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Wild Justice by Wilbur Smith
It begins as a routine trip to South Africa. It ends in a nightmare for 400 passengers taken hostage. The hijacker is a beautiful pawn for an elusive figure--codename Caliph, whose campaign of terror has just begun. And the one man who rescued Flight 070 is the only man who can stop Caliph dead in his tracks.
His name is Major Peter Stride, commanding agent of a crack team of anti-terrorist operatives. He's used to doing battle--and winning. But when his help is sought by the mysterious widow of one of Caliph's victims, and his own daughter is kidnapped, Stride plunges into a darker and more personal war than ever before. A war that will take him across the oceans and continents, closer to a shocking betrayal...and closer still to a madman who has the power to destroy the world and who knows Stride's every move--down to what could be his last one...
right hand. ‘Please hold on, General Stride. We have an international call for you.’ The delay seemed interminable with heavy buzzing and clicking on the line, and the distant voices of other operators speaking bad French or even worse English. Then suddenly her voice, but faint and so far away that it sounded like a whisper in a vast and empty hall. ‘Peter, are you there?’ ‘Magda?’ He felt the shock of it, and his voice echoed back at him from the receiver; there was the click before she
afraid. I was, going to kill you if you took the knife. I nearly did. Oh, Peter, what is happening to us, are we both going mad?’ She held him desperately and he sank to his knees on the deck and bowed over her. ‘Yes,’ he answered her, holding her to his chest. ‘Yes, we must be going mad. I don’t understand myself or any of it any more.’ ‘Why did you have to take the knife, Peter? Please—you must tell me. Don’t lie, tell me the truth, I have to know why.’ ‘Because of Melissa-Jane – because of
back to France – to Paris?’ he asked, and she nodded. ‘You did your job, even better than they had expected you to do it You were the best, the very best. No man could resist you.’ She did not answer, but she did not lower her eyes from his. It was not a defiance but merely a total acceptance of what he was saying. ‘There were men. Rich and powerful men—’ His voice was bitter now. He could not help himself. ‘Many, many men Nobody knows how many, and from each of them you gathered harvest.’
both hands. The Mercedes was only fifty feet away. He watched it in the glass, his body braced, his mouth wide open to absorb blast shock in his sinuses. The Mercedes erupted. It seemed to open quite sedately, like one of those time-elapse movies of a rose blooming. The shining metal spread and distorted like grotesque black petals, and bright white flame shot through it – that was all Peter saw, for the row of apartment windows disappeared, blown away in a million glittering shards by the blast
Capucine were deserted, except her own office suite on the top floor. Even during the drive up from Zurich she had gone through correspondence and dictated quietly to one of her secretaries. He knew that at the chalet across the valley her two secretaries would be waiting already, with a pile of telex flimsies for her consideration and the line held open for her replies ‘There are better ways to die than working yourself to death.’ He was suddenly out of patience with her single-mindedness, and