The Saboteurs: Ungekürzte Ausgabe (An Isaac Bell Adventure, Band 12)

Cussler, Clive; Du Brul, Jack

ISBN 10: 0593340396 ISBN 13: 9780593340394

Verlag: Penguin Audio, 2021

Inhaltsangabe

Detective Isaac Bell's investigation into an attempted assassination brings him to the construction site of the Panama Canal--and straight into a nest of vipers--in the latest adventure in the #1 New York Times-bestselling series from Clive Cussler.

Detective Isaac Bell's wife has said that he is always in the wrong place at the right time. This is certainly the case when Bell thwarts the assassination of a U.S. Senator shortly after meeting the man. This heroic rescue is just the start of the mystery for Bell, who suspects that the would-be assassins have a much larger and more dangerous agenda--one involving the nearly-constructed Panama Canal. While the senator supports the building of the canal, there are many, including a local Panamanian insurgency known as the Red Vipers, who never want to see its completion.

With millions of dollars and the fates of two nations at stake, Bell heads to Panama to find answers. After a deadly bombing at the canal's construction site, he is determined to stop the insurgents--or whoever is funding them--before they can attack again.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Clive Cussler was the author of more than eighty books in five bestselling series, including Dirk Pitt®, NUMA® Files, Oregon® Files, Isaac Bell®, and Sam and Remi Fargo®. His life nearly paralleled that of his hero Dirk Pitt. Whether searching for lost aircraft or leading expeditions to find famous shipwrecks, he and his NUMA crew of volunteers discovered and surveyed more than seventy-five lost ships of historic significance, including the long-lost Civil War submarine Hunley, which was raised in 2000 with much publicity. Like Pitt, Cussler collected classic automobiles. His collection featured more than one hundred examples of custom coachwork. Cussler passed away in February 2020.

Jack Du Brul is the author of the Philip Mercer series, most recently The Lightning Stones, and is the coauthor with Cussler of the Oregon Files novels Dark Watch, Skeleton Coast, Plague Ship, Corsair, The Silent Sea, and The Jungle, and the Isaac Bell novel The Titanic Secret. He lives in Virginia.

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Prologue
October 14, 1912
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
 
 
 
            They gave him the gun in New York, he was pretty certain, and he thought some money too.  That had allowed him to stalk his prey across eight states, often staying in the same hotels and riding the same train.   Most importantly, though, they’d helped him hear the ghost once again.  And the ghost gave the same command he’d given eleven years earlier, only John hadn’t the strength to act then.  Today was different.
John Flammang Schrank spent most of the afternoon in a bar across from the Gilpatrick Hotel where he knew his target would eat dinner before motoring to the Milwaukee Auditorium to deliver a speech to further his unholy quest.  A former bar owner himself, the Bavarian-borne Schrank downed six schooners of beer but felt nothing but calm as the crowds outside the nearby hotel swelled in anticipation of getting a glimpse of their hero.
Traitor, he thought sullenly, the weight of the gun tugging at his coat pocket.  Traitor and murderer. 
He paid the barman and crossed the street.  It was nearing eight and light spilled from the hotel’s windows.  The air was crisp, so people wore long coats and hats pulled low.  Shrank was a portly man, round in the belly with a friendly enough face dominated by a large jutting chin.  He had little trouble pressing his way through the happy throngs of people.
How could they show such adoration, he wondered.  Didn’t they know the truth?
That truth had come to him shortly after his target had taken office.  It was the ghost’s first appearance in a dream, a vivid dream that he’d never been able to shake.  And now, with the help of his new benefactors, the dream had returned, only this time his target had been wearing the robes of a priest, but it made no difference.  Schrank recognized the usurper at once.
Shrank looked around.  People were practically giddy with the thought of seeing their man.   The ghost had said their hero had murdered him by placing the Polish anarchist, Leon Czolgosz, at the Pan-American Expo in Buffalo.  The two shots he’d fired to the gut were enough to turn the man into the ghost of John Schrank’s dreams. 
Shrank recognized a face in the crowd.  It was the nice one, the one who listened to him.  The other, the taciturn man who demanded and cajoled and demeaned, wasn’t at his side as he’d been so many times before when he’d tried to carry out the assassination.  This was the omen that tonight it would happen.  He moved even closer to the front of the crowd, ignoring the sour looks of people who’d waited some time for their coveted positions.
He felt the hard rubber grip of the .38 caliber Colt revolver deep in his overcoat pocket.  He was near the front row of people.  The hotel’s door was only a few paces away and the open-topped automobile with its long hood and sweeping running boards idled at the curb.
“I can’t believe I’m about to see the hero of San Juan Hill,” a woman said to her husband a little breathlessly.
“I hear he doesn’t like to be called Teddy, but rather TR,” said another voice in the crowd.
Schrank fingered the pistol.  He couldn’t allow him to have a third term.  No president had ever had one.  George Washington himself had refused, fearing it would turn the presidency into a monarchy like the one America had fought to free herself from.  John Schrank saw himself as a patriot, like one of the Minutemen, fighting against the tyranny of a man wishing to become king.
The crowd suddenly erupted in a roar of wild cheering.  Teddy Roosevelt came down the handful of steps outside the Gilpatrick and waved to the people who’d waited to see him, envious of the nine thousand awaiting his speech a short distance away at the Auditorium.  Roosevelt gave a big-toothed smile, his eyes behind his rimless glasses alight with joy.  His walrus moustache twitched. 
He mounted the car’s running board and lowered himself into the rear seat next to his stenographer, Elbert Martin.  Opposite them on the rear-facing seat was another aide, Harry Cochems.  The crowd continued to roar and shake the air with their applause.  TR gave Harry a knowing smile and got back onto his feet, his tall hat in hand to wave once again at the people.  They loved him for the gesture, and he loved them for their loyalty and support.
John Flammang Schrank saw his opportunity and lurched a step closer to his target.  Without a change in expression, with no real malice at all since he didn’t hate the former president but needed to stop him from retaking the Oval Office, he raised the pistol and took aim at Roosevelt’s head, just a few feet away.
He squeezed the trigger at the same time someone behind him jostled his arm.  The gun went off, a single clap of thunder loud enough to silence the crowd.  The smell of burnt powder turned the air acrid.
Teddy Roosevelt staggered just slightly, bending at the knee before straightening up once again, his hat still raised.  Elbert Martin was the first to react.  He’d played collegiate football and had lightening reflexes.  He dove out of the car and crashed into Schrank before he could fire again.  Both men fell to the sidewalk, Martin using his superior size to pin Schrank to the ground while he clamped his hands around the assassin’s wrists.  A. O. Girard, a bodyguard from the Van Dorn detective agency, and a former member of TR’s Rough Rider’s, moved in and scooped up the pistol while two of Milwalkee’s finest piled onto the scrum.
Harry Cochems jumped to his feet and asked, “Were you hit Mr. President?”
“He pinked me, Harry,” Roosevelt replied.
“Dear God.”
The crowd was shouting for blood.  Cries of “Lynch the fiend.” And kill him” rang out.
TR waved his hat and bellowed, “Stop.  All of you.  Don’t hurt him.  Bring him to me.  I want to see him.”  The mob could hardly believe their hero was unharmed and cheers rose up. “Yes.  I’m all right.  I’m all right.”
The cops yanked Schrank to his feet.
“Bring him over,” Roosevelt demanded and the would-be assassin was frog-marched to the side of the idling saloon car. 
Roosevelt studied the man’s face, placing his hands on his head and tried to recall if he’d ever seen the dull-looking creature before.  There was no spark of recognition.  “What did you do it for?”
Shrank just looked at him, working his jaw but saying nothing.
“Oh, what’s the use,” Roosevelt said, pain beginning to hone his voice.  “Officers, take charge of him and see no violence is done to him.”
He sat back into his seat as Schrank was led into the hotel and the crowds booed.
The car pulled from the curb.  Once out of sight of his supporters, Roosevelt opened his topcoat and suit jacket.  The fine white linen of his shirt was stained crimson over his right side.  His aides stared slack-jawed at the amount of blood.
“Driver,” Harry Cochems practically shouted. “Get us to the nearest hospital.”
“Ignore that.  Keep true for the auditorium,” Roosevelt countered and accepted a fresh handkerchief from Elbert to press into the wound.  Roosevelt held a hand over his mouth and coughed.  He showed...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Audio
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2021
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593340396
• ISBN 13: 9780593340394
• Einband: Audio CD
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Purmerul LTD; https://strengholt.nl/en/; ; 22 Liuleburgaz Str., floor 4, app. 9; Plovdiv; Bulgarien