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Zusatztext “Almost unbearable tension…[the] prose urges you on like a silencer poking at the small of your back.”— Entertainment Weekly “[A] Tom Clancy-esque thriller.”— USA Today “Ingenious.”— The Washington Post “Fascinating...a novel of plots and counterplots...The relationship between Osbourne and October is rich in detail and complexity.”— The Orlando Sentinel “Rousing…Movie-tense action sequences [and] a hero worth rooting for.”— Kirkus Reviews "Starting with a bang and escalating from there! Silva’s latest has everything you would expect from a thriller.”— The Rocky Mountain News Informationen zum Autor Daniel Silva is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Unlikely Spy , The Mark of the Assassin , The Marching Season , and the Gabriel Allon series, including The Kill Artist , The English Assassin , The Confessor , A Death in Vienna , Prince of Fire , The Messenger , The Secret Servant , Moscow Rules , The Defector , The Rembrandt Affair , Portrait of a Spy , The Fallen Angel , The English Girl , The Heist , The English Spy , The Black Widow , and House of Spies . His books are published in more than thirty countries and are bestsellers around the world. Klappentext The #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Gabriel Allon series presents the second thriller featuring former CIA Agent Michael Osbourne, following The Mark of the Assassin . When the Good Friday peace accords are shattered with three savage acts of terrorism, Northern Ireland is blown back into the depths of conflict. And after his father-in-law is nominated to become the new American ambassador to London, retired CIA agent Michael Osbourne is drawn back into the game. He soon discovers that his father-in-law is marked for execution. And that he himself is once again in the crosshairs of a killer known only as October, one of the most merciless assassins the world has ever known... Leseprobe Belfast--Dublin-- London Eamonn Dillon of Sinn Fein was the first to die, and he died because he planned to stop for a pint of lager at the Celtic Bar before heading up the Falls Road to a meeting in Andersontown. Twenty minutes before Dillon's death, a short distance to the east, his killer hurried along the pavements of Belfast city center through a cold rain. He wore a dark green oilskin coat with a brown corduroy collar. His code name was Black Sheep. The air smelled of the sea and faintly of the rusting shipyards of Belfast Lough. It was just after 4 p.m. but already dark. Night falls early on a winter's night in Belfast; morning dawns slowly. The city center was bathed in yellow sodium light, but Black Sheep knew that West Belfast, his destination, would feel like the wartime blackout. He continued north up Great Victoria Street, past the curious fusion of old and new that makes up the face of central Belfast--the constant reminders that these few blocks have been bombed and rebuilt countless times. He passed the shining façade of the Europa, infamous for being the most bombed hotel on the planet. He passed the new opera house and wondered why anyone in Belfast would want to listen to the music of someone else's tragedy. He passed a hideous American doughnut shop filled with laughing Protestant schoolchildren in crested blazers. I do this for you, he told himself. I do this so you won't have to live in an Ulster dominated by the fucking Catholics. The larger buildings of the city center receded, and the pavements slowly emptied of other pedestrians until he was quite alone. He walked for about a quarter mile and crossed over the M1 motorway near the towering Divis Flats. The overpass was scrawled with graffiti: vote sinn...
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"Tom-Clancy-esque Thriller." (USA Today)
