Donovan Rourke, a federal agent, learns that a man name Katill will assassinate the world's eight most powerful leaders at the G8 Summit in three days.
The President asks Donovan Rourke to head up security in Brussels. Donovan reluctantly agrees because his wife was murdered there.
In Europe, he works with the G8 Director, Monsieur de Waha, and a beautiful translator, Maccabee. They're shocked to learn that Katill is is the same man who murdered Donovan's wife.
They're even more shocked to learn Katill has just penetrated the billion-dollar wall of G8 security.
Donovan watches the leaders walk into Katill's trap, and realizes it's too late to stop them ...
G8 is available at Amazon.com, Atlasbooks.com, BarnesandNoble.com, bookstores or toll free at (800) 247-6553
Exclusive! Read the first chapter of G8 here...
Katill hid behind a thick oak tree in the Forêt de Soignes. He watched the lights go out in the master bedroom upstairs. Donovan Rourke and his wife, Emma, were going to sleep for the night.
Only one would wake up.
Two hours later, Katill pulled down his mask and climbed a rope to the second floor balcony. The balcony doors, as expected, were unlocked. He checked his suppressed Glock, stepped inside and walked past an exquisite Louis XV desk and an antique mahogany china cabinet. The scent of lemon curry lingered in the air.
He walked down to the master bedroom and entered. Moonlight filtered through the lace curtains onto a human shape in the large bed. One shape. Female. Emma.
Where is Donovan Rourke? I was told he was here! Most unfortunate.
So ... Plan B.
He moved to the bed and stared down at the woman. Attractive face ... inviting body.
Her eyes began to move beneath the lids. She seemed to sense his presence. He leaned closer. Her eyes opened, then her mouth. His hand muffled her scream.
Fighting back hard, she reached up and yanked his mask off and looked at his face. He was shocked! No one had ever seen him as he worked! Enraged, he slashed her neck with his knife. Her eyes widened as she realized what he'd done. He watched blood pump from her severed arteries.
And moments later, he watched life drain from her eyes.
Noise. Behind him.
Stahl spun around. No one. He hurried down the hall, accidentally knocking the Mickey Mouse nightlight from the socket. The nightlight was next to a door marked TISH in big sparkling letters. The door was open. He looked in.
Standing beside her bed, staring at him, was a young girl, maybe four. Old enough to remember.
She saw his face.
And maybe what he'd done . . .