Category: Action/Thriller Publisher: Strategic Book Group
ISBN-10: 1609764811
Type: Fiction
Pages: 214
Copyright: Sep 3, 2010
ISBN-13: 9781609764814
Broken Triangle is a powerful novel filled with plenty of Southern atmosphere and that famous "don't mess with Texas" attitude.
Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta
do. And that’s especially true in Texas!
Cole Striker, a former Navy SEAL turned
mercenary, calls it quits after a mission to
infiltrate a South American drug cartel ends in
the death of his partner. A man of action, Cole
becomes a private investigator back home in
Texas, where he takes on a high-profile case
involving three beautiful blondes. All three
women are suspected of killing an oil tycoon to
claim his estate. Can Cole trust any of them to
help solve his case?
Excerpt
May 2007
Cordoba, Argentina
The ghostly blurs of the yellow headlights from the fast moving vehicle were coming straight toward Cole Striker, who lay motionless in the middle of the pitch-dark jungle road. He could not move his legs, and his arms felt like cement plastered to the red dirt on the narrow road. With an abrupt burst of strength, he managed to roll out of the path of sudden death and into the dense thickets of the ditch adjoining the road.
Chunks of gravel flew up; clouds of flying dirt filled his eyes, ears, and nostrils in the calm night air. He heard the sounds of gravel bouncing under the vehicle as it sped away down the dark road.
Out of breath, gasping for air in the damp night, he closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, wiped the blood, dirt, and perspiration from his eyes, and lay quietly, listening to the strange sounds of birds chirping and monkeys hooting loudly that came from the dark jungles surrounding him.
The silence was broken when, off in the distance, he heard tires crunching on the dirt and rocks, the roar of an engine, and then saw the headlights as a vehicle came over a sharp rise on the jungle road, moving rapidly toward his secluded hiding place. He whispered aloud, “Aw, damn. What the hell do I do now?"
It was the unexpected change in the speed of the vehicle, screeching to a sudden halt at the crossroads and then proceeding, slowing to a near crawl that caught him by complete surprise. Suddenly, searchlights came from the front passenger side and the backseat of the slow moving black vehicle.
From the passenger seat, a voice in broken English yelled out in the darkness, "You… American Imperialist… come out and die like a man, just as your friend did. We will find you; there is no escape, we will kill you."
Almost as the man yelled, there were short bursts of automatic gunfire, and muzzle flashes coming from the passenger side of the vehicle, bullets hitting the dirt around where Striker lay.
His eyes wide and glazed, all he could see were the brilliant flashes coming from the automatic weapon. The sounds of the gunfire filled the night, echoing against the backdrop of the dark jungle. He could not determine the number of shots fired in the dark night; it was impossible to make an accurate count. It makes no difference how many rounds were fired, or if they had hand grenades. I don't have a clue as what kind of firepower they have.
Swiftly, he slunk back into the shadows; he crouched, his head spinning dizzily, his muscles paralyzed from fatigue. Taking in a deep breath, he felt his nostrils, and throat burn from the scent and taste of gunpowder. He struggled with every muscle in his body to pull himself to his feet. Brushing the dirt and grass from his hands and arms, he groaned from the agonizing pain in his legs. He stared at the blood trickling down his left arm, as hot stabbing pain shot through his body. On wobbly legs and with shaking hands, he pulled the 9mm Beretta tucked in his belt and checked the magazine. It was full.
His eyes swept through the night haze in front of him, searching the darkness surrounding the black SUV, which had turned around and was again speeding straight toward him.
The man in hiding was desperate and determined not to let the killers in the vehicle end his life. He knew that he had the advantage of being invisible in the shadows of the dense jungle. Despite the odds, he felt a sudden rush of energy.
From the dimness and silence of the dense, sticky and humid rainforest, the tall brawny figure by the name of Cole Adam Striker, hired gun, mercenary, and former Navy SEAL, slowly rose up from his hiding spot in the dark jungle. The element of surprise was gone now; it was kill or be killed.
He clicked off the safety and took careful aim; he began firing the Beretta into the black vehicle of death.
The vehicle began to fishtail and spin out of control. Apparently, one of Cole's carefully aimed bullets struck the driver. Then he heard a massive impact in the shadowed jungle, as the force of the fifteen 9mm slugs he fired proved devastating and deadly. One or more of the rounds hit the gas tank causing the dark SUV to explode and catch fire. The driver lost control, swerved, and rolled over in the jungle, the vehicle engulfed in a fiery red ball in the murky night.
As Striker moved closer to the burning vehicle, through the smoke and the dust he could see that the shooter in the passenger seat must had died instantly – thick blood covered his upper body from a slug that took off most of his head.
No screams came from the other would-be assassins; they all must have died upon impact from the hand of his deadly barrage of gunfire. Another huge explosion threw rocks, glass from the windshield and windows, hot ashes and sizzling steel from the burning vehicle, landing at his feet.
He inspected his wounds scattered over the front part of his body. Blood flowed from shrapnel nicks and scrapes coming from flying rocks and debris of the burning vehicle. Damn, that was a close call. They almost got me. I've been hurt worse than this playing football. I was lucky, this time.
The cool winds through the jungle darkness blew in Striker's face. Threads of clouds floated lazily in the sky, concealing the bright stars above him. He was the lone survivor of the deadly attack. Cole managed a sickly grimace intended for a smile, and turned his head weakly back and forth, blinking his eyes as if to clear his vision.
In the distance, he made out the blurred lines of the jungle-strewn mountains in the northwest. Breathing deeply, his lean muscled body pained from his injuries, shivering from near exhaustion, he turned, and started walking down the dark jungle road toward the Waterfalls of Iguazu, a little over six kilometers away, and his boat ride to safety.
A brief rain shower made the rode slippery. Soaked to the skin and attacked by the horizontal rain, more than once he slipped and dropped face down in the red mud actually collapsing. He traveled the distance knowing that his enemy would be searching for him. They're not finished with me yet. Frequently he looked back over his shoulder, listening for sounds of vehicles in the distance behind him.
Then just as quick as the rain started, it stopped, and the silence of the night was broken only by the wind, which swept fitfully through the rainforest.
It was just after sunrise before he reached the river, and the small fishing boat anchored a few yards from the sandy riverbank. His contact on the boat, Diego struggled to get Cole onboard on the boat. The faithful Argentine friend, took him to a small village, and with the help of friendly villagers cared for his wounds.
Children will enjoy reading and hearing about the silly antics of a puppy still learning how to be a good listener. This story is about Riley, a cute, little, rescue puppy who gets into all sorts of predicaments.
The FBI Inspector (380 pages) is a collection of 25 short fiction crime novellas involving the law enforcement services of FBI Inspector Joe Giralo along with his three government agents, Sal Velardi, Arthur Orsi and Dan Blachford.
