The Arrows of Islam - Book 1 - Part 2 - The Ari Cohen Series: The Ari Cohen Series, #1

By Spencer Hawke

A renegade KGB faction recovers a shot down Stealth Bomber leading to an International Political Conspiracy. Assassin and secret Agent Ari Cohen, a plays-by-his-own-rules Mossad agent, must overcome betrayal of trust as he is pulled into a web of lies and intrigue involving Iran, Russian KGB and a secret society/fraternal brotherhood sworn to protect the United States for more than 200 years. Ari Cohen must now stop an attack that stretches across continents, governments and time. With the help of an ex-Navy SEAL turned Secret Service and the Secretary of State. Ari and his brotherhood of war will face the seemingly immortal guardians of the stolen technology, but will it be enough to protect the free world?

Spencer Hawke writes the kind of spy novels not seen since James Bond’s glory days – introducing a new kind of hero to this age-old thriller. Drawing on his adventurous youth and over-active imagination, Hawke lures the reader into tales of suspense and intrigue full of twists and turns that take them on a real race-to-the-finish ride they won’t soon forget. The Arrows of Islam is the first in a series of novels featuring Ari Cohen. The second, The Swiss Conspiracy, is also available, and the third, The Forgotten, has just been released. The Violinist ETA Fall 2016

• Language: English
• Publisher: Spencer Hawke
• Release date: Feb 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524259211

Spencer Hawke

Spencer developed a love of reading during long winter nights growing up in the UK. His favorite genre during his early youth was action/adventure, historical fiction and espionage novels.  During the 1970's and 80's Ian Fleming with his James Bond series, 007, was a favorite. As Spencer's tastes matured he developed a love for authors like Wilbur Smith and James Mitchener.  These authors had a remarkable lasting effect on Spencer from whom he developed a love for Africa that endures to this day. His favorite books "River God: A novel of Ancient Eqypt, "Pharoah" and "Warlock" all Wilbur Smith best sellers. In addition, Wilbur Smith's Courtney series led to his love of traveling.  At 21, he took off for Africa and crossed the continent North to South through the Sahara, sometimes on foot, and in an old Land Rover which was more temperamental than the English weather..  It was during this adventure, when he was holed up in an abandoned French Foreign Legion outpost, called Fort Mirabelle, that he developed the story line for his first book, "Mystery of the Dead Sea Scrolls - Revealed".  The middle of the Sahara desert in Algeria, is a great catalyst for an over active imagination. Lots of cold desert nights watching camp fires in the distance and not knowing who was friend or foe!!!  Eight months later he finally rolled into South Africa bound for Australia, determined to swim the coral of the Great Barrier Reef. But fate had a different plan for Hawke. This is where James Mitchener's influence took over! Instead of Australia he turned west where the Americas were beckoning. Mitchener's novels, "Hawaii", "Mexico", "Texas" and "Alaska" asserted their influence. One of his proudest moments was when his second book, which has been renamed "The Arrows of Islam" was reviewed by "IndieReader". It received 5 stars with the following accolade, "Hawke's writing excels, especially during the book's many action sequences. The dialogue in the book is both crisp and tense but also humorous at times making for a captivating read that should now be mentioned in the same breath as genre masters - Daniel Silva, Brad Thor and To Clancy." High praise indeed!!!

Book preview

MAN DOWN

Gray’s townhouse was only a short distance from McQueen’s but he took the long way around, constantly checking for pursuit. An hour later, he approached his home from the north instead of what a surveillance team would have expected – the south.

As he drove, he made the call to Secret Service. When his supervisor answered, Gray’s report was short and sweet. Sir, we’ve got a situation at the Secretary of State’s home. She was under surveillance. Silver four-door, late model. Four occupants, all white males in gray suits, dark hair, pale complexions. One exited the vehicle before the vehicle left the area. I instructed the Secretary to stay inside with her detail. No one in or out.

Where are you Gray?

Sir, the vehicle seemed interested in me. I am checking my residence. I had a friend staying with me. I need to know that he is unharmed.

Understood, Agent Gray. I will send backup to your location as well as reinforcements to the Secretary’s home. Keep me apprised.

Gray turned onto College Street to find a parking space still a good distance from his home. He wanted to be on foot, not make an easy target getting out of his car in front of his house. He found a suitable parking space, got out of the car and started the walk toward his house.

He considered waiting for the cavalry to arrive, but his worry for Bob wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t have a repeat of Fairbanks.

Gray put his gun inside his jacket, but held it in his hand, safety off and ready. No need to alarm some sweet little old lady walking her dog.

That sixth sense was ringing alarm bells again, and he asked himself what his subconscious had seen. He stopped and looked around, trying to appear as normal as possible.

What is it, Gray? Think.

He knew that something was wrong; the hairs on the back of his neck were bristling. His training kicked in again and he shifted into automatic mode, his movements mechanical. He still could not make his brain recognize what his eyes had seen. He squinted, as if focusing intently as he looked around would do the trick. He could almost feel his brain melting with the effort.

And then, like a bolt from the blue, there it was; his front door was not closed properly. Someone had forced the door, leaving the door jamb damaged, but closed. It wasn’t obvious from the street, but it was there.

Gray took a second to walk down the street on the same side as his house, all the time trying to scan the houses and roofs across the street. He couldn’t see anything suspicious so he turned around to walk back to his townhouse. He was still checking the roofs as surreptitiously as possible. As he approached his home, he cautiously sidled up the steps to the front door, trying to make himself as small a target as he could.

He peeked through the window by the door quickly. Nothing; he saw no movement. In one swift, sudden move, he crashed through the door, dove head first, hit the floor, and rolled to one side. He scrambled forward along the same side, scurrying like a sidewinder in order to be an impossible target.

His gun was drawn, and he was frantically looking for some sign of Bob. A pool of blood just feet inside the door set his heart racing.

A voice from the corner of the hallway made him jump. Well, that sure was a heck of an entrance.

Bob leaned against the wall, concealed from all windows and doors, bleeding from a shoulder wound and looking very pale with oncoming shock.

Gray crawled over to his friend. Good to see you alive and well, Bob.

You think some foreign brawler in a cheap suit is gonna take me out? But it was obvious Bob was fading.

Gray grabbed his cell phone and dialed the numbers for his supervisor again. In a city like D.C., the Secret Service was more likely to respond faster to his emergency than any ambulance. He grabbed his first aid kit from the hallway closet. An avid sportsman, his kit was heavily stocked for all sorts of traumatic injuries.

He situated Bob prone on the hallway floor as the first detail of reinforcements arrived to keep watch for any wayward Suits. Raising Bob’s knees and covering him with a blanket to help ward of shock, he applied pressure to the shoulder wound and tried to keep him talking.

Sorry about this, pal.

No worries, Gray. I’ve seen worse.

Can you tell me what happened?

I was making a pot of chili in the kitchen when I heard the front door go. Sad to say I was not expecting your home to be invaded, so I was not properly armed.

I would think that awful chili you make would be weapon enough, Gray said with a laugh.

Bob scowled at him. Kick a man when he’s down why don’t you. Anyway... Big, ugly guy comes stomping through the hall. I clobbered him with the cast iron frying pan. I’m sure I broke his nose. But he got a round off as he backed out, and I happened to be right in the way of the bullet.

So they left without knowing if they were successful in taking you out?

It’s a good hit, Bob said. They saw me go down.

Sirens sounded in the distance. Think I’ll rest just a bit, Gray. And don’t go thinking you don’t owe me for this one.

He closed his eyes as the paramedics came through the door.

Gray needed time to think. Of one thing he was sure; it took an incredible amount of organization to mount an operation to take out the Secretary of State’s plane and then have a car full of assassins watching her house and another team watching his townhouse.

There was one other thing that was bothering him – who could get access to all the information necessary to know that he was the agent in charge for the Secretary of State? They also planted a waiter in the Kremlin. This took the resources of a large organization. It was looking more and more like whoever was trying to kill them was top-level brass with government resources available to them.

But why? Gray paced his kitchen as Bob was loaded into the ambulance and he waited to brief his supervisor.

After telling the Secret Service hierarchy everything he knew about the incident – except the fact that he and McQueen weren’t sure the MIGs were Russian or some other terrorist state or even home-grown – Gray was finally alone in his house. A detail guarded the exterior.

Because the Suits had left without knowing if they were successful in their hit, the decision had been made to stage Gray’s death.

After the townhouse cleared, he gathered some things, and headed down to his garage to get Bob’s car, got in and drove off.

The question on his mind now was would the Suits think they had killed Bob, and if so would they think he was Gray? What would be the reaction of his new enemy when they heard the police report that Gray’s body had been found in his townhouse – surprise? He guessed he was going to find out soon enough. He decided that driving around his neighborhood was not a good idea; he needed to find a very public place to stop and think through his next steps. While he was sure his face would not be making the nightly news with any report of his untimely death, if it turned out the Suits new his was alive, he would just as soon be safe in the bosom of a large, protective crowd.

A little while later, he pulled into a truck stop off the highway, got out of the car and went inside the restaurant. He watched the parking area from the lobby for a while and didn’t see anyone following him.

Gray found a back booth and sat with his back to a wall with a good view of the front of the restaurant. Above him, he had a clear line of sight to an overhead television tuned to a local channel. He ordered breakfast, since by now dawn had come and gone, and waited. He knew he needed help, and while the Secret Service guys were good, one name came to mind – the only person he could think of that he really trusted.

After he finished his meal, he saw the news station switch over to an urgent news flash. The camera showed a yellow ribbon cordoning off the outside of his home, emergency lights flashing from police cars and emergency vehicles. Two medical examiners were maneuvering a gurney with Bob’s blanket-draped body on it down from his house and into an ambulance.

"I’m gonna owe him big time