Callsign: King - Book 2 - Underworld (a Jack Sigler - Chess Team Novella)

By Jeremy Robinson, Sean Ellis

Unusual issues have consistently occurred within the Superstition Mountains of Arizona... weird and wonderful lighting, reviews of cave entrances that seem after which vanish, hundreds and hundreds of mysterious disappearances...and rumors of great creatures that inhabit a labyrinthine underworld. whilst a terrifying coincidence on an Arizona road results in an army exclusion sector and a cover-up of marvelous proportions, Jack Sigler-Callsign: King, box chief of the elite and ultra-secret covert Chess Team-joined through his closest good friend, archaeologist George Pierce, units out into the wilderness, motive on studying the reality. Assisted by way of a gorgeous paranormal investigator, dogged through infantrymen motive on protecting the quarantine and pursued via a continuing mythical hitman, King quickly reveals himself in a race opposed to time to avoid all out warfare with the creatures that inhabit the underworld.

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The various undulating hills have been low sufficient that he may perhaps easily force up and over, whereas the steeper ones, those who couldn’t be surmounted, have been circumvented. What he had didn't have in mind used to be that mom Nature was once now not the single strength shaping the topography. a few mile from the Bluelight facility, he noticed a tender, darkish region at once in his direction. At a distance, it gave the impression of a lake, yet as they drew nearer the air jam-packed with the stinky rotten-egg scent of sulfur dioxide, and he well-known it for what it used to be: the sludge pond for the copper processing plant.

If now not for Pierce’s presence, that used to be probably what he may have performed. yet he couldn’t take that opportunity along with his friend…his brother. He fixated at the overhead “EXIT” signal, and hastened towards it. occasionally, as sour a capsule because it was once to swallow, working away was once the best choice. five. Sokoloff spat a curse in his mom tongue as he observed his rigorously laid plans crumble. anything had spooked the objective; the damned impetuous junior Russian mobsters, so desirous to spill blood, had most likely jumped the gun.

Copeland were overly confident in his trust that the military may carry off the attack for 8 mins. in line with his nonetheless operating chronometer, purely approximately six mins had handed because the activation of the Bluelight device—six mins during which the creatures had doubtless materialized out of the mist and controlled to both discover a holiday within the perimeter or thoroughly overrun the warriors. And now, the single one who can have stopped all of it through shutting down the scan used to be useless. And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Pressure ropes snapped, or the pegs hammered into the floor to which they have been hooked up have been ripped unfastened, and all at once the tent looked as if it would fold in part. King observed what used to be approximately to ensue and shouted a caution: “Get down! ” He dropped to his knees after which half-rolled, half-fell onto his shoulder. He observed Pierce and Nina doing kind of an identical, after which the roof caved in. The heavy cloth pinned him in position love it was once weighted with sandbags. a number of glimmers of sunshine crept lower than the folds as the various squaddies stuck within the cave in struggled to get loose, yet King remained nonetheless and shouted for the others to do an identical.

Armed purely with a grainy photograph of the objective, Sokoloff had stationed himself on the reception zone of l. a. Guardia Airport, looking forward to the coming of Pierce’s airplane. King were there to boot. Sokoloff most likely can have pulled off the hit correct there, outdoors the safe terminal, however the possibility of fast catch used to be too nice. He had introduced the objective into the open and he had long gone to nice lengths to establish the ambush on the rehab health center; as keen as he was once to be performed with this one final task, he wasn’t approximately to throw ten million money away—to say not anything of his personal freedom—with an impetuous act.

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