From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Vince Flynn's Mitch Rapp Series
Punished for his maverick ways, FBI agent Mark Beamon has been exiled from Washington, D.C., to a sleepy Southwest office where he's got one last chance to play by the rules. But that's not going to happen, not when he's on a case that may be too hot even for his unorthodox talents to handle.
A local millionaire and his wife are brutally murdered. Jennifer, their teenage child and sole heir; is the prime suspect -- and she's gone missing. Laying everything on the line, Beamon sets offon a trail that takes him from a remote survivalist's cabin in the Utah mountains, through the labyrinthine headquarters of a cultlike church, into the shadowy, interlocking boardrooms of a powerful high-tech communications empire.
Just when he thinks he's close to finding answers, Beamon discovers the killing of Jennifer's parents is far more sinister than even he could have guessed. Now he isn't just looking for a young girl -- he's got to stop a bizarre conspiracy that could bring America to its knees...
|File size:||2 MB|
About the Author
Kyle Mills is the author of Sphere of Influence, Burn Factor, Free Fall, Storming Heaven, and Rising Phoenix.
Read an Excerpt
A Tragic Heart Attack At The Tender Young age of fifteen and a half, Jennifer Davis thought. That's what the headlines would say tomorrow.
She stood up on her pedals, but had to sit down again when the back wheelof her mountain bike lost traction. Less than halfway up the last climbof the race, her lungs already felt like they were full of hot tar. Worse,she could hear the unmistakable crunch of tires closing in on her from behind.
Jennifer glanced back over her shoulder, ignoring the flaring color of thesunset as the light filtered through the Phoenix smog, and focused on theface of the rider behind her.
The good news was that he looked like he was in bad shape. His mouth waswide open and, despite the dry cold of the desert, the sweat was literallystreaming off his nose.
The bad news was that she felt like he looked.
The angle of the hill eased off a bit and Jennifer stood up again. Thistime her tire held and she was able to accelerate slightly, struggling tostay out front.
The panting behind her grew louder as the rider began to close the distancebetween them. Jennifer grudgingly eased her bike right to allow a lane forhim to pass, and then dropped her head and pedaled with everything she had.
About twenty-five yards from the crest of the hill, when he was only inchesbehind, he gave up. She heard a gasped obscenity and the unmistakable clickof gears as he downshifted.
Jennifer remained standing, in case it was a trick or he got a second wind,but when she looked back again, he was off his bike, pushing it slowly upthe hill.
At the top of the climb, Jennifer leaned forward and rested her arms againsther handlebars. A small butenthusiastic crowd lined the narrow trail, andshe coasted carefully through them.
She could see her parents threading their way through the throng as shepassed under the checkered banner that announced the finish line. When herfather jogged up alongside her, she draped an arm around his shoulders andused him as a crutch as she slid off her bike and fell to the ground.
"Great job, Jen! I thought that guy was going to get you on the hill!"She closed her eyes and listened as her father picked up her bike and rolledit off the track.
"Honey? Are you all right?"
Jennifer opened her eyes and looked into the plump face of her mother hovering over her. "Fine, Mom. No problem." She turned to her father. "How'dI do, Dad?"
"Fourth place, looks like to me. Just out of the money."
Jennifer let out a low groan as she stood and began pushing her way throughthe crowd, shaking various hands and stopping briefly to talk and laughwith friends and other racers.
"We've got a surprise for you, honey," her father said as theybroke free of the crowd and headed for the parking lot. Jennifer slowedand then stopped. Her father just wasn't the no-specific-occasion gift-giving type. Surprises were usually a bad thing. Her eyes followed his outstretched index finger to a white Ford Explorer in the parking lot. Three people stood next to it. Two of the three were waving.
"Oh Dad. You didn't."
"What? The Taylors have really been looking forward to seeing you race."
Her mother smiled. "They really have, honey."
The Taylors had lived two doors down from them for as long as Jennifer couldremember. And for as long as she could remember, they and her parents hadbeen conspiring to get her together with Billy, the Taylors' football-playing, cheerleader-chasing, Budweiser-swilling moron of a son.
As they neared the parking lot, Mrs. Taylor rushed up to Jennifer with herarms flung wide. She thought better of the big hug she had undoubtedly beenplanning when she saw the amount of mud caked on Jennifer's jersey. Instead,she adjusted an imaginary flaw in her rather tall hair and opted for a distant peck on the cheek. "Wow, that was really impressive, Jennifer. Veryexciting." She turned to her semicatatonic son. "Wasn't it, Billy?"He snapped out of his stupor long enough to generate a weak smile.
There was a short lull in the conversation while everyone waited to seeif he would actually speak. When it became obvious that he wouldn't, herfather said, "We thought we'd go out and grab some dinner before wedrive back to Flagstaff. What do you think, Jen?"
"Are you kidding? Look at me!" Jennifer took off her helmet andheld her arms out to give him a better view. She was spattered head to toein mud. A gash above her knee, suffered on the first downhill of the race,was still oozing blood. And to top it off, her hair had taken on the shapeof her helmet.
Her father didn't look impressed. "We'll just tell them you were ina mountain bike race. They'll understand."
She assumed that "they" referred to the maitre d' of a really,really snooty restaurant, who would look at her like she was a homelessperson and then grudgingly get them a table because her father was the largest car dealer in Arizona.
Jennifer sighed and walked over to her parents' Cadillac. Leaning into theopen window, she pulled out a small backpack containing a change of underwear, a pair of shorts, and a sweatshirt.
"I'll be back in a minute," she said, walking toward a white vanwith "Specialized" painted in red across the side.