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The Deep Zone

The Deep Zone

4.0 21
by James M. Tabor

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In this gripping debut thriller from James M. Tabor, a brilliant and beautiful scientist and a mysterious special ops soldier must lead a team deep into the Earth on a desperate hunt for the cure to a deadly epidemic.
When she was unjustly fired from a clandestine government laboratory, microbiologist Hallie Leland swore she would never look


In this gripping debut thriller from James M. Tabor, a brilliant and beautiful scientist and a mysterious special ops soldier must lead a team deep into the Earth on a desperate hunt for the cure to a deadly epidemic.
When she was unjustly fired from a clandestine government laboratory, microbiologist Hallie Leland swore she would never look back. But she can’t ignore an urgent summons from the White House to reenter the realm of cutting-edge science and dangerous secrets.
“Potentially the worst threat since Pearl Harbor” is how the president describes a mysterious epidemic killing American soldiers  in Afghanistan—and now poised for outbreak in the States and beyond. Millions will die unless Hallie and a hastily mobilized team can recover the ultrarare organism needed to create a new antibiotic. The good news is that Hallie knows more about the organism than anyone else on the planet. The bad news is that it can be found only at the bottom of Earth’s deepest cave.
Hallie’s team is capable—especially the mysterious Wil Bowman, who knows as much about high-tech weaponry as he does about microbiology—but the challenge appears insurmountable. Before even reaching the supercave, they must traverse a forbidding Mexican jungle populated by warring cartels, Federales, and murderous locals. Only then can they confront the cave’s flooded tunnels, lakes of acid, bottomless chasms, and mind-warping blackness. But the deadliest enemies are hiding in plain sight: a powerful traitor high in the Washington ranks and a cunning assassin deep underground, determined to turn Hallie’s mission into a journey of no return.
The award-winning and bestselling author of two nonfiction books about adventure and exploration, James M. Tabor now plunges readers into the harrowing subterranean world of supercaves—and even deeper, into a race-with-the-devil thriller that pits one woman against a lethal epidemic and a murderous conspiracy.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
In Tabor’s first novel, a routine near-future medical thriller, a new, lethal, and contagious bacterial infection has reached the U.S. through stricken American soldiers wounded in Afghanistan shipped home. To the rescue comes Dr. Hallie Leland, who was forced to resign from the Biomedical Advanced Research and Development Authority to avoid criminal charges that she sold government secrets. Before her unceremonious ouster, Leland was close to creating a superantibiotic from an extreme organism she recovered from a Mexican cave. With disaster looming, she and her team enter the lawless area of Mexico where the cave is located, to retrieve more of the organism in a Hail Mary effort to stop the killer bacteria. Readers should be prepared for stock, often implausible action sequences underground. Despite the author’s considerable experience with deep-cave exploration (he’s the co-creator of the History Channel’s Journey to the Center of the World), Tabor fails to make the best use of that expertise. Agent: Ethan Ellenberg, Ethan Ellenberg Literary Agency. (Apr.)
Kirkus Reviews
A super-lethal, fast-spreading bacterium that eats its victims from the inside out is decimating U.S. troops in Afghanistan and posing the threat of a pandemic. To collect rare biomatter that works as an antidote, members of a top-secret disease-control agency risk their lives in the deepest and scariest caves of Mexico. If the dangers of spelunking--or a violent army of local drug dealers--don't thwart them, a mole working for a nefarious international group might. Since being drummed out of BARDA (Biomedical Advanced Research and Development Authority) a year ago on false charges, expert caver Hallie Leland has been running a dive shop in northern Florida. Though still bitter over her treatment, she agrees to lead a government expedition thousands of feet beneath a remote forest--"Journey to the Center of the Earth, but worse"--when her onetime mentor spells out the global threat of the drug-resistant Acinetobacter baumannii. In Afghanistan, Army nurse Lenora Stilwell is risking her life tending to soldiers infected by the ACE, possibly through their widespread use of tampons to stanch wounds. Like Leland, she must cope with male superiors more interested in following procedure and saving face than saving lives. Tabor, a bestselling nonfiction writer (Blind Descent: The Quest to Discover the Deepest Place on Earth, 2010, etc.), makes a solid debut as a novelist. The narrative is a bit lumpy, the suspense a bit forced: Hallie is subjected to more near-death experiences than the story can bear. But she's a strong, appealing protagonist, as is Stilwell in her brief scenes. And with his evocative descriptions, Tabor succeeds in portraying the mysterious Cueva de Luz (Cave of Light) as a living, evolving, spiritually charged organism. The outcome may be conventional, but the writing brims with intelligence. A smart, informative debut thriller with a pair of assertive heroines that draws us into the strange wonders of inner space.
From the Publisher
“Deep-earth adventure, scintillating science, and cutthroat intrigue collide with thrilling results that left me breathless and awed. . . . Truly impressive.”—James Rollins

“Just like the perilous cave that serves as its backdrop, this story is dark and terrifying—but with a light at its end. The book should come shrink-wrapped with a seat belt.”—Steve Berry

“One of the most ripping, primal thrillers I’ve read in a long while.”—David Morrell

“Brings  a new meaning to ‘frightening.’”—The Star-Ledger

“Thriller fans should pay attention.”—Library Journal

Product Details

Random House Publishing Group
Publication date:
Product dimensions:
6.50(w) x 9.32(h) x 1.44(d)

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Read an Excerpt

Some nights, when the winds of spring rise up out of Virginia, they peel fog from the Potomac and drape it over the branches of deadtrees trapped in the river’s black mud banks. Streamers pull free and flow into the mews of Foggy Bottom and the cobblestoned alleys of Old Georgetown, float over the chockablock townhouses, and finally wrap pale, wet shrouds around war-fortune mansions.

A black Navigator pushed through this fog, driving weston O Street until it left behind the homes of the merely rich and entereda realm of oceanic wealth. The SUV turned onto a drive of gravel the size and color of corn kernels and walled on both sides by Madagascar barberry nine feet tall and bristling with three-inch thorns.
In the backseat, the passenger stared at the red spikes and thought about crucifixion.
The Navigator passed through a series of remote-controlled gates, the last of which was hung with warning signs: 

10,000 VOLTS

It stopped in front of a mansion of rust-colored brick and white marble. Flowers like red fists filled white boxes hung beneath windows of wavy, distorted glass. Boxwoods carved into strange shapes lined the circular receiving area in front.
The driver got out, a tall man blacker than his blacksuit, lips like overripe plums, skin smooth as polished onyx. He wore sunglasses, despite the hour. His accent was thickly African: “Sair. We hair.” 

The passenger stepped onto glistening cobblestones. A warm and moist night, fog coiling around his legs, air fragrant with boxwood and the coppery bouquet of those red flowers. The Navigator dissolved in mist. He climbed granite steps, their edges rounded off by a century and a half of wear, to a columned, curving porch that reminded him of the foredeck of an old sailing ship. He was reaching for the knocker, a massive brass cross hung upside down, when the door swung inward. 

Standing before him was a tall woman wearing a blouse of lime-green silk and a white linen Dior skirt cut above the knee. She had shoulder-length red hair and green eyes and she was so beautiful that looking at her was like gazing at the sun: impossible to regard for more than seconds. 

“Good evening. I am Erika. Thank you so much for coming.”Lilting, musical voice, traces of Ukraine or Belarus. She extended a hand,cool, long-fingered. She smelled faintly of gardenias.
“My pleasure.”
“Mr. Adelheid has been expecting you. Please.”
He followed her down a long, dusky hallway floored with Italian marble, smooth and white as ancient ice. In pools of yellow light on the burgundy-painted walls hung what he took for reproductions, a van Gogh, a Renoir. Then he stopped.
“Excuse me. Is that a real Picasso?”
Erika glanced over her shoulder. “Of course. They are all originals.”
She brought him to a pair of doors from an old century, some European castle or palace, pushed one open, touched his arm, and left.
A man came forward holding a heavy crystal tumbler. He wore tan gabardine slacks pressed to a knife-edged crease, a blackdouble-breasted blazer, a French blue shirt open at the collar, and a pale roseascot. The visitor had never actually met someone who wore an ascot and had to keep himself from staring. The deep, resonant voice on the recordings had led him to expect someone huge and powerful, but this man was as slim as Fred Astaire and moved with the same languid grace.
A man who never hurried, he thought. Not once in his life.
For all his elegance, there was nothing effeminate about the man. Quite the opposite; he moved through space like a perfectly balanced blade.
“Bernard Adelheid.” Ahdleheight. Accent here, too. Faint, indistinct. Swiss? Dutch? “We are so glad you are here. You must be extremely busy.”
“You know government. Too much work, too few people. Always.”
“Always.” A handshake, mild, dry, brief. “What do you drink?”
“What are you having there?”
“Fifty-year-old Laphroaig, neat.” He held his crystal tumbler aloft. The room was high-ceilinged and dimly lit and the golden whiskey seemed to collect light from the tall white candles in brass wall sconces.There was a fireplace the two of them could have walked into. He could not see into the farthest corners of the room.
A hundred dollars a glass if it’s a cent, he thought.“I’ll have the same, then.”
Mr. Adelheid poured him four fingers from a Baccaratdecanter on a sideboard of medieval proportions. They clinked glasses and the host spoke in German:
“Mögest du alle Tage deines Lebens leben!”
They drank, and Mr. Adelheid said, “A very old toast. Eleventh or twelfth century. From the Teutonic Order, some say. Or perhaps de rBruderschaft St. Christoph. It goes, ‘May you live all the days of your life.’”
“Good advice. Even if easier said than done.”
“Not if one has the means.”
He raised his own tumbler, swirled the liquor, inhaled its spirit, a scent like lightning-struck oak.
“Remarkable, isn’t it?”
“Beyond words.”
“As some things are.”
“Including this house.” He could feel the halls and countless dark rooms winding around him like the passages and chambers of agreat cave, dark space with weight, pressing, a sense of threat. “Is this yours?”
“Is my name on the deed? No. It belongs to a family of my acquaintance.”
“It looks very old.”
“Built in 1854 by Uriah Sadler. A ship owner.”
“What kinds of ships did he own?”
Mr. Adelheid smiled. “Fast ships with big holds and hard crews. He was a slave trader.”
He thought of the black man who had let him out of the car. “Your own crew. Impressive.”
“You mean Adou. Yes. A Ugandan. Mostly civilized.”
He saw chopped limbs, brained babies, changed the subject. “The place is huge.”
“And bigger than what you can see. Captain Sadler had unusual tastes even for a slaver. The cellar beneath is vast. Rooms with granite walls and drains. To contain the screams and flush the blood, I’ve been told.”
“A horrible time.” He could think of nothing else to say.
Mr. Adelheid sipped, watched him. “I hope you will stay to dine with me.”
“I had planned on it.”
“Wonderful. Please, come and sit.”
They took places at a table set for four. Crystal and silver sparkled on white linen. He had never been good at small talk, but Mr. Adelheid was extraordinary, so after a while he felt as though he were in one of those foreign films where people speak endlessly across fabulous tables, every utterance freighted with wit and irony. They talked about Washington’s execrable weather, the visitor’s workload, AfPak, one subject flowing smoothly into the next. Mr. Adelheid made a story about hunting wild boar in Russia sound like an elegant fable.
A waiter appeared, removed his empty tumbler, replaced it with a full one.
“Shall we begin with some Strangford Lough oysters?” Mr.Adelheid smiled, then looked abashed. “I’m so sorry. You do like oysters, don’tyou?”
The few raw oysters he had ever eaten had made him think of toilet bowls. “Absolutely,” he said.
The waiter set down silver plates with the slick, pink things in iridescent shells on crushed ice. Mr. Adelheid tipped one to his lips, slurped, savored. Steeling himself, the guest did the same. A taste like very dry champagne with a hint of salt wind. He smiled, agreeably startled.
“Incredible, no? I could eat them every day.” Mr. Adelheid lifted another. “This morning they were in the Irish Sea.”
They concentrated on the oysters. He had always known that certain people lived this way: palatial homes on estates that sprawled like counties, enormous yachts, exquisite women, the food and drink of royalty. Relishing ecstasies every day about which he could only fantasize.
He had never known how such lives were made. Now he might learn.

When he had finished eating the oysters, Mr. Adelheid pushed his plate aside, dabbed his lips.
“Let us speak now. You have a very important job at BARDA. The Biomedical Advanced Research and Development Authority, yes?”
“Created in 2006 by President George W. Bush to counter biowarfare threats and responsible for, among other initiatives, ProjectBioShield.”
“Fascinating work, I imagine. Would you care to tell me about it?”
He paused while the waiter set down new plates. Velvety, chocolate-colored filets in a scarlet sauce. “Medallions of Black Forest venison with Madeira and black truffles,” Mr. Adelheid said. Then wine, poured into crystal goblets from a bottle with a label like parchment. He had drunk wine, of course, even, on a few occasions, in very expensive restaurants. Now he understood that he had never tasted great wine.
How many other great things had evaded him in this life? He suddenly felt regret so intense it made his eyes glisten. Too quickly, he brought the wine glass to his mouth, spilling a few drops onto the immaculate tablecloth, embarrassing himself. His moist eyes, the soiled linen—he felt thick and stupid in the presence of this polished man.
“I do microbiology. MDRBs.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry. Multiple-drug-resistant bacteria.”
“Is it like in the movies? You know, exotic germs, that kind of thing?”
A little flare inside him. “Calling them germs is like calling diamonds rocks. They are miracles of evolution. And beautiful. Think of a spiral nebula on the head of a pin. Every color in the universe.”
“You speak of them as friends.”
“We get along well. I respect them. And admire their good qualities.”
“Which are?”
“Astonishing evolutionary speed, for one.”
“Do you work in space suits?”
“Sometimes. Those in BSL-4.”
“What does that mean, exactly, ‘BSL-4’?”
“Biosafety Level Four. The highest security level. Positive-pressure environments. Chemturion protective suits. Respirators. Disinfectant showers and ultraviolet germicidal lights. Double-door air locks.Unbreakable labware.”
Mr. Adelheid nodded, touched his right ear with the tips of two fingers. The door swung open and Erika walked in. Even moving, shes eemed to be in repose. Everything about her was . . . perfect. Her legs, body, face, eyes—not one dissonant curve or angle.
“Good evening, Erika. Would you care for a drink? Some champagne, perhaps?”
“No thank you, sir.”
She sat, crossed her magnificent legs, and something caught in his chest.
“Erika, you have met our friend.” No name offered, none asked for.
“Would you like to spend time with our friend?”
“I would love to.” A voice like chimes, exultant, as if it were the greatest opportunity life had offered.
He almost dropped his fork, fumbled, felt like a fool.
“Would you find that agreeable?” Mr. Adelheid smiled at him.
He hesitated, thoroughly unsure how to respond.
“We could have Christina come in. Or Gisele.”
“No, no.” He reddened. “No. I mean, yes, of course, I would find that agreeable.”
“And Erika, would you like to accommodate our friend’s wishes?”
“Oh, yes.” She placed her finger tips on the back of his hand, four small, cool circles on his hot skin. There was something about the way she moved, slowly, dreamily, as though underwater. “There is a villa in the Mediterranean, on an island all its own, with a waterfall in the bedroom. Floors of pink marble, walls of glass.” She flicked her eyes at Mr. Adelheid.
He smiled. “No rules we do not make, the only laws those of nature.”
His thoughts twirled, huge black eyes, white fog, shining oysters, golden whiskey, scarlet wine, a turquoise sea scattered with flakes of light. This woman’s scent, heavier now, gardenia sweet. He closed his eyes, breathed.
I could use some air.
“Thank you, Erika.” She rose and turned to their guest.
“I hope to see you again.”
“And I . . . yes, me, too.”
He watched her leave, moving through space as though without weight.
“To the victors go the spoils.” Mr. Adelheid raised his glass again.
“God in heaven.” He drank, eyes closed.
“Would you like to learn more?”
“That’s why I came.”
Mr. Adelheid nodded. “Fine. But let us enjoy this good food first. We should never rush our pleasures.”
“Live our lives.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Adelheid did something in the air with his right hand, some ancient benediction, and picked up his knife. They ate in a nisland of light in the great shadowed room. With a silver knife he cut the venison and forked to his mouth pieces dripping with sauce. They ate and did not speak, the only sounds in the room those of their chewing and breathing and the insistent buzzing of one invisible fly.


The light in the room rippled, candle flames dancing with currents of air. He ate, drank wine, so over washed with pleasures he forgot forlong moments who and where he was.
After a time, with half of his venison uneaten, Mr. Adelheid laid down his silver, dabbed his lips. His fingers were slim and very long, tendrils with shining tips.
To leave food like that. His own plate had been clean for some minutes.
“Well. We would be very grateful for your help.”
“Leave BARDA and come to work for you?” He did not know who Mr. Adelheid worked for. But surely it would be made clear. Or would it?
“No. Not leave BARDA.”
“A mole, then.” Crude. He regretted it immediately, blushed.
The fly, buzzing again. An expression passed across Mr.Adelheid’s face, like clouds scudding over the moon. “An observer.”
“What would you want me to observe?”
“Most antibiotics today are derived from one original source, is that not true?”
“Yes. Actinomycetales. Discovered in 1940 by Selman Waksman. He got the Nobel for that work.”
“But germs are winning the battle. So I have heard.”
“Hundreds of thousands of people die every year from bacterial infections we can no longer treat. In the U.S. alone. Other places,the numbers are . . . appalling.”
“Hundreds of thousands of reported deaths. The true totalis much higher, isn’t it?”
“Of course. Did renal failure or hospital-acquired infection kill Mr. Jones? One checkmark in a different box on a report. An easy choice for dirty hospitals. Which most are.”
“And your facility—BARDA—is trying to produce an entirely new family of antibiotics.”
“Among other projects. But yes, that is one main thrust of the work.”
Mr. Adelheid smoothed his ascot. How old was the man? The visitor could not say with any certainty. Forty or sixty. His skin was smooth, eyes bright, movements lithe. But there was something ancient about him, Sphinx-like, an inscrutable repose.
“Consider this. The new currency of power is information,” Mr. Adelheid said.
“Really?” The Laphroaig and the wine were making him bolder. “So given the choice between a ton of gold and a terabyte of information, you’d take the terabyte?”
“On the surface, an easy choice. A ton of gold today is worth $45 million. No paltry sum. But: what if you have golden information? Do you have any idea how much money has been made from Dr. Waksman’s antibiotics?”
“Billions, I would guess.”
“Don’t you have politicians who can help you?”
“Of course we have politicians. And others. But no one like you.”
“So what do you need, exactly?”
“Exactly? At this very moment? Nothing. But there will come a time. Very soon, we think.”
Keeping his eyes on the table, he said, “You want me tobe a spy.”
Mr. Adelheid made a sound as if clearing something unpleasant from his throat. “Spies make death. Our wish is not to take lives but to save them.”
“For a profit.”
“Of course for a profit.” His tone suggested that any alternative would be irrational, like living without breathing. “What are millions of human lives worth?”
Mr. Adelheid regarded him in silence for a moment. “You know of Reinhold Messner? The great mountaineer?”
“I know he climbed Mount Everest solo.”
“And without oxygen. In Europe, a god. Messner said, ‘From such places you do not return unchanged.’ ”
“I don’t climb.”
“Mountains are not the only realms from which we may not return unchanged.”
Mr. Adelheid reached into his blazer, produced a slip of green paper the size of a playing card. He slid it to the middle of the table. A deposit ticket from Grand Cayman National Bank for Fifty thousand and 00/100 dollars, payable not to a name but to an eleven-digit alphanumeric sequence.
“An appreciation for the pleasure of your company this evening. You need only the PIN. Which I will give you.”
“For doing what?”


What People are Saying About This

James Rollins
Deep-earth adventure, scintillating science, and cutthroat intrigue collide with thrilling results in James M. Tabor's The Deep Zone. Wildly imaginative but grounded in today's headlines, the story left me breathless and awed. Truly impressive. (James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author of The Devil Colony)
From the Publisher

“Deep-earth adventure, scintillating science, and cutthroat intrigue collide with thrilling results that left me breathless and awed. . . . Truly impressive.”—James Rollins

“Just like the perilous cave that serves as its backdrop, this story is dark and terrifying—but with a light at its end. The book should come shrink-wrapped with a seat belt.”—Steve Berry

“One of the most ripping, primal thrillers I’ve read in a long while.”—David Morrell

“Brings  a new meaning to ‘frightening.’”—The Star-Ledger

“Thriller fans should pay attention.”—Library Journal

Brad Thor
Ever since Michael Crichton passed, I have been looking for an author capable of crafting such creative, intelligent, pulse-pounding tales. Well, the search is over. THE DEEP ZONE is an absolutely phenomenal read—THE ANDROMEDA STRAIN for the 21st Century. Ladies and gentlemen, meet James M. Tabor, the new Michael Crichton. (Brad Thor, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author of Full Black)
Steve Berry
Just like the perilous cave that serves as its backdrop, this story is dark and terrifying—but with a light at its end. The book should come shrink-wrapped with a seat belt. (Steve Berry, New York Times bestselling author of The Columbus Affair)

Meet the Author

James M. Tabor is the nationally bestselling author of Blind Descent and Forever on the Mountain and a winner of the O. Henry Award for short fiction. A former Washington, D.C., police officer and a lifelong adventure enthusiast, Tabor has written for Time, The Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post, and Outside magazine, where he was a contributing editor. He wrote and hosted the PBS series The Great Outdoors and was co-creator and executive producer of the History Channel’s Journey to the Center of the World. He lives in Vermont, where he is at work on his next novel.

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The Deep Zone: A Novel 4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 21 reviews.
Peter_Pumpkin_Eater More than 1 year ago
The Deep Zone is a fascinating, terrifying, exhilarating book. A non-stop thriller that stands out as particularly well-paced and written. Any reader that enjoyed 'The Andromeda Strain' by Michael Crichton will love this novel.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I could not set it down! If you like thrillers, you have to read this one.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great thrill ride of an adventure. Loved and was scared of the scientific facts behind the disease. Had never heard of deep cave diving and after reading about it...it will NOT be on my bucket list. I was fascinated, horrified, and at times shocked by the story. Think lakes of sulfuric acid, boulders the size of cars hanging overhead, bottomless pits and a flesh-eating bacteria...and that's just a tiny look into the book. The characters sing they are so well-written. Read it, strap yourself in and don't let go! Jp If I hadn't had to sleep I would've read continuously until finished.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I've read all this author's books in this series. If you like Preston and Child or James Rollins, you'll probably like this, although its a bit more gritty.( I have to skip over the torture stuff.) The information about extreme environments is really interesting. That is why I read these books even though I cringed at some of the descriptions and avoided some parts altogether.
Penguin39 More than 1 year ago
Really spell binding---must admit that I was really amazed at the end to find out who the actually person who was the "villain" was--never would have suspected him. The author did a great job (I thought) of never leaving any clues as to that person at all.
mrsgodiva More than 1 year ago
Loved the characters. Felt the overabundance of science slowed the pace.
Sasha-Riley More than 1 year ago
Subject was great and exciting, but a little far fetched. However, author needs to quit inundating us with strange words that no one has ever heard of including the Nook dictionary. Come on - I am a very intelligent reader, but hate having to stop and look up words. Seems a if he is trying to show how intelligent he is.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I've never gone spelunking, and now I don't have to. This book was so vivid in its mysterious and frightening descriptions of the depths of caves, I feel as if Tabor truly took me there with the characters - all of whom were fairly engaging.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Drewano More than 1 year ago
The Deep Zone is a well written book that paints a very complete and interesting story but it’s slow and boring. Throughout the story there is plenty of mystery about who’s on whose side and what will happen next but that shouldn’t be confused with thrilling. For about 70% of the book (bad) things happen to the characters but for the most part they’re all away from the readers point of view so we don’t get any play by play, we’re only left wondering what happened. Then 10% of the book is pretty action packed. Then the last 20% is wrapping up with no action. Overall an interesting read but if you’re looking for a thrilling time that pulls you along you might want to skip this one.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I enjoyed the story and found it hard to put down. I liked James M. Tabors book so much I went out and bought his book Frozen Solid and I'm already engrossed in the story.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Only complaint is that I would have liked to see more of the " bad guys" resolved at the end rather than leave room for a sequel. Well written and moves quickly.
otterly More than 1 year ago
I found this to be a fascinating adventure story. Like most people, I have little background in caving, especially not this type. Hallie Leland is an almost hard to believe hero, and the circumstances of the cave itself seem insurmountable. The three men who accompany her are interesting. I question the necessity of her beginning a romantic attachment to one. The short story which is included is okay, but has too many similarities to the book. I have now read two items by the author--enough, I think. A book group might find this a nice change of pace.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Exciting adventure
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Perfect story for a Syfy channel movie!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I've only read the first chapter , but it's still a good book. (Not as good as Old Yeller though)