Eagle in the Sky
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With bold characters and stirring prose, Wilbur Smith writes riveting novels filled with adventure and intrigue. In EAGLE IN THE SKY, this master storyteller tells the story of a man born to...
FLY LIKE AN ANGEL
On land, he was a youth too handsome and too blessed—with carefree charm and enormous wealth. In the air he was something else entirely: born to fly fast and hard, to send the fastest jet fighters into towering climbs and screaming, murderous dives. In a country struggling for its survival, David Morgan found a home, a cause, a woman and a war.
FIGHT LIKE THE DEVIL
South African by birth, David was born into a golden cage, and his hunger for freedom took him to the blood-soaked Holy Land and into a hellish cycle of violence that would lure him past the rules of war—and burn away his physical grace forever.
AND PRAY FOR REVENGE
But a woman blinded in a terrorist attack could only see the beautiful David Morgan she once knew. With her, David returned home to carve out a paradise in wild Africa. And that is where he would meet his worst enemy. And this time, he had everything in the world to lose...
"Smith is without rival."
"[Wilbur Smith] puts the reader right there with details that are intimate, inspiring, horrifying…fans will be happy to know Smith hasn't lost his touch for the dramatic, exotic adventure story."
—The Orlando Sentinel
girl was discussing him. She was leaning on her companion’s shoulder, her lips almost touching his ear as she spoke and David felt his stomach clench under the impact of those honey-golden eyes. For an instant they stared at each other and then the girl jerked away guiltily and dropped her gaze – but her companion held David’s eyes openly, smiling easily, and it was David who looked away. Below them in the ring the bull came out at full charge, head high, and hooves skidding in the sand. He was
with her and they looked across the street at the Citroën. The attendant had finished filling the tank, and the girl’s companion was waiting for her, leaning against the bonnet of the weary old car. He was lighting a cigarette, but he looked up and saw them. He evidently recognized David also, and he straightened up quickly and flicked away the burning match. There was a soft whooshing sound and the heavy thump of concussion in the air, as fire flashed low across the concrete from a puddle of
smoky brown, stripped by the harvest of its robes of golden wheat. ‘Wheel and rudder together, David,’ Barney told him. ‘Let’s try a steep turn now.’ Down went the wing and boldly the nose swept around holding its attitude to the horizon. Ahead of them the sea broke in long lines of cream on the white beaches. The Atlantic was cold green and ruffled by the wind, flecked with dancing white. South again, following the coastline where small figures on the white sand paused to look up at them from
she photographed Debra and David sitting together on the rocks beside the pool. They were in their bathing costumes, Debra’s brief bikini showing off her fine young body as she half-turned to laugh into David’s face. He smiled back at her, his face in profile and the dark sweep of his hair falling on to his forehead. The desert light picked out the pure features and the boldly stated facets of his beauty. Hannah had a print of the photograph made for each of them, and later those squares of
his family obligations without much pain or suffering and he could concentrate on the preparations for the move to Jabulani. Barney Venter spent a week with them in choosing a suitable aircraft to handle the bush airstrip and yet give David the type of performance he enjoyed. At last they decided on a twin-engined Piper Navajo, a six-seater with two big 300-hp Lycoming engines and a tricycle under-cart, and Barney walked around it with his hands on his hips. ‘Well, she’s no Mirage.’ He kicked