Action & Adventure
![Stuart Woods - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B000APXDEA.jpg)
Distant Thunder (A Stone Barrington Novel)
Stone Barrington finds himself in hot water in this exhilarating adventure from the #1 New York Times bestselling author.
During an intense storm in Dark Harbor, Maine, a perplexing murder lands a dead man on Stone Barrington's doorstep. As secrets swirl around this mystery man's identity, Stone quickly sets out to unravel a web of cunning misdirections and lies.
Soon enough, he is embroiled in an elaborate game of cat and mouse between the CIA and nefarious foreign forces, including a bewitching new companion who comes under his protection. But when Stone's actions draw the attention of an old enemy, one who will stop at nothing to prevent the truth from getting out, Stone realizes he may have finally met his match.
During an intense storm in Dark Harbor, Maine, a perplexing murder lands a dead man on Stone Barrington's doorstep. As secrets swirl around this mystery man's identity, Stone quickly sets out to unravel a web of cunning misdirections and lies.
Soon enough, he is embroiled in an elaborate game of cat and mouse between the CIA and nefarious foreign forces, including a bewitching new companion who comes under his protection. But when Stone's actions draw the attention of an old enemy, one who will stop at nothing to prevent the truth from getting out, Stone realizes he may have finally met his match.
Editorial Reviews
"[Woods] keeps the characters fresh, the escapist plots interesting...and the villains intriguing. This one checks all the boxes." -Booklist
Readers Top Reviews
Auburn B RobinsonKin
It Has been a pleasant change from the other books I enjoyed it kept me going But it is not like it used to be. I probably enjoyed the book more than I thought because I read it and less than 3 days
Kaitlin MageeEjayKen
It's sad that Stuart Woods has died, but the Stone Barrington series has been on thin ice for years now. Once Woods shifted to publishing 3-4 of them a year, the quality of the writing started to diminish, at least in my personal opinion. I enjoyed some of the "recent" developments though, like the storylines concerning Teddy Fay's efforts to ingratiate himself with Peter and Ben in Hollywood (see also the stand-alone Teddy Fay novels for more of this). Distant Thunder was, unfortunately, a bit of a dud. Lots of sloppy writing, unbelievable coincidences, ridiculous occurrences, and just a lot of the same old gimmicks that Woods has used in these novels for decades. I miss the author greatly, and I still look forward to reading the remaining novels in this series, some of which are being coauthored by Parnell Hall, a seasoned Stuart Woods accomplice. Nevertheless, I can't help but feel like there are no stakes in these novels any more: none of the main characters are ever really at risk of anything bad happening, and at the end the status quo is either returned to or everyone is slightly more rich than when things started. It's formulaic and groan-inducing, but I still plan to read every word. Rest in peace, Mr. Woods. Thank you for all the fun time and good memories.
Trip R.
Distant Thunder is a very enjoyable read. Themain characters in the series make an appearance and the banter is enjoyable. You learn a bit more about Lance Cabot. Enjoy.
Kindle T-bird.
Stone Barrington is at his home on the Maine island when a murder is committed. But it is not the man 🚹 who is identified. Who is it? Where is the man 🚹? The widow shows up ☝ at Stone's Turtle Bay Office and becomes Stone's client. The two of them travel in an attempt to keep her safe. It all comes together in Key West. I would recommend this series and author to 👍 readers of mystery novels 👍🔰. 2023 😀😯👒⛵
Short Excerpt Teaser
1
Stone Barrington woke to the loudest explosive noise he had ever heard, and there was more to come. Lightning flashed, illuminating his bedroom at his house in Dark Harbor, Maine, then a hammering on the roof began. He switched on a bedside light. It came on for a moment, then went off for a few seconds, then he heard the generator kick in, and the lamp came on again.
Holly Barker came running into the room; he had not even noticed her absence. She dived into bed and clung to him. "Please tell me this is a thunderstorm and not a nuclear attack," she whimpered.
"It's the mother of all thunderstorms," Stone said, then switched on the TV to the Weather Channel. A man stood before a weather chart, and there was a large red splotch on it where Maine should have been.
"It's a nor'easter," Stone said. "Last night they were saying this would come in the night, then pass offshore. I think it's making itself at home."
"I am not flying in that little jet of yours today," Holly said.
"Nobody is. You can tell them at the office that you have a real good excuse for not showing up. You can refer them to the weather radar."
"What's that terrible noise on the roof?" Holly asked.
"That's called rain."
"That's not like any rain I've ever heard on any roof," she said.
"The Weather Channel guy was predicting eight to twelve inches of rain in our neighborhood."
"Is your airplane going to be okay?"
"Fortunately, it's waterproof. And yesterday, Seth drove stakes into the ground and tied it down, so it won't blow away."
"You were expecting this?"
"No, but Seth was. He's a Mainer. He put extra lines and fenders on the boats, too."
"Look out the window. It's as though we are underwater."
"We are, in a way."
"Why haven't we lost power?"
"We have, but our 25 kW generator kicked in, and that keeps the whole house running."
"For how long?"
"Until that five-hundred-gallon tank of diesel runs out, and that will take a long time."
"How long?"
"I don't know."
They put on robes and went down for breakfast. Seth's wife, Mary, was putting food on the table as if nothing unusual had happened. "Morning," she said cheerfully.
"Morning, Mary," Stone replied. "How many days of provisions do we have stocked?"
"Oh, don't you worry about that, Mr. Stone. We won't starve. Good thing we have that twenty pounds of moose in the freezer that Mr. Rawls gave us last year."
"Moose?" Holly said. "Last year?"
"Ed Rawls goes moose hunting every year," Stone said. "He has a hard time getting rid of the meat."
"What's moose like?" Holly asked.
"I haven't the slightest idea, and I thought I was never going to find out, but one never knows, do one? As Fats Waller used to say."
"Who's Fats Waller?"
"Oh, you child! A large, brilliant pianist, songwriter, and singer of the 1920s and '30s."
"I hope you don't think I remember the 1920s and '30s."
"You don't remember World War II, either, but it happened. So did Fats Waller."
They devoured scrambled eggs and sausage and Wolferman's English muffins, washed down with orange juice, and followed by black coffee, an espresso roast.
Seth lit the living room fire, though it wasn't all that cold; it just seemed that way. Stone and Holly showered together, as usual, and got into some L.L. Bean clothes. As they came downstairs, the doorbell was ringing. Stone opened it to find a suit of bright yellow waterproof clothing, topped by a seaman's hat, a thick moustache, and round glasses.
"Come in, Ed," Stone said to Rawls. "What the hell are you doing out in this?"
"Helping to divert a minor disaster," Rawls said. "The ferry got sideways and had to be realigned."
It was late in the Labor Day holiday weekend, and the "folks from away," as the Mainers call them, had abandoned the island yesterday, in a rush. This happened every Labor Day, not just when there was a nor'easter.
"I hadn't heard."
"Nothing to worry about now. I had a look at the airfield. Your aircraft is still attached firmly to the ground."
"Always good news. Anybody hurt in the foofaraw?"
"No. And only one murder."
"Who got murdered?"
"No ID yet. He was found on the ferry deck. The state police won't venture out until this storm has gone."
"Cause of death?"
"Two in the head," Ed said, as if there were one every week.
"That does not bode well," Stone said.
"Not for him, anyway."
"Have you got a description?"
"A medium-everything white gentleman, clad in yellow oilskins, like everybody else."
"Not somebody looking for you, I hop...
Stone Barrington woke to the loudest explosive noise he had ever heard, and there was more to come. Lightning flashed, illuminating his bedroom at his house in Dark Harbor, Maine, then a hammering on the roof began. He switched on a bedside light. It came on for a moment, then went off for a few seconds, then he heard the generator kick in, and the lamp came on again.
Holly Barker came running into the room; he had not even noticed her absence. She dived into bed and clung to him. "Please tell me this is a thunderstorm and not a nuclear attack," she whimpered.
"It's the mother of all thunderstorms," Stone said, then switched on the TV to the Weather Channel. A man stood before a weather chart, and there was a large red splotch on it where Maine should have been.
"It's a nor'easter," Stone said. "Last night they were saying this would come in the night, then pass offshore. I think it's making itself at home."
"I am not flying in that little jet of yours today," Holly said.
"Nobody is. You can tell them at the office that you have a real good excuse for not showing up. You can refer them to the weather radar."
"What's that terrible noise on the roof?" Holly asked.
"That's called rain."
"That's not like any rain I've ever heard on any roof," she said.
"The Weather Channel guy was predicting eight to twelve inches of rain in our neighborhood."
"Is your airplane going to be okay?"
"Fortunately, it's waterproof. And yesterday, Seth drove stakes into the ground and tied it down, so it won't blow away."
"You were expecting this?"
"No, but Seth was. He's a Mainer. He put extra lines and fenders on the boats, too."
"Look out the window. It's as though we are underwater."
"We are, in a way."
"Why haven't we lost power?"
"We have, but our 25 kW generator kicked in, and that keeps the whole house running."
"For how long?"
"Until that five-hundred-gallon tank of diesel runs out, and that will take a long time."
"How long?"
"I don't know."
They put on robes and went down for breakfast. Seth's wife, Mary, was putting food on the table as if nothing unusual had happened. "Morning," she said cheerfully.
"Morning, Mary," Stone replied. "How many days of provisions do we have stocked?"
"Oh, don't you worry about that, Mr. Stone. We won't starve. Good thing we have that twenty pounds of moose in the freezer that Mr. Rawls gave us last year."
"Moose?" Holly said. "Last year?"
"Ed Rawls goes moose hunting every year," Stone said. "He has a hard time getting rid of the meat."
"What's moose like?" Holly asked.
"I haven't the slightest idea, and I thought I was never going to find out, but one never knows, do one? As Fats Waller used to say."
"Who's Fats Waller?"
"Oh, you child! A large, brilliant pianist, songwriter, and singer of the 1920s and '30s."
"I hope you don't think I remember the 1920s and '30s."
"You don't remember World War II, either, but it happened. So did Fats Waller."
They devoured scrambled eggs and sausage and Wolferman's English muffins, washed down with orange juice, and followed by black coffee, an espresso roast.
Seth lit the living room fire, though it wasn't all that cold; it just seemed that way. Stone and Holly showered together, as usual, and got into some L.L. Bean clothes. As they came downstairs, the doorbell was ringing. Stone opened it to find a suit of bright yellow waterproof clothing, topped by a seaman's hat, a thick moustache, and round glasses.
"Come in, Ed," Stone said to Rawls. "What the hell are you doing out in this?"
"Helping to divert a minor disaster," Rawls said. "The ferry got sideways and had to be realigned."
It was late in the Labor Day holiday weekend, and the "folks from away," as the Mainers call them, had abandoned the island yesterday, in a rush. This happened every Labor Day, not just when there was a nor'easter.
"I hadn't heard."
"Nothing to worry about now. I had a look at the airfield. Your aircraft is still attached firmly to the ground."
"Always good news. Anybody hurt in the foofaraw?"
"No. And only one murder."
"Who got murdered?"
"No ID yet. He was found on the ferry deck. The state police won't venture out until this storm has gone."
"Cause of death?"
"Two in the head," Ed said, as if there were one every week.
"That does not bode well," Stone said.
"Not for him, anyway."
"Have you got a description?"
"A medium-everything white gentleman, clad in yellow oilskins, like everybody else."
"Not somebody looking for you, I hop...
