Last Light (Nick Stone 04) [Paperback]

Last Light is a resounding demonstration of Andy McNab's evolving abilities, offering a richer level of plotting, along with the customary well-turned rough stuff. McNab might initially have seemed to be some kind of briefly shining star in the bestseller firmament, his SAS experience and well-advertised pseudonym guaranteeing a couple of toughly authentic thrillers in the style of Bravo Two Zero, and no more. But such successive books as Firewall, Remote Control and Crisis Four have categorically demonstrated that he has more than enough top-flight skills to sustain a long writing career.

In Last Light, after terminating an officially approved assassination bid at the Houses of Parliament when he realises the identity of the intended target, McNab's hard-as-nails protagonist Nick Stone, "deniable operator" of the intelligence services, is severely disciplined by his bosses. He is told to travel to Panama and finish the job, or he and Kelly (the 11-year-old girl he is guarding) will be "taken care of" themselves. As Nick gets ready for his assignment in central America, he soon finds that his enemies have turned the tables on him: he is now the hunted, and finds himself up to his neck in a murky plot involving Colombian rebels and the US government. All the usual McNab fingerprints are here: not too much shading, but flinty characterisation and a barrel load of high-velocity action.--Barry Forshaw --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

‘Gripping stuff … Nick Stone makes Action Man look like a couch potato.’ Daily Express

‘McNab’s great asset is that the heart of his fiction is not fiction: other thriller writers do their research, but he has actually been there.’ Sunday Times

--This text refers to the Unknown Binding edition.

'Gripping stuff ! Nick Stone makes Action Man look like a couch potato.' Daily Express 'McNab's great asset is that the heart of his fiction is not fiction: other thriller writers do their research, but he has actually been there.' Sunday Times --This text refers to the Unknown Binding edition.

The incendiary new thriller from the bestselling author of Remote Control,Crisis Four and Firewall.

Aborting an officially-sanctioned assassination attempt at the Houses of Parliament when he realises who the target is, Secret Intelligence Service 'deniable operator' Nick Stone is given a chilling ultimatum by his bosses: fly to Panama and complete the task, or he and Kelly, the 11-year-old girl in his guardianship, will be killed.

In Central America, Stone prepares for his mission. But he has made powerful enemies, and as the hunter turns into the hunted, Nick gradually uncovers a far-reaching conspiracy involving Colombian rebels, the US government, and Chinese big business. In an explosive denouement at the Panama Canal, with everyone's true colours ultimately revealed, Nick Stone faces the toughest decision of his life.

Aborting an officially-sanctioned assassination attempt at the Houses of Parliament when he realises who the target is, Secret Intelligence Service deniable operator Nick Stone is given a chilling ultimatum: fly to Panama and finish the job, or Kelly, the eleven-year-old orphan in his charge, will be killed.

Stone is on the edge, struggling to pick up the pieces of his shattered life, trying to come to terms with a heartrending decision he has made about Kelly's future. By the time he arrives in Panama, he is close to breaking point. And in the sweltering Central American jungle, Stone finds himself at the centre of a lethal conspiracy involving Colombian guerrillas, the US government and Chinese big business. At stake are hundreds of innocent lives.

He has a critically injured friend to rescue and miles of dense rainforest to navigate. And in an explosive denouement at the Panama Canal, Nick Stone is forced to make the toughest decision of his life...

Andy McNab joined the infantry as a boy soldier. In 1984 he was 'badged' as a member of 22 SAS Regiment and was involved in both covert and overt special operations worldwide. During the Gulf War he commanded Bravo Two Zero, a patrol that, in the words of his commanding officer, 'will remain in regimental history for ever'. Awarded both the Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM) and Military Medal (MM) during his military career, McNab was the British Army's most highly decorated serving soldier when he finally left the SAS in February 1993. He wrote about his experiences in two phenomenal bestsellers, Bravo Two Zero, which was filmed in 1998 starring Sean Bean, and Immediate Action. He is the author of the bestselling novels, Firewall, Crisis Four, Last Light, Remote Control, Liberation Day, Dark Winter, Deep Black, Aggressor and Recoil. Besides his writing work, he lectures to security and intelligence agencies in both the USA and UK.

Sunday, 3 September 2000

I didn't know who we were going to kill - just that he or
she would be amongst the crowd munching canapés and
sipping champagne on the terrace of the Houses of Parliament
at 3 p.m., and that the Yes Man would identify the target
by placing his hand on their left shoulder when he greeted
them.
I'd done some weird stuff over the years, but this job was scaring me. In less than ninety minutes, I was going to be shitting on my own doorstep big-time. I only hoped the Firm knew what it was doing, because I wasn't too sure that I did.
As I looked down yet again at the clear plastic lunch-box on the desk in front of me, three torch bulbs sticking out of holes I'd burnt in the lid stared back up. None of them was illuminated; the three snipers were still not in position.
Everything about this job was wrong. We'd been given the wrong weapons. We were in the wrong place. And there just hadn't been enough time to plan and prepare.
I stared through the net curtains across the boat-filled river. The Houses of Parliament were some 350 metres away to my half left. The office I'd broken into was on the top floor of County Hall, the former Greater London Council building. Now redeveloped into offices, hotels and tourist attractions, it overlooked the Thames from the south side. I was feeling rather grand sitting behind a highly polished, dark wood desk, as I looked out at the killing ground.
Parliament's terrace spanned the whole of its river frontage. Two prefabricated pavilions with candy-striped roofs had been erected at the far left end, for use throughout the summer months. Part of the terrace, I'd learnt from their website, was for Members of the House of Lords, and part for the House of Commons. The public were not admitted unless they were with an MP or peer, so this was probably the nearest I was ever going to get.
The Department of Trade and Industry's guests today were a group of about thirty businessmen, plus staff and some family, from Central and South America. Maybe the DTI was trying to curry a bit of favour and sell them a power station or two. Who cared? All I knew was that one of them would be getting dropped somewhere between the vol-au-vents and the profiteroles.
Directly below me, and five storeys down, Albert Embankment was thronged with hot-dog vendors and stalls selling plastic policeman's helmets and postcards of Big Ben to people queuing for the London Eye, or just enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon. A sightseeing boat packed with tourists passed under Westminster Bridge. I could hear a bored voice telling the story of Guy Fawkes over a crackly PA system.
It was holiday season and another news-starved week, so Mr Murdoch and his mates were going to be ever so pleased with what I was about to do: the biggest explosion in London this year, and right in the heart of Westminster. With the added bonus of a major shooting incident, it would probably take their ratings right off the scale. Unfortunately, good news for them was bad
for me. SB (Special Branch) were going to be working their
arses off to find out who'd pressed the button, and they were
the best in the world at this sort of thing. They'd been formed to stop the IRA carrying out exactly the kind of stunt I was about
to pull.
Three torch bulbs were still unlit. I wasn't flapping, just concerned.
At either end of the row of lights was a white, rectangular bell-push from a door chime set, glued in position with Evostik, the wires curling into the box. The one on the left was covered with the top from a can of shaving cream. It was the detonation pressel for the device that I'd set up as a diversion. The device was basically a black powder charge, designed to give off a big enough bang to grab London's attention but not to kill anyone. There would be some damage, there'd be the odd cut or bruise, but there shouldn't be any fatalities. The shaving cream top was there because I didn't want to detonate it by accident. The pressel
on the right was exposed. This was the one that would initiate the shoot.
Next to the box I had a set of binos mounted on a mini-tripod and trained on the killing ground. I was going to need them to watch the Yes Man as he moved about the crowd and ID'd the target.
The lunch-box contained a big, green, square lithium battery, and a mess of wires and circuit boards. I'd never tried to make things look neat; I just wanted them to work. Two purple plastic-coated wire antennas stuck out of the rear of the box, trailed along the desk, over the window-sill I'd pushed it up against, then dangled down the outside wall. I had the window closed down on them to cut out as much noise as possible.
The loudest sound in the room was my breathing, which started to quicken as the witching hour got closer.. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.