Irene Hannon Presents New Series! Against All Odds: Heroes of Quantico - Suspense Thriller with a Touch of Christian Romance...With a Look at Today's Headlines

  “We’re with the Hostage Rescue Team.”

At an odd inflection in Mark’s voice, Coop’s antennas went up. “You sound worried.” “I am. You know how you said in the car you had bad feelings about this assignment? Well, they must be catching. In my opinion, the faster we can make Monica Callahan disappear, the better off everyone will be.” An ominous chill settled over Coop. Never in the three years he’d been paired with Mark on missions could he remember a single occasion when both of them had been unnerved by a job. Bottom line, they needed to get Ms. Callahan out of sight.

Once upon a time, all of this had seemed exotic. But the years had taught him that exotic was often interchangeable with impoverished. That was true here. The merchandise was the only bright spot in the otherwise bleak, dingy setting. As he’d been instructed, David strolled down the street in an unhurried manner—and with surprising calmness. So much for his worry that when the moment arrived, fear would paralyze him. Instead, the opposite had happened. After all, there were far less meaningful ways to leave this world. At least his death, if that was his fate on this cold February day, would be for a noble cause. Both the hostages and Monica would be— 

“... Disney World.” As the last two words of the sentence registered, he swung around. A young boy of seven or eight was regarding him with solemn, dark eyes. His face was dirty, his nondescript clothing a mismatch of drab, ill-fitting items—and he held a bamboo cage containing a pigeon. “Repeat.” David said the word in Pashto. The boy shifted from one foot to the other, darting a quick, nervous glance up and down the street, but he didn’t comply with the request. Instead, he pointed to the backpack. “Repeat.” David tried again, switching to Dari. He had to be sure this wasn’t some freak coincidence, simply a young boy who’d been attracted by his Mickey Mouse backpack and was looking for a handout. The boy spoke again in slow, deliberate English. “I would someday like to go to Disney World.” This was it. David’s heart began to pound as he eased the backpack off his shoulder and handed it to the youngster. The boy dropped the pigeon cage, grabbed the backpack with both hands, and wove his way down the street. In seconds he had disappeared. Slowly David backed away from the cage. There was little chance a bomb could be concealed in the delicate mesh of bamboo, but there were plenty of shadowy doorways and tiny lanes where a sniper could be hiding. Now that his package had been delivered, he was expendable—if the informer had used the lure of information as no more than a ruse to generate some easy cash...and eliminate the courier. Nevertheless, he followed the instructions and headed toward his waiting car, looking neither right nor left. It was the longest walk of his life. When he emerged from the market, the embassy car was parked fifty feet away. As he approached it, the driver started to get out, but he waved the man back into the vehicle and slid in, shutting the door behind him. “Let’s get out of here.” “Yes, sir.” The ride back to the embassy was tense and quiet. Not until they pulled into the compound and the gates swung shut behind them did he allow himself to believe his life had been spared. The informant had kept his bargain. So far. Now he could only hope the man would honor the rest of it and supply the information they desperately needed. 

* * * 

“Ladies and gentlemen, communication isn’t brain surgery, although the tools of the trade can be dangerous. Words, like scalpels, can cut. But so can silence.” Monica waited, giving the audience in the Jefferson Hotel’s ornate ballroom a few seconds to digest that thought. “You know, I must admit I’m not much of a country music fan.” Her gaze swept the audience and she smiled. “But there was a song a few years back that captured my key message today. It was called ‘I Thought You Knew.’ It’s a song about the danger of assumptions, and wishing for a chance to say all the things you thought the other person knew. “‘I Thought You Knew’ happens to be a love song. But the principle is true in all parts of our life. If you remember only one thing from my talk this morning, let it be this: don’t make the mistake of assuming someone knows how you feel—in your professional life or your personal life. Talk the walk. Thank you.”

Thunderous applause filled the room, and three hundred people rose to their feet as one. From his position to the right of the velvet-draped stage, facing the audience, Coop had an excellent view of the enthusiastic response to Monica’s speech. And the ovation was well deserved. For the past forty-five minutes, she’d made everyone in the room think, charmed them into laughter, and touched their hearts. Including his. No question about it. The lady knew her stuff. He exchanged a glance with Mark, who stood at the front of the room on the other side of the stage. His partner gave a subtle thumbs-up. As Monica launched into the Q&A session, fielding questions with consummate skill and a warmth that endeared her to the audience, Coop altered his position slightly to better observe the people approaching the mike positioned in the center aisle, beneath the huge crystal chandelier. They all looked like typical business types. No one exhibited any behavior that tripped a red alert. Everything seemed under control. A visual and audio check with the agents positioned at the exits and in the red-draped alcoves along the sides of the room confirmed that nothing was amiss. 

Still, it was a relief to be in the home stretch. Twenty minutes later, as the president of the organization joined Monica on the podium to end the Q&A, Coop and Mark slipped backstage to relieve the agents on duty there. “Wasn’t she great?” The man’s enthusiastic question was met with another round of applause as his voice boomed through the mike. “Talk the Walk will be available for sale in the expo area, so be sure to pick up a copy. Ms. Callahan, thank you again. I know we all learned a lot this morning. Ladies and gentlemen, lunch is now served in the Empire Room.” 

As the man shook her hand and she exited into the wings, Coop took the lead escort position while Mark fell in behind her. Once in the food service area, two more agents joined them. They formed a tight circle around Monica while they wove among stainless steel counters and racks of dirty dishes. As they approached the outside fire door where they’d entered, its alarm disengaged for Monica’s appearance, Coop spoke into the mike at his wrist. Listened to the response. Everything was quiet out there. Excellent. “We’re clear. Let’s make this fast.” He pushed through the door. Maintaining their tight circle, they hustled Monica into the waiting SUV, which was book-ended by two nondescript vehicles. He climbed in beside her, and Mark took the front passenger seat. 

Only after they were on the road and headed back to her house did he speak. “That was quite a performance.” A flush crept over her cheeks. “Thanks.” “I second that.” Mark angled toward her. “You had them eating out of your hand.” Her color deepened. “You two are good for my ego. You can come to my speaking engagements anytime. Except I hope you can sit in the audience and enjoy the next one.” “I enjoyed this one. Didn’t you, Coop?” “Yes.” “Learn anything?” Coop sent him a “knock it off” look. His partner ignored him. “In case you haven’t noticed, Monica, Coop’s not the most talkative guy. But I found him reading your book at two in the morning on Sunday, so maybe there’s hope for him yet.” “You were reading my book?” Monica’s eyebrows rose as she gave him her full attention. He shifted in his seat. “I was having a hard time staying awake that first night, and I like to read. I found it on your bookshelf. It sounded interesting.” She waited, as if she expected him to say more. When the silence lengthened, Mark rolled his eyes. “It might be nice to comment on the book.” Heat surged on Coop’s neck. “That’s okay.” Monica stepped in. “It’s not everybody’s cup of tea. What sort of books do you like to read?” “Biographies. But I was intrigued by your book. It kept me awake.” Mark snorted and turned back toward the front. “I give up.” The heat crept past his collar. If ever there was a backhanded compliment, that had been it. Before he could think of a way to mitigate his faux pas, Monica reached over and laid her slender fingers on his hand—as he’d done with her yesterday. “It’s okay. I’ll take intrigued. And trust me, considering that a lot of my students use my book to cure insomnia, the fact it kept you awake until the wee hours is a compliment.” He added graciousness to her growing list of attributes. “Don’t you get nervous in front of a big audience like that?” Mark tossed the query over his shoulder as he surveyed the area they were passing through. Monica removed her hand from his, leaving a chill on his skin where welcome warmth had been moments ago. “Not usually. You gain a comfort level with practice. I thought I might have a problem today, given all that’s going on, but I attribute my calmness to you guys. I trust you to keep me safe.” “No pressure there.” Mark’s tone was teasing. But as Coop well knew, he was more than half serious. Rightly so. 

Trust was helpful. It induced cooperation. But there was a downside too. When someone trusted you, it added to your burden. Increased your sense of responsibility. Failure became less of an option. Not that he’d needed Monica’s profession of trust to solidify his resolve to keep her safe. That was his job. But in the past three days this mission had become more than that. Because he was coming to care about her far more than the duties of this assignment dictated.

~~~~~~

Still, convincing the White House and the intelligence community that the risk was worth taking had required every nuance of skill he’d developed in his forty years of diplomacy and negotiating. But in the end, he’d succeeded. Tomorrow he would drive into Kabul and follow the informant’s instructions to the letter. And if all went well…if he wasn’t walking into a trap…if the informant followed through on his promise to provide the information…if they could find the hostages before the terrorists grew impatient and killed them…the end of the crisis might be in sight. He paused outside his office door. Took a steadying breath. That was a lot of ifs. But it was the only hope they had of locating the hostages, and he was willing to put his life on the line to rescue them. And to keep his daughter safe.

Since politics has entered our lives in such a strange and sad way, I find myself interested in books related to our government--as it should be! I routinely tape the FBI TV series and watch as it is convenient for me. I enjoy the diversity of characters that comes with an ongoing program that has not been disrupted by what is happening now in the U.S. I was pleased that this book also followed the normalcy that we have been used to for decades prior to 2016...

Against All Odds certainly is a winner for me... It takes readers into the inner lives of both agents and those who are caught in some type of criminal activity that forces action to help those citizens pulled in, often unknowingly. Of course, the characters are created; however, I found Hannon a writer who is well able to bring life to "real people" even if they aren't... Know what I mean? In Against All Odds, there are main characters who are both successful in their lives, while hiding a side of their lives that has long affected their own reality. Isn't that how most of us are? Yet, it takes a special writer to bring these dual-lives of one character or another, and merge their personal stories into something new and exciting... Kudos to Hannon for this special awareness in the stories she provides to all of us!

I found it ironic that I am turning more and more to fictional books so that good over evil is found... In my earlier days of dreaming about heaven, I pictured that stories were developed there for we who are living... NOW, I know that God would never write such hateful tales of the evil desires of, frankly, mostly, men... For He is Indeed a God of Love... And it is We, humans, who have the choice of who we shall be...

We find a father in Against All Odds, who we see within our governments as well. They are the ones that decide in their own minds that they are needed to help a country's people be saved from this or that... Yes, unfortunately, there is such a need. But it is questionable as to how it is to be accomplished...  David Callahan served in the government for more than 40 years known mostly for his great ability to negotiate with foreign leaders.  

(You know, like Kerry did in negotiating a peace treaty with Iran under President Obama... Yet was torn up by the present president who started a war for no reason...) 

Callahan's dedication to that life had resulted in an almost complete separation from his wife and daughter. He was needed he thought. Plus he enjoyed what he was doing so much! But now, right now, the enemy had honed in on that dedication...

“Sir? I think you need to hear this.” At his aide’s terse comment, David Callahan looked up from the security briefing in his hand. Flicked a gaze at the tape recorder and single sheet of paper Salam Farah held as he stood on the threshold of the small office deep inside the fortified U.S. Embassy compound in Kabul, Afghanistan. David lowered the briefing to his desk. “A new message from the terrorists?” “Yes. And another more personal threat.” “I’m not interested in threats directed at me.” David waved the comment aside. “Let our security people worry about them.” “This one is different, sir.” He studied Salam. After forty years in the diplomatic service, most of them spent dealing with volatile situations in the world’s hot spots, he’d learned to trust his instincts about people. And in the two months he’d been back in Afghanistan trying to help stabilize the local government, Salam had earned his respect. His aide wouldn’t raise a red flag unless there was a valid reason. “All right.” David resettled the thin frame of his wire-rimmed glasses and held out his hand. “Let’s see what they have to say.” In silence, Salam set the recorder on the desk, pressed the play button, and passed the sheet of paper to David. As the spoken message was relayed in the language favored by the Taliban, David tuned out the Pashto and scanned the English translation. The warning was similar to those that had come before—convince the country’s struggling fledgling government to release a dozen incarcerated terrorists and pay a twenty-million-dollar ransom, or the three U.S. hostages that had been kidnapped a week ago would die. But as he read the last line, Salam’s concern became clear. The nature of the personal threat had, indeed, changed. If you do not convince the government to meet our demands, your daughter will be our next target. David’s pulse stuttered. “When did this arrive?” “Half an hour ago. It’s been in translation.”

And only then did he realize just how much his daughter really meant to him... And knew that the government's stance was NOT to deal with terrorists who chose to kidnap and seek ransom as a means of gaining control over their perceived enemy, the United States.

But when the reputation of such a man as David Callahan is brought into a new, deadly situation, things can be looked at more logically and plans follow... Readers will watch as several different individuals or groups are involved with getting money out of the capture of American citizens... The complexity can be confusing, mainly because it is difficult to determine who is working for good. Perhaps that was intentional, in order to sustain a sense of suspense, but I confess the plot got away from me and was only able to be followed by keeping track of the two main FBI characters, the team that had been assigned to keep Callahan's daughter safe...

And because Monica Callahan was a fantastically independent woman who had gained her own reputation and stature and refused to immediately act to follow the rules being mandated for her safety. For instance, she made it quite clear that she would be staying in her own home and participating in her usual or already planned schedule of events... And the first one to come up was attending church that Sunday...

The organ swelled for the final song, and Monica reached for the hymnal in the rack on the pew in front of her. This service had been the one normal thing in her life since the FBI invasion yesterday morning. Except for the two tall men seated behind her in the last pew, on the aisle—who weren’t there to praise God, but to protect her. Nor were some of the unfamiliar faces in the congregation pious visitors seeking Sunday worship, either. They were on-duty federal agents. Carrying guns. In church. It was surreal. At a touch on her shoulder, Coop’s instruction as they’d entered the church echoed in her mind. Leave ahead of the crowd. It was time to go. Letting out a slow breath, she replaced the hymnal and angled toward him. He tipped his head toward the aisle as his partner exited the pew. After picking up her coat, she edged out and fell into step behind Mark, Coop close on her heels. As Mark pushed open the door to the vestibule, Coop’s lean fingers closed around her upper arm in a firm but gentle grip, stopping her progress. “Give him a chance to verify everything is secure.” His warm breath feathered across her cheek as he leaned close to speak, a mere whisper away as his body shielded hers from behind while his partner conferred with a couple of dark-suited men and a woman in a black skirt and royal-blue blazer. She started to shrug into her coat, but he took it from her and held it as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. A few seconds later, Mark rejoined them. “We’re clear. The car’s in the portico. Let’s make it quick.” Flanked by the two men, she crossed the marble floor, her heels clicking in rhythm to the soaring notes of “Amazing Grace.” The three people Mark had been talking with spread out in the vestibule as a few members of the congregation wandered out. One of the agents pretended to read the bulletin board. Another checked his watch. The woman riffled through her handbag, as if searching for her keys. Yet it was clear they were all keenly attuned to their surroundings, watching for any indication of trouble. Protecting her. As they approached the exterior door, Mark stepped ahead, lifted his left arm, and spoke softly into the inconspicuous mike at his wrist, his voice feeding into the unobtrusive earpieces all of the agents on duty wore. Or so she’d learned when she’d asked for a briefing on what to expect before they’d left the house this morning. Without slowing his pace, Mark pushed through the door. As he exchanged a few succinct comments with the agent standing on the other side, Coop maintained his grip on her arm. When the agent leaned over to open the door of the SUV parked a few feet away, she found herself being hustled forward and eased into the back seat. Coop slid in beside her and Mark claimed the front passenger seat while the agent took the wheel. Their exit was accomplished with such speed and smoothness that they were pulling out of the parking lot before the organ finished the first verse. “Wow. That was impressive.” Monica drew a deep breath. “I take it you two have been through this drill a few times.” “A few.” Coop glanced over his shoulder as he responded. “Checking for a tail?” Her question was only half in jest. The level of security for this little outing had demonstrated how seriously the threat against her was being taken. Suggesting the danger might be more real than she’d been willing to concede. Shifting his attention to the road ahead, Coop watched as a car pulled out from the curb and took up a position in front of them. “Did he just cut in front of us?” Monica leaned forward, gripping the edge of her seat as her heart tripped into a staccato beat. “Yes.” Coop settled back, his posture relaxed. “But he’s on our side. So is the car behind us. Buckle up.” Monica twisted toward the back window. There was, indeed, a car sticking close. “Did we have an...escort...on the way to church too?” “Yes.” And their return route was just as circuitous as the one they’d taken to church. As Coop had explained when she’d teased them earlier about their navigational skills, it was safer to operate “out of pattern,” as he’d put it. In other words, they were concerned that someone had been watching her long enough to know her habits. That was more than a little disturbing. Trying to stifle a sudden wave of panic, she groped for her seat belt and pulled it out. But as she tried to slide the buckle in, it slipped from her shaky grasp, retracting with a thump that had Mark reaching toward his belt. “Sorry.” Heat surged across her cheeks. “Let me.” Coop released his own belt and leaned across her. His broad shoulder pressed against her as he grasped the buckle and pulled it out, and his fingers brushed her hip when he engaged it. Which played havoc with her respiration. Almost like she was attracted to the tall, dark HRT operator beside her who reeked of masculinity and whose very presence evoked strength and competence. And in other circumstances, she might have been. But as appealing as he was, her response in these circumstances was more likely due to the sudden realization that her situation was a whole lot more perilous than she wanted to admit. Though her knowledge of law enforcement protocols was limited, it was doubtful that elaborate security measures like the ones being taken on her behalf were employed without very good reason. She moistened her lips. Cleared her throat. “I, uh, had no idea a simple visit to church was going to take this much coordination. The security was quite involved, wasn’t it?” Instead of responding, he touched his earpiece. And while he listened to whatever a colleague was saying, she settled back in her seat for the ride home—and tried to untangle the knots in her stomach.

I really enjoyed this story. Kudos to the author for taking on a topic which is right out of history--and the present time period as well. Books for me have become more important as writers create stories that both reflect the reality of life, as well as, ensuring that God, indeed, is right in the middle of all events we all face... I especially enjoyed Coop, who has his own history that had affected his life, and, yet, when he had first seen Monica,  he recognized that she was different than any other woman he'd ever met... Readers will enjoy watching their relationship develop and, yes, continue beyond the end of the book...

Highly recommended! I've ordered the next two books for this series...

GABixlerReviews