The dashing band of mavericks Ing introduced to us in THE RANSOM OF BLACK STEALTH ONE must hunt down and destroy an even deadlier aircraft. A deadly assassination machine is loose in the Western Hemisphere, and nobody knows where it is or who it belongs to . . .
From the first pages you will be caught up in a suspenseful, romantic and gloriously improbable story in which the airships are the technical stars, while the humans provide derring-do that Indiana Jones would envy.
From the Publisher
An Iraqi garrison commander in Mosul collapses, dying in convulsions. A Kurd leader dies the same way a week later in Al Qimishli, Syria. A Sunni leader in Aleppo, Syria and a Shiite near Damascus follow suit. One by one, the opponents of Syria's Assad are biting the dust. Their killer? A nuclear-powered terminator flying high and swift, a tiny stealthy bird that carries death behind its eyes. You can't see it. You can't hear it. But it knows you. And now the bird's creator has an agenda of his own. He is bringing his killer to America and starting it off on his own enemies list. Only Ben Ullmer, an aerosystems engineer contacted by the NSA, can uncover the destroyer's design, capabilities, and maker. But first he must enlist the man who stole Black Stealth One in the battle to stop the world's most devastating aircraft.
Great for experimental aircraft, aviation, and adventure fans.
This is an excellent sci-fi story. A modern setting: Across the Middle East men are dropping dead, their brains broiled inside their skulls. US Intelligence is aware that someone, somewhere has built a hunter/killer aircraft. The assassination machine is on the loose. From the very first page you will be caught up in the hunt to destroy the BUTCHER BIRD. Very suspenseful reading!
From inside the cover: "If Hamid Kharameh had thought he was to receive only the scare of his life, now he seemed to reach a new and horrifying conclusion. He jerked his head around, then began to scan the heavens in a fruitless search, as the mouse might try to sense the descending falcon. Then, suddenly, he was running, in long bounds, heedless of the rocky footing, into the desert. Hafez Assad began to laugh.
A fluttering whirr passed somewhere above, its source unseen. It might almost have been the desert wind, but in any case it was gone in the space of two heartbeats.
When it came, the blast of ultraviolet energy from above was silent and invisible but its effects were dramatic. Kharameh, stumbling ahead, now reached both arms out, clasped his temples with both hands, took another step, then fell headlong, the long legs still driving. In moments, the man lay still.
'A head shot, somewhat to the right of center,' Clement said, coolly analytical. 'A bolt of that power, impinging for less than a second, simply destroys much of the brain inside the skull, even liquifying it.'
Assad nodded, said, 'Leave the corpse; they make the best warnings.'"