title: Ground Effect
Sam Deland Crime Novel Book Four
ISBN: 978-1-62420-344-2
Author: Mike Fuller
BLURB
Sam Deland,
promoted to lieutenant and in charge of a new state police major crimes unit,
has to spread his manpower across half the state to go after the killers of a
mob wife, a teenager and the horrific murders of the innocent children of Amish
farmers. But his troubles soar to a higher level when the FBI and a Texas
Ranger descend upon him chasing terrorists into the Pennsylvania hills.
From the arid scrub of south Texas to middle Tennessee and suburban
Maryland, murderous terrorists carve a path of death and destruction on their
mission to get to the usually serene Pennsylvania Poconos and a strike against
sacred American values. Pursued by a determined Texas Ranger, who enlists the
help of Sam and his troopers, it’s a race against time and the FBI to find the
bad guys before they can kill again.
A story within a story within a story. Real characters, real drama, a
bit of humor and what makes men and women men and women. Sam has to keep it all
from falling apart around him and deal with the pressure from above, outside
and his own inner doubts. Another thrilling Sam Deland Crime Novel by the
author of Sink Rate, Rope Break and Side Slip.
EXCERPT: Ground Effect
Walid’s running shoes were almost dry. The ride from Del Rio had
gone well, so far, but when he glanced to his left, he saw Ghali’s eyelids
drooping. They’d been awake for almost two days and had more than a hundred
miles to go. The propane tanks in the bed of the stake body truck jingled when
they touched as the truck passed over bumps in the road. It was early in the
morning and, after crossing the border in the night, they found the truck where
their instructions foretold it would be. Now, on the desolate highway moving
east into the rising sun, Walid squished his toes inside the shoes and felt the
coolness of the Rio Grande’s muddy remains, wishing he could get an American
hamburger to fill his growling stomach.
In halting English Walid said, “Wake up. Do you need coffee?” The
prospect of finding anything but scrub bushes and dust in this flat near desert
seemed remote. The small town they just passed through was still waking up and
the only place to eat was crowded with vehicles and men in broad hats and
coveralls moving in and out. They had not dared to stop. The long straight road
was carrying Ghali to dreamland.
Walid rolled down the widow and let in a greater volume of cool
air. It would soon warm in the desert sun and the truck seemed to lack air
conditioning. Even the beat up cars back in Benghazi usually had working air
conditioning, when they could find petrol.
The truck hummed and jingled and Walid looked up to see the first
curve in miles just ahead. He started to look over again at the driver when the
truck drifted into the curve, but rather than follow the road to the right, it
moved over the yellow center lines.
“Bulis!” came out in
Arabic from the startled Walid as he looked straight into the front grill of a
Texas state trooper car sliding to the side to avoid smacking head on into the
truck.
~ * ~
The morning sun sent a glimmer from the gold bar on Ken’s left
shoulder. Sam felt the shafts of sunlight warming the front of his trousers and
pushing the chill away. It was going to be another beautiful day and Sam snuck
a glimpse upward to the wisps of white beginning to form in the blue sky.
“Then, by the authority vested in me, I pronounce you husband and
wife. Ken, you may kiss your bride.” The Chaplain smiled and closed his
booklet. The small group sighed collectively as the blue uniformed Air Force 2nd
lieutenant swept the beautiful black haired bride into his arms and found her
lips. Her white dress crinkled as she moved into him and the applause rose with
shouts of joy and congratulations filling the air.
Sam couldn’t stop the big fat tear that ran out of his right eye
and rolled into plain sight down his cheek. His nose was running too. His son
was married and he was happy and sad at the same time.
“Hey, boss, you got a hankie?” Sgt. Walter Stanislaus Ozliewski,
Sr. looked very uncomfortable in his state police uniform. Pieces of Ozzie’s
6’3”, 235 pound frame seemed ready to exit the fabric at several places. The
brand new sergeant stripes on his grey sleeve covered nicely the spot where
just last week corporal stripes were in place.
Sam reached into his dress uniform jacket and came out with two
white handkerchiefs and handed one to Ozzie, “Here, I need one too. I guess you
never get too old to cry.”
“Weddings and funerals. Every time.” Ozzie slipped his Smokey Bear
hat up and mopped his forehead too.
Second Lieutenant Ken Deland and his new wife, the former Grace
Echaverria, made their way from the wisteria covered Eisenhower Arch toward the
banquet hall of Varnum Military Academy just off the Main Line of suburban
Philadelphia. The two lines of guests wore state and local police uniforms and
were mixed in with Army and Marine dress blues. Civilians in suits and dresses
joined in and applauded the couple.
State police Lieutenant Sam Deland took off his cap and watched
the couple walk up the slight hill. He put out his arm and took the baby from
Eileen and left her the hat. He hated the thing. The hat, not the baby. The
dark haired eighteen-month old boy was asleep, for now. Sam snugged him into
his shoulder and took his wife’s hand.
“Now we can feed Ozzie. He was making noises.” Sam grinned and
Eileen Matthews Deland walked beside her husband, leaning her head into his
unoccupied shoulder. His own gleaming silver lieutenant’s bar was there above
her dark hair. She had on a dark blue silk suit with flared pants and shoes
that had a heel. Unusual for her. She wore soft leather cowgirl boots most of
the time but sacrificed for this day.
“God, she’s beautiful. Her mom too. They’re gonna make great
grandbabies,” Eileen said.
Sam had heard that before. A little over four years ago when Ken
and Grace met. How they managed to wait until Ken graduated from the Air Force
Academy was a wonder. But they had and now they were soon off to Texas for his
flight training.
Ozzie was just ahead walking with his whole tribe. Marie and Ozzie
had six kids and if she hadn’t lost the last one…
Grace’s mom, Katrina, was a trim, blonde forty-five year old that
looked like a movie star. She managed to slide up next to Trooper Calvin
Livingston as they moved along the sidewalk. Calvin wore one stripe on his
uniform sleeve of a Senior Trooper. Calvin was tall and trim and just one of
several black faces in the small crowd. He also was still single and very happy
about that.
Katrina was too, happy and single. She met Calvin at the rehearsal
dinner and managed to keep him out much later than was good for either of them.
Katrina sold real estate in Florida and was enjoying the crisp Pennsylvania
air. It was hotter than blazes in Sarasota this first week of June.
“Later?” She said quietly as she passed Calvin. He gave her his
million dollar smile and she felt that certain tingle in just the right place.
~ * ~
Not many were left. The heaps of black and grey tailings discarded
and piled high from the now closed mines got picked over and hauled off. New
technology producing power from the bits of coal left between the rocks and
dirt. “Lemme see.” Normy Hansen reached out and tried to take the cheap
binoculars from Darrell sitting next to him atop the pile.
“Wait, she went back in,” Darrell Pickford said and lowered the
field glasses from his eyes and rubbed them with his dirty hand. “She’ll leave
now.”
Normy leaned forward and pulled the round tin of “smokeless
tobacco” from the hip pocket of his jeans. The tin would be replaced with
another as soon as it was emptied and the succession of the habit had worn a
lighter blue ring on the outside of the pocket.
“Kay.” Normy was big and fat with stringy yellow hair and pimples.
The stench from the snuff only cut his sweat smell slightly and Darrell shifted
a few inches away to a kneeling position and brought the glasses up again.
Darrell could see the woman come out of the nice house in the
subdivision below them and slide into her already running BMW. Normy watched
but had to squint a bit to even see the car from the distance.
“Give it a while, then we’ll go down and see,” Darrell said.
Normy peeled off his flannel shirt. The sun was up over the hills
that ringed this part of Wilkes Barre. The roar of trucks on I-81 was echoing
off the rocky slopes and the piles of tailings in the creases between them and
the six-inch H&R .22 pistol was digging into his ample backside.
~ * ~
Ghali tried hard to keep the old truck from rolling onto its side
and scatter them and the propane tanks into the ditch. The noise of the
screaming tires mixed with the music of the bottles of explosive gas bashing
into each other as the truck rocked back onto its wheels and went across the
road pointed eastbound.
This was the first big thing Ghali had ever driven. A Mercedes van
had been the only other commercial sized vehicle and that was just for a short
run from Rabat into the deserts of Morocco to deliver it to the training camp.
And the Mercedes had power steering and stability control. He’d been selected
for this task because of his language abilities, not his driving skill and it
almost cost them an early defeat. But now he had the brake lights of the police
car in his rear view mirror and they would have to deal with it before the
sixty-seven pounds of Semtex was discovered in the backpacks nestled between
the propane tanks.
“Get ready, the police are turning after us,” Ghali said between
gasps of air. Walid spun in the seat and tried to look out of the back window
and between the tanks. Even though the sun was coming up now he could still see
the headlights of the patrol car center up on the road and come after them.
They were supposed to drive at the speed limit and stop at all the stop signs
to avoid drawing attention to themselves. The plans for dealing with the police
had been minimal. Stay invisible. Avoid.
The mission is primary, evasion and escape secondary. Walid did not intend
to martyr himself today. That was for the dirt Arabs with nothing but angry
dreams in their heads.
The big heavy wrench clipped to the inside of the driver door was
meant to twist open reluctant valves but was the only weapon they had. Ghali
jerked it free from its metal clasps and handed it across to Walid.
“They are stopping us,” Ghali said as the overhead flashers lit
up. “As we have trained.”
AUTHOR BIO
After
writing professional documents for many years, Mike has finally devoted time to
his true passion, writing fiction where the story and characters come alive in
the reader’s mind. While his days were filled with authoring hundreds of
detailed crime reports, arrest affidavits, search warrants and grand jury
presentments, he took some of his own time and devoured books by the dozens.
Reading not only was a rewarding diversion, it provided him with the added
education he needed to function at a high level in his profession.
This has
led to the creation of Mike’s crime/suspense/detective novels Sink Rate, Rope Break and Side Slip, the
first three in the Sam Deland Crime Novel series. All are expected to be
published in 2015 and 2016 by Rogue Phoenix Press
Mike writes
with the real life experience that many years of law enforcement shaped and
influenced. The stories may be fiction but are based on how things happen in
the real world. His books are honest and
captivating novels written with a unique voice that will both chill and charm.
Mike is a
veteran police detective. He did it all from rookie patrolman to Senior Special
Agent. His life has been enriched by a wonderful marriage, parenting, work,
flying, sailing and good books. Mike is a lifelong outdoorsman, an experienced
tactical firearms instructor, champion sailplane pilot and the captain of his
own sailboat. All of these skills have made his novels vivid, exciting and
real. Now retired after a career with three law enforcement agencies, Mike
enjoys winters writing in Naples, Florida and summers sailing, writing and
researching the next novel at his rural Pennsylvania home.
On facebook: http://www.facebook.com/mikefullerauthor
On Twitter: @mikefullerwrite
Thanks for hosting GROUND EFFECT on this stop of the blog tour.
ReplyDeleteWelcome to the Angel's blog. I hope you have a great tour. Allana Angel
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