Ken Follett Three Bestsellers
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"Everyone likes a page-turner, and Follett is the best," raves the Philadelphia Inquirer. Now, from the knife-edge drama of Whiteout to the cold war love triangle of Lie Down with Lions to the inspiring true story of a Middle East hostage crisis in On Wings of Eagles, the #1 New York Times bestselling author plunges you into the heart of the action. Whiteout, On Wings of Eagles, Lie Down with Lions.
and he shook it automatically. “Goodbye.” She turned and walked away. She was shaking with anger. He had made her deepest emotions seem unworthy. She wanted to strangle him, not go out with him. She tried to make herself calm. She had a major professional crisis to deal with, and she could not let her feelings get in the way. She went to the reception desk near the door and spoke to the supervisor of the security guards, Steve Tremlett. “Stay here until they’ve all left, and make sure none of
medals kind of fast in those days). I just got divorced, he had said, and the soldier in the next bed had replied No shit. Want to play a little cards? She had not told him about the baby. He found out, a few years later, when he became a spy and tracked Gill down as an exercise, and learned that she had a child with the unmistakably late-sixties name of Petal, and a husband called Bernard who was seeing a fertility specialist. Not telling him about Petal was the only truly mean thing Gill had
thoughts. The Scottish news came on before the UK bulletin. The death of Michael Ross was still the top story, but the report was introduced by a newsreader, not Carl Osborne. That was a good sign, Toni thought hopefully. There was no more of Carl’s laughably inaccurate science. The virus was correctly named as Madoba-2. The anchor was careful to point out that Michael’s death would be investigated by the sheriff at an inquest. “So far, so good,” Stanley murmured. Toni said, “It looks to me
the old fool. If he was well enough to yell at her, he would live. She went to Shahazai, the scarred old fighter. He had already been examined by his sister Rabia, the midwife, who was bathing his cuts. Rabia’s herbal ointments were not quite as antiseptic as they should be, but Jane thought they probably did more good than harm on balance, so she contented herself with making him wiggle his fingers and toes. He was all right. We were lucky, Jane thought. The Russians came, but we escaped with
BSL4. The dateline said December 24. She checked her watch. It was after one o’clock in the morning. Today was Christmas Day, December 25. She was looking at old pictures. Someone had tampered with the feed. She sat at the workstation and accessed the program. In three minutes she established that all the monitors covering BSL4 were showing yesterday’s footage. She corrected them and looked at the screens. In the lobby outside the changing rooms, four people were sitting on the floor. She