By Chris Ryan
Josh Harding is on a venture in Afghanistan to put off one in all al-Qaeda's five best executives. 3 months later he wakes up in an strange residence within the U.S. with gunshot wounds and amnesia.
Little by way of little, Josh learned that he ended up there simply because he was once on a project to catch younger men who had controlled to hack into the most important U.S. supplier of the software program that controls all electrical energy within the nation after which blackmailed provider loads of money.
Al-Qaeda is clearly very to 'talk' with those younger geniuses, so now the query is whether or not Josh while to snatch them first.
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Additional info for Blackout
All right, let’s say you do kill Bourne. ” There was in what anyone else might be termed a twinkle in the colonel’s eye, but to Halliday, who was still trying to get the measure of him, it seemed as if someone had walked over Bourne’s grave. Death had winked at him. “I know that look, Mr. Smith. I know you’re expecting the worst—a high payment. ” Karpov nodded. “You have me entirely, Mr. ” The two men laughed at the same time, but their tones were absolutely different. ” Halliday made a tent of his fingers.
It was well told that Americans overseas only wanted to speak English. “Good. ” But instead of beginning, he stared at a wall full of very bad portraits of jazz greats like Miles Davis and John Coltrane, copied, he had no doubt, from press photos. After seeing the colonel in the flesh he had begun to have second thoughts about this meeting. For one thing, he was younger than Halliday had imagined. His blond hair was thick, without the slightest wave, and cut short in the style of the Russian military.
The air was soft and cool, as yet innocent of the harsh sun that would turn the sky white in a few hours’ time. The early hour had been deliberately chosen. As expected, there was no traffic to speak of, just a young boy at the far end of the block teaching himself to ride a bicycle. A sanitation truck lumbered around the corner at the opposite end of the block, its huge brushes beginning to spin whatever dirt there might be on the nearly immaculate street into the truck’s belly. Again, the sight was utterly normal; the residents of this neighborhood all had pull with the municipal government, and they were proud of the fact that their streets were always the first to be cleaned each day.
Blackout by Chris Ryan