Tripoli's Target, a timely and exciting thriller
About the Book:
Justin Hall and Carrie O’Connor, Canadian Intelligence
Service Agents, find themselves in lawless North Africa on the trail of an
assassination plot. The target is the US President, and the hit is scheduled to
take place during a G-20 summit in Libya’s capital, Tripoli. But the source of
their information is the deceitful leader of one of the deadliest terrorist
groups in the area. Ambushes and questionable loyalties turn an already
difficult mission into a dark maze of betrayal and misdirection.
Forced to return to Tripoli, Justin and Carrie dig up new
intelligence pointing to a powerful Saudi prince bankrolling the assassination
plan. What’s worse, Justin and Carrie realize something crucial is very, very
wrong with their plan. The summit is only forty-eight hours away and they still
have to stop the Saudi prince, dismantle the assassination plot, and save the
life of Tripoli’s target.
Tripoli’s Target promises to take the reader through a
great story as it becomes the next international bestseller. Fans of David
Baldacci, Vince Flynn, and Daniel Silva will love this high-octane spy
thriller.
About the Author:
Ethan Jones is the author of Arctic Wargame—the first spy thriller in the Justin Hall series,
released in May 2012, and Tripoli’s
Target—the second book in this series, released on October 4, 2012. He has
also published several short stories. Ethan is a lawyer by trade. He lives in
Canada with his wife and son.
Excerpt from the Prologue:
“An
army of sheep led by a lion would defeat
an
army of lions led by a sheep.”
“It
is better to die in revenge than to live on in shame.”
Arab
proverbs
Prologue
Tripoli, Libya
May 13, 6:15 p.m.
local time
Satam, the driver
of the fifth suicide truck bomb, turned onto Ar Rashid Street, merging with the
warm evening traffic. He rubbed his sweaty palms against his short khaki pants,
his gaze glued to the silver BMW Suburban in front of him. He heaved a wheezing
sigh and tapped on the brake pedal. A red traffic light halted the five-vehicle
convoy.
A
stream of cars rushed through the intersection leading to the business district
of downtown Tripoli. Tall skyscrapers rose over most of the city’s old
colonial-style buildings. The green and gold banner of Jacobs Properties—one of
the major British real estate developers in Libya—beamed from atop the
glass-and-steel façade of the newly finished Continental Hotel. The same logo had
been painted hastily on the left side of the BMW packed with Semtex explosives.
Walid, its driver and a Jacobs subcontractor, had exchanged his blue coveralls
for a business suit and the promise of martyrdom.
A
glance at the dashboard clock told Satam the synchronized explosion would take
place in ten minutes. The thought of the coming carnage drained the last drop
of courage from his heart. He rolled down the window, but the humid air—blended
with the aroma of fried falafel, onions, and lamb donairs from a nearby street
vendor—made him nauseated. He gasped for air, sticking his head out of the
window. He coughed and struggled to catch his breath. The drivers in the other
vehicles shot him curious glares. Behind the truck, the driver of an old
Mercedes honked his horn twice. Satam swallowed hard and wiped the sweat off
his narrow forehead. He waved at his audience to show them he was doing all
right.
“Satam,
what’s the matter, brother?” the radio set on the dashboard crackled. He
recognized Walid’s gruff voice.
Satam
looked at the BMW. His watery eyes met the reflection of the driver’s face in
the rear-view mirror of the Suburban. The driver’s usual wicked smirk stretched
his lips, revealing his large buckteeth. Walid waved his hands wildly. Satam
could not see behind Walid’s black aviator shades but assumed his eyes were
ablaze with rage.
“Nothing’s
wrong. Just needed some air,” Satam replied over the radio.
He
rolled up the window before Walid could scold him with another howl.
“Great.
Now that you’ve closed the window, open your eyes!” Walid barked. “You’re not a
coward like the infidels, are you?”
Satam
shook his head.
A
third voice came on air before he could say anything.
“Cousin,
I pledged my honor so you could be a part of this mission. Don’t you back down
now!” Satam’s cousin said. He was driving the Toyota at the head of the convoy.
Satam
sighed and paused for a couple of seconds. “I’m not backing down. You can trust
me. I will not disappoint you or the brotherhood.”
“That’s
my flesh and blood who is soon to be a martyr,” said the cousin in a relaxed
tone. “Our families will be proud of us, and our reward will be glorious.”
“It’s
easy for you to say, since tonight you’ll be welcomed to paradise,” Satam said.
He
noticed the traffic lights changing and stepped cautiously on the gas pedal.
The truck jerked forward a few inches before the ride turned smooth again.
“Won’t
take long before you join us there,” Walid said.
“Yes,
but not before being dragged through the secret police hellish cells…” Satam’s
voice trailed off.
“Allah
will give you strength, cousin, and soon he’ll take you home.”
“He
will, brother, he will.” Walid revved the BMW’s twelve-cylinder engine. “For
sure, I’m going to miss this ride.”
“There
will be plenty of rides up there to keep you and everyone else busy,” the
cousin said with a quiet laugh. “Now may Allah be with us all. Over and out.”
Walid
nodded and turned left toward the Continental Hotel.
Satam’s
destination, the Gold Market, was to the right. He steered in that direction.
He zigzagged through a few crooked streets and slowed down when reaching the
Old City. The blacktop disappeared, and the uneven gravel crackled under the
tires. Old cars, horse carts, and pedestrians came into view, along with
whitewashed stores selling gold and jewelry. The streets narrowed into barely a
single lane.
* * *
Tripoli's Target is now available on Amazon.
Here’s the link:
(A P.S. from Marilyn--this was a most true-to-life peek at what is going on right now! Chilling and makes you want to keep right on reading until the end. I gave it 5 Stars on Amazon.)
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