Terror Red

Terror Red

4.2 10
by David Hunt, Christine Hunsinger
     
 

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What have we been afraid of since 9/11? In Terror Red, Colonel David Hunt gives us a frighteningly realistic look at what could be the next major terrorist assault.

Colonel David Gibson is a recently retired Special Operations Officer. Together with political consultant Christina Marchetti, he must take down a terrorist organization bent on hijacking

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Overview

What have we been afraid of since 9/11? In Terror Red, Colonel David Hunt gives us a frighteningly realistic look at what could be the next major terrorist assault.

Colonel David Gibson is a recently retired Special Operations Officer. Together with political consultant Christina Marchetti, he must take down a terrorist organization bent on hijacking planes, blowing up cities, and much more. Their pursuit of these heavily financed, ruthlessly trained killers hurls Gibson and Marchetti into a whirlwind of death and destruction. If they can't stop this murderous conspiracy, America could well be plunged into World War III.
But can they stop them in time?

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Set in New England, this over-the-top thriller from Fox News commentator Hunt (They Just Don’t Get It) and political consultant Hunsinger veers between the serious and the silly. On the serious side, terrorists hijack a passenger jet at Boston’s Logan airport, destroy the city’s Prudential Center and Central Artery tunnel, and later take the U.S. president and first lady hostage at their vacation retreat in Maine. On the silly side, the book’s two heroes, who share narrative duty, manage to kill literally hundreds of terrorists. Ultramacho David Gibson, a retired Special Forces colonel, says things like, “Hell is breaking loose and I need to get in the middle of it.” Christina Marchetti, a political consultant who has never shot a gun in her life, tags along because her sister is on the hijacked plane. Despite the snarky tone and a plot that can be extremely absurd at times, this one will appeal to those who share the authors’ conservative world view. Bill O’Reilly provides a blurb. (Apr.)
From the Publisher
Terror Red is an exciting, tightly written thriller that could actually happen. Let’s hope it does not.”

—Bill O’Reilly, anchor, Fox News Channel

“A page-turning, electrifying read!” 

—Major General Sid Shachow (U.S. Army Special Forces, ret.), author of Hope and Honor, winner of the William E. Colby Award

Terror Red is everything a great thriller should be...you won't soon forget it.” 

—W.E.B. Griffin & William E. Butterworth IV, Wall Street Jounral and New York Times bestselling authors of The Spymasters

“The best thriller you will read this year, Terror Red has all the forward momentum of a mach-five rocket-sled.  It starts high and just keeps going higher. The book cooks!!!”

—William Martin, New York Times bestselling author of The Lost Constitution and The Lincoln Letter

“At last, a thriller that truly thrills!  Written by a superb soldier's soldier and a co-author who knows the battlefield of politics from the trenches, Terror Red is a big win for the reader.”

 —Ralph Peters, New York Times bestselling author of Cain at Gettysburg

 

Kirkus Reviews
It's Boston under attack in this double-author debut action-thriller, with the Muslim Brotherhood hoping to go one better than al-Qaida. Although the authors label the protagonists with nearly identical first names, this one's no roman à clef. Retired special ops colonel David Gibson operates a security company. Christina Marchetti is a political consultant to "I want to be President" Sen. Brian Kerrigan from Massachusetts. It's post-Christmas, and there's a flight from Logan Airport to D.C. Gibson's mother has a seat, and Marchetti's eager to load her high-maintenance sister. Then the aircraft is hijacked while it sits at runway's end. Gibson and Marchetti meet when security officials question people who have connections to the flight's passengers. It's then that Marchetti attaches herself to Gibson, since "Woman's intuition?....You just look like you'd know these kinds of things." And the fireworks start! Gibson knows people: Fuller, a state police major, who becomes the go-to source for information; and Tony, intelligence wizard. Marchetti knows street cops and politicians. She talks her way through roadblocks and has her senator help dispatch a SEAL team to locate a nonresponsive LNG vessel in Boston Harbor. The pair survive tunnel explosions--even part of the billion-dollar Big Dig goes bang--and ambushes and escape being labeled murderers as they shoot Brotherhood bad guys. Told in alternating points of view in chapters sometimes shorter than a page, this is a take-no-breath–or-prisoners narrative. This one suits the big screen. And it has sequel written all over it.

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Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781429965408
Publisher:
Tom Doherty Associates
Publication date:
04/16/2013
Sold by:
Macmillan
Format:
NOOK Book
Pages:
336
Sales rank:
356,589
File size:
1 MB

Meet the Author

COLONEL DAVID HUNT has spent almost thirty years fighting our nation's wars, from Vietnam to Bosnia. He is a New York Times bestselling author and has been a commentator with Fox News for ten years. Hunt lives in Maine with his family.
CHRISTINE HUNSINGER grew up in New Hampshire, where she began volunteering on presidential campaigns. Since then, she has worked for Republican, Democratic, and third-party candidates. She currently serves as Communications Director for independent Governor Lincoln Chafee of Rhode Island, where she lives with her children, Jacob, Zachary, and Kaileigh.


COLONEL DAVID HUNT has spent almost thirty years fighting our nation's wars, from Vietnam to Bosnia. He is a New York Times bestselling author and has been a commentator with Fox News for ten years. Hunt lives in Maine with his family.
CHRISTINE HUNSINGER grew up in New Hampshire, where she began volunteering on presidential campaigns. Since then, she has worked for Republican, Democratic, and third-party candidates. She currently serves as Communications Director for independent Governor Lincoln Chafee of Rhode Island, where she lives with her children, Jacob, Zachary, and Kaileigh. She is co-author of Terror Red.

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Read an Excerpt

1

 

MARCHETTI

New England Christmases are picture-postcard perfect, full of glittering, sparkling, twinkling everything. On December 26, everything turns gray: sky, snow, ice, moods, people; everything is Soviet-Union-stand-in-a-breadline gray. The shift is sudden, jarring and depressing. Brains hibernate, bodies autopilot and the countdown to St. Patrick’s Day begins.

Today is December 26.

“I don’t understand how you can work for that guy. He’s completely sold out, you know. He’s turned his back on everything the Democratic Party stands for. He’s such a politician,” my sister whined.

I fiddled with the dial on the heater, hoping in vain that switching it on, off and on again would turn the slightly warm breeze to tropical wind. Freezing my butt off driving my sister to Logan was not my favorite hobby.

“I’m a political consultant. I work for politicians.”

Three years ago, I was working for the Democratic Party in Pennsylvania. I was splitting my time between two campaigns, and it looked like we might actually win both. And then the crazy started. One of my guys threatened to kill his opponent in a televised debate on gun control and was arrested. Two days later, my other guy showed up at a fund-raiser dressed as Elvis. Apparently he had gone off his meds and was hearing voices. A week after those charmingly eccentric incidents, I packed everything I owned into giant, lawn-sized Hefty bags, threw them in the back of my car and left town.

Christina Marchetti, political consultant to the hapless and troubled, as well as the queen of running away.

I gritted my teeth and laid on the horn. Traffic was crawling toward the airport. Five minutes ago it had been swerving wildly at unsafe speeds. Given Boston drivers, in another five minutes we might all be driving sideways. With any luck, we would arrive at Logan before I bludgeoned my sister with an ice scraper. I was on vacation until New Year’s Day, and although part of my job was to worry about the fate of the Democratic Party and its agenda, I figured it could wait a few days. Right now all I wanted to do was get my sister on her plane, go home to my apartment and slip into a coma.

From the bottom of my pocketbook came the muted theme music from the TV show The West Wing. That was how my phone rang when it worked. Yes, I was officially a dork.

I rooted around and found it, hit the button and said hello.

“Hi.”

It was the singsongy voice of Mary Katherine. Mary Katherine Connolly was typical South Boston: 100 percent Irish, devoutly Catholic, pretty face and amazingly competent. She is Senator Kerrigan’s constituent service coordinator because she speaks the language of the district’s natives; also because she’s from a political family and knows where all the bodies are buried. She basically runs every other department and function of Kerrigan’s office. Make no mistake. She’s in charge.

“Hey, what’s up?” I said with a pout.

“I can hear that you are still in your Happy Christmas mood, so I will make this short. Received another update on the terror alert. It’s gone up again, but I can’t really quantify how. Since we did away with the color coding it all seems very vague to me, but I thought I should call you. There is extra emphasis on this one because President Carson is spending the holidays in Maine with the Wheeler family.”

The terror alert rose and fell three times a day. When I started working for Kerrigan, I cared. Now I ignored it. After all this time, with nothing happening, I embraced the myth that we were safe.

“Okay, so we’re at persimmon? Or is it magenta? Go ahead and let the senator know.”

Kate laughed and we disconnected.

Colleen picked up right where she’d left off.

“He’ll never be President. My generation expects a lot more than Senator Brian Kerrigan has to offer.”

Groan.

Brian Kerrigan was the sanest politician I’d worked for, and while that wasn’t saying a whole lot, I’d take it.

After the Pennsylvania debacle, twenty-six years old, spectacularly humiliated, close to broke and with limited options—my car had autopiloted its way in the direction of home. The eight-hour drive north had been just long enough for my brain to convince itself that the bizarre and embarrassing moments that make up my life would somehow be easier to deal with if I lived closer to my family.

My family is bizarre and embarrassing, in a lovable sort of way; we make a sport out of driving each other insane. We’re loud and messy, but the truth of it is we’d be lost without each other.

Eventually I’d wound up living in Boston, one whole, if rather small, state away from my family. Part of my mental calculus definitely included that if I lived in Providence, every time I ran to the store in sweatpants and a ratty old T-shirt some relative would call my mother and tell her I wasn’t dressed appropriately.

I didn’t have any relatives in Boston, so way fewer tattling phone calls were bound to happen; distance was a good thing, in that absence makes the heart grow fonder; I could see them on my terms; and I was way less likely to discover that the cute guy I was talking to in a bar was a second cousin. It was a good plan, but there were flaws.

My sister Colleen had moved to Washington, D.C., but in typical New Englander fashion continuously found reasons to fly back home. Flights to Boston’s Logan Airport were cheaper than those to Providence. Naturally, it became my job to pick her up and get her back to Rhode Island.

I could hear the evil little karma trolls laughing.

 

Copyright © 2013 by David Hunt and Christine Hunsinger

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