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.
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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.
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.