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The Recruit

E-BookEPUBePub WasserzeichenE-Book
432 Seiten
Englisch
Corvuserschienen am07.07.2022Main
'Superbly realised. You'll go a long way before you find a better-written thriller this year' THE TIMES Breathtaking . . . filled with twists and turns'JEFFERY DEAVER *Featured on The Times' Best Summer Reading of 2022* *Featured on Crimereads' Most Anticipated Crime Books of 2022!* ______________ A small town. A deadly secret. A race against an invisible killer . . . Southern California, 1987. Rancho Santa Elena might look like paradise, but a series of violent hate crimes are disturbing the peace. When Detective Benjamin Wade starts investigating, it becomes clear that the locals are hiding a secret - one they'll die to protect. With forensic expert Natasha Betencourt at his side, Ben uncovers a mysterious gang of youths involved in the town's growing white power movement. What he doesn't know is that they are part of something much bigger - a silent organisation of terror who are luring young men in using new technology. Ben zeroes in on the gang's freshest young recruit, hoping he will lead him to the mastermind of the operation. But as he digs deeper, he is forced to confront uncomfortable truths about himself and his community. And as Ben comes closer to discovering the truth, the killer is drawing closer to Ben. . . * * * Praise for Alan Drew 'Everything a great thriller should be' LEE CHILD 'A vivid portrait of a seedy world' GRAHAM MOORE 'Revises the old detective story and turns it in several fascinating directions' COLUM MCCANN 'A clarity and wisdom reminiscent of Michael Connelly's Harry Bosch' DAILY MAIL 'Smart, chilling, and impossible to put down' WILLIAM LANDAY 'The sort of magically absorbing novel that keeps you turning the pages and checking the locks on the door' LAUREN GRODSTEIN

Alan Drew is the author of Shadow Man, a literary thriller. His critically acclaimed debut novel, Gardens of Water, has been translated into ten languages and published in nearly two-dozen countries. He is a graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop, where he was awarded a Teaching/Writing Fellowship. An Associate Professor of English at Villanova University where he directs the creative writing program, he lives near Philadelphia with his wife and two children. Learn more about his books at www.alan-drew.com.mehr
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Klappentext'Superbly realised. You'll go a long way before you find a better-written thriller this year' THE TIMES Breathtaking . . . filled with twists and turns'JEFFERY DEAVER *Featured on The Times' Best Summer Reading of 2022* *Featured on Crimereads' Most Anticipated Crime Books of 2022!* ______________ A small town. A deadly secret. A race against an invisible killer . . . Southern California, 1987. Rancho Santa Elena might look like paradise, but a series of violent hate crimes are disturbing the peace. When Detective Benjamin Wade starts investigating, it becomes clear that the locals are hiding a secret - one they'll die to protect. With forensic expert Natasha Betencourt at his side, Ben uncovers a mysterious gang of youths involved in the town's growing white power movement. What he doesn't know is that they are part of something much bigger - a silent organisation of terror who are luring young men in using new technology. Ben zeroes in on the gang's freshest young recruit, hoping he will lead him to the mastermind of the operation. But as he digs deeper, he is forced to confront uncomfortable truths about himself and his community. And as Ben comes closer to discovering the truth, the killer is drawing closer to Ben. . . * * * Praise for Alan Drew 'Everything a great thriller should be' LEE CHILD 'A vivid portrait of a seedy world' GRAHAM MOORE 'Revises the old detective story and turns it in several fascinating directions' COLUM MCCANN 'A clarity and wisdom reminiscent of Michael Connelly's Harry Bosch' DAILY MAIL 'Smart, chilling, and impossible to put down' WILLIAM LANDAY 'The sort of magically absorbing novel that keeps you turning the pages and checking the locks on the door' LAUREN GRODSTEIN

Alan Drew is the author of Shadow Man, a literary thriller. His critically acclaimed debut novel, Gardens of Water, has been translated into ten languages and published in nearly two-dozen countries. He is a graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop, where he was awarded a Teaching/Writing Fellowship. An Associate Professor of English at Villanova University where he directs the creative writing program, he lives near Philadelphia with his wife and two children. Learn more about his books at www.alan-drew.com.
Details
Weitere ISBN/GTIN9781786493736
ProduktartE-Book
EinbandartE-Book
FormatEPUB
Format HinweisePub Wasserzeichen
FormatE101
Verlag
Erscheinungsjahr2022
Erscheinungsdatum07.07.2022
AuflageMain
Seiten432 Seiten
SpracheEnglisch
Dateigrösse1767 Kbytes
Artikel-Nr.11927099
Rubriken
Genre9201

Inhalt/Kritik

Leseprobe

1985
The Ten Lost Tribes

The shades on the windows of the Citation II jet had been sealed shut. He knew enough not to try to open them. Until they held dominion over the state and federal governments, until they were on the edge of The Tribulation, the culmination of their work, secrecy was essential. He ran his finger along the caulking that glued the edge of the shade to the interior panel of the plane, the summer sun illuminating the opaque plastic. He knew, of course, as they all did, the location of many of the churches around the country, but a few of them, the last strongholds for when the war broke out, were kept off the map. Everyone knew these strongholds existed, but they were like mythical places, like the Nine Worlds of Norse mythology, and you never saw them until you were ordained.

Still, guessing the cruising speed of the plane, around 374 knots, he could calculate that they were about four hundred miles into the flight. Since the sun was on his right, he figured they were flying northeast, probably crossing over the Great Basin. He had flown his own four-seater prop plane out to the high Mojave Desert this morning-nothing like this plane, nothing like the small fleet of private jets The Reverend owned-and landed at an airstrip grated out of a dried-up lake bed. The name of the airstrip didn t matter-it was best the name remain unsaid. What mattered was its location-more than one hundred miles east of Los Angeles and far enough away from Edwards Air Force Base to go unwatched. The strip had no control tower and it lay beneath controlled airspace, so no one would know he had landed there. More important, no one would know that one of The Reverend s Citation IIs had touched down, either. He d left his Comanche tied to the desert floor and waited in the morning heat until the wheels of the private jet touched the lake bed, the engines kicking up a stream of rock dust as they screamed the plane to a stop.

He was the only one on this flight. There was no stewardess, just a pilot and a copilot locked away in the cockpit, and this month s America s Divine Promise Ministries magazine sitting on the fold-down table in front of him. The Reverend s face filled the cover. Dressed in a deep-blue suit, shelves of books behind him, he smiled out of the frame as though you were the only person who existed in the world. That was The Reverend s power-his smile, the cobalt eyes that seemed to look straight through your chest and into your beating heart. He had this power on printed paper, wielded it from the television screen, and today, Richard Potter Wales would discover if the man had that power in person.

Wales had captured The Reverend s interest with a proposal concerning a system of bulletin boards that could be accessed anywhere in the world through the new personal computers. That was one of the reasons Wales would be ordained today, given the distinction of reverend. But there was really only one: The Reverend. He was the man Wales wanted to impress and, when the time was right, one day be; The Reverend was the man they all wanted to be. He was the model for them all, the lowercase r in their titles both aspirational and a reminder of their place. They had been-all these groups all over the country-frustrated and lost in the wilderness of a dying culture, sitting alone in desert compounds, hiding in remote mountain valleys, watching as post-civil-rights liberalism destroyed America. But The Reverend would lead them out of the wilderness to reclaim what had been stolen from them, to destroy what had poisoned the culture.

An hour and ten minutes later, the engines of the jet wound down and the plane banked into a descent. Doing the calculation in his head, Wales knew approximately where they were, but he tried to keep it quiet to himself. Some things really weren t supposed to be known until it was time.

On the ground, the copilot opened the fuselage door and Wales stepped out into the light. Northern Utah, he guessed, or southern Idaho. They were on a sagebrush plain, the horizon darkened with humps of mountains. Nothing but empty land surrounded the airstrip, but, maybe a mile away, he could see rows of suburban-style homes, construction cranes, and a congregation of light poles that suggested athletic fields. The airstrip was adjacent to the church, a white single-story rectangle surrounded by neatly cut shrubs. The church was the center of an asphalt parking lot, and at the entrance to the lot, running along the edge of a newly paved service road, a large cross punctured the desert sky. A sign next to the cross read CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST CHRISTIAN. Everything looked brand new, much of the money to build this church coming from The Reverend s Divine Promise Ministries. Promise had many connotations-theological, financial, and fraternal; once The Reverend sent you money, you were empowered but also bound.

On Sundays this lot would be full, the sanctuary filled with parishioners voices flatly singing hymns. The power of the place was its normalcy, Wales knew, the way it felt like any other rural church filled with God-fearing white Americans-outside of the airstrip, of course.

Wales s own church, in the California foothills of the Sierras, was filled with average people-truck drivers, schoolteachers, small-business owners, clerks at the local grocery store-who weren t in the Identity Movement but were open to a more subtle version of the ideology. No Two-Seed Theory, no discussion of mud people, but they were more than receptive to fury over the welfare state, rage about inner-city waste and violent minorities. Subtlety, that was the key, quiet indulgence of parishioners fears. Identity wasn t the Klan with their silly hoods and their burning torches. Identity was The Reverend in his suburban Fort Worth mega-church, with its gospel choir and arena-sized audiences. The Identity Movement was America s Divine Promise s syndicated television broadcast, with its smiling gospel choir, and The Reverend s assurance that God wanted his chosen people to be wealthy. Send your donations now and God will reward you tenfold! What was it like, Wales thought, to have that kind of power, to compel people from all over the country to send you money, to convince people you were a conduit to God? How could he learn to be this kind of man?

As he descended the boarding stairs, Wales saw a man in a dark three-piece suit striding across the tarmac toward the plane.

Brother Wales, reverend Klein said as Wales stepped onto the tarmac.

They embraced. Wales had never met Elias Girnt Klein, but he d read some of his sermons in his Liberty Front magazine, a monthly pamphlet Klein distributed to a list of subscribers. It was Klein s sermons, Wales knew, that got The Reverend s attention. But Wales had proposed something much bigger than typed-up sermons on cheap paper; what he d proposed to The Reverend was visionary, something that would make those pamphlets look like minor dispatches from the Dark Ages.

He hasn t arrived yet, Klein said. Please, let s greet the others.

Inside the church, women were setting up a potluck in the back of the sanctuary. Crock-Pots of meat and bean stews, hot-plates of hot dogs, potato salad. Huckleberry pie. The men were gathered near the pulpit. It looked like a business meeting, the other reverends dressed in dark suits, too, their hair combed and sprayed, a wafting of cologne. Behind them, on the pulpit, was a baptismal tub, and above the tub hung a flag with the blue shield and the cross and crown. It looked like any other denomination s crest-the Methodist cross and fire, the Holy See s crown and keys-except for the wolfsangel, the ancient German runic symbol, slicing the center of the cross.

Brother Wales, one of the men said, and then they were surrounding him, shaking his hand: reverend Jordan of Mason, Ohio; reverend Perry of Levittown, Pennsylvania; reverend Gaetz of Alpine, Utah; reverend Barr of Paradise Valley, Arizona; and a half dozen more. Each of them wore a heavy ring on his right ring finger, the metal slapping Wales s knuckles as they shook. He d never met the men, but he knew of them through their loose network of rural churches-even before The Reverend pulled them into his ministry. All of them felt they were on the edge of some important moment with the end of the twentieth century, the millennium, just fifteen years away.

He just landed, a woman said from the back of the sanctuary.

All the men turned toward the wide windows facing the airstrip and watched The Reverend s jet streak across the tarmac.

Three minutes later, a young man in a charcoal fitted suit strode into the sanctuary. The Reverend is on a tight schedule, he said. He wore a skinny black tie with a white straightedge handkerchief, his green eyes flashing behind clear-rimmed glasses. There was something vaguely European about the look, something that whispered aristocrat. The young man strode up to the pulpit and started wiping the podium down with a cloth. Three men in black suits came through the back door of the sanctuary and frisked each of the reverends. Through the window, Wales watched as The Reverend walked down the steps of the plane and strode across the tarmac, all alone, Ray-Ban sunglasses obscuring his eyes, his jaw tight like he was grinding his teeth. Wales noted the look, a look of power and control he wished to...
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Autor

Alan Drew is the author ofShadow Man, a literary thriller. His critically acclaimed debut novel,Gardens of Water, has been translated into ten languages and published in nearly two-dozen countries. He is a graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop, where he was awarded a Teaching/Writing Fellowship. An Associate Professor of English at Villanova University where he directs the creative writing program, he lives near Philadelphia with his wife and two children. Learn more about his books at alan-drew.com.

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