ld"A truly fine novelhellip;Totally absorbing and ingenious.rd" -Nelson DeMille ld"On fire with suspense.rd" -Stephen King It is January 1944-and as Allied troops prepare for D-Day, Nazi scientists develop a toxic nerve gas that would repel and wipe out any invasion force. To salvage the planned assault, two vastly different but equally determined men are sent to infiltrate the secret concentration camp where the poison gas is being perfected on human subjects. Their only objective: destroy all traces of the gas and the men who created it-no matter how many lives may be lost. Including their ownhellip; ld"Stunninghellip;From the very first page, Greg Iles takes his readers on an emotional roller-coaster ride, juxtaposing tension-filled action scenes, horrifying depictions of savage cruelty, and heart-stopping descriptions of sacrifice and bravery. A remarkable story from a remarkable writerrd" -Booklist
Iles's WWII thriller portrays a commando raid on a Nazi concentration camp that is developing poison gases to be used against the Allied forces. (Nov.) -- PUBLISHERS WEEKLY.
Showing 1-4 of the 4 most recent reviews
1 . Are we there yet?
Posted December 08, 2010 by Alf-anator , Nashua, NHIf this book was any slower getting started it would be going in reverse. Haven't gotten too far, just can't muster interest, but I keep hoping with every page turn that I am going to discover the book that is getting 5 stars from everyone else who is writing a review.
2 . Great
Posted September 21, 2010 by Fred Hermann , CaledonGreg Iles continues to impress. Wonderfully written historically accurate a page turner. Not my first Iles book and defintiely will not be my last.
3 . Breath Taking
Posted August 28, 2010 by Mike , Baton Rouge, LAGet ready for one of those all-nighters! Both the historical perspective and the story line are spectacular. Move over, Schindler's List.
4 . My favorite Greg Iles book
Posted January 26, 2010 by Janice , Thousand OaksThis book was my introduction to Greg Iles and now I'm a huge fan. It grips you from page one and never lets you down. Great story, great well-developed characters.
October 31, 1995
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Excerpt from Black Cross by Greg Iles
It's odd how death often marks a beginning rather than an end. We know someone for ten years, twenty years, longer. We see them in the course of daily life. We speak, laugh, exchange harsh words; we think we have some notion of who they are.
And then they die.
In death, the fluid impressions formed over a lifetime begin to assume definite shape. The picture comes into focus. New facts emerge. Safes are opened, wills read. With finality, and with distance, we often discover that the people we thought we knew were actually quite different than we imagined. And the closer we were to them, the more shocking this surprise is.
So it was with my grandfather. He died violently, and quite publicly, in circumstances so extraordinary that they got thirty seconds of airtime on the national evening news. It happened last Tuesday, in a MedStar helicopter ambulance en route from Fairplay, Georgia -- the small town in which I was born and raised -- to Emory University Hospital in Atlanta, where I work as an emergency physician. While making his rounds at Fairplay's local hospital, my grandfather collapsed at a nurses' station. Fighting to ignore the terrible pain in his lower back, he had a nurse take his blood pressure. When he heard the figures, he correctly diagnosed a leaking abdominal aortic aneurysm and realized that without immediate emergency surgery he would die.
With two nurses supporting him, he spoke on a telephone just long enough to summon the MedStar from Atlanta, forty miles away. My grandmother insisted on remaining by his side in the chopper, and the pilot reluctantly agreed. They don't usually allow that, but damn near everybody in the Georgia medical community knew or knew of my grandfather -- a quiet but eminently respected lung specialist. Besides, my grandmother wasn't the kind of woman that men talked back to. Ever.
The MedStar crashed twenty minutes later on a quiet street in the suburbs of Atlanta. That was four days ago, and as yet no one has determined the cause of the crash. Just one of those freak things, I guess. Pilot error, they like to call it. I don't really care whose fault it was. I'm not looking to sue. We're not -- or weren't -- that kind of family.
My grandparents' deaths hit me especially hard, because they raised me from the age of five. My parents died in a car crash in 1970. I've seen more than my share of tragedy, I suppose. I still do. It sweeps through my emergency room every day and night, trailing blood and cocaine and whiskey-breath and burnt skin and dead kids. Such is life. The reason I'm writing this down is because of what happened at the burial -- or rather, who I met at the burial. Because it was there, in a place of death, that my grandfather's secret life revealed itself at last.