By Richard Herman
Gus Tyler is a guy lower than a microscope--and the area is looking at! He could be a hero. He could be a scapegoat. He stands ahead of the overseas felony court docket within the Hague accused of warfare crimes devoted at the notorious street of loss of life through the Gulf struggle of 1991. The U.S. is targeted at the hindrance in Asia as China strikes aggressively opposed to Taiwan and desperately wishes eu support. France seizes the opportunity to problem the U.S. and forge an alliance with China. And Gus Tyler is trapped in a geopolitical typhoon. Tyler faces a strong prosecutor because the overseas press trumpets his guilt. yet a decided attorney and Tyler's personal son, a difficult Air strength officer, have a unique plan. For Gus Tyler, the hunt for justice will lead from a pampered Western Europe to a much place--the wild and lawless slaughterhouse of the Southern Sudan
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Extra resources for A Far Justice
The road ahead was all clear, the gate less than a hundred yards away now. It was the way Reilly had been driven into the Vatican, twice now, a grand entrance with twin marble columns topped by a solemn stone eagle on either side of the heavy wrought iron gates—gates that some Swiss Guards were now rushing to close. Not good. Reilly kept the pedal jammed down, feeling a hardening in his gut. With the two Alfas close behind, he cannoned past a few cars that were waiting to be ushered out of the gate onto the main road, ramping the SUV’s left wheels over the curb to squeeze by, before blasting through the gates and obliterating them in a deafening frenzy of twisted iron and steel—instantly followed by an eruption of glass as the Popequarium’s tall viewing box slammed into the intricate overthrow that spanned the top of the gate and burst into smithereens.
And her back. In fact, there wasn’t much of her that didn’t hurt. How much longer are they going to keep me like this? She’d lost all sense of time—all sense of anything, for that matter. She knew her eyes were taped shut. As was her mouth. Her wrists too, be hind her back. And her knees and ankles. A twenty-ﬁrst-century mummy of shiny silver duct tape and—something else too. A soft, thick, padded cocoon, wrapped around her. Like a sleeping bag. She felt it with her ﬁn gers. Yes, that’s what it was.
They were already way past that tipping point. He wondered whether he’d made a mistake by letting Reilly live, and frowned at the thought. He’d had his chance. He could have made his move when Reilly ran for the phone, when they’d rushed past each other, but in the heat of the moment, he’d felt a stab of doubt, unsure about whether or not he could take the man in hand-to-hand combat. He’d pulled back. He’d seen something in Reilly, a blaze of determination and self-belief that had made Zahed second-guess his own considerable skills.
A Far Justice by Richard Herman