Aggressor (Nick Stone Book 8): Andy McNab's best-selling series of Nick Stone thrillers - now available in the US
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Former deniable operator Nick Stone seems to be living his dream, not a care in the world as he steers his camper van round the surfing and parachuting paradise of Australia.
But when he sees a news report of the massacre of women and children in a terrorist outrage on the other side of the world, long-suppressed memories are triggered, and Nick knows he must risk everything to repay a longstanding debt of friendship.
As events unfold in the teeming streets of modern Istanbul and the bleak, medieval villages of Georgia, Nick finds himself catapulted once more into the murky, clandestine world he thought he’d left behind - a world in the grip of nameless enemies who linger in the shadows, and stalk the corridors of power...
“Andy McNab knows where his strengths lie, and it's not just in his biceps... Only people who have not read this book could suggest that he is not a fine writer. It is a heart-thumping read” - Daily Express (UK)
“McNab is the best suspense thriller writer to put pen to paper since Alistair MacLean” - Stephen Coonts
“McNab is a terrific novelist. When it comes to thrills, he’s Forsyth class” - Mail on Sunday (UK)
“McNab’s great asset is that the heart of his fiction is not fiction: other thriller writers do their research, but he has actually been there” - The Sunday Times (UK)
About Andy McNab
From the day he was found abandoned in a carrier bag on the steps of Guy’s Hospital, Andy McNab has led an extraordinary life.
As a teenage delinquent, he kicked against society. As a young soldier he waged war against the IRA in the streets and fields of South Armagh. As a member of 22 Special Air Service Regiment he was involved for ten years in covert and overt special operations worldwide, often working alongside America’s Delta Force, SEALS, DEA and CIA.
During the Gulf War he commanded Bravo Two Zero, a patrol that, in the words of his commanding officer, ‘will remain in regimental history for ever’. Awarded both the Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM) and Military Medal (MM) during his military career, McNab was the British Army’s most highly decorated serving soldier when he finally left the SAS.
Since then Andy McNab has become one of the world's bestselling writers, drawing on his insider knowledge and experience. As well as three non-fiction bestsellers, he is the author of fifteen bestselling Nick Stone thrillers.
Besides his writing work, he lectures to security and intelligence agencies in both the USA and UK, works in the film industry advising Hollywood on everything from covert procedure to training civilian actors to act like soldiers and he continues to be a spokesperson and fundraiser for both military and literacy charities.
rigged with explosives. We saw one lot go off. I’m surprised there aren’t many more dead.’ ‘But all those soldiers looked out of control. They didn’t know what they were doing.’ ‘You know, if twenty per cent or fewer get dropped it’s a success. What those soldiers were doing was reacting to what was happening, whether it was the correct thing to do or not.’ ‘Dropped? What is dropped? Killed? For a panel-beater, you seem to know an awful lot about these things . . .’ ‘Don’t you box-heads read
shoelaces,’ he used to say about anyone east of Calais. I guessed it might have been like that once, but when I looked outside I didn’t see a steamy bazaar full of shifty conmen. I saw sleek women in Western dress and steel-and-glass trams gliding along a broad, boutique-lined boulevard. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said I was in Milan. The newer cars had a little blue strip on the side of their number plates, optimistically preparing for EU membership. I looked around for any sign of my
fenced off with wrought iron or low brick walls. Men and women sat chatting away to each other, cradling flasks of tea or coffee, at tables fixed to the ground close by the graves. One old guy was drunk, even this early in the day, and ranted at one of the stones. I had the feeling he was getting his own back for a lifetime of nagging. Water taps were sited every twenty metres or so along the central path, and people were either washing out their cups or refilling vases at most of them. A
to worry me. Once Baz’s Audi was found with a present in the boot, the police would be swarming all over the house, trying to work out how Father Christmas had dropped by there as well. Or it could be the other way round. Whatever, it didn’t matter which way this nightmare unfolded. If there was any CCTV footage in the can, it wouldn’t be long before they were huddled round a monitor, watching the fuck-about in the yard. Had I left any DNA at the cemetery? It was too late to worry about it now.
dollars are flying in by the planeload, and a lot of them get diverted their way. They pay the militants to threaten the pipeline, just to keep things on the boil. Nothing bad, nothing physical – just the occasional firework display. Nobody gets hurt. It’s just good, old-fashioned commerce. I’m just there to—’ ‘Yeah, we know,’ Charlie said. ‘You’re just there to smooth the way . . .’ Bastard looked up at him and risked a smile. I kicked him. ‘Get on with it.’ He slid his legs up as close to