
The Jordanians and discovered some chatter about a novel attack against the US, but are withholding data until they are confident that the US hasn't actually targeted Jordan as the next stop on the Arab Spring tour.
The current head of the Federal Reserve has just collapsed of a heart attack. As the Fed isn't the favorite of American institutions, the governing board is considering 5 candidates from outside of the inner circle of usual suspects . . . but the nominees on the highly secret list are kidnapped on the same night, each in different cities.
And the first is found on a pile of logs on Jeckyl's Island, GA with cryptic notes and quotes from anti-central bank leaders from the Jefferson/Hamilton era, all under a crowned skull/crossbones, signed by the S.O.L., aka the Sons of Liberty.
The CIA is aghast that Jordan might think that the US is behind the Arab Spring uprisings. But when Lydia Ryan, a former field spook whom the Jordan security chief approached, starts asking questions, she is politely told that the people/program in question was disbanded and defunded years earlier, so the CIA couldn't be responsible. Smile. Be on your way, young lady. All is right with the world. Arab Spring is a populist movement toward democracy that percolated up from the streets. Ryan's skeptical of all her superiors and approaches someone she thinks she can trust - her mentor from the CIA's training facility, The Farm, guy named McGee.
The Fed is freaked. They hire the Carleton Group to investigate, quietly. Scot Harvath and The Old Man (Reed Carleton himself) start digging. The SOL was the Revolutionary War's version of a domestic terrorist group and had quite of a history as a thorn in Britain's side. Then nominee #2 is killed up in Boston and Carleton gives Harvath five minutes to get set to fly up there and work with Boston Homicide cops (who are none too happy to have a 'fed' scrutinizing their every move).
It's obvious that the killer is a stone cold pro. The only clues about the executions are contained in the set up that resemble actions of revolutionary war era patriots. BPD and Harvath are at wits end trying to piece together a puzzle with no discernible image.
Back in DC, a hit has been ordered on Ryan, McGee, plus a retired spook who goes by WWII. The hitters are good, but Ryan and McGee are better. They even manage to catch one . . . and he talks . . . a little . . . sending them too hustling to Boston.
A random girl is killed. Should be unconnected, but a single item point to the SOL killer. Then nominee #3 dies. More scrambling by Harvath and the cops. #4 dies as the death scenes become more and more involved in the use of historic Boston landmarks.
And then the real action begins.
Anyone who needs to be told that Brad Thor is one of the preeminent thriller writers of today just isn't paying attention. His Scot Harvath character is not only the alpha male hero we schlub readers wish we knew, Thor continues to give up glimpses of the numerous chinks in Harvath's armor, which not only make Harvath more believable and sympathetic, but also allows Thor to test his storytelling chops. Told across two seemingly contrasting tales, Thor wraps it all in one terrific, if somewhat explosive, bow. A thrilling read of 375 pages that was over in the wink of an eye.
When asked about Thor, I steal a line from the old Houston Oiler's coach, Bum Phillips, talking about his running back Earl Campbell, "He might not be in a class by himself . . . but it sure don't take long to call the role."
This is a first for the guys at MRB. The good folks at Simon and Schuster sent us advance copies of Thor's new thriller - It's not available until 9 JUL. I eagerly tore open the envelope I received on Wednesday 19 JUN, thrilled to get not only a copy of the novel, but an advance copy to boot. Not an hour later, I heard the sad news of the death of Vince Flynn, another Simon and Schuster author who had been firmly entrenched at the top of my power rotation since his first book, Term Limits, was published. A thriller reader's high and low within a single hour.
East Coast Don