“She didn't want soft and gentle. She needed his rough possession, claiming her, branding her, taking her in a firestorm of heat and flame that would end the world around them, leaving them n...”
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About the Author Nelson DeMille is also the author of Night Fall, Up Country, The Lion's Game, Plum Island, The Charm School, Word of Honor, The Talbot Odyssey, Cathedral, and Bythe Rivers of Babylon. He lives on Long Island, New York. Product Description Welcome to the Custer Hill Club--an informal men's club set in a luxurious Adirondack hunting lodge whose members include some of America's most powerful business leaders, military men, and government officials. Ostensibly, the club is a place to gather with old friends, hunt, eat, drink, and talk off-the-record about war, life, death, and politics. But one Fall weekend, the Executive Board of the Custer Hill Club gathers to talk about the tragedy of 9/11 and what America must do to retaliate. Their plan is finalized and set into motion.That same weekend, a member of the Federal Anti-Terrorist Task Force is reported missing. His body is soon discovered in the woods near the Custer Hill Club's game reserve. The death appears to be a hunting accident, and that's how the local police first report it, but Detective John Corey has his doubts. As he digs deeper, he begins to unravel a plot involving the Custer Hill Club, a top-secret plan known only by its code name: Wild Fire. Racing against the clock, Detective Corey and his wife, FBI agent Kate Mayfield, find they are the only people in a position to stop the button from being pushed and chaos from being unleashed. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Wild FireBy Nelson DeMilleHachette AudioCopyright © 2006Nelson DeMilleAll right reserved.ISBN: 9781594836060Chapter One I'm John Corey, former NYPD homicide detective, wounded in the line of duty, retired on three-quarter disability (which is just a number for pay purposes; about 98 percent of me still functions), and now working as a special contract agent for the Federal Anti-Terrorist Task Force. The guy in the cubicle facing me, Harry Muller, asked, "You ever hear of the Custer Hill Club?" "No. Why?" "That's where I'm going this weekend." "Have a good time," I said. "They're a bunch of rich, right-wing loonies who have this hunting lodge upstate." "Don't bring me any venison, Harry. No dead birds, either." I got up from my desk and walked to the coffee bar. On the wall above the coffee urns were Justice Department Wanted Posters, featuring mostly Muslim gentlemen, including the number one scumbag, Osama bin Laden. Also included in the nearly two dozen posters was a Libyan named Asad Khalil, a.k.a. The Lion. I didn't need to memorize this man's photo; I knew his face as well as my own, though I'd never formally met him. My brief association with Mr. Khalil occurred about two years ago when I was stalking him, and as it turned out, he was stalking me. He escaped, and I got away with a grazing wound; and, as the Arabs would probably say, "It is destined that we meet again to settle our fates." I look forward to that. I drained the dregs of the coffee into a Styrofoam cup and scanned a copy of the New York Times lying on the counter. The headline for today, Friday, October 11, 2002, read: CONGRESS AUTHORIZES BUSH TO USE FORCE AGAINST IRAQ, CREATING A BROAD MANDATE. A subheading read: U.S. Has a Plan to Occupy Iraq, Officials Report. It appeared that war was a foregone conclusion, and so was the victory. Therefore, it was a good idea to have an occupation plan. I wondered if anyone in Iraq knew about this. I took my coffee back to my desk, turned on my computer, and read through some internal memos. We are now a mostly paperless organization, and I actually miss initialing memos. I had an urge to initial my computer screen with a grease pencil, but I settled for the electronic equivalent. If I ran this organization, all memos would be on an Etch A Sketch. I glanced at my watch. It was 4:30 P.M., and my colleagues on the 26th floor of 26 Federal Plaza were dwindling fast. My colleagues, I should explain, are, like me, members of
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