The Tursiops Syndrome
by John C. Waite
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
GENRE: Thriller
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BLURB:
How do you get a nuke into the heart of the city? Maybe a dolphin can help.
From Author John Waite, the tale of a police detective who matches wits with a mad scientist
and terrorists intent on destroying America. When detective Hickory Logan joins Park Ranger Kevin
Whitehead investigating the mysterious death of a dolphin she finds herself sucked into a far deeper
whirlpool. Can she and Kevin stop the tide of terror that threatens to kill thousands or will they be
fodder for a nuclear fireball?
From Author John Waite, the tale of a police detective who matches wits with a mad scientist
and terrorists intent on destroying America. When detective Hickory Logan joins Park Ranger Kevin
Whitehead investigating the mysterious death of a dolphin she finds herself sucked into a far deeper
whirlpool. Can she and Kevin stop the tide of terror that threatens to kill thousands or will they be
fodder for a nuclear fireball?
A newspaper review described Tursiops thus: "The writing is, well, wonderful.
Waite has a gift for dialogue and story-telling, and his plot is adventurous and perfectly paced. "
Waite has a gift for dialogue and story-telling, and his plot is adventurous and perfectly paced. "
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
EXCERPT
Red Logan hunkered down next to the Humvee's left front wheel.
He folded his lanky frame in several places to assure that the vehicle shielded him from rifle fire
emanating from the house a hundred feet away.
He folded his lanky frame in several places to assure that the vehicle shielded him from rifle fire
emanating from the house a hundred feet away.
A furious fusillade had greeted A-Company, first battalion, 407th Special Forces when their vehicles
pulled to a halt in front of what was a rather strange building for northern Afghanistan.
In the early morning darkness it looked for all the world like a California ranch-style home.
pulled to a halt in front of what was a rather strange building for northern Afghanistan.
In the early morning darkness it looked for all the world like a California ranch-style home.
But there was no BMW parked in the driveway.
The firefight lasted less than fifteen minutes. There was only an occasional round pinging off the
slate-riddled soil and infrequent bursts of automatic fire keeping the soldiers from charging the
structure. Red wondered why the squads weren’t using some of the heavier weapons.
He knew the unit armament included shoulder-fired missiles and a Carl Gustav 84-mm recoilless
rifle but so far, the big stuff had been silent.
slate-riddled soil and infrequent bursts of automatic fire keeping the soldiers from charging the
structure. Red wondered why the squads weren’t using some of the heavier weapons.
He knew the unit armament included shoulder-fired missiles and a Carl Gustav 84-mm recoilless
rifle but so far, the big stuff had been silent.
The tip had placed Azam al-Zawahiri, Al-Qaeda's chief organizer for nine-eleven, in the house.
Numerous such tips over the past two years had come to nothing.
Most of them originated in minds overly-motivated to garner the twenty million American dollars
offered for the capture of several of the world’s most wanted terrorists.
Most of them originated in minds overly-motivated to garner the twenty million American dollars
offered for the capture of several of the world’s most wanted terrorists.
At least one Osama bin Laden look-alike had been found dead.
And it took weeks before authorities identified the body. The man had been killed and left in a house
to which an Afghan citizen directed U.S. forces. Not only did he not get the reward he sought,
but his countrymen also jailed him for mutilating the corpse by cutting off its hands and feet.
And it took weeks before authorities identified the body. The man had been killed and left in a house
to which an Afghan citizen directed U.S. forces. Not only did he not get the reward he sought,
but his countrymen also jailed him for mutilating the corpse by cutting off its hands and feet.
Army intelligence, a title Red thought oxymoronic, had considered tonight’s tip more credible than
most since it had come in anonymously. The tipster hadn’t mentioned the reward.
So the Special Forces unit had headed out in the predawn darkness for a two-hour drive north from
Kabul into the mountainous terrain.
most since it had come in anonymously. The tipster hadn’t mentioned the reward.
So the Special Forces unit had headed out in the predawn darkness for a two-hour drive north from
Kabul into the mountainous terrain.
“Red?”
The voice belonged to the figure squeezed into the wheel well behind him.
He could barely see Jessie’s sinewy shape, strangely gawky where the video camera and its
now-dark lights rested on her right thigh.
now-dark lights rested on her right thigh.
“Yeah, what?” he whispered.
“Should I get some video?” Jessie asked, cocking her left hand back over her shoulder.
“Hell no. We're reporters, not soldiers. CNN's not paying us to get shot. Just keep your ass down.
There's nothing to shoot."
There's nothing to shoot."
Before he could finish his sentence, an amplified Afghan voice rang out from the vicinity of the lead
Humvee, imploring the occupants of the house to surrender. The answer was a three-shot rifle volley,
the rounds pinging off the hard-pack and whining away into the darkness.
Humvee, imploring the occupants of the house to surrender. The answer was a three-shot rifle volley,
the rounds pinging off the hard-pack and whining away into the darkness.
“Now,” Jessie said, pushing past Red and swinging the camera onto her shoulder, leaning on the
Hummer’s hood.
Hummer’s hood.
“No.” Red yelled, trying to pull her to the ground. But it was too late.
The light on Jessie’s camera flared brilliantly then died in a crash of glass and the harsh double bark
of a Kalashnikov. The rounds zinged away into the darkness, but Red heard in the report the crunch
of bone.
The light on Jessie’s camera flared brilliantly then died in a crash of glass and the harsh double bark
of a Kalashnikov. The rounds zinged away into the darkness, but Red heard in the report the crunch
of bone.
“Jessie.” he screamed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Guest Post
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Guest Post
What would you do to stop a mad scientist?
An appropriate question, since stopping a mad
scientist is the driver in The Tursiops Syndrome.
At least it starts that way, but the plot
expands rapidly to include a drug importing consortium and a far eastern
organization bent on destroying the United States. The group plans to use the
scientist’s research, and his dolphins, to deliver a nuclear device to the
doorstep of the United States Congress.
Hickory Logan stumbles on the plot when she and a friendly park ranger,
Kevin Whitehead, try to rescue a dolphin
stranded on Pensacola Beach. Hickory is a lieutenant in the local police
department, and when the dolphin stranding leads to an unknown drug ring
importing some bad heroin, she launches an investigation. The action takes
Hickory and Kevin to Mexico and imprisons them aboard a large research vessel
that wends it way across the ocean and up the Potomac River close to Washington
DC.
The race to stop a nuclear explosion depends on her influence on the
“mad” scientist and his ambitions. How can she and Kevin, imprisoned aboard the
big boat, find a way to stop the gang from carrying out the plot? And what is
the fate of the scientist?
Kevin excerpt
Kevin stared at the paper he had just pulled
from the fax machine. The words digested quickly enough, but their implications
made Kevin's stomach churn.
The porpoise had died of heroin poisoning.
What?
The fax was from the Miami Cetacean Institute,
where Kevin had sent the remains of the porpoise he and Hickory had pulled from
the surf. The report conclusively attributed the creature’s demise to heroin
poisoning.
Heroin? How did a porpoise get heroin?
Why would they have even tested for it?
The report was detailed including a complete
description of the autopsy. The tech who had done the cutting noted that the
dolphin's stomach contents included small plastic baggies. The baggies were virtually undamaged by the
digestive enzymes and each held residue. The technician knew how such baggies
were used on the street.
The results were definitive. High-quality heroin
and fentanyl. The quantity would have killed several humans.
The fax asked for more information on where and
how the porpoise was found.
He had to tell Hickory, but he didn't want to.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Thousands of author John C Waite’s words flew past Alpha Centauri years ago,
heading for the center of the galaxy, perhaps sparking an arthropod’s grin in route.
Waite, a degreed journalist and retired Merchant Mariner has numerous writing and broadcasting
awards to his credit, and millions of words in print and broadcast media.
Originally from New Orleans he has called Panhandle Florida his home for fifty years,
but still retains a taste for things Creole and Cajun. A recreational and professional sailor,
his travels have covered the Caribbean, the Atlantic and Pacific coasts, portions of south and
Central America, Canada, Hawaii, Ireland, Britain, and Europe. John resides in Pensacola, Florida.
He is a father to four, and grandfather to four. His books are available on Amazon.
heading for the center of the galaxy, perhaps sparking an arthropod’s grin in route.
Waite, a degreed journalist and retired Merchant Mariner has numerous writing and broadcasting
awards to his credit, and millions of words in print and broadcast media.
Originally from New Orleans he has called Panhandle Florida his home for fifty years,
but still retains a taste for things Creole and Cajun. A recreational and professional sailor,
his travels have covered the Caribbean, the Atlantic and Pacific coasts, portions of south and
Central America, Canada, Hawaii, Ireland, Britain, and Europe. John resides in Pensacola, Florida.
He is a father to four, and grandfather to four. His books are available on Amazon.
The book will be on sale for $0.99 during the tour.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
GIVEAWAY INFORMATION
John C. Waite will be awarding a $50 Gift Certificate to Nuts.com to a randomly drawn
winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Thanks for hosting!
ReplyDeleteYou're welcome!
DeleteSounds like a good read.
ReplyDeleteI really like the cover with the dolphins. Thanks!
ReplyDeleteDone by my daughter Windy Waite, a graphic artist currently freelancing in Denver. She worked for a lot of years at the Readers Digest in upstate New York.
DeleteAnyone with questions or comments, johngllgskns@gmail.com
ReplyDelete