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Ice Cold Kill
“[A] strong, complicated plot as believable as any real-life terrorist threat. Daria is destined to become a favorite in the growing arsenal of female thriller leads. She combines brains and experience to craft unbeatable strategy, and she has the requisite combat skills to quash any agent in her path as well as a witty, moderately well-adjusted (under the circumstances) perspective that’s sure to charm.”—Booklist (starred review)
“Enough intelligence agencies, bad guys, and gruesome viruses for a month of nonstop massacres. When Haynes runs out of guns and knives to put in the hands of superheroine Daria, he turns oxygen tanks into missiles for her to launch…”—Kirkus Reviews
“Ice Cold Kill is exciting, inventive, and chillingly plausible. I thoroughly enjoyed it—this book is a blast!” —Meg Gardiner, author of Ransom River
“A superb thriller. Dana Haynes has crafted a brilliant tale, brimming with well-drawn characters, clever action set pieces, and shocking twists. You won’t want to put this story down until you’ve turned the last page.”—Boyd Morrison, international bestselling author of The Midas Code and The Roswell Conspiracy
“Dana Haynes’s Ice Cold Kill is a twisting, complex thriller featuring a former Israeli intelligence officer who learned her trade from the worst and does it the best. A terrific, compelling book!”—Jamie Freveletti, New York Times bestselling author of Dead Asleep and Robert Ludlum’s The Janus Reprisal
“The large cast of compelling characters, nonstop action , and realistic feel of the investigation make this novel a standout…A thrill ride.”—Associated Press
“A top-notch, tension-packed technothriller.”—Booklist (starred review)
“Spine-tingling…a page-turner.”—Book Page
“A well-written…white-knuckle thriller.”—Library Journal
“Jaw-dropping…There is mystery, action, suspense, death, and romance from beginning to end.”
“[A]drenaline-filled…edge-of-your-seat thrills.”—Shelf Awareness
“Outstanding! Crashers combines the ferocious action you usually see on a movie screen with a fascinating look at the way a major airline crash is investigated.”—Phillip Margolin, New York Times bestselling author of Supreme Justice
“You absolutely must read Crashers. I literally couldn’t put this book down. Dana Haynes is a gifted writer who grabs you on page one and doesn’t let you go until the final page.”—Nelson DeMille, New York Times bestselling author of The Lion
“Strong characters, gruesome crash details, and the ticking countdown to another attack make this novel an explosive mix of 24 and CSI.”—USA Today
“Dana Haynes delivers big-time with Crashers, a spectacular, timely, un-put-downable, near-perfect thriller whose every page sizzles with action, intrigue, information, and intelligence. If you’re a thriller fan, or even just a lover of fine writing and terrific story-telling, do yourself a big favor and buy this book.”—John Lescroart, New York Times bestselling author of Damage
“This is a thriller that lands a rare and satisfying hat trick: The action sequences hit hard, the characters are idiosyncratic while still feeling like real people, and the ‘snappy’ dialogue actually snaps.”—Kirkus Reviews
“Filled with excitement and knowledge of NTSB procedures and problems. Highly recommended.”—Library Journal (starred review)
“Haynes’s compelling first thriller takes familiar elements—a mysterious airplane crash, a bent FBI agent, a deadly female spy—and mixes them with the world of National Transportation Safety Board aviation disaster investigations…The forensic details fascinate. Haynes nicely integrates several subplots involving terrorism. The slam-bang crash landing of a conclusion will leave readers anxiously awaiting the promised sequel.”—Publishers Weekly
“Lively and fast moving… generates plenty of tension. A solid debut.”—Booklist
“A supersonic jet of a thriller, loaded with compelling detail and page-turning
suspense and action!”—Jeff Abbott, New York Times bestselling author of Trust Me
“Imagine an entire season of 24 crammed into a single book. That’s what you get with Crashers, a fast-paced, twisty thriller that’s just begging to be made into a movie.”—April Henry, New York Times bestselling co-author of Face of Betrayal and Hand of Fate
“This is a book for adrenaline junkies; it grabs you by the frontal lobes right at the outset, and doesn’t let go until the last page.”—BookPage
Desert, South of the Sea of Galilee
The prisoners lay in their cots. It was one cot per cell. The cells were slightly larger than a bad room at a youth hostel or a kibbutz. Each had its own heater, a little partition between the cell doors, and a toilet. Really, as cells go, these weren’t bad.
Asher Sahar lay on his back, ankles crossed, hands steepled on his chest. He wore a ratty sweater and ratty jeans and slippers. He spoke with a soft, sibilant whisper. “‘I’ll Be Seeing You.’”
In the next cell, a grizzly bear of a man lay in the same posture, ankles crossed, hands steepled. His feet hung off the end of his cot. His name was Eli Schullman. He replied, “Irving Kahal.”
“No.” The other man reached up to adjust his round, wireless glasses, forgetting that he had taken them off for the night. He’d worn glasses since the age of fifteen. “Irving Berlin. But, to your eternal credit, you were incredibly close. I mean, close in a wrong sort of way. Both, simultaneously, wrong and close to right but mostly just very wrong. It was—”
The lights in the cells and in the corridor and in the guard station blinked on. They were aging, low-efficiency lights, phosphorescents, and they blinked on intermittently: this one first, then off, then that one, then the first one again. Harsh, unforgiving. They buzzed. Both men shielded their eyes. Schullman, the bear of a man, said, “What the fuck?”
It was night. In the nearly four years they had been prisoners, they had rarely seen the lights come on at night.
Asher Sahar lay still.
When the big man realized Asher hadn’t risen, he didn’t either. But they could hear other prisoners up and down the row of cells gathering at their bars.
The ticktock clang of the outer iron doors reverberated. Someone from the World was walking into the cells. At night.
This, too, happened only rarely. Except when someone was about to be executed.
The outer iron doors had never opened for a priest or a rabbi. Or for an envoy from the governor’s office waving a reprieve. Or for a crusading detective with exonerating evidence. Or a cook with a last meal. It wasn’t that sort of prison.
Asher Sahar whispered, “This might be interesting.”
He fumbled for his glasses, which lay on the knee-high stack of hardback books, two books deep, two wide, that served as his bed stand.
The main door rumbled sideways under the power of an ill-greased motor. They couldn’t see the door, only hear it. The next sound was the absolutely unexpected clack of women’s heels. Round, sensible, solid heels.
Asher sprang out of the bed as if ejected. He ran both hands through his thinning hair. He straightened his sweater. “Eli,” he said.
The bear rose quickly, knowing an order when he heard one. Even a whispered one.
The heels clacked closer. Asher folded his hands behind his back.
An armed guard came into view, then another and a third. None wore any rank or insignia or any identifying marks.
And in walked an elderly woman, very thin and tall, with birdlike shoulders, her bones seemingly visible even under a trench coat. Her hair was stark white. Her outfit was immaculate and tasteful.
She smiled warmly.
Asher Sahar said, “Hannah,” the same way you’d greet a neighbor who regularly drops by for coffee.
“Oh my God. Asher. Look at you.”
They spoke in Hebrew.
“You look well,” he whispered. He cleared his throat, conscious of the soft rasp in his voice. “How are things in the world?”
The three guards looked far less than happy to be conducting this reunion. Two of the three touched their holstered sidearms. The elderly woman said, “Not good. A situation has arisen. And we have need of your talents.”
Asher nodded solemnly. “You needed my talents four years ago.”
The woman said, “And today.” She offered no explanation about the situation four years ago. She offered no explanation about the years in between.
Asher said, “Something has arisen?”
He said, “War?”
A smile spread across Asher’s still-youthful, bearded face. The harsh lights glinted off his round glasses. “Who could have foreseen that?”
The woman shook her head. “As it turns out, you did, dear. You’d laid out this contingency years ago. Now, you’ve been proven prescient. Our friends have moved heaven and earth to free you. So that you can do what you must.”
Asher was aware that the giant, Eli Schullman, was standing at attention in his own cell, even though Asher couldn’t see him. “And my men.”
The woman said, “Of course.”
“I’ll need financing.”
“Which you shall have.”
She laughed. “As if anyone could grant you that! Of course, independence. You never followed orders, anyway.”
He smiled. “Well, never is a little harsh. Get us out of here. Tell us the situation. Give us time to formulate a plan.”
The woman said. “Out of here, you shall be. The situation shall be made clear. You have seventy-two hours to formulate a plan.”
Asher said, “I’ve been in this prison for almost four years.”
Hannah laughed again. “Only your body, love. Only your body.”
She made a quarter turn to the nearest guard, gave him the gentlest of nods. The guards glowered at one another, expressing how unhappy they were to be doing this. But they nodded back to an unseen someone in the control room and, a second later, the doors to the cells holding Asher Sahar and Eli Schullman clanked open.
The other prisoners kept mum, watching, wondering.
The elderly woman said, “We have transport outside. Plus clothes and hot food.”
Schullman’s voice was a gravelly rumble. “Give me a smartphone. Or a laptop. Anything with a wireless connection.”
The guards flinched when he spoke. Schullman seemed to absorb more than his share of the harsh light of the corridor. Hannah looked up at him, then she made the same quarter turn to the nearest guard. She did not speak.
The guard grumbled to himself, reached into a tunic pocket, and produced a smartphone. He handed it over, reaching as far as his arm could stretch, keeping clear of Schullman the best he could. The phone almost disappeared in Schullman’s palm.
Hannah turned to Asher. “There is a preliminary plan. It’s rudimentary. Just a sketch. Many of us think it’s unworkable and foolish. Quite possibly suicidal. Definitely horrific. But possible. With you to guide it…?” She shrugged.
Schullman stabbed at phone buttons with the pad of his beefy thumb.
Asher said, “Where?”
“It begins in the United States.”
Asher smiled. It was a sad, knowing smile, and Hannah interpreted it correctly. “Yes, dear. Daria lives in the United States these days.”
Asher laughed, and shook his head. He removed his glasses and began to clean the lenses on the hem of his sweater. “Of course. God being the ultimate jester.”
Hannah nodded to the lead guard. The man jerked his head toward the exit.
The other prisoners in their cells still did not speak. Most didn’t understand Hebrew, but even those who did watched silently.
Eli Schullman glared down at the tiny phone screen, then rudely bashed Asher’s shoulder with the back of his hand. He thrust the phone over. Asher studied it a moment, then nodded.
Everyone began moving toward the exit. Outside, more guards stood with M-16s.
Schullman growled lowly. “‘I’ll Be Seeing You.’ Irving Kahal.”
Asher studied the smartphone. He shook his head. “Damn it. I could have sworn Irving Berlin wrote that.”
Copyright © 2013 by Dana Haynes
Posted April 8, 2013
This was the third book I have read by Dana Haynes......It is the best. Lot's of action and I read it in 3 days.
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Posted September 8, 2013
Posted July 7, 2013
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