Outskirts Press, INC.

"O, what a tangled web we weave..."

“Shots fired! Shots fired!”

Those words, shouted by Secret Service agent Claire Bradley during a campaign speech by President Richard McClure, throw into motion a series of events that will take Bradley half way across the world as she follows a trail as thin, as intricate, and as dangerous as a spider’s web to find out who is behind the failed attempt to change the outcome of the upcoming presidential election.

Bradley’s valiant actions during the shooting are caught on tape and she is catapulted into celebrity status. Eager to gain reelection votes any way that he can, the President presses the young and attractive hero into service as a senior investigator and spokesperson for the executive task force he has created to probe the shooting.

But Bradley’s strong will, intelligence, and fierce commitment that “the truth must never be compromised” meet their match in the treachery of Washington bureaucrats who have their own agendas for the task force. Her problems don’t reside only in Washington, though. They include Dave Price, a local cop who seemed to be in all the right places at all the right times during the shooting; Frances Dunham, a maintenance worker in the building from which the shot was fired, who has mysteriously disappeared; a terrorist that the Israelis call The Teacher; an international arms dealer named Henri Marchaund; and a mysterious ex-CIA operative named Leland.

Enduring political manipulation, abuse by a sadistic Israeli commando, and even death threats, Bradley is eventually able to separate solid leads from dead ends, misinformation and disinformation to get to the truth ... a truth that many around her don’t want to hear ... a truth that even she is reluctant to believe.

Prologue

Henri Marchaund focused his telescope on the naked woman sunbathing on the deck of the sailboat as it cruised serenely in front of his Mediterranean villa. At eighty-two, Henri no longer became aroused while watching the young women on the boats, but he would be damned if he’d give up looking.

Hearing the new-mail “bing” from his computer, Henri looked up from the eyepiece to see who the message was from. The sender was the Bank of Zurich.

Picking up his cane, he crossed the few steps to his desk, and dropped down heavily into his old leather chair. The message was a confirmation of the transfer of funds into one of his numerous Swiss accounts.

No sooner had he read the communication when a second e-mail popped up.

My dear Henri:
I hope this note finds you well and enjoying your splendid view of the sea. I wish that I could be there with you, but alas, business before pleasure. As you are probably aware by now, the funds have been moved into your account, and the wheels on this end are in motion. For convenience of communication, I have taken the liberty of naming our project, “Weaver”, after the old saying, “O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive …” I apologize for the delay in getting Weaver started, but I only recently received confirmation regarding the date and location where the action must take place. As we speculated, our best opportunity will come during his class-reunion trip at the end of October. I realize that that does not allow much time to bring the pieces of such a project together, but that is why I have turned to you, old friend. If anyone can do it, that person is you! I know that you will have much to do, so I won’t keep you any longer.

Yours faithfully,
Leland

Henri smiled at the gratuitous flattery, but it was true. Few people in the world had the connections and resources that Henri Marchaund had culled together over his many years in the business. But it was also true that this project—perhaps his last—would be more complex, higher risk, and unlike anything he had ever orchestrated before. Weaver was a fitting name. And if he managed to make it all come together, it would be a fitting end to his career; his pièce de résistance.