Verwandte Artikel zu The First Horseman

The First Horseman - Hardcover

Case, John

 
9780449911020: The First Horseman
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 0449911020 ISBN 13: 9780449911020
Verlag: Fawcett Books, 1998

Inhaltsangabe

The author of The Genesis Code presents a biomedical thriller about an investigative reporter who makes a shocking discovery about a deadly virus, a lethal form of influenza that killed more than fifty million people in 1918, that is making a dramatic reappearance in North Korea. 150,000 first printing. Lit Guild & Doubleday.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

John Case is the pseudonym of an award-winning investigative reporter and the author of the New York Times bestseller The Genesis Code, as well as two nonfiction books about the U.S. intelligence community. A resident of Washington, D.C., he is the proprietor of a company that specializes in international investigations for law firms and labor unions.

Aus dem Klappentext

of Revelations, the Four Horsemen herald the arrival of the Apocalypse. When the First Horseman thunders forth, pestilence will spread throughout the land.

For the First Horseman is Plague. . . .

With the highly acclaimed New York Times bestseller The Genesis Code, John Case gave us a compelling, chillingly plausible novel of suspense that readers devoured in one sitting. Now Case once again combines cutting-edge science with political intrigue in a thriller even more terrifying--a journey into a nightmare so frighteningly believable that it might just happen tomorrow.

The Spanish Flu killed forty million people worldwide in 1918. Now, with history threatening to repeat itself, a scientific expedition speeds toward a remote island in the Arctic Sea to recover strains of the lethal virus preserved under layers of ice.

For Washington Post reporter Frank Daly, it is the story of a lifetime. But his plan to join the expedition is ruined by a ferocious st

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Prologue

The Hudson Valley: November 11, 1997

Tommy was nervous. Susannah could tell, because she knew he liked to talk, and yet, he hadn't said a word for fifty miles. Not that she could blame him. She was nervous, too. And excited. And scared.

It was dusk when they got off the Taconic Parkway, switching on the
headlights as they traveled through rolling farmland, a Ralph Lauren
landscape where the houses were so perfect, you just knew they were owned by doctors and lawyers. They were "mini-estates," or enclaves with names like "Foxfield Meadows," and they didn't really grow anything except, maybe, sun-dried tomatoes and arugula.

As they passed the Omega Institute, Susannah wondered aloud--what's that? And the driver, Tommy, made a sound like a duck--kwak-kwak-kwak! So both of them laughed (a little too loud), and Susannah thought, Some kind of New Age thingie.

The thing was--what made her nervous was: the whole deal about the teeth, about pulling out the teeth. No matter how you looked at it, pulling out the teeth was creepy. It was like Nuremberg or something. So if they got caught, it wouldn't just be murder, it would be...what? Charles Manson, or something.

Not that she'd be the one to do it--she couldn't hurt a fly. That was
Vaughn's job, the teeth and the fingers. And giving the injections. He had
to do that, too, because he was the doctor. (And a good one, Tommy said.
"Vaughn's an 'Old Blue,' aren't ya, Vaughn?" Whatever that was.)

Still, you had to wonder why it was necessary to do the teeth. And the
fingers. Why not just...dump them? Or, better yet, leave 'em where they
lay.

Susannah thought about it for a while, then shrugged to herself. Solange
moves in strange ways, she thought, smiling at the in-joke. Sometimes he
did things just to be theatrical. Make a splash. Shake 'em up.

Not that it made any difference. They weren't going to get caught.
Everything had been rehearsed, from the knock on the door to the
handcuffs, and there wasn't anything they hadn't thought through.

Like the U-Haul. The U-Haul was Solange's idea, and it was brilliant
because, once they'd fixed it up, it gave Vaughn a sort of operating room
in the back. So he could do what he had to do even while they were driving
away.

And it was inconspicuous, too. Because U-Hauls were everywhere. There
wasn't anywhere in America they didn't belong. Not even here. Everybody
used them.

Her job was to get inside the house and, once there, make sure the
Bergmans couldn't get to their gun. So it was two jobs, really, and what
made everyone think she could bring it off was the fact--she wasn't
bragging, really, it was just a fact of life--the fact that she was
"cute." Cheerleader cute. And pregnant. Which made her kind of
vulnerable-looking.

And that made people trust her. Which was important. Because the Bergmans
were totally paranoid--like someone was out to kill them. Susannah smiled
at the thought. Talk about irony--hello?

But mostly it was scary and horrible, and she wished that she wasn't a
part of it, except: it had to be done. She knew it had to be done because
Solange said so, and Solange never lied. Ever.

And it wasn't going to be painful. Vaughn said they wouldn't feel a thing.
Just "a bee sting" from the needle. And that would be that.

Unless, of course, something went wrong. Like, if they had a Doberman or
something. But, no: they didn't have a dog, because if they did, Lenny
would have mentioned it. Lenny was their son, and if there was a Doberman
walking around, he'd have told them about it.

Like Marty did with the gun. Not that Marty was related to them, but he
was close. He'd said, I don't think the old fuck knows how to use it, but
he's got a .38 Special that he keeps in the vestibule--in a little table,
just under the telephone. I used to kid him about being "strapped," and
he'd say, "What are you talking about, what strap? I don't see any strap."
And the thing is, he wasn't kidding. I mean, like this guy is livin' in
another century.

Even so...what if the needle broke off, or the woman started screaming?
Everything would go real bad, fast. Like with Riff--when she was a kid,
and the car hit him. And her father tried to put him down with the .22,
but he was so nervous, he couldn't find the heart. So...he just kept
shooting.

If that happened, or something like that, there'd be blood all over the
place--and all over them. And the thing is, legally, what they were doing
was murder. Which, for someone who'd been brought up Catholic, even if she
didn't practice anymore, was about as bad as it gets.

Because killing was wrong. She knew that. No ifs, ands, or buts. Killing
someone was dead wrong--

Unless...

Unless you were a soldier. And that's exactly what they were--she and
Tommy and Vaughn, and the French guy in the back of the truck. They were
soldiers. Knights, even. Just like in the Crusades.




Susannah was thinking about the Secret War, Solange's war, her war, when
the turn signal began to click, and the truck turned down a two-lane
country road, scattering a clutch of deer that were feeding on the verge.

A battered U-Haul with Arizona tags, the truck trembled and shook as it
rattled over the washboarded lane, slowing down at every letter box, then
speeding up, then slowing down again as the driver hunted for the right
address. Finally, the truck came to a stop beside a rusting mailbox:

BERGMAN

For a long moment Tommy stared at the silvery, stick-on letters, muttering
to himself. Then he killed the headlights, backed up, shifted into Drive
and, holding his breath, entered the long driveway.

Susannah squirmed in her seat and took a deep breath. Exhaling, she made a
sort of stuttering sound, then wet her lips with her tongue.

The truck crunched slowly over the gravel toward the front porch of a
white farmhouse. There, beneath a bower of old walnut trees, Tommy killed
the engine, the passenger door opened, and Susannah climbed out.

She was, as anyone could see, pretty, young, and pregnant, with huge brown
eyes and ash-blond hair. She wore a yellow sun dress under a tattered,
gray cardigan that was much too big, and which might well have been her
father's. With a "Here goes" glance at the driver, she took a deep breath
and mounted the steps to the porch, glancing at the pots of mums on either
side.

Reaching the top of the steps, she hesitated, suddenly queasy and weak.
For a long moment she swayed in front of the door. Finally, she
knocked--ever so softly, secretly hoping that no one was home.

There was no answer at first, but she could hear the television inside,
and so she knocked again. Louder this time. And then again, almost banging
on the screen door.

Eventually, the inner door swung open, and a woman in her fifties peered
out from behind the latched screen door. "Hello?" She pronounced the word
as if it were a question.

"Hi!" Susannah said, looking sheepish and beautiful.

Martha Bergman's eyes took in the pregnancy, then drifted to the U-Haul,
where a wiry young man (the girl's husband, she supposed) gave a little
wave. The side of the truck was painted with the image of a senorita, a
Spanish lady peering coyly over the top of her fan. U-Haul liked to do
that, painting the trucks with scenes that suggested where they were from:
cowboys and lobsters and skyscrapers. Martha figured that this truck must
be from New Mexico, or someplace in...

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Verlag
Fawcett Books
Erscheinungsdatum
1998
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0449911020
ISBN 13 
9780449911020
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Auflage
1
Anzahl der Seiten
325
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Verantwortliche Person
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