By Stephen Hunter
NEW YORK occasions BESTSELLER
Outgunning all others within the area of razor-edged motion and sheer guts, New York occasions bestselling writer Stephen Hunter plunges Earl Swagger deep right into a steamy underworld of energy, politics, and blood. . . .
Cuba, 1953: The island is on hearth.
The Mafia-run casinos are rolling, and it’s only a 30-minute flight from Miami to a global of vice, playing, intercourse, and medication. the cash is there for someone who understands the way to get it, together with the Cuban executive and the police, who are looking to preserve their best friend Uncle Sam satisfied. There’s just one probability to this corrupt utopia: a silver-tongued, bold younger innovative named Fidel Castro. With the chilly struggle below means, the Soviet Union has despatched a worldly veteran agent to discover and aid the younger upstart. To counter, the CIA has summoned Medal of Honor–winning ex–Marine sergeant Earl Swagger, whose heroic exploits have earned him the popularity of a guy who doesn’t understand how to lose. yet he’s not only going to discover Castro. . . .
He’s going to kill him.
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Extra info for Havana: An Earl Swagger Novel
Havana (Cuba)—Fiction. 6. Casinos—Fiction. I. name. PS3558. U494H38 2003 813’. 54—dc22 2003054461 ISBN-13: 978-0-7432-6102-9 ISBN-10: 0-7432-6102-X stopover at us at the world-wide-web: http://www. SimonSays. com For Hannah Mark and Wenkel’s little boy in hopes that they meet as buddies RICKY: Oh, Lucy! LUCY: Oh, Ricky! —Lucille Ball, Desi Arnaz i admire Lucy, CBS, 1953 bankruptcy 1 It used to be an ideal O. It floated from the smoker’s mouth, an grand confabulation, after which stuck a small cost of wind and commenced to float, widening, bending a bit, until eventually eventually, excessive one of the constructions, it atomized to wisps, after which not anything. “How the fug they do this, Lenny? ” Frankie Carbine requested. “It’s a desktop, Frankie. they've got machines for every little thing now’days. you were given a desktop there too, Frankie. ” It was once actual. inside of his overcoat used to be a computer from around the seas, Denmark, a spot to this point away Frankie couldn’t start to think it. no longer that he might have attempted. Frankie didn’t care a lot for stuff like that. besides, this laptop used to be a gun, simply an collection of tubes and housings and plastic handles and prongs and issues that slid out and in. It used to be a Danish version forty six 9mm submachine gun with a thirty-two-round journal, even though Frankie, no longer both within the technical, didn’t comprehend that. somebody who knew weapons someplace within the factor stated this used to be the easiest gun made for the type of paintings the item did. Frankie had no mind's eye for the theoretical: he simply knew that it was once a lot lighter and extra concealable than the old fashioned tommy weapons simply because its inventory was once a tendency steel form on hinges—which intended it can be folded and made smaller—and that it fired speedier, kicked much less and used to be more straightforward to exploit. You pointed it, you sprayed, you walked away. That used to be his activity. Frankie—born Franco Caribinieri forty-three years previous in Salerno, moved to Brooklyn whilst 4, a standard sufficient trajectory for a midlevel soldier—idly watched as one other vaporous O used to be synthetic and dispatched into the loud air close to occasions sq., courtesy of the R. J. Reynolds Tobacco corporation. CAMELS, stated the launching platform, a billboard that sheathed the full entrance of the development among forty fourth and forty fifth correct on Broadway, NO. 1 FOR SMOKING excitement. the opening that belched the hoop used to be cleverly located on the mouth of the painted face of a movie-star good-looking fellow, whereas over his shoulder a few elegant blonde dame with lips like roses appeared seductively out upon the nameless plenty who hastened via foot, vehicle, bus and cab during the nice metropolitan house. The air was once nearly blue with smoke, the folks have been grey with exhaustion, fear or hurry, the vehicles have been nonetheless regularly black with the exception of the cabs that have been yellow, and everyone used to be in a rush. It used to be additionally loud. Honks, squeals, yells, the roar of engines, it all pounding away. It gave you a headache. Frankie enjoyed it. He sat within the again seat of a freshly stolen ’47 DeSoto, black; he shared the cushion with a teddy endure, a doll and a Lone Ranger comedian booklet. He wore a blue serge pinstriped swimsuit, a black wool overcoat (to preserve the gun hidden, to not continue him hot; it was once spring and within the sixties) and, simply because each person he knew and revered did, a black fedora pulled low over his eyes.