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The World and Universal Academy Foundation has for ideal goals to promote the arts, the culture and the peace world-wide.
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WUACADEMIA |
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This book won the GOLD PRIZE 2007 |
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| Synopsis | |||||||||||||||||||
| A searing exploration of the power of revenge when it consumes the deadliest commando in South America. Roland Sabatini and John Muir are young missionaries who have been called to bring the Word of God to a remote Amazonian tribe. Soon after they meet, John begins to notice strange and incongruous abilities in his Argentine companion. Roland is an expert tracker and survivalist; he knows the rain forest intimately and is a martial artist. Roland ultimately reveals that he is a commando on a mission of vengeance. While tracking his prey, Roland meets Lourdes McCallum, the daughter of a rubber-tapper and descendant of one of the many Southern families that emigrated to the Amazon after the Civil War. When they fall in love, he is torn between vengeance and love and the stronger will determine life and death. |
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| Read the first chapter/Lire le premier chapitre | |||||||||||||||||||
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| Title/titre: In the Talons of the Condor | |||||||||||||||||||
| Auteur/author: Gustavo Florentin | |||||||||||||||||||
| ISBN/EAN: 978-90-79266-12-8 | |||||||||||||||||||
| Wuacademia Wuacademy publisher | |||||||||||||||||||
| Read the prologue/Lire le prologue | |||||||||||||||||||
PROLOGUE FALKLAND ISLANDSApril 1, l982 The fishing trawler dropped its commandos eight kilometers from the targetpoint and the three Zodiac rafts proceeded landward. Lieutenant Roland Sabatini had trained eight years for this mission, but the denials of sleep and food, the gnashing elements, were small rigors now that the day had come. When the rafts came to within a thousand meters of the shoreline, the engines were cut. Sabatini and Comandante Enrique Cisneros would now swim to shore alone, maintaining radio silence. Automatically Roland's hands moved over his body, checking his equipment in the near-total blackness. Knife, wrist compass, flashlight, wristwatch, whistle, depth gauge, weight belt, flare, shark repellent, Beretta nine-millimeter automatic sealed in plastic. After another check of his scuba gear he was ready to enter the water. Comandante Cisneros pressed the buddy line against Sabatini's chest. After fastening it to his wrist Roland gave it one tug. It tugged back then Cisneros slipped into the frigid water as silently as a sea lion. Sabatini shivered briefly as the forty-five degree water penetrated his wet suit where it would be warmed by body heat and provide an insulating layer. He ignored the cold and began checking the comandante's scuba gear. He ensured all check valves were working and all hose connections were secure. Cisneros took a few breaths under water and gave the thumbs-up. Now the procedure was repeated for Sabatini. This was as familiar as the two men ever got. Cisneros was a professional, aloof and quick to lash out at error. At thirty-five, he was no longer as agile as his junior officers but he had something which could not be taught—the sense which tells one of impending danger. He had acquired tremendous peripheral vision while playing soccer as a child in the Buenos Aires slums. He knew who was behind him at all times, where their hands were. But Sabatini had learned well. He had been chosen by Cisneros to swim with him as his pacer on this historic mission. The men submerged and swam toward land. Once on shore, they would take bearings and guide in the reconnaissance team. They, in turn, would take depth soundings, record the beach gradient and check for mines, charting safe passage for the amphibious assault group that was now waiting on the mainland of Argentina for the invasion of Las Malvinas in twenty-four hours. With only a few dozen Royal Marines defending the islands, little resistance was expected, but every contingency had to be accounted for. When they reached the shore, Cisneros immediately detached his tether and let it drop. Sabatini reeled it in without taking his eyes off the rocky land. His night vision was excellent and he could see the outlines of seals stirring some yards away. Cisneros removed his flippers and walked twenty meters along the shore to compensate for current drift. He pointed his unlit flashlight down the length of the beach and read the baseline bearing off the compass mounted on top of the flashlight. He then calculated the right angle bearing, the angle perpendicular to the length of the beach. After setting his compass on the right angle bearing, he signaled Sabatini to do the same and made sure the flashlights were aligned. Sabatini then proceeded to the water's edge at the landing point and shined the orange light out to sea on the RAB. Because the reconnaissance team was to proceed on his left flank he strobed the light, careful to keep it pointed seaward at all times. Cisneros walked several meters landward and flashed his light on the RAB, then walked laterally, still signaling, until his beam was aligned with Sabatini’s. When the eighteen-man recon team sighted the range lights they swam in at twenty-five meter intervals along a marked tether. Each swimmer was equipped with a leadline and hand-held sonar. Readings of surf zone, depth, beach gradient, obstacles, sandbars and height of breakers were recorded on each man's Plexiglas slate. Lieutenant Sabatini scanned the hinterland. It was desolate. Six hundred thousand sheep and two thousand humans. It had not changed much since 1833 when the British seized it and called it the Falkland Islands. The wind whipped unencumbered over the treeless landscape while the cry of skuas and penguins provided the few signs of life. This solitude was exalting, he thought. But in the solitude of the mind there was no surf or simple animals. He wanted to stay in this sparse place, in eternal night. Here there was tranquility. When the team arrived at the water's edge they shifted twelve-and-a-half meters and turned back, again twenty-five meters between each man. In this way the entire landing zone could be mapped. When the two men reentered the water, the tether again connected them. Sabatini would have to pick his moment carefully. If he killed Cisneros while close to the other swimmers, they would be alerted. If he fell back trying to widen the gap, then Cisneros would become suspicious. Sabatini removed the tether from his wrist but retained it in his left hand. With his right hand he pulled on the Velcro strap that secured the handle of his knife to the sheath. If he pulled it all at once the sound would travel. A little at a time with every exhalation, as he had practiced so many times. Finally the knife was free. Sabatini swam closer to Cisneros. As soon as he could discern the luminous dial of the comandante's wrist compass he knew he was within range. He thrust his knife towards the other man's diaphragm. It missed its mark, inflicting only a flesh wound. Instantly, a knife slashed across the chest of the younger man, slicing his wet suit. Sabatini gripped Cisneros' wrist, halting the arc of his blade. Cisneros reached for his pistol. Sabatini took his time cutting the airhose—Cisneros would not be able to cock the gun and pull the trigger through the plastic bag with one hand. Sabatini stabbed the commander in the kidney and jacked the serrated blade up and down until the other man released his gun. The lieutenant clamped his hand over Cisneros' mouth and surfaced. In the dim light Roland Sabatini could see Cisneros' eyes searching, asking. Sabatini plunged the point of his blade into the base of the commander's skull then twisted the knife, scrambling the brains as Cisneros had taught him. He disemboweled the body to produce maximum bloodletting, then removed his weight belt and strapped it around Cisneros' chest. Sharks would take care of the rest within twenty minutes. He removed his commander's mask and looked into his face for the last time then, the living man and the dead sank beneath the blackness of the waves. |
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