“Prudent, you say, sir? Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid courted by incapacity. So sayeth William Blake. Are we capable under these circumstances, Mr. Stone?”

The flashing blue lights squirted jet fuel on his excitement. He saw the first set atop a marked unit blocking the dirt drive entrance at the highway.

So over the dry moat and past the spikes and up the side of this bowl they charge. The little punk Hamilton's the first one up, and the fight is on.

He knelt when he reached the pile on the ground and saw it was a deputy he didn't recognize.

Penultimate chapter!

First chapter, new novel.

“Himmler?”

“Come in,” she said...