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on dangerous ground
And their war began.
The stretch limousine exploded, became a time bomb moving at eighty miles per hour.
I verified the detonation in my side-view mirror. Its beautiful fire lit up the express lane on a humid night, the deadly cacophony forty yards behind me on I-95. The energy from that blast rolled through me, rattled both sides of the interstate and adjacent roads like we were in a San Francisco earthquake. Brake lights came alive in an abrupt chorus. Behind me, beyond that fiery limousine, four lanes of interstate crowded with cars, trucks, and motorcycles screeched to a halt, too late for speed demons to swerve and avoid flying debris.
I kept going.
The target was dead. The impossible mission was completed in less than forty-eight hours.
The corrupt and elusive con man inside the limo had been living a life of caviar and champagne, bodyguards at his side, men who were paid well and trained to shoot to kill. He was a man who didn't hesitate to take his enemies to the swamps and feed them to the gators.
A grifter named Arizona had been one of his problems.
And the man named Hopkins had become one of hers.
All I knew was what she had told me. And that wasn't much. The less the better.
What mattered was that deadly situation had been rectified.
The remote trigger that had caused that blast was inside my gloved hand. I dropped it, pressed down on the throttle, hit the century mark, moved from right lane to left lane to right lane, threaded traffic like a needle, became a fast- moving shadow vanishing down I-95.
In this gritty world, people called me Gideon. A biblical name made famous by an adjudicator in the Book of Judges. That Gideon was also known as Jerub-Baal. Destroyer. Mighty Warrior. I was Gideon. Not sent by God. Employed by those who thought they were.
I was a hired gun paid to do what people wouldn't do for themselves.
This has been my vocation since I was seven years old. Since I aimed a gun at an angry man they called Midnight. I had killed that man before I had been given the truth about what he was.
Since that day, I'd been on the run, reared in brothels, lived in red light districts, had been taken into a world of retribution and learned more than two dozen ways to end a life, all for a price.
Using a block of C-4 and a remote control wasn't even high on the goddamn list.
Late evening, the darkness of my bike and clothing mixed with the cruelty in the night.
I accelerated and felt like I was moving faster than the speed of sound, then slowed when I caught up and mixed with the next wave of fast-moving traffic on I-95, became a law-abiding commuter as I signaled and faded onto the next exit, took the streets, rode toward the causeways, breezed through city traffic, engine rumbling, balmy night air on my skin. Gun inside my messenger bag. Riding a Streetfighter. Trellis frame. Huge fork clamps. Solid performance. I sped toward the area called Aventura, hurried to meet my sponsor.
The international grifter named Arizona had arrived in the U.S. and was somewhere down here in Florida. The Hopkins job was done, but now I needed her assistance, had to work out my own problems. Problems that could have me sleeping six feet under.
Four days ago, after vanishing for almost a year, Arizona had resurfaced and sent a message. A job offer. The message had been a cryptic text, had come from an untraceable phone and was delivered to a temporary account on Gmail, one of a dozen we had set up for communicating. That particular account hadn't been used since I'd seen her in London. I'd gone to the Apple store in Minnesota's Mall of America, the country's largest retail and entertainment complex. If the IP addresses were traced, it would lead to that store. I blended with the Mac heads wore a baseball cap and shades, my face always down and away from the cameras.
I logged on to a laptop and checked my messages.
That con woman had sent me an encrypted message that gave me a location on the edges of Miami. Encryptions. Countersurveillance. Rendezvous points. Wire transfers.
It was the language and lifestyle of killers and cons.
Within the next few hours, I was on a flight heading to the land of gators.
When I had landed in Fort Lauderdale, Arizona had arranged what I needed. Ducati Streetfighter, black motorcycle helmet, racing gloves. All that and a messenger bag that was weighed down by a nine, two extra clips, a remote, and something that would blow my target's mind.
I took a deep breath, pulled up my face shield, and cruised.
Starbucks was on the corner of Biscayne Boulevard and Concourse Circle Drive. Inside a plaza dotted with palm trees and filled with BMWs, Hummers, Bentleys, and Benzes. This section of South Miami looked like a dealership for new and preowned luxury cars.
The competition of capitalism continued despite the economic downturn.
I circled the well-lit strip mall twice before I paused on that prime chunk of real estate.
It was a parking lot that covered all the blood that had soaked into the soil. Over a century ago, the Seminoles and the U.S. fought over this land, a bloody war that might have been the deadliest and costliest of the Indian wars, from the point of view of the U.S. of A.
The sound of gunfire and cannon booms had been replaced with the hum of cappuccino machines and the purr of extravagant automobiles. The scent of war was now the aroma of the perfect latte.
As soon as I headed inside, my cellular vibrated. It was a text message: FUNDS TRANSFERRED.
I deleted that message and moved on, looked out at a warm night that thieving man thought he would live to see. But someone with anger in their heart and money in their pockets had other plans.
Inside was like Antarctica, the AC blowing on high. The noise level was in the red, a dozen multilingual conversations being trapped by glass and walls. Cubans had conversations about one Castro in their homeland being replaced by another Castro, argued that the free health care and free education wasn't enough to make them remain a Fidelista and things needed to change in a land where Cubans couldn't own cell phones legally and computers were prohibited; the Cubans sipped five-dollar coffees and argued over the need to defender el socialismo. Next to them, groups of elderly Jewish men discussed a meeting for Holocaust survivors. Add to that chatter the nonstop whirr of the machines making lattes and cappuccinos, the din of jazz being piped in, people yapping on cellular phones, others tapping on laptops, listening to music or videos sans headphones.
Hairs stood up on my neck. Like in London. It felt like I was being watched.
I went into the bathroom, had to. Outside I was cool. But anxiety clung to me, shook me like a winter's chill. For a moment it felt like I was about to lose control. Another daymare. I'd had a few since Antigua. Images that attacked me while I was wide awake. I saw the dead. Faces I'd been paid to put in the ground. And I saw the faces of those who had tried to do the same to me. Standing behind them all, in the shadows, his face unclear but his silhouette unforgettable, was the man I had killed when I was seven. He was nothing more than a shadow.
The mercenary they called Midnight. The first man I had killed. My father.
My life was a haunted house filled with many ghosts.
Somebody tapped on the door and I pulled the nine-millimeter out of my backpack. I called out that the bathroom was occupied. Paused. Whoever was out there walked away. The police wouldn't leave. Neither would the FBI. Both would announce they had come for me.
I took out my iPhone. Dialed a number in Powder Springs.
I wanted to check up on Catherine and the boys, Steven and Robert. Catherine was the woman who had raised me. Robert's mother had been killed because of my vocation. Steven was the boy Catherine called her son. But I knew that was a lie. Everything had been a lie.
No one answered, but the answering machine kicked on.
I didn't leave a message. I blocked my number and never left messages, not there.
I splashed water on my face, wiped my skin down with a paper towel, and went outside.
The hunter had been hunted before, more than once.
I spied the room. Cubans sipping cappuccino. Jewish women doing the same. A teenaged guy wearing Dockers and black sandals was eyeing the olive complexion of a blond woman seated at the next table, her pink button-down shirt and ripped jeans not enough to mask a body that could lure most men straight to the gates of Hell.
I sat at a back table, my back to the wall. Darkness masked what had been blue skies and puffy white clouds. Nighttime humidity rose as I waited, my anxiety not betraying me.
A Maserati whipped up under the lights, pulled into the lot, and found an open space between my Streetfighter and a 7-series BMW. The Gran Turismo was beautiful. Gray coupe, red leather seats. It was her. That was her mode. Had been her style since she was coming up as a grifter in North Hollywood, back when she was a neophyte in the con game. She'd come up from sleeping on the streets to sleeping in penthouses. Had moved from Hyundai to Maserati.
Every time I read about a major scam, it felt like it was her doing. Maybe I was just hoping it was her criminal mind in full swing. I kept telling myself that it didn't matter, but no matter where I was in the world, no matter what job I was on, no matter whose bed I was in, no matter who was in my bed, when all was said and done, my mind always went back to her.
I needed her for her connections to the conniving world of high-tech cons and criminals.
Someone out there knew about me, some unseen foe existed, someone who had tracked my movements around the world, someone who had sold my information to a problem I'd had in Detroit, and that information was then passed on to other killers.
Those killers were dead, but the information was alive.
Arizona eased out of her Maserati Granturismo and I couldn't stop my schoolboy smile.
A part of me I couldn't control would always want her.
Arizona's back was to me at first, her right hand holding her cellular to her ear. Her hair was long and dyed light brown with highlights, hung over her shoulders. She glanced toward the boulevard and I saw she had on dark shades with wide lenses, shades that matched the dark brown blouse she wore, a blouse that probably had hints of her lacy bra showing hints of her soft breasts.
I spied out at the parking lot, made sure she wasn't trailed. Force of habit. Then I checked the room again. The teenaged guy wearing Dockers had made contact with the pretty blond woman in the pink button-down shirt and ripped jeans. He had scooted his chair closer to her table, smiled at her as she blushed at him.
Arizona kept her eyes on the boulevard.
She had on four-inch heels made by a designer who put red soles on all of his shoes. One glance at the Maserati and Louboutins and you'd think she had matriculated from one of the best schools in the country, maybe the prestigious Miss Porter's up in Connecticut.
Arizona glanced back toward the coffeehouse, a serious look on her Filipina flesh, a walking enigma who could break a man's heart or empty every dime he had in his portfolio. She looked extraordinary, possessed an otherworldly beauty. No one would know she was the queen of scams. Just looked like a woman men would want to marry and put in a case with the rest of their trophies.
I licked my lips, could never forget the five senses of her. I'd stop the world from spinning if she asked me to. I'd betray God the way Judas Iscariot betrayed His son.
Arizona kept her cellular up to her face. A moment later, mine rang. Area code 809. Good old 809 had been disgraced, used in many Caribbean area codes scams.
I answered, my voice heavy and serious. "I'm inside."
Arizona closed her cellular.
It had been over a year since I'd seen her.
A lot had happened since then.
She reached inside the car and took out a black briefcase, added that to the purse she was carrying. She gripped the briefcase by its handle, turned around, and what I saw her carrying made me sit up straight.
My heart stopped beating. Then my heart restarted, began beating as fast as it could.
Between Arizona's breasts and waist, there was roundness underneath her blouse.
A roundness that told me she was at least in her second trimester.
Posted September 13, 2009
.and so does Eric Jerome Dickey! Like all the novels in the Gideon series (Sleeping With Strangers, Waking With Enemies, Dying for Revenge), Dickey's latest is a first-rate story; an explosive, nerve-tingling page-turner.
"Resurrecting Midnight" follows everyone's favorite assassin-for-hire, Gideon. His latest assignment, a result of a debt that has to be paid, takes him to South America to obtain and secure a package. A package that is wanted by many. A package that many will kill for. A package that many will die for. A package that is now in the possession of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, a team of ruthless mercenaries led by an assassin simply known as The Beast.
Also, Gideon is still dealing with X, Y, Z, a grifter named Arizona and a ghost from his past.
From the beginning, readers are pulled in to a world of death and darkness. "Resurrecting Midnight" has all the right ingredients. With a blockbuster plot and wonderful writing, this story speeds along like a runaway freight train, not once struggling to entertain. Intriguing and unsavory characters, methodical pacing from chapter to chapter (or capitulo a capitulo), dangerous secrets and exotic locations add to the intensity. Full of surprises, suspense, thrills and action, "Resurrecting Midnight" is a must read.
Dickey is at the top of his game and clearly puts on display his talent. Somebody, please, give this man a star on the literary walk of fame!
Reviewed by: Toni
4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted April 8, 2010
Posted February 15, 2010
Wow! Gideon is back. If you thought Antigua was something, wait until you read this book which takes place in Argentina. Gideon fights some serious people. Some old friends come back as well. The story is fast, gritty and will leave you turning the pages and not wanting the book to end.
I am such a fan of Gideon. It was nice to learn more about his personal life. I decided that the series should be made into a movie. Yes I emailed Mr. Dickey. Idris Elba, Chiwetel Ejiofor or Don Cheadle would do Gideon proud. I need another Gideon book. Enjoy the ride.
2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted October 18, 2009
I began reading the first of the Gideon about 5 months into this year. When I read the first page of SWS I thought the book would be a slow read. When I completed the first chapter I was hooked. I couldn't believe that I had this book sitting on my bookshelf all this time and had not thought to read it. In reading the acknowledgements, I was thrilled to discover that I had not only read the series from the beginning, but that there was a part two. I began my search for part two and found that there was a part 3, which led me to discover that there was a part 4, Resurrecting Midnight, and I nearly lost my mind at the thought of following the trials and tribulations of a character I was so enamored, so fascinated with. When I find a novel as captivating as the Gideon series, I tend to place myself into the story. As with the parts 1-3 I did the same with part 4. Just like the other 3 I was caught up and excited by the introduction of the new characters, mainly the unknown of what their roles would be in the novel. I knew what this meant for Gideon and was happy to go along for the journey. I must say that this part of the series had its moments that had me concerned with its overall effect on the thrilling feeling I have felt with the other novels in the series, but continued on. I was a bit puzzled by some parts, but those parts made me believe that there were going to be perhaps another part. Which, I will gladly read.
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Posted September 19, 2012
It is excellent, I read all of the Gideon Series in a matter of weeks. Resurrecting Midnight left me wanting more of Gideon!!!! Loved every heart throbbing moment, my first time reading assassin type books, now I'm looking for more. can't wait until the next Gideon.
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Posted March 6, 2011
I COULD NOT put this book down. I picked it up while rushing to catch a flight, and I am glad I did so. EDJ did not disappoint with this book!
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Posted June 29, 2014
I loved this series!! I am so in love with Gideon! I am so hoping for another book! I read this series in 4 days! I couldn't put the book down once I started. Eric Jerome Dickey you are the best! When I began reading this series, I imagined Idris Alba playing the role as Gideon! I loved every detail. This last book was not to long, I was left wanting more answers!Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted June 4, 2013
Posted March 3, 2013
LOVED it! Was true to the series...and you couldn't help but to keep on reading...I'm glad that I chose not to listen to the reviews that I read because I would have truly missed out! Dickey is amazing in his story telling capabilities...he reinforces the statements that I make to non readers about how good books are like movies. I purchased the next book in the series not even five minutes after completing "dying for revenge"... here I go!Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted January 31, 2013
I read all of the EJD books back at their initial releases. Loaned out my hard backs to never see them again. I started all over when readers came on the scene. Now im back at Gideon. Eric is a master weaver of words. Stories so smooVe they capture from chapter 1 and wont let you go....long after the reading is done!
Posted August 21, 2012
The Gideon Series is one of my favorite series out there! I read this book a few years ago, but am still waiting on part 5 and still crossing my fingers that a movie is in the works with Idris!!Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted April 7, 2012
It's hard to believe my favorite author Eric Jerme DIckey wrote this book. It wasn't as interesting as his previous books. I honestly belive if Arizona had her point of view through the story it could have made the book a better read. Sorry Eric but I can't recommend this book, but I will be purchasing An Accidential Affair on the 17th.
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Posted January 3, 2012
Posted December 28, 2011
Posted October 29, 2011
Posted October 28, 2011
EJD was never on my top list of authors. I have read several of his earlier works and I would liken him to Danielle Steele. When I began the series I could not believe it was the same author! The writing style was so different and totally unpredictable! EJD made a believer out of me. I hope he never returns to his former style.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted August 19, 2011
EJD outdid himself when he did the Gideon series. I love how the characterization and plot unfolds in this series!!! It's so addictive. I have read all four books in this series and mostly all of EJD's books. I can't wait for his next one in April next year. Woohoo!!!Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted June 14, 2011
Posted May 15, 2011
This book was so freaking good! When I first started reading this series I thought it couldn't get better and it has improved with every book written. I cannot wait until the next one comes out. EJD you have outdone yourself once again. I agree this needs to be a movie and I can picture Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson playing the lead.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted April 28, 2011