White Rogue Blog Tour
About the
Book:
Cold War era biological experiments are resurrected and after
Boston experiences a seemingly inexplicable bio-terrorist attack, the Center
for Disease Control’s Dr. Davie Richards and Federal Bureau of Investigation
Special Agent Paula Mushari once again join forces to uncover who is behind it.
An obscure reference to a Dresden project found amid crash site evidence marks
them both for execution. Paula and Dave are forced to leave Boston in the
middle of the night and head to Washington, D.C.,where they soon find that
anyone they contact also becomes the target of assassins. When the daughter of
the CDC’s director is taken hostage, Dave and Paula come face to face with an
evil that forces them to question the very nature of duty and service to
country. With the help of one man, they learn the true meaning of dark
operatives while they desperately try to stop another bio-attack from
happening.
Purchase your copy at AMAZON
Discuss this book in our PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads by clicking HERE.
My Review
Dr. Dave Richards works for the Center for Disease Control. His job had taken him all over the world fighting bio-terrorism. His latest case has him puzzled. It is dealing with MRSA. However he can not figure out how the victim contracted MRSA. Luckily for Dave he has a secret weapon to help him. Her name is Special Agent Paula Mushari.
I did like this book. The subject matter is a scary one. More scary than some of the horror books I have read. However I did not feel the intensity levels spike high. I wanted to feel like I was sitting on the edge of my seat the whole time and this did not happen. The action was mild. On the other hand, I did like Dave and Paula. They share a good working relationship. With all of the numerous authors involved in the writing of this book, I thought they all did a good job. I could not tell where one left off and the next one picked up.
First Chapter:
There was a chill in
the morning air. A marine layer had moved into the Bay Area of San
Francisco, creating a soft mist off in the distance as Anna looked up the
street. Anna Wheat was late to her job at one of the downtown branches of
Bank of America. She so wanted to be on time that she wished she could
just jog the rest of the way, but her three-inch heels made that idea more
comical than practical. She had been a teller for the last two years and
had been in line for a promotion, but like most things in the last few days, it
had stalled. Anna knew it wasn’t just her bosses were who
preoccupied. It seemed as though everyone in the country was distracted
with the Cuban Missile Crisis. Coworkers chatted about the evening news
instead of last weekend’s football games. Married friends told her of
their concerns for their kids. And she too felt on edge from the constant news
bulletins that came across the radio and filled the morning and evening TV news
reports. Anna just wanted to concentrate on her work, start her new job,
and be preoccupied with something positive.
She knew the bank’s
human resources division in Los Angeles was waiting for the paperwork to
expedite the change in her employee status from Grade 1 to Grade 3. Anna
had done an amazing job that she jumped a pay grade, something that barely had
been achieved in the bank’s history and even more rarely by a woman. The
bank’s manager, John Kiley, often cited Annie’s accomplishments to other
employees, saying that hard work made anything possible and they should all
reach for the stars. He was fascinated with the NASA astronauts, and the
Space Race with the Soviet Union inspired his language. He would remind
any employee that would listen that Americans didn’t like settling for
anything, and setting goals was the surest way to focus a nation’s, or a
company’s, energies. President John F. Kennedy had set a goal for the
country back in 1961, he would remind his staffers, and soon after, on May 5th,
Alan Shepherd became the first American in space. The Soviets beat us
there, but we were catching up, Mr. Kiley would say.
Mr. Kiley’s
cheerleading and holding up Anna’s promotion as an example didn’t go over well
with other employees, especially other women. Anna was very young,
attractive, and ambitious. And while she liked the attention she earned
for her work, she hated the unpleasant glances from the other young tellers and
the ashen-haired head teller with the droopy eyelids. Some of the young
women would whisper despairingly behind her back, lewd suggestions on how she
had moved up the corporate ladder. Anna tried to ignore them and do her
job. She wasn’t going to let them have the satisfaction of knowing they
upset her.
That morning, as she
walked along the street, Anna passed a newsstand that featured papers
emblazoned with warnings about the Cuban Missile Crisis. There was a
palpable fear in the fear in the city and across the country that the missiles
placed in Cuba by the Soviet Union and now aimed at the United States would
lead to nuclear war, if not by intent, by some accident or miscommunication.
Anna’s sister in Virginia was so panicked about it that she packed up her kids
and drove across the country to Monterrey, California, in order to live with
their mother and father until the crisis ended. Anna’s personality was the
opposite of her sister’s. In fact, it was her cool demeanor that made her a
perfect fit for the banking world. She always managed to stay calm no matter
how upset a customer was.
She passed a TV
store as she headed up to California: one of San Francisco’s steeply inclined
streets. The brisk morning walks kept her quite fit, but this morning, she
didn’t seem to have the same vigor she usually had. It had been difficult
to get out of bed, and she had to skip breakfast because she was running late.
No food, no coffee—that was the problem, Anna thought. She really wanted to
push past the fatigue and be on time for work. She believed punctuality
was important, especially if she wanted the men she worked with to take her
seriously.
Anna was determined
to be the first woman to become bank manager at her branch. She wasn’t like all
her high school friends, who also were working, but whose long-term goals were
marriage, a house, and kids. She wanted those things too, but she knew
she wanted something more.
Anna looked in at an
appliance store window as she passed by, and all the TV screens displayed news
coverage of President Kennedy in a press conference. The president looked tired
and unusually grim. She had been a Richard Nixon supporter and felt he would have
been better at handling such a dangerous confrontation with the Soviet Union.
Anna continued walking, reached the top of the street, and had to stop to catch
her breath. That’s unusual, she thought, and then noticed her hands
trembling. She remembered there was a donut shop near the bank, and she planned
to stop in there and get a coffee and something to eat.
She stopped
again. There was something more ominous going on than low blood
sugar. She wiped her forehead. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. She
was perspiring. She tried to catch her breath but started coughing up thick,
bloody mucous. A passerby showed concern. She held up her hand to signal that
she was fine.
Anna straightened up
and made her way another half a block to her Bank of America branch. She
reached for the door, but severe vertigo prevented her from grasping the
handle. Her legs became wobbly, and she fell in a heap in the doorway.
Mr. Kiley came
running out to her. “Anna. Anna. Can you hear me?”
She didn’t answer.
Mr. Kiley asked the
other employees who had gathered around to stay with Anna as he rushed back
into the bank to phone for an ambulance. Anna just lay on the sidewalk,
semiconscious, vision blurred.
About the
Authors:
DR. DAVID FETT, a board certified ophthalmologist, received his
BS and Masters from MIT before earning his MD from Dartmouth Medical School. He
now runs a private practice in Los Angeles and serves as an assistant clinical
professor at UCLA School of Medicine. He lives in the Los Angeles area with his
wife, Randi, and their four children.
STEPHEN LANGFORD is a veteran writer/producer of over 150 hours
of primetime television. He has also ventured into screenwriting and fiction.
He lives in the Los Angeles area with his wife, Sandy, and their two daughters.
CONNIE MALCOLM is a recovering journalist who worked on The
Globe and Mail in Toronto. She has worked previously on ten books of nonfiction
authored by her husband, Andrew. She lives in the Los Angeles area with her
husband and the youngest of their three sons.
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