2007, ISBN: 9780007234745
New York: Berkley Books. Very Good. 4.25 x 1 x 7.5 inches. Paperback. 2000. 480 pages. <br>In life she was a high-profile model. In death she is the focus of a media firestorm that… Mehr…
New York: Berkley Books. Very Good. 4.25 x 1 x 7.5 inches. Paperback. 2000. 480 pages. <br>In life she was a high-profile model. In death she is the focus of a media firestorm that's demanding action from L ucas Davenport. One of his own men is a suspect in her murder. Bu t when a series of bizarre, seemingly unrelated slayings rock the city, Davenport suspects a connection that runs deeper than anyo ne had imagined--one that leads to an ingenious killer more ruthl ess than anyone had feared.... Editorial Reviews Review You won 't want to miss it. --Los Angeles Times Captivating. --Chicago S un-Times When you come out of the twists and turns that are Easy Prey, it is a marvel how [Sandford] could do this...he's a write r in control of his craft. --Chicago Sun-Times Crackerjack suspe nse...[Sandford's] at the top of his game again with Easy Prey. - -New York Post Wildly successful...contains all the elements fan s have come to expect: solid plot, gallows humor...sex, and the l ikeable, self-assured Davenport. --Booklist A grand guignol of a climax. --Kirkus Reviews Rapid-fire action...sharply evocative. -Minneapolis Star Tribune Easy Prey is hard to put down.--Richmo nd Times Dispatch The dialogue is deft, the melodrama masterfull y orchestrated and the conclusion truly culminant. As secrets exp lode, as bullets fly and bodies fall, and as the ground keeps shi fting, there's hardly time to keep up with the spectacle. --The L os Angeles Times [An] ever-entertaining series. As always, it's a joy to follow this rare cop who gets led more often by his gut instinct than by clues. His humor, understated and perverse, can be wildly funny, and the people he runs across are shrewdly conce ived originals. --Publishers Weekly Here's hoping that John Sand ford never retires Lucas Davenport or stops dreaming up diabolica l killers for the supersleuth to battle. The author's unbeatable at juggling suspense, comedy, sex...and [his] plots seem to be mo ving faster than ever. --The New York Post Lucas Davenport is al ways in top form, and with Easy Prey, Sandford has another winner to add to the Prey books. --The Orlando Sentinel About the Aut hor John Sandfordis the author of twenty-four Prey novels; the Vi rgil Flowers novels, most recentlyStorm Front; and six other book s. He lives in New Mexico. About the Author John Sandfordis the author of twenty-four Prey novels; the Virgil Flowers novels, mos t recentlyStorm Front; and six other books. He lives in New Mexic o. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. one WHEN THE FIRST MAN WOKE UP THAT MORNing, he wasn't thinking abou t killing anyone. He woke up with a head full of blues, a brain t hat was too big for his skull, and a bladder about to burst. He l ay with his eyes closed, breathing across a tongue that tasted li ke burnt chicken feathers. The blues rolled in through the bedroo m door. Coming down hard. He had been flying on cocaine for thr ee days, getting everything done, everything. Then last night, co ming down, he'd stopped at a liquor store for a bottle of Stolich naya. His bleeding brain retained a picture of himself lifting th e bottle off the shelf, and another picture of an argument with t he counterman, who didn't want to break a hundred-dollar bill. B y that time, the coke high had become unsustainable; and the Stol i had been a bad idea. There was no smooth landing after a three- day toot, but the vodka turned a wheels-up belly landing into a f ull crash-and-burn. Now he'd pay. If you peeled open his skull an d dumped it, he thought, his brain would look like a coagulated l ump of Campbell's bean soup. He cracked his eyes, lifted his hea d, and looked at the clock. A few minutes past seven. He'd gotten four hours of sleep. Par for the course with coke, and the Stoli hadn't helped. If he'd stayed down for ten hours, or twelve-he n eeded about sixteen to catch up-he might have been past the worst of it. Now he was just gonna have to suck it up. He turned to h is left, where a woman, a dishwater blonde, lay facedown in her p illow. He could only see about half of her head; the rest was bur ied by a red fleece blanket. She lay without moving, like a dead woman-but no such luck. He closed his eyes again, and there was n othing left in the world but the blues music bumping in from the next room, from the all-blues channel, nine-hundred-and-something on the TV dial. Must've left it on last night. . . . Gotta move , he thought. Gotta pee. Gotta take twenty aspirins and go down t o Country Kitchen and get some pancakes and link sausages. . . . The man didn't wake up thinking about murder. He woke up thinkin g about his head and his bladder and a stack of pancakes. Funny h ow things work out. That night, when he killed two people, he wa s a little shocked. - Green-eyed Alie'e Maison stood in the hul k of a rust-colored Mississippi River barge. She was wrapped in a designer dress that looked like froth over a reef in the Caribbe an Sea-an ankle-length dress the exact faded-jade color of her ey es, low-cut and sheer, hugging her hips, flaring at her ankles. S he was large-eyed, barefoot, elfin, fleeing down a pale yellow tw o-by-twelve-inch pine plank, which stretched like a line of fire out of the purple gloom of the barge's interior. Behind her, a h uge man in a sleeveless white T-shirt, filthy Sears work pants, a nd ten-inch work boots blew sparks off a piece of wrought iron wi th an acetylene torch. He was wearing a black dome-shaped welding helmet, and acrid gray smoke curled around his heavy, tense legs . The blank robotic faceplate, in combination with his hairy arms , the dirty shirt, the smoke, and the squat legs, gave him the gr otesque crouching power of a gargoyle. A fantasy at three thousa nd dollars an hour. And not quite right. - That's no fucking g ood. NO FUCKING GOOD! Amnon Plain moved through the bank of stro bes, his thick black hair falling over his forehead, his narrow g lasses glittering in the set lights, his voice cutting like a pie ce of broken glass: Alie'e, you're freezing up at the line. I wan t you blowing out of the place. I want you moving faster when you come up to the line, not slower. You're slowing down. And I want you to look pissed. You look annoyed, you look petulant- I am a nnoyed-I'm freezing, Alie'e snapped. I've got goose bumps the siz e of oranges. Plain turned to an assistant: Larry, move the heat er into the back. You gotta get some heat on her. We'll get the fumes, Larry said, arms akimbo, a deliberately effeminate pose. L arry wasn't gay, just ironic. We'll deal with the fucking fumes. Huh? Okay? We'll deal with the fucking fumes. You gotta do some thing. I'm really cold, Alie'e said. She clasped her arms around herself and shivered for effect. A man dressed in black walked ou t from behind the lights, peeling off his cashmere sport coat. He was tall, thin, his over-the-shoulder brunette hair worn loose a nd back. He had a thick hammered-silver loop earring in his left ear and a dark soul-patch under his lower lip. Take this until th ey're ready again, he said to Alie'e. She huddled in the coat. Tu rning away from them, Plain rolled his eyes. Larry-move the fucki n' heater. Larry shrugged and began wheeling the propane heater farther into the barge. If they all died of carbon monoxide poiso ning, it wouldn't be his fault. Plain turned back to Alie'e. Jax , take a hike, and take your coat with you. . . . Hey- the man i n black said, but nobody was looking at him, or paying attention. Plain continued: Alie'e, I want you pissed. Don't do that thing with your lips. You're sticking your lips out, like this. Plain pursed his lips. That's a pout. I don't want a pout. Do it like t his. . . . He grimaced, and Alie'e tried to imitate him. This was one of her talents: the ability to imitate expression, the way a dancer could imitate motion. That's better, Plain said to Alie' e. But make your mouth longer, turn it down, and get it set that way while you're moving. Do it again. She did it again, making th e changes. That's good, but now you need some mouth. He turned b ack to the line of lights and the small crowd gathered behind the m-an account executive, a creative director, a makeup artist, a h airdresser, a couture rep, a second photo assistant, and Alie'es parents, Lynn and Lil. Plain did not provide chairs, and the insi de of the barge was not a place you'd want to sit down, not if yo ur hand-tailored jeans cost four hundred and fifty dollars. To th e makeup artist, Plain said, Fix her mouth. And to the second ass istant: Jimmy, where's the fucking Polaroid? You got the Polaroid ? Jimmy was fanning a six-by-seven-centimeter Polaroid color pri nt, which was used to check exposure. He glanced at the print and said, It's coming up. Behind him, the creative director whisper ed to the account executive, Says 'fuck' a lot, and the account e xecutive muttered, They all do. Plain peered at the Polaroid, lo oked up at an overhead softbox. Move that box. About two feet to the right, that way. Jimmy moved it, and Plain looked around. Eve rybody ready? Alie'e, remember the line. Clark, are you ready? T he welder said, Yeah, I'm ready. Was that enough sparks? Sparks were fine, sparks were good, Plain said. You're the only fucking professional working here this morning. He looked back at Alie'e. Now, don't fucking pout-blow right through the line. . . . - A lie'e waited patiently until her mouth was fixed, staring blankly past the makeup artist's ear as a bit of color was patched into the left corner of her lower lip; Jax said into her ear, Love you . You're doing great, you look great. Alie'e barely heard him. Sh e was seeing herself walking the plank, the vision of herself tha t came from Plain's mind. When her mouth was done, she stepped b ack to her starting mark. Jax got out of the way, and when Plain said, Go, Alie'e got her expression right, started down the plank with a lanky, hip-swinging stride, and blew past the exposure li ne, the green dress swirling about her hips, the orange-yellow we lder's sparks flashing in the background. The stink and smoke of the burning metal curled around her as Plain, standing behind the camera, fired the bank of strobes. Better, Plain said, stepping toward her. A little fuckin' better. - They'd been working for two hours in the belly of the grain barge. The barge was a gift: a pilot on the Greek-owned Mississippi towboat Treponema had dri ven it into a protective abutment around a bridge piling. The dam aged barge had been floated to the Anshiser repair yard in St. Pa ul, where welders cut away the buckled hull plates and prepared t o burn on new ones. Plain spotted the disemboweled hulk while sco uting for photo locations. He made a deal with Archer Daniels Mid land, the barge owner: Delay repairs for a week, and ADM would ma ke Vogue. The people who ran ADM couldn't think of a good reason why the company would worry about Vogue, but their publicity ladi es were wetting their pants, so they said okay and the deal was m ade. - They were still working with the green dress when a team from TV3 showed up, and they all took a break. Alie'e goofed aro und, for the camera, with Jax, showing a little skin, doing a lon g, slow, rolling tongue-kiss, which the camera crew asked them to redo twice, once as a silhouette. The interviewer for TV3, a squ are-jawed ex-jock with bleached teeth and a smile he'd perfected in his bathroom mirror, said, after the cameras shut down, It's a slow day. I think we'll lead the news with this. Nobody asked w hy it was news: they all lived with cameras, and assumed that it was. - Two hours for four different shots, with and without fan s, two rolls of high-saturation Fujichrome film for each of the s hots. The Fuji would make the colors pop. Plain pronounced himsel f satisfied with the green dress, and they moved on. The next po se involved a torn T-shirt and a pair of male-look women's briefs , complete with the vented front. Alie'e and Jax moved against th e far hull and a little shadow, and Alie'e turned her back to the photo crowd and peeled off the green dress. She'd been nude bene ath the dress; anything else would ruin the line. She was aware of her nudity but not self-conscious about it, as she had been at first. Her first jobs had been as one model in a group, and they usually changed all at once; she was simply one naked woman amon g several. By the time she started up the ladder to stardom, to i ndividual attention, she'd become as conditioned to public nudity as a striptease dancer. Even more than that. She'd worked in Eu rope, with the Germans, and total nudity wasn't uncommon in fashi on work. She remembered the first time she'd had her pubic hair b rushed out, fluffed up. The brusher had been a thirty-something g uy who'd squatted in front of her, smoking a cigarette while he b rushed her, and then did a quick trim with a pair of barber sciss ors, all with the emotional neutrality of a postman sorting lette rs. Then the photographer came over to take a look, suggested a c ouple of extra snips. Her body might as well have been an apple. . . . You want privacy? You turn your back. . . . - Alie'e Mai son- Ah-Lee-Ay May-Sone -had been born Sharon Olson in Burnt Rive r, Minnesota. Until she was seventeen, she'd lived with her paren ts and her brother, Tom, in a robin's-egg-blue rambler just off H ighway 54, fourteen miles south of the Canadian line. She was a b eautiful baby. She won a beautiful-baby prize when she was a year old-she'd been born just before Halloween, and her costume was a pumpkin that her mother made on her Singer. A year later, Sharon toddled away with a statewide beautiful-toddler trophy. In that one, she'd been dressed as a lightning bug, in a suit of black an d gold. Dance and comportment lessons began when she was three, singing lessons when she was four. At five, she won the North Cen tral Tap-Fairies contest for children five and younger. That was the pattern: Miss Junior North Country, International Miss Snow ( International Falls and Fort Frances, Canada), Miss Border Lakes. She sang and danced through her school days. Miss Minnesota and even-her parents, Lynn and Lil, barely dared to dream it-Miss Ame rica was possible. Until she was fourteen, anyway. When the brea st genes were passed out in heaven, Alie'e had been in line for a n extra helping of eyes instead. That became obvious in junior hi gh when her, Berkley Books, 2000, 3, HarperCollins. Very Good. 4.37 x 0.94 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 2007. 432 pages. <br>A classic thriller from Jack Higgins, the undisput ed master of adrenalin packed adventure and the bestselling autho r of 'The Eagle has Landed' It's 1963 and the eve of John F.Kenn edy's historic visit to Berlin. Locked away inside the impregnab le fortress of Schloss Neustadt, Father Sean Conlin, survivor of Dachau and lifelong champion of human freedom is fighting to deny his jailers their ultimate goal. On this momentus day, when the whole world is watching they must make him admit to being a CIA h ireling. But the West is determined to save him, and gambling wi th their lives a small band of men begin a daring rescue mission that could change the course of history. ., HarperCollins, 2007, 3<
| nzl, nzl | Biblio.co.uk |
2007, ISBN: 9780007234745
This book has been read, some wear to covers and minor staining to back cover. Minor pencil marking first inner page, no other markings inner pages. Spine intact, no creass. "A lush, sedu… Mehr…
This book has been read, some wear to covers and minor staining to back cover. Minor pencil marking first inner page, no other markings inner pages. Spine intact, no creass. "A lush, seductive novel of the legendary beauty whose face launched a thousand shipsDaughter of a god, wife of a king, prize of antiquitys bloodiest war, Helen of Troy has inspired artists for millennia. Now Margaret George, the highly acclaimed bestselling historical novelist, has turned her intelligent, perceptive eye to the myth that is Helen of Troy.Margaret George breathes new life into the great Homeric tale by having Helen narrate her own story. Through her eyes and in her voice, we experience the young Helens discovery of her divine origin and her terrifying beauty. While hardly more than a girl, Helen married the remote Spartan king Menelaus and bore him a daughter. By the age of twenty, the worlds most beautiful woman was resigned to a passionless marriage until she encountered the handsome Trojan prince Paris. And once the lovers flee to Troy, war, murder, and tragedy become inevitable.In Helen of Troy, Margaret George has captured a timeless legend in a mesmerizing tale of a woman whose life was destined to create strife and destroy civilizations." Good Reads "Margaret George is a rolling stone who has lived in many places, beginning her traveling at the age of four when her father joined the U.S. diplomatic service and was posted to a consulate in Taiwan. The family traveled on a freighter named after Ulysses' son Telemachus that took thirty days to reach Taiwan, where they spent two years. Following that they lived in Tel Aviv (right after the 1948 war, when it was relatively quiet), Bonn and Berlin (during the spy-and-Cold-War days) before returning--at the height of Elvis-mania--to Washington DC, where Margaret went to high school. Margaret's first piece of published writing, at the age of thirteen, was a letter to TIME Magazine defending Elvis against his detractors. (Margaret has since been to Graceland.)But it was earlier in Israel that Margaret, an avid reader, began writing novels to amuse herself when she ran out of books to read. Interestingly, the subject of these was not what lay around her in the Middle East, but the American west, which she had never set foot in. (Now that she lives in the American Midwest she writes about the Middle East!) Clearly writing in her case followed Emily Dickinson's observation "There is no frigate like a book" and she used it to go to faraway places. Now she has added another dimension to that travel by specializing in visiting times remote from herself.Neither of these horse sagas got published, but the ten-year-old author received an encouraging note from an editor at Grosset & Dunlap, telling her she had a budding talent but should work on her spelling.It was also in Israel that Margaret started keeping land tortoises as pets, an interest which she still follows today. She had a great affinity for animals and nature and that led her to a double major at Tufts University in English literature and biology. Following that she received an MA in ecology from Stanford University--one of the earliest departments to offer such a concentration. Today she is active in environmental and animal conservation groups.Combining her interests led her to a position as a science writer at the National Cancer Institute (National Institutes of Health) in Bethesda, Maryland for four years.Her marriage at the end of that time meant moving, first to St. Louis, then to Uppsala, Sweden, and then to Madison, Wisconsin, where she and her husband Paul have lived for more than twenty years now. They have one grown daughter who lives in California and is in graduate school.Through all this Margaret continued to write, albeit slowly and always on only one project at a time. She wrote what she refers to as her 'Ayn Rand/adventure novel' in college and her 'Sex and the City' novel in Washington DC. It was in St. Louis that she suddenly got the idea of writing a 'psycho-biography' of Henry VIII. She had never seen such a thing done but became convinced the king was a victim of bad PR and she should rescue his good name. Her background in science meant that only after thoroughly researching the literature and scholarship on Henry VIII would she embark on the novel itself. She sought the guidance of a Tudor historian at Washington University for a reading list, and proceeded from there.It was actually fourteen years between her initial idea and the publication of The Autobiography of Henry VIII. The book made an impression for several reasons: first, because no one had ever written a novel sympathetic to the king before; second, because it covered his entire life from before birth until after his death, making it almost a thousand pages long, and third, because it was so fact-filled." Good Reads, Penguin Books, 2007-05, 3, London: Harper Collins. New. 2007. Reprint; Sixth Printing. Paperback. Mass Market PB . Sixth printing of this Harper mass market edition, 2007. Nice tight copy, no names or marks inside. Brand new book. Embossed cover design includes photo by Dominic Forbes. ; 432 pages; Its 1963 and the eve of Kennedys historic visit to Berlin, but on the red side of the wall, a deadly campaign is being planned. Locked away inside the impregnable fortress of Schloss Neustadt, Father Sean Conlin, survivor of Dachau and lifelong champion of human freedom is fighting to deny his jailers their ultimate goal. With the whole world watching they intend to make him admit to being a CIA hireling. But the West is determined to save him, a small band of intrepid men begin a daring rescue mission that could sway the course of history. ., Harper Collins, 2007, 6<
| can, bgr | Biblio.co.uk |
2007, ISBN: 9780007234745
London: Harper Collins. New. 2007. Reprint; Sixth Printing. Paperback. Mass Market PB . Sixth printing of this Harper mass market edition, 2007. Nice tight copy, no names or marks inside… Mehr…
London: Harper Collins. New. 2007. Reprint; Sixth Printing. Paperback. Mass Market PB . Sixth printing of this Harper mass market edition, 2007. Nice tight copy, no names or marks inside. Brand new book. Embossed cover design includes photo by Dominic Forbes. ; 432 pages; Its 1963 and the eve of Kennedys historic visit to Berlin, but on the red side of the wall, a deadly campaign is being planned. Locked away inside the impregnable fortress of Schloss Neustadt, Father Sean Conlin, survivor of Dachau and lifelong champion of human freedom is fighting to deny his jailers their ultimate goal. With the whole world watching they intend to make him admit to being a CIA hireling. But the West is determined to save him, a small band of intrepid men begin a daring rescue mission that could sway the course of history. ., Harper Collins, 2007, 6<
 | Biblio.co.uk |
2007, ISBN: 0007234740
[EAN: 9780007234745], Neubuch, [PU: Harper Collins, London], THRILLERS, Sixth printing of this Harper mass market edition, 2007. Nice tight copy, no names or marks inside. Brand new book.… Mehr…
[EAN: 9780007234745], Neubuch, [PU: Harper Collins, London], THRILLERS, Sixth printing of this Harper mass market edition, 2007. Nice tight copy, no names or marks inside. Brand new book. Embossed cover design includes photo by Dominic Forbes. ; 432 pages; It’s 1963 and the eve of Kennedy’s historic visit to Berlin, but on the red side of the wall, a deadly campaign is being planned. Locked away inside the impregnable fortress of Schloss Neustadt, Father Sean Conlin, survivor of Dachau and lifelong champion of human freedom is fighting to deny his jailers their ultimate goal. With the whole world watching they intend to make him admit to being a CIA hireling. But the West is determined to save him, a small band of intrepid men begin a daring rescue mission that could sway the course of history. Mass Market PB, Books<
| AbeBooks.de Darkwood Online T/A BooksinBulgaria, Blagoevgrad, Bulgaria [65341622] [Rating: 5 (von 5)] NEW BOOK. Versandkosten: EUR 4.51 Details... |
2007, ISBN: 9780007234745
Bantam Books, 1983. Good 1983 paperback. Mass Market Paperback. Good., Bantam Books, 1983, 2.5, HarperCollins. Very Good. 4.37 x 0.94 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 2007. 432 pages. <br>… Mehr…
Bantam Books, 1983. Good 1983 paperback. Mass Market Paperback. Good., Bantam Books, 1983, 2.5, HarperCollins. Very Good. 4.37 x 0.94 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 2007. 432 pages. <br>A classic thriller from Jack Higgins, the undisput ed master of adrenalin packed adventure and the bestselling autho r of 'The Eagle has Landed' It's 1963 and the eve of John F.Kenn edy's historic visit to Berlin. Locked away inside the impregnab le fortress of Schloss Neustadt, Father Sean Conlin, survivor of Dachau ... ., HarperCollins, 2007, 3<
| usa, nzl | Biblio.co.uk |
2007, ISBN: 9780007234745
New York: Berkley Books. Very Good. 4.25 x 1 x 7.5 inches. Paperback. 2000. 480 pages. <br>In life she was a high-profile model. In death she is the focus of a media firestorm that… Mehr…
New York: Berkley Books. Very Good. 4.25 x 1 x 7.5 inches. Paperback. 2000. 480 pages. <br>In life she was a high-profile model. In death she is the focus of a media firestorm that's demanding action from L ucas Davenport. One of his own men is a suspect in her murder. Bu t when a series of bizarre, seemingly unrelated slayings rock the city, Davenport suspects a connection that runs deeper than anyo ne had imagined--one that leads to an ingenious killer more ruthl ess than anyone had feared.... Editorial Reviews Review You won 't want to miss it. --Los Angeles Times Captivating. --Chicago S un-Times When you come out of the twists and turns that are Easy Prey, it is a marvel how [Sandford] could do this...he's a write r in control of his craft. --Chicago Sun-Times Crackerjack suspe nse...[Sandford's] at the top of his game again with Easy Prey. - -New York Post Wildly successful...contains all the elements fan s have come to expect: solid plot, gallows humor...sex, and the l ikeable, self-assured Davenport. --Booklist A grand guignol of a climax. --Kirkus Reviews Rapid-fire action...sharply evocative. -Minneapolis Star Tribune Easy Prey is hard to put down.--Richmo nd Times Dispatch The dialogue is deft, the melodrama masterfull y orchestrated and the conclusion truly culminant. As secrets exp lode, as bullets fly and bodies fall, and as the ground keeps shi fting, there's hardly time to keep up with the spectacle. --The L os Angeles Times [An] ever-entertaining series. As always, it's a joy to follow this rare cop who gets led more often by his gut instinct than by clues. His humor, understated and perverse, can be wildly funny, and the people he runs across are shrewdly conce ived originals. --Publishers Weekly Here's hoping that John Sand ford never retires Lucas Davenport or stops dreaming up diabolica l killers for the supersleuth to battle. The author's unbeatable at juggling suspense, comedy, sex...and [his] plots seem to be mo ving faster than ever. --The New York Post Lucas Davenport is al ways in top form, and with Easy Prey, Sandford has another winner to add to the Prey books. --The Orlando Sentinel About the Aut hor John Sandfordis the author of twenty-four Prey novels; the Vi rgil Flowers novels, most recentlyStorm Front; and six other book s. He lives in New Mexico. About the Author John Sandfordis the author of twenty-four Prey novels; the Virgil Flowers novels, mos t recentlyStorm Front; and six other books. He lives in New Mexic o. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. one WHEN THE FIRST MAN WOKE UP THAT MORNing, he wasn't thinking abou t killing anyone. He woke up with a head full of blues, a brain t hat was too big for his skull, and a bladder about to burst. He l ay with his eyes closed, breathing across a tongue that tasted li ke burnt chicken feathers. The blues rolled in through the bedroo m door. Coming down hard. He had been flying on cocaine for thr ee days, getting everything done, everything. Then last night, co ming down, he'd stopped at a liquor store for a bottle of Stolich naya. His bleeding brain retained a picture of himself lifting th e bottle off the shelf, and another picture of an argument with t he counterman, who didn't want to break a hundred-dollar bill. B y that time, the coke high had become unsustainable; and the Stol i had been a bad idea. There was no smooth landing after a three- day toot, but the vodka turned a wheels-up belly landing into a f ull crash-and-burn. Now he'd pay. If you peeled open his skull an d dumped it, he thought, his brain would look like a coagulated l ump of Campbell's bean soup. He cracked his eyes, lifted his hea d, and looked at the clock. A few minutes past seven. He'd gotten four hours of sleep. Par for the course with coke, and the Stoli hadn't helped. If he'd stayed down for ten hours, or twelve-he n eeded about sixteen to catch up-he might have been past the worst of it. Now he was just gonna have to suck it up. He turned to h is left, where a woman, a dishwater blonde, lay facedown in her p illow. He could only see about half of her head; the rest was bur ied by a red fleece blanket. She lay without moving, like a dead woman-but no such luck. He closed his eyes again, and there was n othing left in the world but the blues music bumping in from the next room, from the all-blues channel, nine-hundred-and-something on the TV dial. Must've left it on last night. . . . Gotta move , he thought. Gotta pee. Gotta take twenty aspirins and go down t o Country Kitchen and get some pancakes and link sausages. . . . The man didn't wake up thinking about murder. He woke up thinkin g about his head and his bladder and a stack of pancakes. Funny h ow things work out. That night, when he killed two people, he wa s a little shocked. - Green-eyed Alie'e Maison stood in the hul k of a rust-colored Mississippi River barge. She was wrapped in a designer dress that looked like froth over a reef in the Caribbe an Sea-an ankle-length dress the exact faded-jade color of her ey es, low-cut and sheer, hugging her hips, flaring at her ankles. S he was large-eyed, barefoot, elfin, fleeing down a pale yellow tw o-by-twelve-inch pine plank, which stretched like a line of fire out of the purple gloom of the barge's interior. Behind her, a h uge man in a sleeveless white T-shirt, filthy Sears work pants, a nd ten-inch work boots blew sparks off a piece of wrought iron wi th an acetylene torch. He was wearing a black dome-shaped welding helmet, and acrid gray smoke curled around his heavy, tense legs . The blank robotic faceplate, in combination with his hairy arms , the dirty shirt, the smoke, and the squat legs, gave him the gr otesque crouching power of a gargoyle. A fantasy at three thousa nd dollars an hour. And not quite right. - That's no fucking g ood. NO FUCKING GOOD! Amnon Plain moved through the bank of stro bes, his thick black hair falling over his forehead, his narrow g lasses glittering in the set lights, his voice cutting like a pie ce of broken glass: Alie'e, you're freezing up at the line. I wan t you blowing out of the place. I want you moving faster when you come up to the line, not slower. You're slowing down. And I want you to look pissed. You look annoyed, you look petulant- I am a nnoyed-I'm freezing, Alie'e snapped. I've got goose bumps the siz e of oranges. Plain turned to an assistant: Larry, move the heat er into the back. You gotta get some heat on her. We'll get the fumes, Larry said, arms akimbo, a deliberately effeminate pose. L arry wasn't gay, just ironic. We'll deal with the fucking fumes. Huh? Okay? We'll deal with the fucking fumes. You gotta do some thing. I'm really cold, Alie'e said. She clasped her arms around herself and shivered for effect. A man dressed in black walked ou t from behind the lights, peeling off his cashmere sport coat. He was tall, thin, his over-the-shoulder brunette hair worn loose a nd back. He had a thick hammered-silver loop earring in his left ear and a dark soul-patch under his lower lip. Take this until th ey're ready again, he said to Alie'e. She huddled in the coat. Tu rning away from them, Plain rolled his eyes. Larry-move the fucki n' heater. Larry shrugged and began wheeling the propane heater farther into the barge. If they all died of carbon monoxide poiso ning, it wouldn't be his fault. Plain turned back to Alie'e. Jax , take a hike, and take your coat with you. . . . Hey- the man i n black said, but nobody was looking at him, or paying attention. Plain continued: Alie'e, I want you pissed. Don't do that thing with your lips. You're sticking your lips out, like this. Plain pursed his lips. That's a pout. I don't want a pout. Do it like t his. . . . He grimaced, and Alie'e tried to imitate him. This was one of her talents: the ability to imitate expression, the way a dancer could imitate motion. That's better, Plain said to Alie' e. But make your mouth longer, turn it down, and get it set that way while you're moving. Do it again. She did it again, making th e changes. That's good, but now you need some mouth. He turned b ack to the line of lights and the small crowd gathered behind the m-an account executive, a creative director, a makeup artist, a h airdresser, a couture rep, a second photo assistant, and Alie'es parents, Lynn and Lil. Plain did not provide chairs, and the insi de of the barge was not a place you'd want to sit down, not if yo ur hand-tailored jeans cost four hundred and fifty dollars. To th e makeup artist, Plain said, Fix her mouth. And to the second ass istant: Jimmy, where's the fucking Polaroid? You got the Polaroid ? Jimmy was fanning a six-by-seven-centimeter Polaroid color pri nt, which was used to check exposure. He glanced at the print and said, It's coming up. Behind him, the creative director whisper ed to the account executive, Says 'fuck' a lot, and the account e xecutive muttered, They all do. Plain peered at the Polaroid, lo oked up at an overhead softbox. Move that box. About two feet to the right, that way. Jimmy moved it, and Plain looked around. Eve rybody ready? Alie'e, remember the line. Clark, are you ready? T he welder said, Yeah, I'm ready. Was that enough sparks? Sparks were fine, sparks were good, Plain said. You're the only fucking professional working here this morning. He looked back at Alie'e. Now, don't fucking pout-blow right through the line. . . . - A lie'e waited patiently until her mouth was fixed, staring blankly past the makeup artist's ear as a bit of color was patched into the left corner of her lower lip; Jax said into her ear, Love you . You're doing great, you look great. Alie'e barely heard him. Sh e was seeing herself walking the plank, the vision of herself tha t came from Plain's mind. When her mouth was done, she stepped b ack to her starting mark. Jax got out of the way, and when Plain said, Go, Alie'e got her expression right, started down the plank with a lanky, hip-swinging stride, and blew past the exposure li ne, the green dress swirling about her hips, the orange-yellow we lder's sparks flashing in the background. The stink and smoke of the burning metal curled around her as Plain, standing behind the camera, fired the bank of strobes. Better, Plain said, stepping toward her. A little fuckin' better. - They'd been working for two hours in the belly of the grain barge. The barge was a gift: a pilot on the Greek-owned Mississippi towboat Treponema had dri ven it into a protective abutment around a bridge piling. The dam aged barge had been floated to the Anshiser repair yard in St. Pa ul, where welders cut away the buckled hull plates and prepared t o burn on new ones. Plain spotted the disemboweled hulk while sco uting for photo locations. He made a deal with Archer Daniels Mid land, the barge owner: Delay repairs for a week, and ADM would ma ke Vogue. The people who ran ADM couldn't think of a good reason why the company would worry about Vogue, but their publicity ladi es were wetting their pants, so they said okay and the deal was m ade. - They were still working with the green dress when a team from TV3 showed up, and they all took a break. Alie'e goofed aro und, for the camera, with Jax, showing a little skin, doing a lon g, slow, rolling tongue-kiss, which the camera crew asked them to redo twice, once as a silhouette. The interviewer for TV3, a squ are-jawed ex-jock with bleached teeth and a smile he'd perfected in his bathroom mirror, said, after the cameras shut down, It's a slow day. I think we'll lead the news with this. Nobody asked w hy it was news: they all lived with cameras, and assumed that it was. - Two hours for four different shots, with and without fan s, two rolls of high-saturation Fujichrome film for each of the s hots. The Fuji would make the colors pop. Plain pronounced himsel f satisfied with the green dress, and they moved on. The next po se involved a torn T-shirt and a pair of male-look women's briefs , complete with the vented front. Alie'e and Jax moved against th e far hull and a little shadow, and Alie'e turned her back to the photo crowd and peeled off the green dress. She'd been nude bene ath the dress; anything else would ruin the line. She was aware of her nudity but not self-conscious about it, as she had been at first. Her first jobs had been as one model in a group, and they usually changed all at once; she was simply one naked woman amon g several. By the time she started up the ladder to stardom, to i ndividual attention, she'd become as conditioned to public nudity as a striptease dancer. Even more than that. She'd worked in Eu rope, with the Germans, and total nudity wasn't uncommon in fashi on work. She remembered the first time she'd had her pubic hair b rushed out, fluffed up. The brusher had been a thirty-something g uy who'd squatted in front of her, smoking a cigarette while he b rushed her, and then did a quick trim with a pair of barber sciss ors, all with the emotional neutrality of a postman sorting lette rs. Then the photographer came over to take a look, suggested a c ouple of extra snips. Her body might as well have been an apple. . . . You want privacy? You turn your back. . . . - Alie'e Mai son- Ah-Lee-Ay May-Sone -had been born Sharon Olson in Burnt Rive r, Minnesota. Until she was seventeen, she'd lived with her paren ts and her brother, Tom, in a robin's-egg-blue rambler just off H ighway 54, fourteen miles south of the Canadian line. She was a b eautiful baby. She won a beautiful-baby prize when she was a year old-she'd been born just before Halloween, and her costume was a pumpkin that her mother made on her Singer. A year later, Sharon toddled away with a statewide beautiful-toddler trophy. In that one, she'd been dressed as a lightning bug, in a suit of black an d gold. Dance and comportment lessons began when she was three, singing lessons when she was four. At five, she won the North Cen tral Tap-Fairies contest for children five and younger. That was the pattern: Miss Junior North Country, International Miss Snow ( International Falls and Fort Frances, Canada), Miss Border Lakes. She sang and danced through her school days. Miss Minnesota and even-her parents, Lynn and Lil, barely dared to dream it-Miss Ame rica was possible. Until she was fourteen, anyway. When the brea st genes were passed out in heaven, Alie'e had been in line for a n extra helping of eyes instead. That became obvious in junior hi gh when her, Berkley Books, 2000, 3, HarperCollins. Very Good. 4.37 x 0.94 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 2007. 432 pages. <br>A classic thriller from Jack Higgins, the undisput ed master of adrenalin packed adventure and the bestselling autho r of 'The Eagle has Landed' It's 1963 and the eve of John F.Kenn edy's historic visit to Berlin. Locked away inside the impregnab le fortress of Schloss Neustadt, Father Sean Conlin, survivor of Dachau and lifelong champion of human freedom is fighting to deny his jailers their ultimate goal. On this momentus day, when the whole world is watching they must make him admit to being a CIA h ireling. But the West is determined to save him, and gambling wi th their lives a small band of men begin a daring rescue mission that could change the course of history. ., HarperCollins, 2007, 3<
2007, ISBN: 9780007234745
This book has been read, some wear to covers and minor staining to back cover. Minor pencil marking first inner page, no other markings inner pages. Spine intact, no creass. "A lush, sedu… Mehr…
This book has been read, some wear to covers and minor staining to back cover. Minor pencil marking first inner page, no other markings inner pages. Spine intact, no creass. "A lush, seductive novel of the legendary beauty whose face launched a thousand shipsDaughter of a god, wife of a king, prize of antiquitys bloodiest war, Helen of Troy has inspired artists for millennia. Now Margaret George, the highly acclaimed bestselling historical novelist, has turned her intelligent, perceptive eye to the myth that is Helen of Troy.Margaret George breathes new life into the great Homeric tale by having Helen narrate her own story. Through her eyes and in her voice, we experience the young Helens discovery of her divine origin and her terrifying beauty. While hardly more than a girl, Helen married the remote Spartan king Menelaus and bore him a daughter. By the age of twenty, the worlds most beautiful woman was resigned to a passionless marriage until she encountered the handsome Trojan prince Paris. And once the lovers flee to Troy, war, murder, and tragedy become inevitable.In Helen of Troy, Margaret George has captured a timeless legend in a mesmerizing tale of a woman whose life was destined to create strife and destroy civilizations." Good Reads "Margaret George is a rolling stone who has lived in many places, beginning her traveling at the age of four when her father joined the U.S. diplomatic service and was posted to a consulate in Taiwan. The family traveled on a freighter named after Ulysses' son Telemachus that took thirty days to reach Taiwan, where they spent two years. Following that they lived in Tel Aviv (right after the 1948 war, when it was relatively quiet), Bonn and Berlin (during the spy-and-Cold-War days) before returning--at the height of Elvis-mania--to Washington DC, where Margaret went to high school. Margaret's first piece of published writing, at the age of thirteen, was a letter to TIME Magazine defending Elvis against his detractors. (Margaret has since been to Graceland.)But it was earlier in Israel that Margaret, an avid reader, began writing novels to amuse herself when she ran out of books to read. Interestingly, the subject of these was not what lay around her in the Middle East, but the American west, which she had never set foot in. (Now that she lives in the American Midwest she writes about the Middle East!) Clearly writing in her case followed Emily Dickinson's observation "There is no frigate like a book" and she used it to go to faraway places. Now she has added another dimension to that travel by specializing in visiting times remote from herself.Neither of these horse sagas got published, but the ten-year-old author received an encouraging note from an editor at Grosset & Dunlap, telling her she had a budding talent but should work on her spelling.It was also in Israel that Margaret started keeping land tortoises as pets, an interest which she still follows today. She had a great affinity for animals and nature and that led her to a double major at Tufts University in English literature and biology. Following that she received an MA in ecology from Stanford University--one of the earliest departments to offer such a concentration. Today she is active in environmental and animal conservation groups.Combining her interests led her to a position as a science writer at the National Cancer Institute (National Institutes of Health) in Bethesda, Maryland for four years.Her marriage at the end of that time meant moving, first to St. Louis, then to Uppsala, Sweden, and then to Madison, Wisconsin, where she and her husband Paul have lived for more than twenty years now. They have one grown daughter who lives in California and is in graduate school.Through all this Margaret continued to write, albeit slowly and always on only one project at a time. She wrote what she refers to as her 'Ayn Rand/adventure novel' in college and her 'Sex and the City' novel in Washington DC. It was in St. Louis that she suddenly got the idea of writing a 'psycho-biography' of Henry VIII. She had never seen such a thing done but became convinced the king was a victim of bad PR and she should rescue his good name. Her background in science meant that only after thoroughly researching the literature and scholarship on Henry VIII would she embark on the novel itself. She sought the guidance of a Tudor historian at Washington University for a reading list, and proceeded from there.It was actually fourteen years between her initial idea and the publication of The Autobiography of Henry VIII. The book made an impression for several reasons: first, because no one had ever written a novel sympathetic to the king before; second, because it covered his entire life from before birth until after his death, making it almost a thousand pages long, and third, because it was so fact-filled." Good Reads, Penguin Books, 2007-05, 3, London: Harper Collins. New. 2007. Reprint; Sixth Printing. Paperback. Mass Market PB . Sixth printing of this Harper mass market edition, 2007. Nice tight copy, no names or marks inside. Brand new book. Embossed cover design includes photo by Dominic Forbes. ; 432 pages; Its 1963 and the eve of Kennedys historic visit to Berlin, but on the red side of the wall, a deadly campaign is being planned. Locked away inside the impregnable fortress of Schloss Neustadt, Father Sean Conlin, survivor of Dachau and lifelong champion of human freedom is fighting to deny his jailers their ultimate goal. With the whole world watching they intend to make him admit to being a CIA hireling. But the West is determined to save him, a small band of intrepid men begin a daring rescue mission that could sway the course of history. ., Harper Collins, 2007, 6<
2007
ISBN: 9780007234745
London: Harper Collins. New. 2007. Reprint; Sixth Printing. Paperback. Mass Market PB . Sixth printing of this Harper mass market edition, 2007. Nice tight copy, no names or marks inside… Mehr…
London: Harper Collins. New. 2007. Reprint; Sixth Printing. Paperback. Mass Market PB . Sixth printing of this Harper mass market edition, 2007. Nice tight copy, no names or marks inside. Brand new book. Embossed cover design includes photo by Dominic Forbes. ; 432 pages; Its 1963 and the eve of Kennedys historic visit to Berlin, but on the red side of the wall, a deadly campaign is being planned. Locked away inside the impregnable fortress of Schloss Neustadt, Father Sean Conlin, survivor of Dachau and lifelong champion of human freedom is fighting to deny his jailers their ultimate goal. With the whole world watching they intend to make him admit to being a CIA hireling. But the West is determined to save him, a small band of intrepid men begin a daring rescue mission that could sway the course of history. ., Harper Collins, 2007, 6<
Versandkosten: EUR 4.11 Books in Bulgaria
2007, ISBN: 0007234740
[EAN: 9780007234745], Neubuch, [PU: Harper Collins, London], THRILLERS, Sixth printing of this Harper mass market edition, 2007. Nice tight copy, no names or marks inside. Brand new book.… Mehr…
[EAN: 9780007234745], Neubuch, [PU: Harper Collins, London], THRILLERS, Sixth printing of this Harper mass market edition, 2007. Nice tight copy, no names or marks inside. Brand new book. Embossed cover design includes photo by Dominic Forbes. ; 432 pages; It’s 1963 and the eve of Kennedy’s historic visit to Berlin, but on the red side of the wall, a deadly campaign is being planned. Locked away inside the impregnable fortress of Schloss Neustadt, Father Sean Conlin, survivor of Dachau and lifelong champion of human freedom is fighting to deny his jailers their ultimate goal. With the whole world watching they intend to make him admit to being a CIA hireling. But the West is determined to save him, a small band of intrepid men begin a daring rescue mission that could sway the course of history. Mass Market PB, Books<
2007, ISBN: 9780007234745
Bantam Books, 1983. Good 1983 paperback. Mass Market Paperback. Good., Bantam Books, 1983, 2.5, HarperCollins. Very Good. 4.37 x 0.94 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 2007. 432 pages. <br>… Mehr…
Bantam Books, 1983. Good 1983 paperback. Mass Market Paperback. Good., Bantam Books, 1983, 2.5, HarperCollins. Very Good. 4.37 x 0.94 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 2007. 432 pages. <br>A classic thriller from Jack Higgins, the undisput ed master of adrenalin packed adventure and the bestselling autho r of 'The Eagle has Landed' It's 1963 and the eve of John F.Kenn edy's historic visit to Berlin. Locked away inside the impregnab le fortress of Schloss Neustadt, Father Sean Conlin, survivor of Dachau ... ., HarperCollins, 2007, 3<
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Detailangaben zum Buch - Day of Judgment
EAN (ISBN-13): 9780007234745
ISBN (ISBN-10): 0007234740
Gebundene Ausgabe
Taschenbuch
Erscheinungsjahr: 2007
Herausgeber: Harper
Gewicht: 0,222 kg
Sprache: eng/Englisch
Buch in der Datenbank seit 2007-12-15T12:55:45+01:00 (Zurich)
Detailseite zuletzt geändert am 2024-03-27T22:11:49+01:00 (Zurich)
ISBN/EAN: 9780007234745
ISBN - alternative Schreibweisen:
0-00-723474-0, 978-0-00-723474-5
Alternative Schreibweisen und verwandte Suchbegriffe:
Autor des Buches: jack higgins, jäck
Titel des Buches: judgment day, the day judgement, the cold war, epic
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Neuestes ähnliches Buch:
9780002221481 Day of Judgement (Higgins Jack)
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