The Third Bullet (Bob Lee Swagger)
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Former marine sniper Bob Lee Swagger investigates one of the most enduring controversies of our time—the JFK assassination—in this New York Times bestselling “terrific thriller” (Booklist, starred review).
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author STEPHEN HUNTER takes on one of the most shocking crimes in American history when his celebrated hero ex-Marine sniper Bob Lee Swagger follows the smallest hint of a lead to its staggering conclusion—about the fateful third bullet that ended the life of President John F. Kennedy. . . .
desire, children and dick. So yes, Hugh, the chair is no fun. I’m guessing you probably already deduced that with your spy’s keen powers of observation. What the hell does this have to do with anything?” “Lon,” I said, “Kennedy is going to send thousands of young Americans off to a war we cannot win. He’s going to do that because he wants the reelection, and he can’t be called soft on communism. We were going to correct that problem by eliminating a fellow who called him soft on communism the
raked their leaves, then piled them at the curb and burned them, so the odor of burning leaves was ever-present during the autumn; I tasted it as well, enough to give the air texture and remind me of boyhood days before I got myself into the president-killing business. (Remember the coup in Saigon? I’d killed other presidents.) I stopped at the Walgreens soda fountain, read the Dallas Morning News over a cup of coffee, and listened as the Texans all about me gibbered excitedly about the
impose from memory, for dramatic purposes, to make the tale more compelling, even if the only soul I’ve ever told it to is myself. Feu. The rifle leaped, but only slightly, in his hand, while his head stayed immobile to the scope and his trigger finger followed through to pin that lever to the back of the guard. It produced an oddly attenuated report, something like a book being dropped on a wood floor with weird tones of vibration, maybe a poke and a buzz to the inner ear but nothing sharp and
new address, then went back to bed. Nick called at three the next afternoon. “My news is that the boys are going crazy trying to find you.” “Let ’em sweat.” “What’s your plan now?” “I’m going to chill here for a few days and hunker up and reread all this crap. As he said, it’s so goddamn big, and no matter how you enter it, you get lost in the maze. I’m going to try out a more concentrated, less scattershot approach.” “I thought you had it nailed good by sticking with the rifle stuff.” “The
seemed to bother nobody. They bothered Swagger. Finally, enough time passed so that Stronksi felt safe enough to set a night; he met Swagger again, this time in the back of a van, to arrange the debrief and pass over the money. “You swear,” said Stronski, “that after I have this thing for you, we will proceed directly to embassy, I will watch you enter, and can then finally relax, knowing I served you as you required and lived up to all promises.” “Absolutely.” “Now tell me where to meet.”