Action & Adventure
![Clive Cussler - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B000APJ4L6.jpg)
![Jack B. Du Brul - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B001I9OL1Q.jpg)
The Saboteurs (An Isaac Bell Adventure)
Detective Isaac Bell's investigation into an attempted assassination brings him to the construction site of the Panama Canal--and straight into a nest of vipers--in the latest adventure in the #1 New York Times-bestselling series from Clive Cussler.
Detective Isaac Bell's wife has said that he is always in the wrong place at the right time. This is certainly the case when Bell thwarts the assassination of a U.S. Senator shortly after meeting the man. This heroic rescue is just the start of the mystery for Bell, who suspects that the would-be assassins have a much larger and more dangerous agenda--one involving the nearly constructed Panama Canal. While the senator supports the building of the canal, there are many, including a local Panamanian insurgency known as the Red Vipers, who never want to see its completion.
With millions of dollars and the fates of two nations at stake, Bell heads to Panama to find answers. After a deadly bombing at the canal's construction site, he is determined to stop the insurgents--or whoever is funding them--before they can attack again.
Detective Isaac Bell's wife has said that he is always in the wrong place at the right time. This is certainly the case when Bell thwarts the assassination of a U.S. Senator shortly after meeting the man. This heroic rescue is just the start of the mystery for Bell, who suspects that the would-be assassins have a much larger and more dangerous agenda--one involving the nearly constructed Panama Canal. While the senator supports the building of the canal, there are many, including a local Panamanian insurgency known as the Red Vipers, who never want to see its completion.
With millions of dollars and the fates of two nations at stake, Bell heads to Panama to find answers. After a deadly bombing at the canal's construction site, he is determined to stop the insurgents--or whoever is funding them--before they can attack again.
Editorial Reviews
"Fast-paced fun that's fraught with peril."--Kirkus Reviews
"Top-notch...Cussler fans will be well-satisfied."--Publishers Weekly
"Thrilling… [and] an excellent read."--Mystery & Suspense
"Top-notch...Cussler fans will be well-satisfied."--Publishers Weekly
"Thrilling… [and] an excellent read."--Mystery & Suspense
Readers Top Reviews
James C. MaherRal
Clive Cussler and company did it again. Isaac Bell’s adventures make me want to go back to the Panama Canal.
Don RoachJames C.
Jungle tales remind me of S.Vietnam in 1968. As a mud-Marine, I walked in the temperatures over a hundred degrees, regularly. Much like Panama, you had to keep your eyes on where you were going or be lost in dank foliage until found by a tracker. We also looked for signs of explosives and insurgents. Gripping story.
Fred R. LangDon R
Jack DuBrul takes us on a fascinating trip through, around and over the Panama Canal at its inception. No stranger to the canal, (see "River of Ruin" by the author,) DuBrul breathlessly weaves the mystery through a detailed description of the locale during the early 20th century. Clive Cussler's detective Isaac Bell deals with a mysterious band of jungle rebels, agents of a bellicose Germany and the sinister mastermind behind it all. A fun and educational read!
J. J. MountROBERT
Glad the Isaac Bell series has continued. What I liked about this book is the coverage of the real-life construction of the Panama Canal and the geopolitical impacts of its creation. The action scenes are also quite good, if not very realistic. I wasn't too impressed with the detective aspects and mystery solving. There was practically no involvement of the Van Dorn Agency characters other than Bell himself. In my opinion, this is a major weakness. The overall story was too complex, with too many twists and turns. The biggest problem for me, as in some of the early Isaac Bell books, is that Bell is presented as virtually invincible and indestructible, and also nearly all-knowing and infallible. Also, one of the luckiest men on earth. Much of his "detective" work here is based on hunches and guesswork, that are almost always correct. The (many) villains are rather ineffective and cartoonish. I liked much of the story, but some of the other Isaac Bell books are much more interesting and realistic.
TomChristian D. O
This was not the Isaac Bell content I have come to appreciate and enjoy. There was almost no interaction with the Van Dorn detective agency, a staple in many of the former novels. The content read more like a Jack DuBrul Mercer novel. I like DuBrul's Mercer novels a lot, but I do not want him to turn Isaac Bell into Mercer, and he "kinda did", Bell is best when interacting with adversaries and fellow Van Dorn detectives, not being an outrageous adventurer. There are plenty of reviews that summarize the plot, but I wanted to comment on the writing.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Prologue
October 14, 1912
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
They gave him the gun in New York, he was pretty certain, and he thought some money too. That had allowed him to stalk his prey across eight states, often staying in the same hotels and riding the same train. Most importantly, though, they'd helped him hear the ghost once again. And the ghost gave the same command he'd given eleven years earlier, only John hadn't the strength to act then. Today was different.
John Flammang Schrank spent most of the afternoon in a bar across from the Gilpatrick Hotel where he knew his target would eat dinner before motoring to the Milwaukee Auditorium to deliver a speech to further his unholy quest. A former bar owner himself, the Bavarian-borne Schrank downed six schooners of beer but felt nothing but calm as the crowds outside the nearby hotel swelled in anticipation of getting a glimpse of their hero.
Traitor, he thought sullenly, the weight of the gun tugging at his coat pocket. Traitor and murderer.
He paid the barman and crossed the street. It was nearing eight and light spilled from the hotel's windows. The air was crisp, so people wore long coats and hats pulled low. Shrank was a portly man, round in the belly with a friendly enough face dominated by a large jutting chin. He had little trouble pressing his way through the happy throngs of people.
How could they show such adoration, he wondered. Didn't they know the truth?
That truth had come to him shortly after his target had taken office. It was the ghost's first appearance in a dream, a vivid dream that he'd never been able to shake. And now, with the help of his new benefactors, the dream had returned, only this time his target had been wearing the robes of a priest, but it made no difference. Schrank recognized the usurper at once.
Shrank looked around. People were practically giddy with the thought of seeing their man. The ghost had said their hero had murdered him by placing the Polish anarchist, Leon Czolgosz, at the Pan-American Expo in Buffalo. The two shots he'd fired to the gut were enough to turn the man into the ghost of John Schrank's dreams.
Shrank recognized a face in the crowd. It was the nice one, the one who listened to him. The other, the taciturn man who demanded and cajoled and demeaned, wasn't at his side as he'd been so many times before when he'd tried to carry out the assassination. This was the omen that tonight it would happen. He moved even closer to the front of the crowd, ignoring the sour looks of people who'd waited some time for their coveted positions.
He felt the hard rubber grip of the .38 caliber Colt revolver deep in his overcoat pocket. He was near the front row of people. The hotel's door was only a few paces away and the open-topped automobile with its long hood and sweeping running boards idled at the curb.
"I can't believe I'm about to see the hero of San Juan Hill," a woman said to her husband a little breathlessly.
"I hear he doesn't like to be called Teddy, but rather TR," said another voice in the crowd.
Schrank fingered the pistol. He couldn't allow him to have a third term. No president had ever had one. George Washington himself had refused, fearing it would turn the presidency into a monarchy like the one America had fought to free herself from. John Schrank saw himself as a patriot, like one of the Minutemen, fighting against the tyranny of a man wishing to become king.
The crowd suddenly erupted in a roar of wild cheering. Teddy Roosevelt came down the handful of steps outside the Gilpatrick and waved to the people who'd waited to see him, envious of the nine thousand awaiting his speech a short distance away at the Auditorium. Roosevelt gave a big-toothed smile, his eyes behind his rimless glasses alight with joy. His walrus moustache twitched.
He mounted the car's running board and lowered himself into the rear seat next to his stenographer, Elbert Martin. Opposite them on the rear-facing seat was another aide, Harry Cochems. The crowd continued to roar and shake the air with their applause. TR gave Harry a knowing smile and got back onto his feet, his tall hat in hand to wave once again at the people. They loved him for the gesture, and he loved them for their loyalty and support.
John Flammang Schrank saw his opportunity and lurched a step closer to his target. Without a change in expression, with no real malice at all since he didn't hate the former...
October 14, 1912
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
They gave him the gun in New York, he was pretty certain, and he thought some money too. That had allowed him to stalk his prey across eight states, often staying in the same hotels and riding the same train. Most importantly, though, they'd helped him hear the ghost once again. And the ghost gave the same command he'd given eleven years earlier, only John hadn't the strength to act then. Today was different.
John Flammang Schrank spent most of the afternoon in a bar across from the Gilpatrick Hotel where he knew his target would eat dinner before motoring to the Milwaukee Auditorium to deliver a speech to further his unholy quest. A former bar owner himself, the Bavarian-borne Schrank downed six schooners of beer but felt nothing but calm as the crowds outside the nearby hotel swelled in anticipation of getting a glimpse of their hero.
Traitor, he thought sullenly, the weight of the gun tugging at his coat pocket. Traitor and murderer.
He paid the barman and crossed the street. It was nearing eight and light spilled from the hotel's windows. The air was crisp, so people wore long coats and hats pulled low. Shrank was a portly man, round in the belly with a friendly enough face dominated by a large jutting chin. He had little trouble pressing his way through the happy throngs of people.
How could they show such adoration, he wondered. Didn't they know the truth?
That truth had come to him shortly after his target had taken office. It was the ghost's first appearance in a dream, a vivid dream that he'd never been able to shake. And now, with the help of his new benefactors, the dream had returned, only this time his target had been wearing the robes of a priest, but it made no difference. Schrank recognized the usurper at once.
Shrank looked around. People were practically giddy with the thought of seeing their man. The ghost had said their hero had murdered him by placing the Polish anarchist, Leon Czolgosz, at the Pan-American Expo in Buffalo. The two shots he'd fired to the gut were enough to turn the man into the ghost of John Schrank's dreams.
Shrank recognized a face in the crowd. It was the nice one, the one who listened to him. The other, the taciturn man who demanded and cajoled and demeaned, wasn't at his side as he'd been so many times before when he'd tried to carry out the assassination. This was the omen that tonight it would happen. He moved even closer to the front of the crowd, ignoring the sour looks of people who'd waited some time for their coveted positions.
He felt the hard rubber grip of the .38 caliber Colt revolver deep in his overcoat pocket. He was near the front row of people. The hotel's door was only a few paces away and the open-topped automobile with its long hood and sweeping running boards idled at the curb.
"I can't believe I'm about to see the hero of San Juan Hill," a woman said to her husband a little breathlessly.
"I hear he doesn't like to be called Teddy, but rather TR," said another voice in the crowd.
Schrank fingered the pistol. He couldn't allow him to have a third term. No president had ever had one. George Washington himself had refused, fearing it would turn the presidency into a monarchy like the one America had fought to free herself from. John Schrank saw himself as a patriot, like one of the Minutemen, fighting against the tyranny of a man wishing to become king.
The crowd suddenly erupted in a roar of wild cheering. Teddy Roosevelt came down the handful of steps outside the Gilpatrick and waved to the people who'd waited to see him, envious of the nine thousand awaiting his speech a short distance away at the Auditorium. Roosevelt gave a big-toothed smile, his eyes behind his rimless glasses alight with joy. His walrus moustache twitched.
He mounted the car's running board and lowered himself into the rear seat next to his stenographer, Elbert Martin. Opposite them on the rear-facing seat was another aide, Harry Cochems. The crowd continued to roar and shake the air with their applause. TR gave Harry a knowing smile and got back onto his feet, his tall hat in hand to wave once again at the people. They loved him for the gesture, and he loved them for their loyalty and support.
John Flammang Schrank saw his opportunity and lurched a step closer to his target. Without a change in expression, with no real malice at all since he didn't hate the former...
