Chapter 1
About the Author
Russell Blake lives full time on the Pacific coast of Mexico. He is the acclaimed author of the thrillers: Fatal Exchange, The Geronimo Breach, Zero Sum, The Delphi Chronicle trilogy (The Manuscript, The Tortoise and the Hare, and Phoenix Rising), King of Swords, Night of the Assassin, The Voynich Cypher, Revenge of the Assassin, Return of the Assassin, Silver Justice, JET, JET II – Betrayal, JET III – Vengeance and JET IV – Reckoning.
Non-fiction novels include the international bestseller An Angel With Fur (animal biography) and How To Sell A Gazillion eBooks (while drunk, high or incarcerated) – a joyfully vicious parody of all things writing and self-publishing related.
“Capt.” Russell enjoys writing, fishing, playing with his dogs, collecting and sampling tequila, and waging an ongoing battle against world domination by clowns.
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Excerpts from Silver Justice & JET II
Silver Justice
Manhattan. A ruthless serial killer is butchering financial industry high rollers. FBI Special Agent Silver Cassidy, the head of a task force that's on a collision course with disaster, finds herself fighting impossible odds to stop the murderer before he can kill again. Struggling to balance the hunt for a savage predator with the challenges of being a single parent, Silver finds herself thrust into a nightmare of brutality that will demand every ounce of determination she possesses to survive.
Go to Silver Justice excerpt
JET II ~ Betrayal
Twenty-eight year old Jet, the former Mossad operative from the eponymous novel JET, must battle insurmountable odds to protect those she loves in a deadly race that stretches from the heartland of Nebraska to the corridors of power in Washington, D.C., from the lurid streets of Bangkok to the deadly jungles of Laos and Myanmar. Fans of Kill Bill, The Bourne Trilogy and SALT will be delighted by this roller-coaster of action, intrigue and suspense.
Go to Jet II ~ Betrayal excerpt
From the Author
JET is a work of fiction, and any resemblance between the characters in it and real people or organizations is purely coincidental or for literary effect. That’s my way of saying I have no idea whether the Mossad or CIA run assassination squads in the real world. I guess for my sake, I better hope they don’t. Likewise, the Mossad, CIA and KGB are probably stand-up organizations where everyone is honest and hardworking. I have no reason to believe otherwise, but the story plays better if everyone, everywhere, is suspect, crooked, and basically up to no good. So that is the literary leap I make. There are probably numerous things that are not one hundred percent accurate and real-world in these pages. That’s okay. It’s not intended to be an in-depth, hundred percent accurate tome. Hopefully you’ll excuse any literary license.
Likewise, I use dollars most of the time instead of the local currencies, for two reasons. First, to save everyone the trouble of looking up conversion tables, and second, because like it or not, the dollar is the world’s reserve currency, so it’s likely that any large sums or nefarious transactions are being conducted in greenbacks.
JET uses flashbacks in the early chapters in order to convey information that is relevant later. Don’t be alarmed when it jumps around a bit – it will all make sense as you get further into the book. I promise.
JET is the first in a series that came to me as I was writing Silver Justice. I envision four to five books in the series, but possibly as few as three or as many as six – depends on the story there is to tell. I hope you enjoy this first installment as much as I enjoyed writing it.
JET is one of my favorite characters to date, a riddle wrapped in an enigma cloaked in a big helping of ass-kicking. As one of my author friends remarked when I described the high concept: “Tell me she wears black leather. I hope she wears black leather.” You’ll see where that idea took me.
Prologue
The rainy gray of the morning had grudgingly relented to a patchwork of blue peeking between the clouds. Moisture dripped from the dense vegetation onto the encroachment of asphalt, evaporating within seconds of contact. Humidity was a constant this far inland – the nation’s seat had been relocated to this position of relative safety following the hurricane that destroyed the seafront capital forty-something years before.
The bus station at the main junction was a sad affair, as were most of the nearby structures, surrendering to entropy even before the paint had dried on their shabby walls. The terminal was surrounded by a group of ramshackle booths fashioned from tarps and cast-off wood, a squalid tent city that housed vendors hawking tacky artifacts and articles of second-hand clothing.