Digger

"Rambo meets The Great Escape." --Los Angeles Times "Starts in high gear and doesn't slow down." --The Washington Post "A deftly mapped thriller." --People "Engrossing...nonstop action and original plot...rapid-fire suspense."--Phillip Margolin, New York Times bestselling author of The Burning Man "A well-knit, multilayered story...extremely fast [and] entertaining." --The Denver Post From the Publisher "Rambo meets The Great Escape." --Los Angeles Times "Starts in high gear and doesn't slow down." --The Washington Post "A deftly mapped thriller." --People "Engrossing...nonstop action and original plot...rapid-fire suspense."--Phillip Margolin, New York Times bestselling author of The Burning Man "A well-knit, multilayered story...extremely fast [and] entertaining." --The Denver Post From the Inside Flap in Vietnam, John Fortunato fought in the crushing darkness of the tunnels of Cu Chi, from which the Vietcong launched their deadliest operations. Back home in Elk River, Illinois, he secretly re-created those deadly tunnels. Partly a memorial, partly a kind of exorcism, they now lie hidden beneath the town's peaceful streets.But that peace shatters when Fortunato witnesses the brutal sidewalk shooting of an innocent victim. The vicious crime is only the first assault by a man who will wage a full-scale battle to control Elk River. And on the front line is John Fortunato, whose secret tunnels will provide the battleground for his own war. As his enemy is about to learn, when this veteran warrior goes down, he's just beginning to fight. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One The church was dark until John Fortunato struck the match.xa0xa0The point of light revealed rows of votive candles in red glass sleeves.xa0xa0John touched thexa0xa0match to a wick.xa0xa0"God keep you, Jamie Doolan," he murmured.He blew out the match and watched its wisp of blue smoke curl upward.The vast blackness of the church seemed to swallow the flicker of light fromxa0xa0the candle.xa0xa0But as a cloud passed away from the moon, the stained-glass figure of a resurrected Christ was illuminated high above him.John had intended to light the candle and go.xa0xa0Now, cradling the camera he'dxa0xa0brought with him, he took a seat in a pew and regarded the image of the risenxa0xa0Savior.xa0xa0He never tired of looking at it.xa0xa0The mosaic of leaded glass wasxa0xa0what he held on to: his image of God.Of redemption.His grandfather, Michelangelo Fortunato, had created the window.xa0xa0Had builtxa0xa0the Church of the Resurrection.xa0xa0Then the immigrant artisan had gone on toxa0xa0construct a fair part of the town of Elk River around the limestone church.John had likewise left his mark--not upon the town, where all could see, butxa0xa0somewhere none would ever know.xa0xa0John stepped out of the church.Another cloud bank rolled in, drawing a curtain across the moon.xa0xa0The loss ofxa0xa0its light didn't bother him.xa0xa0Darkness was an old friend.xa0xa0But he felt a sudden chill, a sense of menace, in this night that made his heart beatxa0xa0faster.xa0xa0To his surprise, long-dormant combat instincts came bristling back,xa0xa0and he wished he had his M-16 in his hands again instead of the Nikon aroundxa0xa0his neck.John knew his hometown as well as he knew the lines in his face and the scarsxa0xa0on his soul, and every instinct he had told him that something was very wrongxa0xa0that Sunday night.He began to walk east from the church.xa0xa0He stayed on the park side ofxa0xa0Riverfront Drive.xa0xa0The expanse of Riverfront Park on his right was dark andxa0xa0peaceful: a chorus of cicadas provided the respiratory buzz of a landscape atxa0xa0rest.But to his left, toward town, something was definitely wrong.xa0xa0A predator wasxa0xa0waiting out there .xa0xa0.xa0xa0.xa0xa0waiting to spring.xa0xa0As he drew even with Lincolnxa0xa0Avenue, the town's main commercial street, John stepped behind the statue ofxa0xa0the Great Emancipator that dominated the park.From behind its pedestal, he let his eyes follow Lincoln's bronze gaze outxa0xa0over the sleeping town.xa0xa0He didn't see a soul on the street, but still hisxa0xa0uneasiness grew.In any normal time, he would have felt foolish, peeking out from shelter asxa0xa0if he expected to be attacked.xa0xa0Elk River, Illinois, was Heartland America,xa0xa0the kind of picture-postcard small town where you could walk the streets atxa0xa0night and not be afraid.Or it had been until just last week.Now, the town was entering the second week of a strike against its major employer, Pentronics Systems.xa0xa0Over 3,500 workers, 95 percent of thexa0xa0company's workforce and a fifth of Elk River's population, were off the jobxa0xa0and on the picket line.xa0xa0Negotiations had broken off the first day of thexa0xa0walkout and showed no signs of resuming.xa0xa0If anything, the dispute promisedxa0xa0to become uglier.xa0xa0The possibility of violence was on everyone's mind, hadxa0xa0people on edge, watching their backs.Staying in the shadows, John continued on to the next street, Washington,xa0xa0then turned north, quickly crossing Riverfront Drive.xa0xa0His destination wasxa0xa0the storefront office of the Brotherhood of Manufacturing Workers, Local 274,xa0xa0at the corner of Washington and First, and the closer John came to the unionxa0xa0office, the stronger his feeling of foreboding became.The Pentronics walkout was being led by Tommy Boyle, the president of Localxa0xa0274 and John's closest relative.xa0xa0John was on his way to talk with Tommy about creating a photographic record of the strike.xa0xa0Even though it was late,xa0xa0he knew Tommy would still be on the job.He was edging up to the corner of Washington and First when he heard a voicexa0xa0curse."Fuck." A male voice.xa0xa0Angry.xa0xa0Maybe anxious, too.John stopped dead in his tracks.He heard a door being rattled forcefully, and another curse.xa0xa0Then softxa0xa0footsteps moved off to the west along First Street.xa0xa0John stole a look aroundxa0xa0the corner.A large man dressed in dark clothes was moving toward Lincoln Avenue. Thexa0xa0man walked swiftly and silently, turning his head from side to side as ifxa0xa0looking to see if he was being followed.xa0xa0John was sure that the man had beenxa0xa0trying to get into the darkened office of Local 274, but he didn't know why.xa0xa0 Or which side he was on.John ducked back around the corner just before the man turned to look behindxa0xa0him.Tommy would want to know what he'd seen, John knew.xa0xa0So he turned and madexa0xa0his way back toward Riverfront Drive.xa0xa0Since Tommy wasn't at the desertedxa0xa0union office, John thought he'd have to be with his picketers on the linexa0xa0outside Pentronics Systems.The plant was a half mile west of the Church of the Resurrection.xa0xa0He'd havexa0xa0to retrace his steps.xa0xa0But just as he'd turned onto Riverfront, John heardxa0xa0the sudden mechanical roar of an engine.xa0xa0He knew it was a car, but the imagexa0xa0that immediately came to mind was of a Cobra attack helicopter coming in forxa0xa0a strafing run.Ahead of him, the man he'd seen walking away from Local 274 came running outxa0xa0of Lincoln Avenue, turned the corner onto Riverfront, and headed straight forxa0xa0John.xa0xa0Just behind the man, like some dark, snarling monster torn from a nightmare, a lights-out black sedan raced out of the soft April night.John did the only thing he could.xa0xa0He flicked on his flash unit and itsxa0xa0battery pack, and heard the capactitator whine as it powered up the unit.xa0xa0Hexa0xa0pulled off his lens cap, and raised his motor-driven Nikon to his eye.The car overtook the runner with predatory ease, veering up onto the sidewalkxa0xa0to block his path.xa0xa0The runner desperately reversed his direction, dashingxa0xa0back the way he'd come.xa0xa0The car slammed to a stop with an assist from thexa0xa0brick wall of Riverman Savings.xa0xa0Before it stopped rocking, the back doorsxa0xa0flew open and two hulks pounded after the runner.No one had yet noticed John.xa0xa0If he went now, he could slip away unseen.xa0xa0 Except he'd never be able to explain flaking out to Doolan.He tripped the shutter.xa0xa0To his ear, the Nikon on full automatic screamed asxa0xa0it drove the 1000 ASA film through the camera.xa0xa0A fusillade of searing whitexa0xa0light erupted from his flash unit.xa0xa0He caught one of the hulks cutting thexa0xa0chase short with a silenced handgun.xa0xa0The weapon's noiseless flash left thexa0xa0runner writhing on the ground.John snapped frame after frame, wondering if he'd capture the moment when axa0xa0man was murdered.xa0xa0A movement at the edge of his lens drew his attention backxa0xa0to the black sedan.The front window on the passenger side was sliding down, and the firstxa0xa0thing--the only thing--John saw was the barrel of the gun pointed at him.xa0xa0Hexa0xa0aimed the Nikon at the car, keeping the camera stationary while he duckedxa0xa0down and to the left.xa0xa0His flash unit popped off another series of electronicxa0xa0firecrackers.The idea was to draw the gunfire to the light and blind the shooter at thexa0xa0same time.Some idea.xa0xa0The SOB shot the strobe unit off his camera.xa0xa0The Nikon spun fromxa0xa0John's grip, but the strap looped around his arm and he pinned it at his elbow.The next two shots missed.xa0xa0Badly.xa0xa0The shooter had caught the glarexa0xa0from the strobe.xa0xa0John sprinted across the street toward Riverfront Park.xa0xa0 Behind him, he heard heavy footsteps followed seconds later by car doors slamming, the snarl of an engine, and screeching tires.Now, he'd become the runner.But he was into the trees--and the sheltering darkness--before the car couldxa0xa0catch him.xa0xa0He heard footsteps crashing through the bushes behind him, andxa0xa0shots were fired blindly, some of them coming chillingly close.He needed a hole in the ground, and he had one.xa0xa0He raced down a path to axa0xa0shadowy stand of trees and shrubs where he bent down.xa0xa0Even in the dark hisxa0xa0fingers quickly found the release that secured the camouflaged lid to thexa0xa0tunnel entrance.xa0xa0He lifted it, slithered into the hole he'd dug yearsxa0xa0before, and lowered the lid from below.He was safe--as long as his tunnels stayed secret. Chapter Two The sniper lit up Davey Morowski.One minute poor little Mo was walking point, and the next you could seexa0xa0daylight through him.xa0xa0Seemed he never should've been able to stand up to soxa0xa0many rounds for so long.xa0xa0That fu... Read more