Librería Samer Atenea
Librería Aciertas (Toledo)
Kálamo Books
Librería Perelló (Valencia)
Librería Elías (Asturias)
Donde los libros
Librería Kolima (Madrid)
Librería Proteo (Málaga)
Ace Despain is a professional finder. If it’s lost, stolen, or hiding, he’ll track it down. The tougher the trail, the more he comes alive. As a soldier in WWII North Africa, he out-smarts German spies, shoots down an enemy fighter fighter from a scout plane, battles Vichy soldiers in a stolen armored car and helps smuggle Jewish refugees out of Morocco. During the uranium boom of 1950s Utah, Ace chases down criminals, kidnappers and pursues a desperate man through wild Canyonlands who abducted his girlfriend. Follow Ace as he travels to the Philippines to rescue his kidnapped friend while dodging pirates, mobsters, rogue police and crocodiles. Read how Ace hurls himself into danger in search of enemies, spies, rustlers-and the people he loves most. Every clue brings him closer to the truth. And every layer, like an onion, brings him to becoming Ace.Book Excerpt:I was in the middle of a very dangerous game of chicken. Mitchell was desperate and there was a real chance he wouldn’t blink first.Mitchell was in a stolen ’57 Oldsmobile sedan coming straight at me at 50 miles per hour. I was hurtling toward him at the same speed - except I was just above the road. Headed straight for him. In an airplane. I pushed the control stick forward and descended until I was about six feet above the road. The prop wash was picking up small stones from the gravel track and pinging them off my landing gear. I pulled back the throttle knob until my speed was near the same as Mitchell-50 miles per hour.I was flying south. Mitchell was driving north. Things were about to happen very fast. We were a mile apart, closing at a combined speed of 100 miles per hour. That was 147 feet every second. It would take about 36 seconds for us to reach the impact point. My palms were sweaty. My hands were gripping the control stick so tightly my knuckles were white. My feet were tapping nervously on the rudder pedals. My eyes were locked on the Olds, waiting for Mitchell to blink.
