Kindle Edition Download to your Nook (eBook) Amazon Amazon.co.uk Category:  Action/Thriller Publisher: Hetman Publishing ISBN-10:  0956159273 Type: Fiction Pages: 386 Copyright: 2 Sep 2010 ISBN-13: 9780956159274 Abduction…Assassination…Al-Qaeda…Aidan Snow Returns The second Aidan Snow SAS Thriller Former SAS trooper Aidan Snow returns in the thrilling follow up to the Kindle bestseller 'Hetman'. Now an MI6 operative, Snow must locate & rescue an old SAS colleague before an Al-Qaeda cell can carry out acts of unprecedented horror. But who is covertly funding these new attacks and why? Abduction Veteran SAS trooper, Paddy Fox has lost his job, his wife and his temper. Whilst bitterly job hunting, Fox witnesses a car crash and finds himself rescuing a kidnapped Saudi Royal. Persuaded by MI6 to accept a job as security adviser in Saudi Arabia, Fox travels to Riyadh. Assassination In Ukraine, a director of the Belarusian KGB is gunned down whilst trying to pass shocking intelligence to his counterpart in the Ukrainian SBU. Intelligence which sets out plans to commit international acts of terror. Al-Qaeda In Saudi Arabia an entire British Trade mission is taken hostage by a new, highly trained group aligned to Al-Qaeda. An International Conspiracy Former SAS Trooper turned MI6 operative, Aidan Snow is caught in a maelstrom involving East, West and Middle East which endangers the world's supply of oil. Excerpt PROLOGUE. Harley Street, London, England Aidan Snow sat on the examination table wearing only a pair of black boxer shorts. Dr Durrani poked Snow’s left leg with a gloved index finger, his large bright eyes focusing intently. “Hm. The incision seems to have healed nicely; the reduction in scar tissue is what we would have hoped for.” Turning his attention to the right leg, Durrani continued. “I’m not as happy with this one though, but then you did leave it rather a long time before coming to see me.” Snow nodded. It had not been his idea to visit the doctor, but a direct command from Jack Patchem, his handler at SIS. Patchem’s view was that no undercover operative could ‘blend in’ if he was riddled with scars. Snow saw no reason to complain. “Now the shoulder. Hm. If you would just raise your arm for me, a-ha that will do fine. Any pain at all? Any discomfort?” “No.” “None?” “None.” Snow lied, he got the occasional twinge from all his old injuries, especially those caused by bullets, but letting the SIS contracted doctor know that would not help with his operational status. Snow was fit, above averagely so even by army standards, but by the ripe old age of thirty six had had one leg crushed in a car crash and the other punctured with a round from an AK74. This was in addition to a recent bullet to the right shoulder. Ten years separated the first and second set of injuries, but they had been caused by the same ruthless former Spetsnaz member. The first injury had led to Snow prematurely leaving the SAS and the second set had caused him to be recruited by Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) or as it was more widely but inaccurately known ‘MI6’. After rehabilitation of his injuries and a refresher course in the Welsh Mountains, competing against the newest SAS Selection hopefuls, he had been passed fit for service. “Medical over. You can get dressed now.” Durrani walked to the sink, removed his gloves and unnecessarily washed his hands. He straightened his blood red, bow tie. “How’s Jack these days?” The question took Snow by surprise. “I’m sorry, Jack who?” “Good, good just checking - ‘Loose lips sink ships’ - as they used to say.” “They also make for very bad Saxophonists.” Snow replied as he quickly dressed. “What? Oh, very good. Mind if I use that one?” “Not at all.” “Thank you.” Durrani smiled and opened the door. “Well all being ‘well’, I’ll see you this time next year. Good bye.” Snow knew better than to shake the doctor’s hand. For a plastic surgeon, Durrani had a strange phobia of ‘personal contact’. Snow exited Durrani’s examination room and couldn’t help but glance at the pretty receptionist, dressed in her pure white uniform; he could make out the line of a black bra beneath. She smiled at him, as he self-consciously looked away and left the building. Harley Street was busy with lunchtime traffic, business people and a few lost tourists being given directions by a pair of Metropolitan Police Officers. Snow headed north towards Regent’s Park and the nearest tube station, he had a meeting with Patchem at their Vauxhall Cross headquarters. Snow cared little for London, but living there was a necessity. London was too noisy and too scruffy, especially compared to some other capital cities. But not Paris. Snow remembered his friend Arnaud, half French and always defending the homeland of his mother. Arnaud had argued that Paris was the ‘capital of Europe’ with its grand architecture. Snow had retorted that the ‘grand architecture’ did not make up for the pavements littered with dog shit and the stench of cheap cigarettes. He still blamed himself for what had happened. The events of eighteen months before, in Ukraine, had hit him harder than he had thought possible. Snow’s mental scars too had been ‘cosmetically repaired’. Involuntarily he touched his shoulder and felt for the bullet wound, now almost invisible but still aching. Snow had tried to save the life of a friend and failed. A noise from behind broke his train of thought. A scream. Snow turned. A figure was standing outside Durrani’s building, Middle Eastern or Asian. A voice inside his head tried to tell him something. Snow retraced his steps back towards the doctor’s surgery, his eyes on the entrance. Another scream. Snow broke into a jog. Two men left the building in a hurry; one had his face obscured by bandages. They joined the first, who had now moved from the building, and was holding open the door to a waiting Ford Mondeo. There was an object in the hand of the last man to exit the surgery, a handgun. The gunman looked directly at Snow, who was still running towards him, and pulled the trigger. There was a ‘thud’ as a suppressed 9mm round left the weapon and raced towards the SIS operative. Snow instinctively dived left, down the basement steps of the nearest building, crashing into several bins. A car door slammed. Winded, Snow raised his head. The Mondeo was now ‘four up’ and pulling away south into traffic. Snow sprinted to the surgery, straining his eyes to see the registration number of the Ford. He had a decision to make, follow the X-Rays or check the building. Snow took the steps up, two at a time. The door to the communal hall was open, as was that to the surgery. He hoped beyond hope that he would not find what he did. The receptionist lay sprawled back on her chair, her dress had been ripped open to expose her breasts. There was a neat bullet hole in her forehead and an explosion of blood on the cream wall behind. Snow swore, fury rising within. He kicked open the doctor’s door and found that Durrani had also been executed. Lying at an acute angle across his desk, he had been double tapped in the chest then shot once through the skull for good measure. In a flash, Snow was back out on the street, mobile phone to his ear as he waited for the emergency service to connect him. There was a loud honking from further up the street. The Mondeo was still there, caught up at the traffic lights at New Cavendish Street. Snow had to reach it. He ran faster than before, switching his phone to video capture mode. Snow heard raised voices from behind, he turned. The two Metropolitan Police Officers. One saw the open door and went up to investigate, the other followed Snow. “Excuse me sir….Sir Excuse me.” The officer shouted. Snow continued to intercept the car, the Policeman quickened his pace, one hand on helmet in what looked like a scene from the ‘keystone cops’. Snow drew level with the Mondeo and looked in. Four men, Middle Eastern. The one with the bandages was now removing them, another held a handgun. As Snow aimed his camera phone at them, a hand grabbed Snow’s shoulder. Snow pivoted and flung his unknown attacker to the ground, his phone dangling by its carry cord. The Police officer hit the pavement with force, his helmet spinning off into the traffic. “Security Services.” Was all Snow managed to get out, before a round zipped past his face. He fell to the pavement, the lights changed and the Mondeo moved off. Snow tried to get to his feet but was forcefully pushed flat by the second officer, who had now caught up. “Secret Intelligent Service. You’re stopping the wrong person.” The second officer attempted to place his knee on Snow’s chest. “Stay still!” “For the love of god…” Snow twisted and using his right leg swept the officer’s legs out from under him. Snow sprang to his feet. The first officer, now standing, had extended his folding truncheon and was holding it in his right hand. “Get down…down!” “Get out of the bloody way!” Snow lurched forward and ducked inside the officer’s advancing arm, he kicked the man in the back of the knee before ripping the truncheon from his hand and hurling it into the street. Snow sprinted to the end of the road and at the junction reacquired the Mondeo, fifty meters ahead on Wigmore Street, stopped this time by a taxi. He heard sirens now, from Harley Street behind him, an armed response unit arriving on the scene given the sensitive central London location. As Snow watched, the target vehicle raced off, mounting the pavement and breaking the speed limit. Snow turned and was met with a cloud of CS gas… “You…Sodding…idiots!” Hands again tried to clamp him, eyes streaming Snow fought back, kicking out at the blurred shapes. One officer went down swearing, the other landed a punch. Snow lost control completely and shoulder barged the second officer, before delivering an upper cut to his unprotected jaw. Both officers were down, hurt. “Listen to me!” Snow yelled. “There’s a kill team out there getting away. We need to call it in!” “Armed Police! Drop your weapon and lie on the floor, face down.” Snow shut his, still streaming, eyes in disbelief. He slowly placed his phone on the pavement and lay down beside it. A black tactical boot kicked the phone into the gutter. “That’s HM Government property, you’ll get a bill!” “Be quiet now, please sir.’ Gloved hands grabbed Snow’s and pulled them behind his back. His hands secured, Snow was searched before being hoisted to his feet. The tight plasticuffs bit into his wrists. The two ‘beat bobbies’ were looking none too happy. “My name is Aidan Snow, I’m an SIS operative. Call Vauxhall Cross they will confirm who I am.” “I’m sure we’ll do that at the station.” The CO19 member mocked. “Come along, please sir.” A second added. “An SIS officer is down and the shooter is getting away. Call it in!” “Move!” The friendly tone evaporated. Arriving at the secure police station, Snow was led to the front desk for processing. The duty desk officer looked up unimpressed. The CO19 officer placed a clear plastic bag on the desk. It contained the contents of Snow’s pockets, wallet and phone. “Name?” “I’m an operative for SIS. Call them; they’ll confirm who I am.” “Your name?” Snow took a deep breath, they were only doing their jobs all of them, if badly. “Aidan Snow.” “Right then, Mr Snow, if you’ll just press your fingers there for me. We’ll scan your prints.’ There was little point in resisting. Snow put his fingers on the scanner. He was not a fan of anyone having his personal information, let alone his fingerprints. The desk officer looked at the screen and frowned. “Ok we are going to put you in a holding cell until we can confirm your identity.” Snow shrugged, he had no idea what had been on the scanner screen or even which database had flagged up, but he knew either way he’d be in for a wait. “Any chance of a cup of tea?” “Sure. How do you take it, shaken not stirred?”

2011 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award (ABNA) Expert Review
2011 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award (ABNA) Expert Reviewer:

`With the world in financial turmoil and the Middle East aflame this is a timely topic for a suspense novel. COLD BLACK appeals to readers of espionage books and crime novels. Fans of this genre will find it timely and entertaining. Thrillers really aren't my cup of tea...but I loved this.'

Excellent follow-up to Hetman!
This is the follow up to the novel Hetman, which is the first of the series. It sees the return of Aiden Snow but gives us a new lead, with a nicely contrasting character to Snow's. Again, clearly researched, the plot this time revolves around oil, taking in Gulf state terrorism, Russian shenanigans, and a new assassin of a very different kind to that of the previous story. A little more involved this time with quite a bit of globe-trotting, there is much more post-soviet politics behind this tale, though to say more might give too much away.

There is also a return of a number of characters from the first book: one of the minor British players gets his chance in the limelight and I'm happy to say that they Ukrainian cast get a much bigger role this time. It seems clear that this cast is growing into a strong foundation for future stories.

Of course, for all the plot, this is principally an action thriller and as before, it doesn't let you down on that front, being well written, varied and exciting. Another fun read recommended!

A Brilliant read for fans of SAS books
Brilliant. Read this straight after Hetman. I gave that five stars and want to give this one six as the plot is much bigger. Cold Black has some of the same characters but Snow now works for MI6 (SIS) as an operative. The locations are interesting: Riyadh, Moscow, Kyiv, Minsk and Dubai. Readers of McNab and Ryan will like this as the action is realistic, fast and constant. This includes maybe the first ever action scene to feature the new Atlantis Hotel in Dubai. There is also great dialogue between characters with some humour. Five out of five.