Just a Taste…

Since I created this blog I’ve often teased that I was working on a novel. Well here is just a sample of things to come. All comments are welcome. Enjoy!

Image Courtesy of Shuttershock.com

Prologue One

June 1st

Delohar, Lemalia

Three bullets. Three bullets are all it takes to throw a nation into chaos and set the world on fire. With just three bullets a president’s life is snuffed out.

            Mohann Aldessa was the newly elected leader of the small island nation of Lemalia. The country is located in the eastern Mediterranean, nestled between Crete and Cyprus. As a nation it is as much a melting pot as the United States, with ethnic origins in Europe, North and East Africa, and Southeast Asia. Its population numbers just over ten million. Today is inauguration day for the country’s first democratically elected president in over fifty years. Sadly, what is meant to be a joyous occasion devolves into chaos.

            As onlookers react in horror and disbelief to what they have just witnessed, Aldessa’s security detail immediately converges on his body, instinctively brandishing their automatic weapons as they look to return fire. At that very moment, the police make an attempt to maintain calm. Despite their best efforts, a major stampede ensues, with dozens trampled in the tumult.

Amidst the confusion, a sniper on the rooftop of the adjacent parliament building meticulously field-strips his weapon, a Remington 7.62 mm M4OA1 sniping rifle. The man, about five foot, seven inches dressed in cargo pants, a black t-shirt and a well-worn M65 field jacket, carefully places the disassembled rifle into a rectangular weapons case. He pulls a small silver-colored cell phone from his inner coat pocket and presses “pound seven” on the touch screen. As he lifts the phone to his ear, his coat sleeve slides back, revealing a distinctive tattoo on his inner left forearm: a bald eagle clutching lightning in one claw and arrows in the other.

The call is answered. “It’s done,” the sniper says in a cold, sterile tone.

He nods in acknowledgement of the orders given by the other conversant. “I understand.” The sniper ends the call, grabs his belongings, and quickly retreats from the rooftop. As he leaves, the man fails to notice the security camera perched on the parliament building’s satellite tower.


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