The following is an excerpt from the Spy Thriller Novel Weapon of Choice: A Daniel Crust Adventure. The full novel can be purchased from any B. Dalton Bookstores or Waldenbooks.
Chapter 1
In the Syrian desert, it’s always noon.
And that Tuesday, it felt extra noon-y. The sun shone relentlessly on the barracks as sand-caked trucks hurried past the checkpoint. Sergeants nervously inspected the carriages and kept the convoy moving. Camels grunted under the strain of their loads. You could smell the tension in the air. Or maybe it was just Arab sweat. Two grim-looking generals paced outside their makeshift HQ, thick sand goggles betraying their nerves.
The cacophony of the moment allowed him to slip past unnoticed. This wasn’t his first rodeo. Or second. Or third… you get the gist.
Suddenly, a gunshot rang around the campground and everyone froze.
And then… chaos. Camels ran amok as their cameleers clung on for dear life. Trucks broke formation and raced for the checkpoint. The sergeants screamed at one another, precious spit flying around everywhere, illuminated by the unforgiving sun overhead. The generals hurried back into their tent.
“It wass only maatter of time,” said the older one.
“I do not understand. What military dare to go to war with the Caliphate?” said the other.
“Is not military, my friend. Is one man.”
“One man? Wallah, that is good news. We take care of him right here.”
The older one smiled wistfully. “This not any man. He is man of tactical precision, unparalleled skill, and unrelenting purpose. Many have tried to kill him, and many have died trying.”
“But General. We have all the ammunition we ne-”
“My friend. This is Daniel Crust.”
“Hello, boys,” a voice boomed from behind. The older general’s blood went cold. The younger one reached for his gun but immediately collapsed to the floor in a puff of red mist. Blood started pooling around him from a bright red dot in the middle of his forehead.
“I take it you’re the smart one,” said Crust, golden locks dancing in the desert wind. His piercing blue eyes shined like diamonds in a coal mine.
“Meester Crust. We meet again,” said the older general.
“Really? It’s quite difficult to tell all of you apart, honestly. Maybe it’s the… everything.”
“I remember you well, Meester Crust. You single-hand destroy my finest team in Al Hudaydah with only screwdriver and woman’s scarf.”
“I do apologize. I was on vacation, and your boys ruined it.”
“Speaking of vacation, Meester Crust, I’m afraid is time for you to meet Allah.”
A thousand rifles cocked outside the tent and shadows surrounded Crust. This time, the general looked relieved. “How will you escape now?” he said.
“Well, a vacation does sound great. But I’ve never enjoyed traveling alone,” said Crust as he tugged at the rope linked to his tactical belt. The general’s mouth dropped open as he traced it to the ceiling of the tent and beyond.
“Sorry, General. You’re coming with me,” said Crust, as a second rope sprang out of the sand and grew taut around the general’s leg. He watched Crust rise to the sky as the ceiling tent ripped open, and in an instant, his world turned upside down, literally. He shot up in the air like a ragdoll and drifted helplessly, suspended only by a leg. His screams rang through the campground as the befuddled soldiers simply stared at him disappearing into the sky. By the time he was pulled onto the aircraft, Crust had already lit a cigar.
“Looks like you’re gonna need a change of clothes, General,” he said, pointing at the big, wet patch around the general’s groin.
Chapter 2
“THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!” Markham bellowed. “I bet the President will have some choice words about Crust’s ‘adventures.’”
“Well, two of them better be ‘thank you’,” said Assistant Defense Secretary Tart.
Markham turned tomato red. In his two years as Chief of Intelligence and private counsel to the president, he was usually the one doing the condescending.
“Thanks to Crust and his team, not only did we seize the largest shipment of ISIS weapons in a decade, but we also have one of their top generals in custody who, might I add, gave us enough intel to fill three whole binders even before Crust’s plane landed in Arlington,” Tart continued.
“Yes, but flying a Syrian military general across the city with his leg tied to an aircraft, and… making a whole scene!” Markham gestured wildly over his head. “Imagine the ways this could have gone wrong.”
“I don’t have to,” said Tart. “Crust has never failed the DoD. And as has always been our unofficial stance—we trust Crust.”
Markham looked away mumbling to himself. “Speaking of, where is your daredevil? Shouldn’t he be presenting his report on the Syrians… like fifteen minutes ago?”
XXX
The afternoon sun kissed the soft wrinkles on Susan Sarandon’s back. Crust traced his finger along them slowly, admiring the warmth of her skin, seemingly untouched by the last seventy-seven years. She turned to him and smiled.
“Good morning.”
“It’s technically 12.04 pm,” he smiled back. Susan marveled at his flawless white teeth.
“How do you always know what time it is?”
“It’s how I know I have to leave.”
She frowned and linked her long, slender fingers through his. “Do you have to leave right away?” her eyes shone mischievously.
“Well, I suppose the Secretary of Defense can keep himself occupied for a bit.”
Susan wriggled out of her robe, revealing small yet firm breasts. Gravity did not do them justice. Crust stared hungrily, a deep longing rising in his loins. She grabbed Crust’s calloused and scarred hand and guided it along her golden skin, right from her lips to the heat between her legs. Their lips met for the fourth time in twelve hours, stirring up ancient passions that lit the calm Virginia afternoon on fire.
Little did Crust know then that it was the last time he’d ever see Susan Sarandon. The moment he stepped through the doors at the Pentagon an hour later, his life would change, and he’d realize that when you take on the Caliphate, there’s no going back. Because in this line of business, nothing is just business.