Terrorism on the Internet - a plausible idea in today's world -
is both intriguing and frightening. Author Robert Lanzone's first
novel, Cyberjihad, chronicles just such a clandestine scheme. A Wall
Street computer whiz travels through cyberspace, where he stumbles upon
terrorists plotting to destabilize the world's economy and nuclear
defenses. Reluctantly sucked in by government bureaucrats, this
computer genius becomes torn between the safety of loved ones and
diffusing acts of global terrorism.
Visit his web site at http://www.RobertLanzone.com
for more
information.
Available on BarnesandNoble.com and amazon.com $14.95 retail
An Excerpt from Cyberjihad:
New York City
Monday, November 28th, 7:58 AM EST
26 Days, 16 Hours, 2 Minutes until Cyberjihad
I have the information to nail that son of a ***** to the wall,
Christopher Moran thought, pulling a floppy disk from his breast pocket
and rotating it between his fingertips. He stared through the taxi's
dirty window with eyes that ached. The view of the financial district
appeared and disappeared between the buildings as the cab made its way
downtown. Glancing up at the rearview mirror, he saw the cabby's eyes
watching him.
"Rough weekend, my friend?"
Christopher glared out of his window. "You have no idea."
Christopher had grown suspicious of the consultant hired to help with
BIG's (Bond Index Group) computer installation. Big also, were the
troubled business unit's computer problems. The root cause of project
delays and complications pointed toward the consultant. Still, this
left one unanswered question. Why had the consultant modified BIG's
network hubs? This was way beyond the scope of the project and even so,
it was not their responsibility. Christopher tried to confront him, but
was met by marked arrogance. This sparked a fire within Christopher,
which drove him to thoroughly examine everything twice until they were
dead charred embers. He had poured over the computer configuration and
log files until headaches from eyestrain pounded his temples. The past
weekend's efforts were just as fatiguing, but in the end, productive.
He slipped the floppy disk back into his pocket and smiled. He had the
consultant nailed.
The taxi turned the corner as va**** peeled off the pavement and formed
a dreary mist three feet into the air. The East River's polluted water,
seeping into New York Harbor, capped one end of the street. At the
other end sat a brown, sandstone House of God with a neo-gothic spire
that was dwarfed by the skyscrapers surrounding it. A black wrought
iron fence with spear shaped pickets enclosed the church grounds.
Weather-beaten gravestones, many of them hundreds of years old, lay
banded in tight rows across the landscape.
The cab double-parked next to a livery limousine halfway up the street
and Christopher handed the driver a ten. "Keep the change."
Wading through the mist, he crossed the street toward the
billion-dollar Money Center Banking and Security Holdings building that
dominated the skyline. The upper floors of the forty-seven story
building had glass enclosed turret offices that gave the occupants a
panoramic view of the city. Christopher wove through the throng of Wall
Street suits as he approached the entrance, two revolving doors flanked
by five-story granite columns. The acronym MCBASH crowned the doors in
gold letters.
Screeching tires spun on the damp pavement behind him. He turned, but
it was too late. The wheels of the yellow cab caught and the sedan
careened off the street and up onto the sidewalk, sma****ng into a
coffee vendor's silver cart. Christopher felt adrenaline course down
his spine as the muscles in his body clenched. He stretched his arm out
like a running back fending off a tackle. It would be his final move.
The car bulldozed the wagon into Christopher and pinned him against a
pillar. The impact hurled the merchant from his cart and he fell
unconscious at the curb. The cabby jumped out of his mangled wreck and
rushed over to Christopher.
"Allahu Akbar!" he cried.
Blood dripped from Christopher's mouth and ears like oil from an
engine's blown head gasket. The cabby slipped his hand inside
Christopher's jacket and removed the floppy disk as a crowd began to
form.
"I've got to get help," he yelled to nobody in particular as he pushed
his way through the crowd and disappeared.
To order Cyberjihad click http://www.RobertLanzone.com/Order.
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