Sneak Peek of Murder on Elbrus

Great news! Murder on Elbrus the latest from my Summit Murder Mystery Series came out this week. In Murder on Everest we again find Scott Devlon, the hero from Murder on Everest and Abandoned on Everest, fighting for his life. This time Devlon endures firefight while racing across countries fleeing from Russian Special Forces after the Russian oil minister mysteriously dies trying to summit Mount Elbrus.

Carol on Amazon.Com says: "Another great read from Irion and Watkins! Action packed adventure, this time to Elbrus. Scott Devlon is a man that finds adventure, intrigue, snipers, and of course Tarja whether he intends to or not. After Murder on Everest, I couldn't wait to get my hands on Murder on Elbrus, I was not disappointed! If you are in to murder mysteries and mountaineering adventures and you haven't read this series, you should check it out!"

I've included a sneak peek of Murder on Elbrus. But I have to warn you, order the book first, because once you start it you won't want to have to stop.

To read the entire Murder on Elbrus you can purchase it on Amazon.Com. It is available on Kindle, NOOK and iPad.

Murder on Elbrus Sneak Peak:

"No sooner had I shouted then I saw the flame of twin rockets fired from the darkness to my right and above, aimed at our vehicles. Osip was ready. We could not see the helicopter in the dark sky but he’d seen the flare and fired his RPG almost at the same moment.

To my left was a violent explosion as Fowl’s GAZ erupted in a terrific explosion. Then another explosion, more distant, and I saw the helicopter burst into a fireball. The craft seemed suspended for a moment then it fell into the forest with an enormous crash. A second later the fuel in the GAZ ignited and produced still another blast. The blackness that had enveloped us was now bright as noon.

“My God,” Tom said.

There was commotion to my left and then Fowl shouted, “Man down!”

Pyotr rose from cover and bolted across the road, illuminated by the burning GAZ, his figure a dark shadow against the flames for just a second.

I stood up and ran to the burning GAZ. There I found Fowl and Pyotr kneeling over a prostrate figure, Pyotr holding the head with his cupped hands. The light from the flames showed his gleaming intestines, slick and wet with blood, ripped from his gut. His mouth was working awkwardly, like an infant suckling without a teat. One of the two rockets had struck to the left of the GAZ, close enough to kill him, for even as I watched his life ended.

The helicopter crash was a horrific scene, but less so at night than it would have been in daylight. The flames cast the scene in a hellish yellow, bits of burning debris were scattered about in an irregular carpet and nearby trees were burning feebly. But we could not see the black plume rising from the wreckage, nor, mercifully, make out the burning bodies.

With Osip I approached the blazing wreck. A burning helicopter is no campfire. There is no pleasant aroma of fresh cut wood and smoke, or the comforting sound of crackling fire. The wreck smelled of raw aviation fuel, burning rubber and plastic, not to mention at least two human bodies trapped inside. The flames snapped with an unpleasant crackle. You never get used to it. I certainly hadn’t.

Osip and I carefully circled the burning helicopter searching for survivors. “We need to get away from here,” I shouted. “There are munitions that will explode.”

It was then Osip who spotted something in the glow of the fire and without comment rushed toward the wreckage. The flames and smoke blocked him from view momentarily then I spotted him emerging from that hell dragging a body along.

I was shocked to see Nikolai. Though dying he was not yet dead because blood was pouring from his wounds. There was a terrible gash along his right leg and his left arm was both broken and dislocated, the broken bones protruding from his skin while his arm dangled uselessly, the shoulder looking deformed. His black jacket had been all seared to his body and most of his face was scorched almost beyond recognition. He was hideous.

Osip spoke to him in Russian. I saw Nikolai eyelids flutter then open. He worked his mouth as if grinding teeth and then spoke, the words coming out like a croak. When he stopped Osip asked another question. Nikolai tried to laugh but a pool of blood formed in his mouth. He began to cough, sputtering blood onto both of us. He surged from the ground in a way I’ve seen other dying men do, then collapsed, dead.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He said we have no hope, that his only regret is he will not live to see us die.""


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