(#3)
Format: Hardcover, 416 pages
Release Date: July 11, 2023
Publisher: Bantam
Source: Publisher
Genre: Thrillers / Suspense
Haunted by the death of his best friend and hunted by the FBI for
war crimes he didn’t commit, Finn lands on an island paradise that turns
into his own personal hell in this gripping follow-up to Steel Fear and Cold Fear—from the New York Times bestselling writing team Webb & Mann . . .
By
day, AWOL Navy SEAL Finn is hiding out on Vieques, a tiny island
paradise off the eastern coast of Puerto Rico, living in a spare room
behind a seafood restaurant owned by a blind local. By night he scours
the dark web, hunting for the rogue officer responsible for the crimes
he is accused of committing.
But Finn’s world is about to be
turned upside down by a new nightmare, when his employer’s two
grandchildren go missing. To find them, he’ll have to infiltrate the
island’s dangerous criminal underbelly and expose a shadowy crime
network known as La Empresa—even if it means exposing himself in the
process.
As the children go on their own harrowing odyssey to
stay one step ahead of a cop-turned-killer, a hurricane batters the
coastline, cutting Puerto Rico off from the rest of the world. Taking
his pursuit to the sea, Finn’s skills and endurance will be tested to
their limits to rescue the lost children and escape his own pursuers
before the clock runs out. No one is to be trusted. And those who are
seemingly his friends might be the most dangerous foes he’s faced yet.
Blind Fear, by co-authors Brandon Webb & John David Mann, is the second installment in the Finn Thrillers series. Ever since Navy SEAL sniper Chief Finn left the USS Abraham Lincoln after being warned by his friend Carol to run, he's been a hunted man. Hunted because someone high up on the chain of command has put a target on his back as a war criminal who slaughtered a village in Yemen. His memories of that night are fuzzy, but he does know that neither he, or his team leader and friend Lieutenant Kennedy had nothing to do with a rogue element that actually did commit the atrocity.
8 months ago, Finn fled Iceland and ended up in Vieques, Puerto Rico. By
day, Finn lives in a spare room
behind a seafood restaurant owned by a blind local named, Zacharias. By night he scours
the dark web, hunting for the rogue officer responsible for the crimes
he is accused of committing. But Finn’s world is about to be
turned upside down by a new nightmare, when his employer’s two
grandchildren (Pedro and Miranda) go missing. To find them, he’ll have to infiltrate the
island’s dangerous criminal underbelly and expose a shadowy crime
network known as La Empresa—even if it means exposing himself in the
process.
day, Finn lives in a spare room
behind a seafood restaurant owned by a blind local named, Zacharias. By night he scours
the dark web, hunting for the rogue officer responsible for the crimes
he is accused of committing. But Finn’s world is about to be
turned upside down by a new nightmare, when his employer’s two
grandchildren (Pedro and Miranda) go missing. To find them, he’ll have to infiltrate the
island’s dangerous criminal underbelly and expose a shadowy crime
network known as La Empresa—even if it means exposing himself in the
process.
As the children go on their own harrowing odyssey to
stay one step ahead of a cop-turned-killer, a hurricane batters the
coastline, cutting Puerto Rico off from the rest of the world. Finn's troubles get even more darker when former Abraham Lincoln pilot now Navy JAG officer, is hot on his tail, and she is like a bull dog searching for its bone. Taking
his pursuit to the sea, Finn’s skills and endurance will be tested to
their limits to rescue the lost children and escape his own pursuers
before the clock runs out. No one is to be trusted. And those who are
seemingly his friends might be the most dangerous foes he’s faced yet.
stay one step ahead of a cop-turned-killer, a hurricane batters the
coastline, cutting Puerto Rico off from the rest of the world. Finn's troubles get even more darker when former Abraham Lincoln pilot now Navy JAG officer, is hot on his tail, and she is like a bull dog searching for its bone. Taking
his pursuit to the sea, Finn’s skills and endurance will be tested to
their limits to rescue the lost children and escape his own pursuers
before the clock runs out. No one is to be trusted. And those who are
seemingly his friends might be the most dangerous foes he’s faced yet.
Thoughts: This story takes place entirely on the Islands of Puerto Rico, including places where the Navy used to test their bombs. Finn not only has to find two children who are trying to not only stay alive, but avoid being captured by criminals who are into drugs and human trafficking, and Monica and her partner who have orders to kill Finn on sight. The authors once again tempt readers with Finn's background which is not exactly warm and fuzzy. It's dark and sad. In all fairness, I would hope to see or meet the mysterious Carol who seems to know what is actually happening.
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1
Nico Santiago had a dream. He envisioned a thriving,
dazzling Puerto Rico, envy of the States, jewel of the Caribbean, a
transformation people would be talking about a hundred years from now, a
metamorphosis that all started with his beloved city—San Juan, pride
of the commonwealth.
Why not? Look what they’d done with New
York City in the nineties. Clean up the street crime, purge the
corruption. Lance the boil! Drain the infection!
Which meant taking down the Devil.
Yes, Nico was only one guy, a lowly homicide cop. But hey, every
revolution started with some nobody who cared enough to act, right?
Which was why, at that moment, he was jumping over two toppled trash
bins in the middle of the night, slipping on the grease-covered garbage
that spilled over the cobblestones, and falling on his ass in an alley
in La Perla, the sketchiest neighborhood in the city.
“¡Mierda!”
Nico swore under his breath as he scrabbled to his feet and kept
running. Down a set of crumbling cement steps, across a narrow
cobblestone street, hopping a chain-link fence, he ran on, straining to
catch any scraps of sound beyond the slow pounding of the surf below
and his own ragged breath.
There! A scuffle of footsteps, dead ahead.
Ha. The puta was heading for the shoreline—as if the rocks and
seawater could save him! Just like he’d thought he could shake Nico in
the first place by trying to disappear down here into the city’s coastal
underbelly.
La Perla: America’s oldest shantytown. A shunned
strip, third of a mile long, jammed outside the city walls down on the
rocky Atlantic shore. Built over the ruins of a slaughterhouse, abutting
the city’s graveyard, original home of the homeless, the slaves, the
non-white servants. La Perla was everything Nico loved and hated about
his homeland. The uncrushable spirit of its people. The legacy of
oppression, poverty, and crime.
The place where they shot “Despacito,” the greatest music video ever made.
The one place in the city where, if you got into trouble at night, the police wouldn’t come for you.
But I’m coming for you now, puta. And you are in one shit-pile of trouble, aren’t you?
He heard the man’s feet hit the cement boardwalk and go bolting off to
the east. Nico followed, sprinting full-out . . . three hundred
feet . . . five hundred feet . . .
He should have called his
partner, shouldn’t be out here on his own, shouldn’t have been stalking
this pendejo by himself. His superior officers had nixed the stakeout,
nixed the whole investigation, in fact. Too hot, they said. Not worth
the risk.
But it was worth the risk. Nico knew this in
his gut. Nail this one guy and he could crack open the whole pineapple.
Unmask the Devil himself and end this horrific reign of terror. He
wouldn’t risk his partner’s badge, but he was fine with risking his own.
So he’d laid the trap all by himself—and he’d caught a rat.
A thousand feet . . .
Only he’d gotten just a shave too close and spooked the mamabicha.
At the end of the strip, where it landed at the foot of the old stone
castle that marked La Perla’s eastern terminus, his quarry took a hard
right, darting back into the tangle of shacks, a rabbit making a
desperate dash for safety in the heart of his warren.
Nico didn’t bother shouting Stop! or Police! or You’re under arrest! Didn’t waste his breath. Just took off after him.
And then everything went silent.
He skidded to a halt at the mouth of another narrow alleyway. Heard no
fleeing footsteps, no scrambling over cobblestones. Only a dog barking
and the distant curses of locals rousted from a hungover sleep.
The fine hairs on Nico’s arms stood at attention.
He had to assume the man had a gun.
These days it seemed like everyone in Puerto Rico had a gun.
He couldn’t see far enough into the alley to locate the man, was pretty
sure the man couldn’t see him, either. But they were both there, still
and silent, each trying to get the drop on the other.
There was no nearby exit up through the city wall. The man was cornered.
But so, for all practical purposes, was Nico.
Suddenly Nico felt an irrational chill shiver through him.
Behind him, far above in the dark, stood an old castle guard
sentry-box. According to superstition, every guard who entered there
would mysteriously vanish, never to be seen again. La Garita del Diablo,
they called it. The Devil’s Tower.
Focus, Nico.
He drew out his sidearm, took a few steadying breaths, and crouched down
low to crawl his way into the alley, listening as hard as he could,
straining to catch any telltale sounds of breath or movement from the
other man, hearing nothing.
He began to crawl.
An endless minute ticked by. Then another.
A quarter of the way through.
Inch by agonizing inch.
Three minutes.
Halfway through.
And then a deep voice boomed out from the far end of the alley, shattering the silence.
“¡Quieto, cabrón!” Freeze, asshole!
Nico let out a harsh, ragged breath and felt his shoulders relax.
Caleb. His partner.
He almost laughed. No jodas . . .
Caleb! That rum-smooth, James Earl Jones voice, the reason they called
him “Calypso.” Nico could pick that voice out of a crowd in the middle
of a hurricane.
Gracias a Dios.
He took another hard
breath and straightened from his crouch, letting the tension drain from
his back muscles as the adrenaline flood receded, leaving behind its
wreckage of ravaged nerve endings.
He had no idea how Cal had
known he was here, why he was out here in the middle of the night when
he ought to be home in bed or out drinking like any sane off-duty cop.
Didn’t know, didn’t care. He was just grateful his partner had showed.
The chase was over. They were actually arresting this piece of shit,
this stain of corruption—and with what this one guy knew, they could
bring down the whole house of cards. His investigation was about to be
vindicated. Puerto Rico, his homeland, would be cleansed of this plague,
given a fresh start.
This night would change their lives, forever.
We did it, Lucy. We really did it.
He walked toward the end of the alley, where a shaft of moonlight
revealed the enormous figure of Cal, feet spread apart, gun held out in a
two-handed stance. The man Nico had been pursuing now knelt on the
filthy alleyway floor, hands clasped behind his head.
Nico smiled.
“That’s no ordinary asshole,” he called out as he approached. “That
particular asshole is deputy director of AP.” Autoridad de los Puertos:
Ports Authority. In charge of all seaports in Puerto Rico. “That
particular asshole runs the docks. And also happens to work for the
Devil. A direct report, Cal! Ave María purísma, a direct report!”
Cal threw him a quick glance, eyebrows raised.
“This puta can ID the son of a bitch!” Nico added, just to make the
point abundantly clear. He’d been right all along. His stakeout had paid
off. They were about to bring down the Devil.
Cal looked down at the kneeling man. “That true?”
The man said nothing.
Cal nodded, impressed. “Damn.” He looked back at Nico. “Nice work. Stellar.”
Nico grinned and put up his palm for a high five.
Cal raised his weapon and shot Nico point-blank in the face.
“¡Jesús!” The kneeling man nearly fell over. He stared up at Cal, his
eyes wide as silver dollars. Then his face relaxed. He let out a rush of
breath and broke into a grin.
“Gracias, compadre.”
He got to his feet, shakily, brushing the filth off his knees. Grinned up at the big man.
“De nada,” said Cal, and he plugged the man between the eyes.
The second pistol shot reverberated through the dark streets and died away in the surf.
Cal waited.
Listened.
Nobody came.
He holstered his 9mm. Reached into a back trouser pocket, withdrew a
handkerchief, and wiped his face with it. Held it out and looked at it
without expression. In the faint moonlight the smear of Nico’s blood
looked black.
He pocketed the cloth, then reached into an inside
jacket pocket and slipped out a small leather case, the grain worn
smooth. Zipped it open. A glint of moonlight flashed off the stainless
steel.
One by one, he began removing his precision tools.
