By William W. Johnstone
They've already began discovering. The drug buyers and the petty criminals. The terrorists and the parasites. For one guy at the West Texas border, the time to face opposed to them is now. John Howard Stark, a Vietnam vet whose relations has labored their ranch for generations, has trigger a visit wire--and an ambush has exploded throughout him. A Columbian drug cartel commander, with the aid of an ex-special forces hit guy and his personal lethal military, has killed 3 Americans--including Stark's uncle and his neighbor--and will slaughter an individual else who stands in his means. The neighborhood legislations is in his pocket and the Border Patrol is powerless to assist. Now John Howard Stark is ready to salary a one-man battle. And he's received the easiest type of cause to struggle to the demise. yet for this American, there's something extra risky than the enemies slithering around the border--and that's the second one enemy status in the back of his again: His personal govt.
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Extra info for Vengeance is Mine
My knowledge of the Civil War was sketchy, but I guessed it might have been Marston Moor. I added the latest waking dream to my notebook, still in a trance. The doctor was a dowsing rod, maybe, a channel for me to make contact with the boy. Alison’s curiosity about my trade was strong enough to provide an excuse for an excursion. I offered to take her out on a necessary but non-urgent trip to examine a couple of sites on behalf of the Bury St Edmunds amateur archaeology group. It was unpaid, so I’d been putting it off, and they were probably despairing of their chances of ever getting on Time Team.
I’d never got around to redecorating; I’d always felt I was camping out in that house. So I led Alison out to my shed, to give her an idea of my own taste. Alison’s eyes widened with pleasure when she saw my woodworking tools arrayed along one wall, and the chessboard hanging among them. “Joe, that’s marvellous,” she said. ” I nodded. The pieces were tucked away in a box, and I hesitated to bring them out. Instead I switched on the light boxes, to show off the bottles gleaming in their many hues around the other two walls.
What we probably have here is an older burial, could be Bronze Age, there may be pottery goods. ” “Ah, bones now, that’s a moot point. ” I considered this, looking at my hands. “It’s different. But there will be a dominant one, usually the metal if there’s any there; that’ll be the one I sense, and anything less definite like glass will be like a whiff of another scent that you can’t quite place. ” We moved on to another nearby site, on the same hilltop but in another field. I knew from the definite twitch of the rods that there was more than just disturbed earth below the flat surface.