A Raging Storm - 2do libro - Capítulos publicados

Publicar nuevo tema   Responder al tema

Ir abajo

A Raging Storm - 2do libro - Capítulos publicados

Mensaje por qwerty el Mar Jun 12, 2012 6:03 am

Parece que los productores y gente que rodea a la serie Castle ya están empezando a exprimir su vaca lechera.
Nuevo libro listo para comprar (En USA o Amazon) a partir del 3 de julio: A Raging Storm

1er libro de la trilogía de los "Nº 1 de New York Times" A brewing Storm (publicado 1 Mayo)
2do libro: A Ranging Storm (publicado 3 Julio)
3er libro: A Bloody Strom (publicado 7 Agosto)

Todos ellos publicados en formato electrónico. Desconozco si llegarán al formato papel o versión castellana.



Según la página de la ABC parece que éste sí lo van a ir sacando poco a poco: "Todos los lunes hasta su lanzamiento"

La noticia original de la ABC:
Spoiler:
Derrick Storm is back in A Raging Storm!

Bestselling author Richard Castle is officially releasing his newest e-book July 3rd, but you don't have to wait that long to get in on the action. The cover has just been released and you can already read the first chapter of A Raging Storm here!

Castle's first release in this e-book series, A Brewing Storm, came out on May 1st this year and is already a New York Times bestseller.

We'll be releasing a new chapter of A Raging Storm each Monday until its release--be sure to check back!


Última edición por qwerty el Miér Ago 22, 2012 4:01 am, editado 6 veces
avatar
qwerty
Escritor - Policia
Escritor - Policia

Mensajes : 1631
Fecha de inscripción : 27/04/2011
Localización : En la luna de Valencia

Ver perfil de usuario

Volver arriba Ir abajo

Re: A Raging Storm - 2do libro - Capítulos publicados

Mensaje por Teresita_yocastle$$NYPD el Mar Jun 12, 2012 6:10 am

gracias por la info Razz cuando sale en Español xDDDDDDDDDD Happy Clap Very Happy Laughing

______________________
Heart Heart Heart Heart CASKETT ALWAYS Heart


Inlove Inlove Inlove Inlove
avatar
Teresita_yocastle$$NYPD
Moderador
Moderador

Mensajes : 5326
Fecha de inscripción : 13/12/2010
Edad : 27
Localización : NY I love you always (Zaragoza)

Ver perfil de usuario http://twitter.com/#!/@siemprecastle

Volver arriba Ir abajo

Re: A Raging Storm - 2do libro - Capítulos publicados

Mensaje por qwerty el Mar Jun 12, 2012 6:15 am

CHAPTER 1

Washington D.C.

Present day, 7:15 p.m.

A dead United States Senator was in his arms.

Derrick Storm had been the first to reach him and the only one who’d heard his dying words: Midas - Jedidiah knows. Seconds earlier, Senator Thurston Windslow had been alive and angry. He’d leaped from his chair and was about to reveal who had abducted and murdered his step-son when a bullet sent him crashing to the floor. From his crouched position, Storm could see the bullet hole in the large window directly behind the elderly statesman’s desk.

It was dusk outside and the window had turned into a mirror, making it impossible for Storm to spot the assassin. Along with the three women with him inside the Dirksen Senate Building office, Storm was a sitting duck.

“Get down!” he yelled at Gloria Windslow, the senator’s newly widowed wife. She was standing in the center of the room in shock.

Storm needed to act before the sniper fired again. Springing to his feet, he dashed around the desk in a blur of motion. Like an attacking lion, he lunged at Gloria, throwing his right arm around her waist in mid-flight, pulling her down onto the thick carpet out of harm’s way.

FBI Agent April Showers and Samantha Toppers were already prone on the floor. Showers was clutching her .40 caliber Glock semi-automatic in one hand. The other was gripped around a pair of stainless steel handcuffs that she had snapped onto Toppers’ wrists before the shooting.

Like all Capitol Hill buildings, the senator’s office had been refitted recently with bullet resistant glass windows that were supposed to prevent the sort of assassination that they’d just witnessed. Composed of five thick pieces of shatter-proof glass, the manufacturer had guaranteed the windows would stop bullets fired from guns as powerful as a .44 caliber magnum revolver -- even if they were shot at close range. But the window had offered little real protection from a professional killer using a high powered sniper’s rifle. The layers of safety glass may have slightly altered the slug’s path, because it hit the senator’s left shoulder rather than what was surely its intended target – his heart. That shift had kept him from dying instantly and given him seconds to whisper his dying words.

Jedidiah knows was clearly a reference to Jedidiah Jones, the cranky director of the CIA’s National Clandestine Service and the man responsible for dragging Storm into this thorny mess. What the word Midas meant was less clear, but since Jones was involved, Storm suspected it was the name of a covert CIA mission.

“The drapes,” FBI Agent Showers called out.

Storm followed her eyes to a red button on the wall next to the office window. Releasing his hold around Gloria Windslow’s waist, he shot forward, punching the button with his palm, and dropping to the carpet just as another bullet pierced the glass – this one aimed at his head. The slug sailed by his left ear and smacked into the senator’s desk, causing splinters of polished mahogany to spray through the air.

That was close.

How many times can a man cheat death?

“You okay?” a concerned Agent Showers hollered.

“Piece of cake,” he replied. “But thanks for caring.”

“If anyone is going to kill you,” she replied with a smile, “it should be me – for pushing yourself into my case.”

“But we’re having so much fun together, aren’t we?” he called back.

With the heavy drapes now drawn, Agent Showers rose to her feet, pulling Toppers with her up from the floor. “Don’t move!” she ordered Toppers, a twenty-something college student whose entire body was trembling.

Storm started for the office door just as a uniformed U.S. Capitol Police officer burst through it, followed by another. Both had their guns drawn and they instinctively divided their targets. One aimed at Showers, the other at Storm.

“Freeze!” the first cop yelled.

“I’m FBI!” Showers shouted. “Special Agent April Showers. The shot came from outside, not here. The senator is down.”

Not sure how to react, one officer kept his pistol leveled at her while the other rushed over to examine Windslow’s body.

“He’s dead!” the officer confirmed.

“She just told you that,” Storm said.

“Show me identification!” the cop with his gun aimed at Agent Showers commanded.

“Take it easy,” Showers replied as she slowly holstered her pistol and fished out her FBI credentials.

“How about you?” the other officer asked Storm.

“Don’t mind me. I’m a nobody – just ask her.”

“He’s with me,” Showers declared. “He’s a private detective named Steve Mason hired to help the senator.”

Steve Mason was the pseudonym that Jedidiah Jones gave Storm when he’d brought him to Washington to help solve a tricky case.

Looking down at Windslow’s limp body and then back at Storm, the cop asked, “Is this the senator, you were supposed to help?”

Storm grimaced and said, “Actually, things were going rather well -- until he just got shot.”

“This woman is under arrest,” Showers said, nodding at the traumatized Toppers. “Watch her, seal off this crime scene and call the number on this card.” She jabbed her FBI business card at the officer. “Tell the person who answers that the senator’s been murdered.”

“What buildings are across from this office window?” Storm asked.

“Only one building is out there,” the officer at the doorway replied. “The Capitol Police building – our headquarters.”

“That’s got to be where the shot came from,” Storm said, moving toward the room’s exit.

“Call your dispatcher,” Showers said, falling behind him. “Tell him to lock down your entire police headquarters. Stop anyone who’s coming down from the roof.”

A bewildered look washed over the officer’s face.

“Do it now!” she yelled. “And get a doctor for Mrs. Windslow. She’s in shock.”

“Wait,” the officer said as she scooted by him. “You two shouldn’t leave, should you? I mean, you’re witnesses.”

But she and Storm were already half way down the building’s corridor. The killing had all the traces of a professional hit. Every passing second was working against catching the killer. Storm reached C Street first with Showers on his heels. The eight story police headquarters was about four hundred yards ahead of them. It sat in the center of a vast parking lot and was the only structure tall enough to accommodate a sniper.

The assassin must be wearing a disguise. How else would he have gotten onto the rooftop of a police headquarters without being noticed?

Storm and Showers reached the buildings’ front entrance just as a Containment and Emergency Response Team, the equivalent of a police department’s SWAT squad, burst through the double glass, doors on its way to the Dirksen building. Flashing her credentials, Showers exclaimed, “A sniper fired from your rooftop!”

Speaking into his headset, the CERT’s leader said, “Dispatch CERT Two to check the rooftop. Armed suspect may still be there. No one gets in or out of our building. Lock her down. Now!”

Addressing Showers, he said, “We have jurisdiction here. You need to stand down.”

Before she could respond, his team began racing across the parking lot.

Storm, meanwhile, was scanning the area, confident that the shooter already had fled from the building. To their immediate left was a city park that separated Capitol Hill from Union Station, the main rail hub in Washington D.C.. It served both Amtrak and subway lines, was always filled with travelers, and was exactly where Storm would have gone to disappear into a crowd.

“There!” Storm yelled, pointing a finger north toward Columbus Circle, the traffic interchange directly in front of the train station. Showers spotted a lone figure as he walked under a street lamp. She couldn’t see his face from this distance, but she could see that he was wearing a blue shirt and black pants -- a U.S. Capitol police uniform. All of the other officers either were locked inside the headquarters building or were scurrying as quickly as they could toward the Senate office building. But this officer was casually walking away from the action.

“That’s got to be him,” Storm said, breaking into a run.

Showers pounded on the headquarters’ now locked front doors and pressed her FBI credentials against the glass. “The shooter is getting away. Call the D.C. police at Union Station! He’s disguised as one of your officers!”

The officers standing guard behind the glass gave her blank stares. Frustrated, she used her cell phone to the D.C. police department.

In top physical shape, Storm could run a mile in less than four-and-a-half minutes, even in street shoes. But despite his quickness, his target entered Union Station before he could reach him. Storm eyeballed the crowd as soon as he burst inside the station’s massive lobby. No Capitol Hill uniforms were in eyesight.

I’m dealing with a professional, he told himself.

A D.C. cop was loitering near the entrance to the Amtrak ticket line. Storm dashed over to him.

“There’s been a shooting on Capitol Hill,” he said. “The gunman is dressed like a Capitol Hill police officer and he just came in here. Did you see him?”

With a skeptical look, the cop said, “And who, exactly are you? You got a badge?”

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Let’s see your ID.”

Dealing with this dolt was a waste of time. A men’s room. That’s where the shooter would go to ditch his disguise. Emerge as someone else. Someone who wouldn’t stick out. A tourist. A businessman. A janitor. A construction worker. Anyone but a Capitol Hill cop..

There was a large RESTROOM sign to his left. Storm ran into it. A long string of startled men peeing at urinals glanced up. When Storm drew his handgun, they panicked and scrambled passed him out the exit, some not bothering to zip their pants. There were seven stalls across from the urinals. Storm could see beneath their doors that three were occupied.

He pounded on the first stall’s door and when the occupant let loose with a profanity, Storm stepped back and kicked it open.

“What the ---,” the startled man sitting on the commode exclaimed, his sentence cut short when he saw Storm’s Glock.

“Sorry,” Storm said. “You can go back to your business.”

He moved to the next stall but when he knocked on the door, its occupant opened it and immediately raised his hands. It was a teenage boy. The last occupant was an old man. None had been changing out of a Capitol Hill uniform. None had looked suspicious.

“Drop it!” a voice behind Storm yelled. It was the D.C. cop from the lobby.

Raising his Glock above his head, Storm slowly turned to face him.

“Are you crazy, man?” the cop asked him. “What the hell you doing, busting in here, waving around a gun? You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you just now.”

“I’m looking for a sniper,” Storm said. “Like I told you, he’s dressed as a Capitol Hill cop. We need to close off the exits before he escapes.”

“Then you are crazy,” he replied. “Even if I wanted, there’s no way to shut down this building in time. We got entrances out onto the street, downstairs to the subway lines and out back to the trains.”

A second D.C. cop came running inside with his gun drawn.

“What’s happening?” he asked his partner.

“He says he’s a private eye looking for an assassin.”

The newly arrived officer asked Storm, “You high on something?”

“Get his weapon,” the first cop declared.

Holstering his sidearm, the second officer stepped forward, took Storm’s Glock and ordered him to “assume the position.”

Storm placed both hands flat against the wall and spread his legs. Resigned, he said, “Don’t tickle.”

Agent Showers came flying into the men’s room . “FBI!” she said, waving her badge. “You’ve got the wrong guy. He’s with me.”

“Then you can have him,” the first officer said, lowering his gun. The second officer stopped frisking Storm, who turned and said, “My gun please.”

The officer handed it back.

Storm walked over to a nearby trash can and flipped off its lid. But there was nothing inside it except crumpled paper towels and trash. He checked a second can. There was no Capitol Hill policeman’s uniform inside it either.

“We’ll check the lobby,” the first officer announced.

“Great,” replied Storm, knowing the killer was probably long gone.

“What exactly are we looking for?” the second officer asked.

“At this point?” Storm replied. “A ghost.”

Storm and Showers stepped from the men’s room together. A third trash can was a few feet away, located between the entrances to the men’s and women’s restrooms. Storm checked it. A blue Capitol Hill police officer’s shirt was stuffed inside, complete with a badge and pair of black slacks.

Pulling the shirt from the bin, Storm said, “It’s a small. We’re looking for a man probably under six feet, about a hundred and fifty pounds.”

Together they scanned the waves of people scurrying by them in the cavernous station’s lobby. Dozens of men fit that description. The shooter could have been anyone, anywhere.

“How’d you know I was in the men’s room?” Storm asked.

“Do you think you’re the only one who can think like a fleeing criminal?” she replied.

Storm smiled. “It could have been embarrassing for you if I hadn’t been in there.”

“Not really,” Showers said.

“Oh you’ve been in a lot of men’s rooms, do you?”

She simply smiled and said, “Let’s go. We got a killer to catch.”
avatar
qwerty
Escritor - Policia
Escritor - Policia

Mensajes : 1631
Fecha de inscripción : 27/04/2011
Localización : En la luna de Valencia

Ver perfil de usuario

Volver arriba Ir abajo

Re: A Raging Storm - 2do libro - Capítulos publicados

Mensaje por qwerty el Mar Jun 12, 2012 6:19 am

Teresita... no me has dado ni tiempo a editar el mensaje...

Es el anuncio del libro para e-book. Al igual que hicieron para Brewing Storm. Supongo que les ha ido bien pues han repetido con éste.

No tengo ni idea de si va a estar en formato papel (en inglés) ni en español. Si alguien se entera que nos lo actualice
avatar
qwerty
Escritor - Policia
Escritor - Policia

Mensajes : 1631
Fecha de inscripción : 27/04/2011
Localización : En la luna de Valencia

Ver perfil de usuario

Volver arriba Ir abajo

Re: A Raging Storm - 2do libro - Capítulos publicados

Mensaje por Invitado el Mar Jun 12, 2012 7:25 am

Pero el libro no era "Frozen Heat"? Shocked

Invitado
Invitado


Volver arriba Ir abajo

Re: A Raging Storm - 2do libro - Capítulos publicados

Mensaje por Beckett_Castle_Alba el Mar Jun 12, 2012 7:52 am

Con tanto libro, novela gráficas, ... yo ya me he perdido Confused

¿Se supone que esto es aparte de los cuatro libros de Castle o tiene alguna relación?

______________________




Castlet: What happens if you don’t like what you see?
Beckett: What happens if you don’t let me look?
avatar
Beckett_Castle_Alba
Escritor - Policia
Escritor - Policia

Mensajes : 3909
Fecha de inscripción : 30/05/2012
Edad : 27
Localización : Cádiz (España)

Ver perfil de usuario http://outofthevirginia.wordpress.com/

Volver arriba Ir abajo

Re: A Raging Storm - 2do libro - Capítulos publicados

Mensaje por qwerty el Mar Jun 12, 2012 8:08 am

A ver si nos situamos... que yo tb ando algo perdida.

Castle (como escritor) tiene la secuela de Derrick Storm y ahora la de Nikky Heat.

Por parte de Heat está claro:
- Heat Wave
- Naked Heat
- Heat Rises y
- Frozen Heat

Por parte de Derrick Storm.
- Deadly Storm (novela gráfica que pronto saldrá en castellano)
- Brewing Storm (continuación de la saga Storm porque lo resucita) y CREO que sólo para e-book
- A Raging Storm (el que acaban de sacar para comprarlo por Amazon a partir del 3 de Julio)

PD. Ya que habéis preguntado aquí os he respondido en este mismo tema. Pero recordad que este tema es sólo para comentar o añadir capitulos del libro Raging Storm.

Si veo que hay más dudas con los libros abro tema nuevo para debatir porque no toca aquí.
avatar
qwerty
Escritor - Policia
Escritor - Policia

Mensajes : 1631
Fecha de inscripción : 27/04/2011
Localización : En la luna de Valencia

Ver perfil de usuario

Volver arriba Ir abajo

Re: A Raging Storm - 2do libro - Capítulos publicados

Mensaje por Beckett el Mar Jun 12, 2012 9:58 am

Es un poco lioso, a ver se trata de tres libros que conforman uno solo.

En mayo salió A Brewing Storm
En Julio saldrá A Raging Storm
En Agosto saldrá A Bloody Storm

Los tres son como un libro fragmentado vendido en formato ebook. Cada uno ronda las 80/90 páginas para que os hagáis una idea.

Cuando publiquen los tres supongo que harán una versión completa de los tres en uno y lo publicaran también en papel (ojo, que esto es sólo una suposición) y con mucha suerte dentro de un año y pico, si Suma de Letras sigue apostando por Castle nos lo traerá en español.

Frozen Heat sale en setiembre, así que los americanos van a pasar un verano tranquilito sin tener que pensar en la próxima temporada con tanto libro.

En octubre saldrá la segunda novela gráfica, basada en el libro Storm Season. No leáis la sinopsis que ponen porque os vais a spoilear si aún no habéis leído la primera.
avatar
Beckett
As del póker
As del póker

Mensajes : 484
Fecha de inscripción : 12/01/2011
Edad : 27
Localización : Barcelona

Ver perfil de usuario http://piojilloblanco.blogspot.com.es/

Volver arriba Ir abajo

Re: A Raging Storm - 2do libro - Capítulos publicados

Mensaje por qwerty el Sáb Jun 16, 2012 4:50 am

CHAPTER 2

Moscow, Russia

Mayakolvskaya Metro Station

―"We are the new Russia!" President Oleg Barkovsky declared, ending his three hour long speech. The crowd leaped to its feet. They stomped on the floor. They hollered. They whistled. No one grumbled about the late hour. No one complained that it had been five hours since the evening’s meal had been cleared from the tables. The vodka had flowed freely all night. Barkovsky’s aide, Mikhail Sokolov, had made sure of it. The many toasts and earlier speeches had been painstakingly choreographed to build momentum for this moment.

Barkovsky’s ovation was the evening’s grand finale.

The Russian president made no effort to calm the frenzied crowd. He stretched out his arms – Christ like -- behind the podium and drunk in their revelry. In his mind, he deserved it.

Barkovsky was transforming Russia. The reforms of the past -- glasnost and perestroika —were dead. Gone were the leaders who had betrayed Mother Russia by destroying the great Communist Party. Gone were the ligarchs who had raped the nation, stealing billions and billions. Like a mythical Phoenix, Barkovsky had arisen from the chaos of the imploded former Super Power. He’d kicked out the money-grubbing foreign capitalists who had arrived promising reforms, but had only lined their pockets. Brilliant and ruthless, he had maneuvered himself into the presidency and reasserted the Kremlin’s authority over all aspects of Russian life. Reporters who dared question him were attacked by thugs who left them bleeding and dying on sidewalks. Political enemies were arrested, imprisoned, some had disappeared. Elections were bought. After years of instability, ordinary Russianshad silently fallen into line. There had been no complaints when Barkovsky had started stripping away the civil liberties that the revolt against the old regime had brought them. Barkovsky’s iron fist established order. For the first time in decades, it was safe to walk the streets of Moscow at night, shops were well-stocked, homes were heated, people had bread, and Russia was once again demanding international respect.

"Barkovsky!" a dark haired beauty near the podium screamed. Her cry sparked a chorus. ― "Barkovsky! Barkovsky! Barkovsky!" It swept through the chamber like a wave. Glancing down from the stage at the woman, Barkovsky brought his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss.

She fainted. He was a political rock star.

The late night rally was being held -- not in the ballroom of one of the new, dazzling Western-style hotels that now dotted the Moscow skyline – but in Mayakovskaya Metro station on the Zamoskvoretskaya rail line. To the unaware, it may have seemed an odd choice. But to this crowd, it was a brilliant selection.

Joseph Stalin promised in 1932, when construction of the Moscow underground began, that the city’s railway stops would be artistic showplaces —daily reminders to the masses of the superiority of the Communist system. The
Mayakolvskaya station was a jewel in the Metro crown. It was such an engineering feat when it opened in 1938 that it was awarded a Grand Prize at the New York World’s Fair. It was designed to calm even the most claustrophobic traveler. Buried more than 100 feet underneath the city, the station’s ceiling contained thirty-five individual, round niches with filament lights hidden behind them. The lights burned so brilliantly that it looked as if the summer sunshine was streaming through the panes. The station’s steel support beams were covered with pink rhodonite. Its walls were decorated with four different shades of granite and marble. Artists had created thirty-four mosaics in the ceiling, each glorifying the Soviet Empire. During World War II, the station had served as an air raid shelter and had escaped unscathed. But it was another historic event that caused Barkovsky to select the station for this evening’s banquet. When Moscow was under siege in 1941 by the Nazis, Stalin had addressed a crowd of party leaders and ordinary Muscovites inside this very station, giving what would become known as his Brothers and Sisters speech. In it, Stalin predicted that although the Nazis seemed invincible, they would be defeated. Barkovsky’s speech tonight had mimicked Stalin’s famous remarks. He had attacked ― "outside invaders" who were threatening the new Russia – just as the Nazis had once done. He’d made thinly disguised attacks on the United States and NATO. Stalin had promised that the Motherland would rise triumphant, but only if it held ― "true to the moral principles" that had first guided the Communist revolution. Barkovsky repeated that same cold line.

It was Barkovsky’s goal, and that of his New Russia Party, known simply as the NRP, to turn Russia backwards and in doing so, restore it as a world Super Power, capable of protecting its people from the threat of the U.S. and its newer rivals: China and India. Suspect everyone. Destroy all enemies. Use any means at your disposal.

Wooden chairs and tables had been placed on the station’s boarding platform and train service had been suspended for tonight’s rally. Blood red and bright yellow banners—the very colors of the flag of the old Soviet empire—dangled from the ceiling. The entire station had the feel of an old time communist rally. It was all well planned. Most of the crowd of four hundred had been members of the apparatchiki—the Communist Party apparatus. They had reaped the spoils of the nomenklatura—the party system of rewarding people who were in political favor.
As a child, Barkovsky had grown up envying these privileged party members, wanting desperately to be one of them. But his parents had not been invited to join. They had been poor factory workers south of Leningrad. Because they were not party members, they had been doomed to lives of obscurity and poverty. Their only son should have suffered their same dreary fate, but Barkovsky had found a way to pull himself up from the squalor. Through sheer determination, a total lack of conscience and an unquenchable lust for power, he had risen to become the most powerful leader in Russia since Joseph Stalin. Now he used his humble origins to his advantage. He had become a hero to the masses by pretending to be one of them. They loved him even as he was picking their pockets and constructing a palace for himself along the banks of the Black Sea at a cost of a billion dollars. Some nights, when he was alone, Barkovsky wondered if he could be the living reincarnation of Stalin. There were moments when he imagined that he could feel Stalin’s blood pulsating through his veins.

Standing before the crowd, soaking in the hoopla, Barkovsky felt a hand gently touch his shoulder followed by the familiar voice of his chief aide whispering.

―"Senator Windslow is dead"

Without showing the slightest glimmer of a reaction, Barkovsky cocked his
head slightly to his right and asked. ―"Where is Petrov?"

―"London."
―"Why is he still alive?"
avatar
qwerty
Escritor - Policia
Escritor - Policia

Mensajes : 1631
Fecha de inscripción : 27/04/2011
Localización : En la luna de Valencia

Ver perfil de usuario

Volver arriba Ir abajo

Re: A Raging Storm - 2do libro - Capítulos publicados

Mensaje por qwerty el Sáb Jun 16, 2012 4:59 am

CHAPTER TRHEE

Duke of Madison’s estate

Somerset County, England

The startled ring-necked pheasant burst from its hiding place in the knee high grasses. The blood red circling its eyes gave the bird a terrified look as it flapped its wings to gain speed. A brown-and-white spotted Cocker Spaniel had flushed it. Like many game birds in England, the pheasant had been bred and reared by a professional gamekeeper and then released to roam the rolling hills of the Duke of Madison’s vast estate under its master came hunting.

The pheasant had flown about twenty feet above the ground when the boom of a .12 gauge shotgun broke the early morning silence. Dozens of blackbirds in nearby trees took wing, scattering in different directions.

The buckshot broke the pheasant’s right wing, causing it to careen to the ground where it flapped desperately as the dog raced toward it. The Spaniel expertly snatched the wounded bird in its mouth and shook it violently, snapping its neck and ending its misery.

“Good boy, Rasputin,” cried the dog’s owner, Ivan Sergeyevich Petrov. The Spaniel dropped the pheasant at Petrov’s feet and was rewarded with both a treat and pat on its head. One of Petrov’s two bodyguards took the bird and deposited it into a satchel. It was the first kill of the morning.

“Nice shooting Ivan Sergeyevich,” Georgi Ivanovich Lebedev said. He was Petrov’s best friend and morning hunting companion.

Petrov opened the breach of his .12 gauge shotgun and inserted a new shell. He considered it un-sportsmanlike to hunt with anything other than a single shot rifle. If he couldn’t kill a bird with one round, the creature deserved to escape.

“The next bird we see will be yours,” Petrov promised.

Lebedev was smart enough to always allow Petrov the first kill. It was one reason why the two men had stayed close friends for so many years. Lebedev was content being second fiddle. It had been this way from the time when they were boys growing up in the northwest Moscow neighborhood of Solntsevo, one of city’s toughest areas. When the teenaged Petrov took a sudden interest in a girl named Yelena, Lebedev stepped aside even though he had a crush on her. When Petrov became best friends with Russian President Barkovsky, Lebedev gladlybecame a third wheel. When Petrov and Barkovsky became sworn enemies, Lebedev supported Petrov, eventually following him to London.

While Lebedev played the role of a supplicant well, Petrov played it not at all. It was fair to say that he never put his own wants or needs aside for anyone. It was a luxury he could afford, given his net worth of a reported $6 billion. The fact that his fortune had come not because of hard work or brilliance but good timing and connections did nothing to deflate his grandiose ego.

It was his bloated self-esteem that had ultimately led to him clashing with President Barkovsky. To escape being arrested and thrown into prison, Petrov had been forced to flee Moscow at night, concealed behind a false panel inside a Russian SUV. British foreign intelligence had arranged his escape and in return had demanded that he snitch on his Kremlin friends. Petrov had done so with relish. He had known where lots of bodies were buried.

In truth, only his money made him attractive to the young women who frequently accompanied him to London’s most posh clubs. A big man, standing six-foot, two- inches tall and weighing nearly 300 pounds, Petrov’s face was puffy white and round. At age forty-two, he was balding, although his personal stylist did her best to disguise it by combing long strains of hair from the side of his head across his naked scalp. He favored loose fitting, hand tailored clothes and onlywore black and white because he was colorblind. This morning, a pair of handmade platinum rimmed sunglasses copied from a photograph of a bespectacled Johnny Depp sat on his nose.

His hunting partner was shorter, standing five foot, six inches, and considerably thinner. Lebedev had a full head of bushy black hair, as well as two caterpillar like eyebrows. He was both a lawyer and accountant, two trades which served him well as Petrov’s most trusted lackey and advisor.

Shortly before daybreak, they had left the 40,000 square foot manor house, that Petrov had purchased from the cash poor heirs of the Duke of Madison. Walking side-by-side, they had crossed the lush fields and rolling hills of the Cotswolds.

With Rasputin racing a few feet in front of them, they had entered a tall grass area near a brook and trees. It was here that Petrov had killed the first bird. Afterwards, he had celebrated by opening a Thermos bottle filled with black coffee mixed with vodka, Kahlua, and amaretto. Lebedev had brought coffee too but it contained no alcohol. As the two men drank, Petrov’s bodyguards walked in a circle around them, safely out of hearing distance as they scanned the landscape for possible flashes of sunlight -- reflections from a camouflaged shooter’s telescopic gun sight.

“The Americans will be sending people to question you about Senator Windslow,” Lebedev said solemnly.

“Should I see them?” Petrov asked. “Or go to the Daria?” He was referring to his 439 foot-long yacht that had cost $1 billion to build and was named after his mother. He kept it anchored in the Mediterranean Sea off the French Riviera. “It will be more difficult for them to interrogate me there.”

“I think you should meet with them. Otherwise, it will look as if you have something to hide.”


Petrov chuckled. “I do.”

“I should be present as your lawyer.”

“Perhaps, it was a mistake telling the CIA about the gold, instead of my British friends,” Petrov said.

“I disagree,” Lebedev replied. “The Americans have longer arms and are not as timid as MI-6. It was right to tell them. The Americans also have more to gain by helping us.”

Rasputin, who was waiting patiently at Petrov’s feet, began to pant loudly and whine.

“You have a scent, don’t you boy?” Petrov said to his dog. He finished his drink. “Are you ready,” he asked Lebedev.

Tossing away the remains of his coffee, Lebedev put his stainless steel cup into his knapsack and said, “I’m ready.” Leaning down, Petrov gave his dog the command: “BIRD.”

The Spaniel bolted along a hedgerow, its snout floating inches above the ground. The sound of rustlings feathers and a cry of alarm caused both men to shoulder their shotguns. Another pheasant exploded into the sky, this one much smaller and faster than the first.

Petrov fired. His shot stopped the bird in mid-air. Bits of feathers blew away from its breast. It fell dead.

Cracking open his shotgun, Petrov said, “I promised you the second kill, my friend, but my instincts overruled my obligation.”

Lebedev shrugged. “There will be other birds for me.”

Rasputin arrived with the dead bird clutched in his mouth. Petrov petted the dog.

“You have someone watching the Americans,” he said.

“Yes, of course. One of our best. ”

Lebedev reloaded and snapped the shotgun shut.

“Do you think Jedidiah Jones has told the FBI what he knows?”

Lebedev replied, “We can’t be certain. This is why you must meet with the
Americans.”

Petrov grinned. “They think they are coming to interrogate me but I will be interrogating them.”
avatar
qwerty
Escritor - Policia
Escritor - Policia

Mensajes : 1631
Fecha de inscripción : 27/04/2011
Localización : En la luna de Valencia

Ver perfil de usuario

Volver arriba Ir abajo

Re: A Raging Storm - 2do libro - Capítulos publicados

Mensaje por Teresita_yocastle$$NYPD el Sáb Jun 16, 2012 5:46 am

gracias por subir masssssssssss Reverence

______________________
Heart Heart Heart Heart CASKETT ALWAYS Heart


Inlove Inlove Inlove Inlove
avatar
Teresita_yocastle$$NYPD
Moderador
Moderador

Mensajes : 5326
Fecha de inscripción : 13/12/2010
Edad : 27
Localización : NY I love you always (Zaragoza)

Ver perfil de usuario http://twitter.com/#!/@siemprecastle

Volver arriba Ir abajo

Re: A Raging Storm - 2do libro - Capítulos publicados

Mensaje por Contenido patrocinado


Contenido patrocinado


Volver arriba Ir abajo

Volver arriba

- Temas similares

Publicar nuevo tema   Responder al tema
 
Permisos de este foro:
Puedes responder a temas en este foro.