Sierra

Anderson Ray

Description

- ARC mailing send out to influencers and trade publications
- B2B and B2C email marketing campaign
- DRC made available to bloggers and media through Edelweiss
- Large social media campaign through Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram
- Local book signings and author events
- Promotion on TurnerPublishing.com and raykanderson.com
Even in the wilderness, trouble seems to find Karl Bergman. Years after his run-in with a serial killer on the Appalachian Trail, Bergman sets out on a thru-hike of the Pacific Crest Trail with his dog, Blazer, with hopes of returning home a better man. But the discovery of a dead body on the outskirts of the Anza-Borrego Desert threatens to embroil Bergman in another violent chain of events with even higher stakes than his previous ordeal. This time his adversary is not just one man as the dead body appears to be linked to a drug cartel using mules to move product from Mexico to Canada. An uneasy alliance with a San Diego narcotics officer makes things more difficult, but when Bergman reconnects with his estranged son Kenny, a sophomore at UCLA, he puts both of them in grave danger that can only be escaped by bringing down the cartel's operation.

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Policier
• Thrillers
• Crime
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Turner Publishing Company
• Date de parution: 25 octobre 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781681626239
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Praise for Ray Anderson s THE TRAIL
THE TRAIL is an intense psychological cat-and-mouse thriller, written by a bright new talent who is very familiar with military survival strategies and the unique and unforgettable setting that distinguishes this story. Well-written and well-researched, Ray Anderson s debut novel will grab you from the disturbing opening scene and hold you in its grip until the grand payoff at the end of the trail.
-Gary Braver, bestselling author of Skin Deep and Tunnel Vision
There s a particular darkness in the crimes of a middle-aged man. Murder s thought to be the medium of younger people with poor impulse control, bad nurture and a hormonally-induced taste for the dark side. But when a man at midlife commits murders on the Appalachian Trail, the crimes open a window into something aberrant. Ray Anderson captures this darkness with extraordinary skill. He s in total control of his prose, characters and a story that manifests the most disturbing crisis of all-that humans can do these things, and we the readers, are human too.
-Mike Hogan, author of Burial of the Dead
This book has more twists and turns than the Appalachian Trail itself . . . a compelling, atmospheric thriller . . . Anderson captures the imagery and emotion of the renowned trail like no one else.
-Brett Ellen Block, author of The Lightning Rule, Destination Known , and The Grave of God s Daughter
THE TRAIL perfectly captures the essence of the backpacker s lifestyle, and the natural beauty of the outdoors stands in stark contrast to the violent events that unfold.
-Michelle Ray, author of How to Hike the A.T .
SIERRA
SIERRA

RAY ANDERSON
Turner Publishing Company
Nashville, Tennessee
New York, New York
www.turnerpublishing.com
Sierra, A Novel
Copyright 2016 Ray Anderson.
All rights reserved. This book or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover design: Maddie Cothren
Book design: Kym Whitley
Author Photo: Molly St. John
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Anderson, Ray, 1942- author.
Title: Sierra / by Ray Anderson.
Description: Nashville, Tennessee : Turner Publishing Company, [2016] | Series: An AWOL thriller ; 2
Identifiers: LCCN 2016007634 | ISBN 9781681626215 (softcover)
Subjects: | GSAFD: Suspense fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3601.N54475 S55 2016 | DDC 813/.6--dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2016007634
9781681626215
Printed in the United States of America
15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
TO NANCY- THE BEST THING TO EVER HAPPEN TO ME.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I WANT TO THANK THOSE readers who gave me helpful criticism. They include Joe and Fran Cucci, Susan Trausch, Virginia Young, Carol Chubb, Jennifer Harris, and others I may have missed here. Several readers also gave me detailed guidance and suggestions. These people are my sister Judy Carlson, Gus Borgeson, David Gardner, Robert Jones, John Lovett, Linda Santoro, Susan Shannon, David Miller, and, most of all, Alan Kennedy. My thanks to Hank Zulauf and his daughter, Holly Ciannella, for reviewing all the Spanish. Thank you Molly St. John, for my new backcover photo. As many of you know, David Miller, who writes the A.T. field guides, also gave me permission to use his trail name, Awol, for my protagonist throughout my hiking-thriller series.
I m grateful that my agent, Sorche Fairbank, continues to represent and guide me. I would not be here without her. My thanks to everyone at Turner Publishing and particularly to the editors there who have taught me so much. My best to all the hikers I met on the Pacific Crest Trail. We saw some truly awesome sights. My biggest thanks to my family and especially to my wife, Nancy, to whom this book is dedicated.
I took a few liberties with scenes and locations so I could fit the timelines in the plot. But this was minor and most everything in setting and description, including the weather, came straight from my journals. I alone am responsible for any inconsistencies.
SIERRA

CHAPTER ONE
Valle de las Palmas, Mexico April 2, 2007
LUIS ALVARADO LIFTED THE WHITE pawn and replaced it with his black bishop.
Check!
Manuel s hand hovered over his king. His position was helpless. The banjo clock ticked, echoing off the veranda wall.
Manuel tipped over his king. Bravo, se or.
And now, Alvarado said, standing, you will come with me.
The guard approached, hand resting on a holstered pistol. His thumbnail was missing, and a tattoo of a viper s head peeked from his sleeve.
Manuel, puzzled, looked at Alvarado. Se or?
Alvarado backhanded Manuel across the face. The guard stuck his pistol into Manuel s back and shoved him through the doorway.
A few minutes later, Alvarado watched the executioner strip Manuel and lock him in a holding cell. I hate to lose chess players, Alvarado said.
Alvarado walked to the other side of the stone building, a former stable now converted into an interrogation room. He sat down at his desk, in front of a muscular young man seated in a chair. The man handed Alvarado a set of papers. I hope-
Repeat my instructions, Alvarado ordered.
The man stood. I will obey my field commander. I will complete my mission on time, every time. If injured or sick, I will find a way to complete my mission. I will never deviate from these instructions.
Good. Now, listen carefully. Do you understand my instructions?
S , se or.
Alvarado read through the papers down to the dated signature at the bottom. From here on, you are called Barcelona. Your field commander is El Verdugo. Alvarado pushed a button on the desk intercom. Bring him.
The man turned his head toward a growing rumble that sounded like something being wheeled on casters. Two men came into view, pushing someone strapped to a cross-shaped table. A man lay on his back, gagged. Metal troughs fastened under the cross extended on all edges below him. The men bowed to Se or Alvarado and left the room. A man Barcelona recognized as a guard entered with a machete.
This scum you see here, Alvarado said to Barcelona, did not follow instructions. He-Manuel-became distracted, then greedy. Manuel jerked furiously, but his arms and legs were strapped. Alvarado turned to his guard. Proceed.
The machete swooshed down and separated the left arm at the elbow as Barcelona winced. The guard moved to the other side of the crosslike table and sliced through the right arm. Both stubs twisted and jerked; blood spurted from arteries, while the straps held the torso firm. Barcelona became weak and had to sit back down in the chair as the machete hacked the gagged man s right foot. After the executioner had severed both feet, he removed the gag. Screams reverberated off the stone walls. Blood drained into the troughs.
The three watched Manuel spasmodically jerk his truncated limbs. When Barcelona could stand the shrieks no longer and put his hands to his ears, Alvarado motioned to the guard. A few seconds later, the assistants returned to trundle Manuel out of the room.
As distance diminished the screams, Barcelona was unable to avert Se or Alvarado s stare. Both men heard a metal door heave shut and muted wails. All the while, Se or Alvarado continued to stare into Barcelona s eyes.
I shall ask you one last time: Barcelona, do you understand my instructions?
CHAPTER TWO
KARL BERGMAN STOOD IN THE roseate glow of dawn at the Mexican border and the southern terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail. One of the five wooden pillars marking the PCT read 2,627 miles to Canada, but only the first sixteen miles were on Bergman s mind. Sixteen hot, arid miles that would daunt a camel. Twenty-one miles if Hauser Creek had gone dry, which his trail guide noted happened often this time of year. His dog, Blazer, sniffed the monument s sunken vertical beams, lifted his hind leg behind the tallest one, and peed. Bergman squinted south through the border fence. He half expected illegals to pop up out of nowhere, but all was quiet. The stars had disappeared; sand and sage stretched before him.
The beginning of a long-distance hike was normally a heady moment for Bergman, an experienced outdoorsman. But he didn t feel the anticipation he d had when he thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail. Here the beginning sections were desolate and water availability a constant challenge. And he was uneasy, what with illegals trying to escape from Mexico into the United States, never mind all the other stuff about Mexican drug gangs and rival cartels. It looked like a forlorn land, and he was eager to be in mountains and forests and the Sierras, much farther north.
Bergman knelt down and adjusted the dog s saddlebags. You ready to move out, boy? He scratched the Belgian Malinois, mixed with a touch of shepherd. Bergman could feel the rising sun s warmth pushing away the last of night and was glad the animal wasn t too furry. He stood and planted his trekking poles on the marked path that headed north, and Blazer, sensing purpose in his master, moved ahead smartly.
He looked at the dog, but he thought about his wife, Linda. Six weeks ago, he d gotten drunk and fought with her. He yanked a mirror off the wall, smashed it over a chair, slammed the door, and drove off-clean across his neighbor s front lawn, taking out a mailbox. An hour later he was arrested for DUI and disturbing the peace in a neighboring Massachusetts coastal town. He d lost his license, again, and Linda- Pack your shit! -kicked him out. All over a couple of six-packs. Stupid thing was he d reduced his drinking, and it was the first time he d gotten drunk in over six months. He had been getting better.
The te