By Bill Granger
The chilly warfare is over--yet new, much more scary wars have sprung up inside of our borders. Now, the sector of conflict for Devereaux, code identify November, is to be present in Washington and Chicago itself.
The conspirators are a wealthy, appealing radical; a disenfranchised military officer; and a playboy U.S. Senator. They're sponsored through a mysterious Lebanese financial institution referred to as the overseas credits Clearinghouse. And their aim is a stunning one: ruin the full civilian strength in a single daring stroke.
In lower than twenty-four hours, the November guy should defuse the main very likely devastating act of sabotage in history--and avenge an agonizingly own injustice.
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Extra resources for Burning the Apostle (The November Man, Book 13)
We took over the l and and the factories and got rid of the bl oodsuckers . \Vhen you grow big, never forget that your daddy was once a sol dier and that for four years he shed his bl ood for the commune, for justice. I'll be dead by then, and Lenin too, but our deeds will l ive on through the ages. Whe n you grow up you'll fight for the Soviet government l ike your ol d man did. " Mishka cried, and jumped up on th e bed, mean ing to throw himsel f on his father's neck. But he forgot his grandfather l ying there near him and stepped on his stomach.
I t was some distance from the squ are to his hu t. By the time Mishka reached the gate he was ou t of breath. He drew off his trou sers as he ran throu gh the gate, and, his 51 bare legs gleaming in the sunlight, he burst into the hut. " Not a sound could be heard inside. A black swarm of flies was buzzing around the stove. M ishka ran into the yard, to the barn, and into the orchard, but couldn't find his mother, his father, or his grandfather. He rushed back into the best room where a sack caught his eye .
The sun set, the herd came home through the village, the dust settled after they had passed, and the first pale star peeked down shyly from the darkening sky. M ishka was dying of impatience, but his mother seemed almost on purpose to spend too lon g a time fussing with the cow, straining the milk, and when she went down into the cellar, she s tayed there what seemed like a whole hour. M ishka clung to her like a burr. " "It's not time yet, you fidget. " But M ishka was determined. He wouldn' t move one step from her side.