OUT OF THE DARK EBOOK
Editorial Reviews. olhon.info Review. Amazon Exclusive: A Q&A with Author David Weber Out of the Dark - Kindle edition by David Weber. Download it. Editorial Reviews. Review. "Nobody walks the line between blistering action and searing Buy a Kindle Kindle eBooks Kindle Unlimited Prime Reading Best Sellers & More Kindle Book Deals Free Reading Apps Kindle Singles Newsstand . Read "Out of the Dark An Orphan X Novel" by Gregg Hurwitz available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first purchase. * AN INSTANT NEW.
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When Evan discovered the mission was rotten to the core, he got out using his Out of the Dark. Gregg Hurwitz. EBook. February 7, eBook . Out of the Dark is the best thing Gregg Hurwitz has ever written and the kind of game-changing thriller that'll have people talking. Out of the Dark by Max Brand - Frederick Schiller Faust (May 29, - May 12, ) was an American author known primarily for his thoughtful and literary.
He went under the dry eaves of the opposing nation and gave his passport anew to the men behind a shabby window. There were four windows and the men behind did not look very forgiving.
They bore considerable weight in their eyes. In the bare concrete rooms, tables were set up with thermos flasks and darkened TV sets. The new king high on the walls in his wise white uniform. He counted out his baht and pushed the filthy money across the table and they stuck a full-page green visa into a page of his passport and tossed it dismissively back at him. He had a month to roam their green and pleasant kingdom and he spent the first minute looking across at the neon lights of the casinos, the dusk and the men waving at him.
The pools opening up under the lamps had grown green as well and he walked gingerly around them with his shoulder bag and his straw hat growing soggy as the rain enveloped him. Forced to pick one at random, he chose a man with a Toyota and an umbrella and it was seven dollars into Pailin. Above them shone the red and blue lights of the Diamond Crown casino. But he was tired and not yet in the mood for a fling on the tables. He resolved to return the following night.
The verges were filmed red with sticky and wettened dust and in the dark were rolling green hills dotted with primeval-looking, isolated trees. Fields of mung and shaggy sugarcane. It was windy, the sky jagged with storm clouds and a Peeping-Tom moon. The site of a disaster, or of a disaster about to happen. The earth dark with iron and cloying and musty to the nose. Turning his head for a moment, the driver told him there were only two or three choices in the town anyway and none of them was the Hilton.
A half hour later they were passing the traffic circles of the town, a few roadside bars with red Angkor beer signs. A small park with twelve golden horses prancing in a grit-filled wind. The man took him to a place called the Hang Meas. It was on the main road to the border, which was lined by one-story shops. Pailin, to his eye, was clearly a place with three streets and little more.
A town built on illegal gemstones and the undeparted Khmer Rouge. There were life-size sculptures of deer on the roof gazing out to the Cardamom Mountains and white glass-ball lamps on the balcony. A huge model cockerel stood in the car park and next to it a spirit house filled with kneeling figures with painted white hair and beards.
The ancestors of that windswept place, secretly connected to the fields and the mountains which could be seen even in the night. The car left him by them and he waded into a decrepit lobby with his wet hat and his chills and the girls looked up with a subtle contempt. He sat in a leather chair by some fish tanks while they photocopied his passport and stamped the forms, and he saw the entertainment hall next door to the lobby with a multitude of red pillars wrapped with ribbons and covered with mirrors.
In there the karaoke was going on, Viet or Chinese businessmen singing badly. The girls were in clasped silk skirts playing them for a song. A girl ambled over and invited him to come with her to the room on the third floor. They went up the stairs and their scents came into awkward contact. They came into the room and the same smell pervaded it.
She showed him the workings of a few switches and left him alone. He turned on the AC, stripped off and took a tepid bath with the lights on. One had to fear such a wonderland of roaches.
He smoked his last three Thai cigarettes and considered if he had the gall or the energy to go out straight away and find a casino. There would be little else to do here anyway. The other foreigners who crossed the border—nearly all Thai—either went straight back into Thailand or carried on toward the capital, a mere five hours away.
They would have to think of a reason to stay in Pailin. He would have to think of a reason other than not having more than a hundred dollars. But it was a reason, at least. He opened his bag and pulled out a cheap dress shirt and pressed it out with the iron in the cupboard. He could make himself half presentable after a shave and an oiling of the hair.
At nine thirty he went down to the lobby and asked them to call a taxi to the gates to drive him to one of the casinos back at Phum Psar Prum.
In the end he was driven to the towering place he had seen an hour or two earlier, the Diamond Crown. Anything was better than karaoke or an empty room. The Diamond loomed over the village around it. There was a forecourt garden of towering palms, and a blaze of neon across the facade in Latin and Khmer lettering. Outlines of playing cards and golden women. A KTV to the right, and a hotel of the same name. Inside, red carpets, sky-blue vaults with painted clouds.
There were Chinese shrines; a tacky, run-down feel. The tables were green felt. The Khmer girls in their equivalent green waistcoats watched him slowly with a dim interest. In one corner two staff workers struggled with a large rolled carpet. It was a hot crowd, mostly Thais playing simple poker and baccarat and roulette.
They looked like officer workers on a lost weekend. He walked around sizing it up and wondering if he had luck on his side that night, or ever, for that matter.
Finally he sat at a drunken table and played roulette for five-dollar bets against a ring of Thai middle managers downing the Sang Som and Yaa Dong and far gone in their daze. There was no time to calculate or think and later he thought to himself that this was how he had won.
He pulled in two hundred, packed up and went outside to buy some Alain Delons. At the far end of the forecourt was an outdoor restaurant filled with half-dead gamblers and he sat there and smoked and saw that the moon had appeared again out of the fast-moving black storm clouds.
Fireflies now shone in groomed-looking frangipani trees nearby and he felt his skin moisten and harden at the same time. He had spent nearly all his cash and was due to go back to the homeland, but he had stuck his neck out for a few days across the border and suddenly it seemed to have paid off.
It sometimes came up like that, a flash of good luck out of nowhere and the night—and the nights after—looked a little different.
Hunters in the Dark
You want to linger on sometimes, when there is nothing better awaiting. A teacher from England did not have any worlds at his feet. He did not have anything at his feet but doormats and cigarette butts and the plucked fins of cooked fish. The Alain Delons were harsh but the face of the French actor was everywhere on the billboards. So time passed but not for Delon, not for the immortals. He lit a second cigarette and smoked it down just as coolly and slowly. Yet he liked this new country a little better than the previous one.
It had a different feel to it, a slower spin. As a teacher he profited from a long summer holiday. But as it happened his life was not complicated at all. He lived alone at the edges of a town called Burgess Hill, close to the Sussex Downs, in a damp cottage with a wooden lintel and horseshoes decorating the walls. He had not even redecorated it to his taste.
He had done very little to personalize anything in his surroundings. He did not, in the end, raise much objection to his own passivity. It suited him. Did it make him dull? The dullness was only an impression made upon outsiders, to whom he was, in turn, completely indifferent. He had gone through three years at the University of Sussex as inconspicuously as he could.
Studying English and dallying with a few girlfriends. There had not been much more to it than that. A dream that passed quickly. He had chosen the university because it was close to his family, to his parents, and even to his grandparents, who lived in a council house in Bevendean on the road from Brighton to Falmer.
They were a family whose members never strayed far from each other. The elements of life remained stable. They made him trifle and he went for walks in the hills above the estate. Outwardly, he remained stable as well. Even his haircut remained the same for years. Long at the back, with a parting to the right. Weekends, after visiting his family, he went to the rowdier pubs in Lewes and sat at the bars and talked to strangers.
Then he left on his own and rode his motorbike back to his cottage.
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This invariable pattern was never broken by anything surprising. Naturally, he reasoned, this was because he wanted it to be so. His unconscious wanted it, and therefore he wanted it. It was like a period of waiting, or a period of sleep from which he would suddenly wake up armed with a sword.
But every year there came the summer holidays and with his free two months he tried to engineer a few surprises. One year he went to the island of Hydra in Greece. Another summer saw him in Iceland.
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In this series View all Book 5. Book 1. Book 2. Skip this list. Ratings and Book Reviews 5 33 star ratings 5 reviews. Overall rating 4. Yes No Thanks for your feedback! Report as inappropriate. This is a thrilling adventure of Orphan X who is not a good guy exactly but helps out the good guys while trying to find his humanity.
Great series and characters. Do not read out of order. Martin's Press with no requirements for a review. Thoughts here are my honest opinion. Love Gregg Hurwitz thrillers with Orphan X - this read was a real exciting read. Another great, hang on to your seat, hard to put down, read from Greg Hurwitz. Loved it!
I mean I stayed up reading this book because I could NOT put it down. I had to find out what would happen I really did. It grabbed me and kept me enthralled from beginning to end. Well, he is a man I admire and really want good things for but wonder if he will ever find a way to have them? Being trained as an assassin from a young age, finding his way out of the dark ops job he had and making a life for himself while trying to payback for his past has not been easy for him.
He takes on jobs for those who need his services and some of those cases are I can see that there will be more cases for him to tackle in the future and can see this series continuing even though the man out to kill him has finally been dealt with.
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And One Wore Gray. Through this, we enter an increasingly fuller wholeness, no longer stuck in us-versus-them dynamics, finding in ourselves a deepening capacity to serve the greater good of one and all. Savvy about the range of emotions, narratives, and difficulties that one encounters in this work, Robert gives us a powerful and comprehensive map that clarifies not only the varieties of the individual shadow, but.
Long at the back, with a parting to the right. Their Bangkok shoes began to suffer in the coffee-colored mud. He was not going to lose what he had won so flippantly. They made him trifle and he went for walks in the hills above the estate.
Anyone who reads this book cannot avoid being confronted with the question of their personal shadow and relieved that there is a way to bring the dark forces of the unknown into the light.
The elements of life remained stable.
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