Andrew Gross 3-Book Thriller Collection 2: 15 Seconds, Killing Hour, The Blue Zone
Three heart-stopping thrillers from the New York Times bestselling author of 15 Seconds. Perfect for fans of James Patterson and Harlan Coben.THE BLUE ZONE: Arrested for racketeering, Ben Raab must take his family into America’s Witness Protection Programme. His eldest daughter, Kate, chooses to stay on the outside.But the Programme's perfect success rate is about to come to a shocking end. A case agent is tortured to death and Ben vanishes. The one person who might be able to find him is Kate.Pursued by killers, Kate is plunged into a terrifying existence for which nothing has prepared her. Most people would call it certain death. The FBI calls it the Blue Zone.KILLING HOUR: Dr. Jay Erlich’s life is perfect: a lovely family; a successful career. But one call changes everything. His nephew, Evan, has killed himself and Jay’s brother is in despair.Jay is soon convinced Evan’s death was no suicide. The police want him to leave the matter alone but he is determined to dig deeper. And soon, Jay finds himself caught up in a world of dangerous secrets and ruthless killers…15 SECONDS: Dr Henry Steadman has it all: a booming business, a daughter he loves, and plenty of time to enjoy life. But while visiting upstate Florida, a police-stop ends in the shooting of a local cop – with Henry as the prime suspect.Framed for a second murder, this time of a close friend, Henry goes on the run. But this is not just a set-up, it’s more personal. Henry’s nightmare is complete when his daughter is kidnapped. Suddenly, survival is not enough: he must save his daughter. Everything has been taken away from him – but now, Henry has nothing left to lose…
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ANDREW GROSS
3-BOOK THRILLER COLLECTIONThe Blue Zone, Killing Hour, 15 Seconds
Contents
ANDREW GROSS
The Blue Zone
CONTENTS
The manual of WITSEC, the U.S. Marshals agency that oversees the Witness Protection Program, describes three stages of agency involvement.
The Red Zone—when a subject is held in protective custody, while in prison or on trial.
The Green Zone—when that subject, along with his or her family, has been placed in a new identity and location and is living securely in that identity, known only to his WITSEC case agent.
And the Blue Zone—the state most feared, when there is suspicion that a subject’s new identity has been penetrated or blown. When he or she is unaccounted for, is out of contact with the case agent, or has fled the safety of the program. When there is no official knowledge of whether that person is dead or alive.
It took just minutes for Dr. Emil Varga to reach the old man’s room. He had been in a deep sleep, dreaming of a woman from his days at the university a lifetime ago, but at the sound of the servant’s frantic knocking he quickly threw his wool jacket over his nightshirt and grabbed his bag.
“Please, Doctor,” she said, running upstairs ahead of him, “come quick!”
Varga knew the way. He had been staying in the hacienda for weeks. In fact, the stubborn, unyielding man who had held off death for so long was his only patient these days. Sometimes Varga mused over a brandy at night that his loyal service had hastened his departure from a lengthy and distinguished career.
Was it finally over …?
The doctor paused at the bedroom door. The room was dark, fetid; the arched, shuttered windows held back the onset of dawn. The smell told him all he needed to know. That and the old man’s chest—silent for the first time in weeks. His mouth was open, his head tilted slightly on the pillow. A trickle of yellow drool clotted on his lips.
Slowly Varga stepped up to the large mahogany bed and put his bag on the table. No need for instruments now. In life his patient had been a bull of a man. Varga thought of all the violence he had caused. But now the sharp Indian cheekbones were shrunken and pale. There was something about it that the doctor thought fitting. How could someone who had caused such fear and misery in his life look so frail and withered now?
Varga heard voices from down the hall, shattering the calm of the dawn. Bobi, the old man’s youngest son, ran into the room, still in his bedclothes. He stopped immediately and fixed on the lifeless shape, his eyes wide.
“Is he dead?”
The doctor nodded. “He finally gave up his grip on life. For eighty years he had it by the balls.”
Bobi’s wife, Marguerite, who was carrying the old man’s third grandchild, began to weep in the doorway. The son crept cautiously over to the bed, as if advancing on a slumbering mountain lion that at any moment might spring up in attack. He knelt down and brushed the old man’s face, his tightened, withered cheeks. Then he took his father’s hand, which even now was rough and coarse as a laborer’s hand, and gently kissed it on the knuckles.
“Todas apuestas se terminaron, Papa,” he whispered, gazing into the old man’s deadened eyes.
All bets are off, Father.
Then Bobi rose and nodded. “Thank you, Doctor, for all you’ve done. I’ll make sure word gets to my brothers.”
