAM
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
EPILOGUE
A Smoke-filled Room
1912
THE MARMON 32 SPEEDSTER PARKED ON WALL STREET IN A shadow between two lampposts.
Roundsman O Riordan took notice. It was the dead of night. Orders said let no one bother the bigwig politicians and officeholders who were horse-trading upstairs in the Congdon Building. And the auto had a clear shot at the limousines waiting for them at the curb.
... mehr
Its side curtains were fogged by the damp rolling off the harbor. O Riordan had to get close to see inside. The driver was a pleasant surprise, a beautiful lady with straw-blond hair, and the cop relaxed a little. But all he could see of the gent beside her were steely contours. Still, you couldn t rap your stick on a Marmon 32 and tell the swells to move along like they were bums on the sidewalk, so with his right hand by his pistol, he tapped the side curtain lightly, like touching his glass to the mahogany to signal the bartender of a classy joint he was ready for another but didn t mean to be rushing him.
A big hand with long, nimble fingers slid the curtain open. O Riordan glimpsed a snow-white cuff, diamond links, and the black sleeve of a dress coat. The hand seized his in a strong grip.
Paddy O Riordan. Fancy meeting you here.
Raked by searching blue eyes, the roundsman recognized the gold mane, the thick flaxen mustache, and the no-nonsense expression that could only belong to Isaac Bell chief investigator of the Van Dorn Detective Agency.
He touched his stick to his helmet. Good evening, Mr. Bell. I didn t recognize you in the shadows.
What are you doing out so late? Bell asked.
O Riordan started to answer before Bell s grin told him it was a joke. Policemen were supposed to be out late.
The detective nodded at the limousines. Big doings.
Judge Congdon s got a special waiting at Grand Central. Tracks cleared to Chicago. And I m sorry to tell you I have me orders to clear the street. Straight from the captain.
Bell did not seem to hear. Paddy, I want you to meet my wife Marion, may I present Roundsman O Riordan, former scourge of Staten Island pirates back when he was in the Harbor Squad. There wasn t a wharf rat in New York who didn t buy drinks for the house the night Paddy came ashore.
She reached across her husband with an ungloved hand that seemed to glow like ivory. O Riordan took it carefully in his enormous fist and bowed low.
A privilege to meet you, marm. I ve known your good husband many years in the line of duty. And may I say, marm, that Mrs. O Riordan and I have greatly enjoyed your moving picture shows.
She thanked him in a
Its side curtains were fogged by the damp rolling off the harbor. O Riordan had to get close to see inside. The driver was a pleasant surprise, a beautiful lady with straw-blond hair, and the cop relaxed a little. But all he could see of the gent beside her were steely contours. Still, you couldn t rap your stick on a Marmon 32 and tell the swells to move along like they were bums on the sidewalk, so with his right hand by his pistol, he tapped the side curtain lightly, like touching his glass to the mahogany to signal the bartender of a classy joint he was ready for another but didn t mean to be rushing him.
A big hand with long, nimble fingers slid the curtain open. O Riordan glimpsed a snow-white cuff, diamond links, and the black sleeve of a dress coat. The hand seized his in a strong grip.
Paddy O Riordan. Fancy meeting you here.
Raked by searching blue eyes, the roundsman recognized the gold mane, the thick flaxen mustache, and the no-nonsense expression that could only belong to Isaac Bell chief investigator of the Van Dorn Detective Agency.
He touched his stick to his helmet. Good evening, Mr. Bell. I didn t recognize you in the shadows.
What are you doing out so late? Bell asked.
O Riordan started to answer before Bell s grin told him it was a joke. Policemen were supposed to be out late.
The detective nodded at the limousines. Big doings.
Judge Congdon s got a special waiting at Grand Central. Tracks cleared to Chicago. And I m sorry to tell you I have me orders to clear the street. Straight from the captain.
Bell did not seem to hear. Paddy, I want you to meet my wife Marion, may I present Roundsman O Riordan, former scourge of Staten Island pirates back when he was in the Harbor Squad. There wasn t a wharf rat in New York who didn t buy drinks for the house the night Paddy came ashore.
She reached across her husband with an ungloved hand that seemed to glow like ivory. O Riordan took it carefully in his enormous fist and bowed low.
A privilege to meet you, marm. I ve known your good husband many years in the line of duty. And may I say, marm, that Mrs. O Riordan and I have greatly enjoyed your moving picture shows.
She thanked him in a
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Clive Cussler
Clive Cussler is the author of more than fifty books in five bestselling series, including Dirk Pitt, NUMA Files, Oregon Files, Isaac Bell, and Fargo. His life nearly parallels that of his hero Dirk Pitt. Whether searching for lost aircraft or leading expeditions to find famous shipwrecks, he and his NUMA crew of volunteers have discovered more than seventy-five lost ships of historic significance, including the long-lost Confederate submarine Hunley, which was raised in 2000 with much press publicity. Like Pitt, Cussler collects classic automobiles. His collection features more than eighty examples of custom coachwork. Cussler lives in Arizona and Colorado.Justin Scott is the author of thirty-one novels, including The Shipkiller and Normandie Triangle; the Ben Abbott detective series; six thrillers under his pen name Paul Garrison; and his coauthorship with Cussler of The Wrecker, The Spy, The Race, The Thief, The Striker, The Bootlegger, The Assassin,The Gangster, and The Cutthroat. Scott lives in Connecticut.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Clive Cussler
- 2014, 416 Seiten, Maße: 10,8 x 19 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Penguin US
- ISBN-10: 0425264688
- ISBN-13: 9780425264683
- Erscheinungsdatum: 18.02.2014
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
James Bond style flair with sabotage and villainy a great action thriller. The Associated PressThis origin story (every hero needs one) will give Bell s fans a fresh look at their favorite private investigator. Booklist
The action flows swiftly, and the authors do a good job depicting the work conditions and the class warfare of the time. Publishers Weekly
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