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by Steve Bederman
Description: Mitch Jacobs returns in this breathtaking novel of deceit, manipulation, and the hypocritical notions of world leaders from Hungary, to the United Kingdom, Pakistan, and the United States. Mitch is still struggling mightily to hold on to his corporation Symbiotic Technologies but has to face the end result of what the first book 'The CEO' alluded to. It begins with Mitch kidnapped in Pakistan where only the most bold acts of courage can save him. Inevitably he returns to the world to take the lead with his team of executives, political friendships, and security allegiances. They must face the most shocking events possible. While Symbiotic Technologies holds on to it's world leading business position by a thread, Mitch Jacobs must fight both; certain countries deliberate attempts at stealing what is his and face his own and very real demons of love and drugs. Once and for all he must to destroy his past friend and now insane enemy, Ian Miller. 'Executive Execution' takes the Mitch Jacobs series to, simply, new heights of remarkable bravery, sad cases, and despicable behavior from those one would never expect. The answers will be learned by the reader as he and she twists and turns with each nuance and expectation. Surprises abound; as is this author's exciting approach to writing suspense; in which climax will be the ending. This can only be answered by the reader! With all of this to sort through it lends credence to his third Mitch Jacobs series novel, to be released by years end and called 'Business As Usual'.
eBook Publisher: Solstice Publishing/Solstice Publishing, 2010
eBookwise Release Date: November 2010
32 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [361 KB]
Reading time: 236-330 min.
Swat Valley, Pakistan
* * * *
He felt one drip after the other hit his forehead and slowly roll down into his ear...over and over again. His mind drifted, though every once in awhile he felt that damn drop of water. It was always storming outside, and the sounds of thunder and cracks of lightening were the crescendo defining the current state of his condition. He was filled with a growing sorrow and overwhelming fears.
He lay prone on a tattered and smelly mat with his arms and legs splayed outwards into something of a 'Christ on the Cross' position. The ground was soft, and when he spread his fingers out past the mat and dug them in, it felt like soft clay to his hands. He squeezed it.
His strength was greatly diminished and had been for longer than he could remember. He rarely moved. He was eating one meal a day, although he couldn't have told you what it was. Well, the bread he did know; it was Nan. Beyond that...it just didn't matter.
When he thought to defecate, he'd raise himself onto his knees and crawl over to the hole dug into the dirt flooring. Sometimes, though, it was just too difficult.
They'd occasionally come in and cover up the old hole and dig a new one; leaving a bucket of water and a rag. He supposed their intention was an attempt at sanitation, but it just made it harder on him. What were they expecting him to do?
Now, as he laid feeling the clay like mud with his finger tips and gauging the drops of water running into his ears, he became frantic with an almost unimaginable anxiety.
Where are my matches...what did I do with them? he was crazed as his eyes darted across the room. He slowly sat up and searched each puddle of water that had been fed by the rain coming through the cracks in the roof planks.
Standing in one corner with its base settled into a puddle was his pipe... the Hookah. It was the equivalent of a Turkish pipe or in this case it was his 'opium works'.
"But where in hell are my matches?"
He rolled to his left off the muddy mat and crawled on hands and knees towards the Hookah. He needed to remove it from the puddle, find and dry the wooden matches, then preserve what was left of the black tar Afghani opium; that he was sure he'd set on the floor near the base of the pipe.
If he smoked it rather than ate it then it would last him much longer. He had to make sure that it would remain as long as possible. He had grown tired of the pain.
They'd inevitably give him more but as was their wont, they'd wait until he had fully experienced the pain of detox. They'd done this to him each and every time. He'd take all the opium they would give him and try to make it sustain as long as he could. Inevitably, he'd use it all up. He had to. They'd addicted him to it the first weeks after his abduction.
Each time he ran out of the drug they'd wait until he'd gone through all of the craving, all of the cramping, and all of the panicked hallucinations that go with 'cold turkey' from opium addiction. Finally, when he was strained beyond comprehension, they'd give him more and the cycle would start once again.... over and over again like the damn rain drops rolling off of his forehead.