Former US Navy SEAL, Zach Templeton, thrust into the battle of his life.
A high-ranking military officer, driven to madness by inconsolable grief, concocts a deadly plan for revenge.
Prepare yourself for the roller coaster ride that is EDGE OF MADNESS.
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• A bomb rips through downtown Baltimore.
• In the cold North Atlantic, a U.S. Navy submarine is attacked without warning.
• A classified DOD communications system is plagued by unexplained interference.
• A deep cover operative is forced to make a harrowing, underwater rendezvous.
• Seemingly unconnected events threaten to plunge the America into a global war.
Edge of Madness is a high-octane thriller that has everything you want in a novel.
Don't miss the fever-pitched action, as unsuspecting hero, Zach Templeton faces the toughest battle of his life.
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Are you ready for the best story you will read this year?
Get a copy now, grab some coffee, and start reading!
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Read the Prologue below:
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Prologue
Monday, March 20 – 10:58 a.m. Central Daylight Time
North Calvert Street
Baltimore, Maryland
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Paul Duniven would be dead in two minutes. Was he the target or was it for no other reason than he was in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or was it that he was in the right place at the wrong time? Those questions would never be answered. History would only record that he died at precisely 11:00 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time.
The forty-one-year-old executive vice-president of Government Procurement Services, Inc. was walking toward Baltimore’s Penn Station, on his way to a meeting in Washington, DC, to discuss serious issues affecting a government contract his company was overseeing.
Waiting to cross North Calvert Street, Duniven was standing less than twenty feet from Abdul Suhaib Hadad. For the past two years, nineteen-year-old Hadad had listened to the radical extremists in his neighborhood. His mind had become so saturated, and influenced, by the hate-filled rantings of his mentors, he had lost touch with reality. He no longer dreamed about the things other nineteen-year-olds dreamed about. His sole desire was to become a martyr for his new-found cause. The marvelous glory he would receive for sacrificing himself was all he thought about. That image of glory filled his mind as he waited for the signal that would ignite the fifty pounds of high explosives stuffed in the vest hidden under his heavy coat.
Paul Duniven never saw or felt a thing. He simply ceased to exist. Storefronts were blown out and windows were shattered for five blocks in all directions.
Local law enforcement, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Fire Arms, and the FBI sifted through the debris for days looking for evidence that would lead them to the perpetrator or perpetrators of the despicable act. Two tiny scraps of the detonator, too burnt and mangled to provide any usable information, were all that was found. Hadad was identified using surveillance photos and a small bone fragment embedded in a shredded piece of the vest he had been wearing.
Hadad’s mother, Amsah, was horrified when she was told her only son had blown himself up. She argued with the FBI, insisting her son would not do such a thing. Amsah was unable to tell the FBI agents anything because Hadad had been careful to never mention the extremist names in his mother’s presence.
Numerous interviews and many hours of research only yielded a tenuous link to a group of dissidents in Europe. The extremists had been meticulous in eliminating all evidence of their connection to Hadad. After Hadad left his apartment for the last time, someone planted phony travel documents where they would be easily found. The extremists sought no credit for the bombing as it was not their plot. Someone else had provided the explosives, the detonator, the exact location, and the phony materials, promising to pay them a very large sum of money.
The first time Hadad showed up at one of the meetings, he was identified as a naïve and eager follower. Da’ud Amin Bahar and his accomplice Khalil Jawdah Amari skillfully molded the gullible Hadad using fanatical rhetoric and promises of glory to come. They felt absolutely no guilt over using the immature teenager. He was nothing more than a tool to be used in their war with the infidels.
The day after Hadad blew himself up, Da’ud Amin Bahar called the number that had been included with the explosives. Bahar was uneasy but the promise of money, a lot of money, overrode his anxiety.
“Hello. What do you want?” a distorted voice asked.
“It is done,” Bahar answered.
“Everything? The materials as well?”
“Yes. Everything.”
“When I am certain, the money will be transferred.”
Before Bahar could ask how soon the money would arrive, the man broke the connection.
The man felt no remorse for the lives that had been snuffed out. He would rather not have sent those seventeen people to their deaths, but when you were about to orchestrate the death of millions, a few more really did not matter.