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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...
eyes tightly. He had called that number so often, the numerals were graven on his memory. ‘No.’ He shook his head, and opened his eyes. ‘I’m not going to believe it.’ ‘It’s true, Peter,’ Parker said gently Peter walked back to his seat. His legs felt rubbery and shaky under him. He sat down heavily. The room was completely silent. Neither of the other two looked directly at Peter Stride. Kingston Parker made a gesture to Colin and obediently he slid the red box file, tied with red tapes,
same instant something hit him on the inside of his forearm just below the elbow The knife stroke was flung outwards, passing an inch from her hip, and the point of the blade crashed into the control panel in front of her, scoring the metal with a deep bright scratch, but Peter’s numbed fingers could not keep hold on the hilt The weapon spun from his grip, ringing like a crystal wine glass as it struck the steel handrail and rebounded over the side of the bridge into the cockpit behind him. He
twenty-five million in operating capital. You arranged the abduction and killing of Aaron Altmann, you paid yourself the twenty-five million and personally supervised its transfer, probably to a numbered account in Switzerland—’ ‘Oh God, Peter!’ she whispered, and in the dark of the cabin her eyes were fathomless and huge as the empty cavities of a skull. ‘Is it true?’ Peter asked for confirmation for the first time ‘It’s too horrible. Go on please.’ ‘It worked so well that it opened up a new
was on the right, short-cropped grey curls, ruddy round face – that would be Watkins, the commander. He was a good man, Peter had studied his service record. He ignored the co-pilot and stewardess and strained for a glimpse of the figure beyond them, but it was only when he stopped directly below the open hatch that she moved to let him get a clear view of her face. Peter was startled by the loveliness of that golden head, by the smooth gloss of young sun-polished skin and the thundering
Melissa-Jane did not seem alarmed. She appeared to enter the Triumph quite willingly. I know that her father, who is a senior officer in the army, often sends different cars to fetch her or bring her home. So I thought nothing about it.’ The alarm was not raised for nearly twenty-four hours, as the missing girl’s mother also believed that she might be with her ex-husband. Only when she was unable to contact Major-General Stride, the girl’s father, did she inform the police. The Cambridge police