Format: Hardcover, 432 pages
Release Date: June 7, 2022
Publisher: Bantam
Source: Publisher
Genre: Thrillers / Suspense
Finn’s search for his memory of one fateful night leads him to
Iceland—only to be followed by an unhinged assassin intent on stopping
him—in the riveting follow-up to Steel Fear, from the New York Times bestselling writing team Webb & Mann, combat decorated Navy SEAL Brandon Webb and award-winning author John David Mann.
Disgraced Navy SEAL Finn is on the run. A wanted man since he jumped ship from the USS Abraham Lincoln,
he’s sought for questioning in connection to war crimes committed in
Yemen by a rogue element in his SEAL team. But his memory of that
night—as well as the true fate of his mentor and only friend, Lieutenant
Kennedy—is a gaping hole.
Finn learns that three members of his
team have been quietly redeployed to Iceland, which is a puzzle in
itself; the tiny island nation is famous for being one of the most
peaceful, crime-free places on the planet.
His mission is
simple: track down the three corrupt SEALs and find out what really
happened that night in Yemen. But two problems stand in his way. On his
first night in town a young woman mysteriously drowns—and a local
detective suspects his involvement. What’s worse, a
SEAL-turned-contract-killer with skills equal to his own has been hired
to make sure he never gets the answers he’s looking for. And he’s
followed Finn all the way to the icy north.
Cold Fear, by authors Brandon Webb, John David Mann, is the second installment in the authors Finn Thrillers series. Navy SEAL sniper Finn searches for the truth after he can loses his memory of what happened during a mission gone horribly wrong in Yemen. Finn, whose memories of an atrocity that was committed by his own Black Squadron team, has gone AWOL (Absent Without Leave) and is now a fugitive. He escaped certain death in San Diego, and made his way to Iceland where he hopes he can find answers.
Four
months after the night in Yemen, Finn is still trying to remember what
happened and whether he is guilty of the crime. Someone thinks he is which is. He seeks answers from three members of
his former team who have been deployed to Iceland. Finn's memories are so clouded in mystery, that he has no clue what the truth is, and what may be a figment of his own imagination. His mission is simple: track down the three corrupt SEALs and find out
what really happened that night in Yemen.
But two problems stand in his
way. On his first night in town, a young woman nicknamed Little Mermaid mysteriously drowns and a
local detective suspects his involvement. What’s worse, a
SEAL-turned-contract-killer with skills equal to his own has been hired
to make sure he never gets the answers he’s looking for. And he’s
followed Finn all the way to the icy north. Finn figures that he has 3 days to map, locate and track members of his team before his hunter tracks him down. When Finn wants to, he remembers every single detail which makes him a superb sniper.
Finn needs to know what really happened. He needs to know if he was responsible in anyway. He needs to know why his Commanding officer Lieutenant Kennedy was killed after promising to find answers. Finn knows that he is quarry now and
that there are people in high places who have tried to silence him from
asking too many questions and will likely try again. Which brings us to Senior Detective Krista Kritjansdoffier who is in the search for answers to why a young woman called little mermaid was stripped naked with writing on her stomach.
The young woman was allegedly training to be an au pair in places like New York City before she was found in a lake. Krista crosses paths with Finn after it seems as though he may have the answers she needs to solve a slew of crimes. Krista believes Finn knows more than he is saying, and when more bodies start piling up, Krista would love nothing more to arrest Finn, and lock him away for life. When
brutal murders began to occur in the peaceful and basically crime-free
city, the police force went on high alert, with the lead detective
mostly flying solo, determined to find answers to the death of the young
girl, as well as the other killings.
Which brings me to Boone. Boone is a psychopath who is also hunting Finn's team in order to shut them up from telling what happened in Yemen and who was to blame. But his biggest target is Finn who he missed when the Lincoln made port in San Diego. Thanks to Finn getting a warning from a colleague that trouble was waiting for him, he was able to sneak away. Boone does some things in this book that may be troubling for certain readers, but he's probably the most worthy villain that Finn will face in the near future.
Readers need to get past the fact that Finn's
memory is faulty thus an unreliable narrator at times. Several traumatic events have caused his mind to block out
happenings from his youth and from the day atrocities were committed in
Yemen. Although a whole lot of questions have been answered, the authors fail to reveal to the readers who was actually responsible for the order that led to a massacre in Yemen and Finn being blamed.
You
don't have to read Steal Fear to enjoy this one since the author does a good job of reminding you of past events. I do believe that you will want to read the next installment to see if the authors will lay the actual truth out of what really happened.
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Prologue
A deserted city street. The distant ruckus of drunken revelers, laughter, Christmas carol fragments. Under the faint glow of streetlights a flurry of snowflakes drifts to the frigid cobblestone surface, then swirls aside as a girl sprints past.
Bare feet. No coat. Mid-twenties.
She darts through an intersection. Then another. Street names she can’t pronounce. On a wild guess she takes a left at the next corner and runs another block before stopping, bent over, hands on knees, breathing like a trapped animal.
There’s nothing but the silence of the snow and her own rapid panting. She looks around, frantic.
Has she gone too far?
Takes off running again. Squinting at the street signs, pleading for them to make sense. Fighting back the urge to stop and scan the darkness behind her.
The sound of her feet slapping the slick street surface drums against her ears . . . images explode through her mind—the mines . . . the Englishman . . . the lake house—
She pushes them away. Her feet are bleeding, but she has to keep going. She has to—
Wait.
Was that a glimpse of someone passing on the far side of the street?
She slows long enough to peer back through the murk. No one there.
She spat out the last pill, but the drugs are still too strong. She can’t tell what is hallucination and what is real.
Keep going.
Her feet slapping the cobblestones . . . the mines . . . the Englishman . . .
She won’t make it. It was a crazy idea. Should have known it was pointless to try. She reaches the next corner—
And there it is. Spread out before her like a banquet.
She stops again, hands on knees, gasping, the Arctic air searing her lungs. Squints into the dark and feels a rush of bitter relief. Not a hallucination. Really there.
A patch of open water.
The driver told her about this the day she arrived. In December the pond is covered in ice, he said, ice so thick they hold hockey matches on it. Except right here, at this spot. The city keeps this northeast corner heated year-round. “For the ducks!” he chortled.
And sure enough, through the gloom she can see their little bodies, tucked into themselves for warmth, still and silent. Living, breathing ducks, asleep on the water.
How do they survive the winters here?
How does anyone survive the winters here?
She whips her head around, suddenly alert, eyes and ears straining in the dark. There’s no one behind her. The only sounds she hears are her own hard breath and the faint splish-splash as she steps into the shallow.
From her pocket she pulls a stick of lipstick, blood-red.
Stares at it, her heart pounding.
She isn’t supposed to know.
Isn’t supposed to know about any of it.
But she does.
Hands trembling from the cold, she twists the lipstick open, pulls up her shirt with one hand and with the other scrawls a single word upside-down across her abdomen.
Then lets the lipstick fall from her fingers.
She strips out of her clothes, tossing each item behind her. Stark naked, she takes a few more steps into the water. Another flurry of snowflakes falls around her, the air a blast freezer on her skin. Teeth chattering, she kneels. Places her palms down against the shallow pond floor. Slides down onto her stomach and pushes herself away from the edge with her feet, propelling with her arms, each stroke drawing her further toward the pond’s center. After a moment her outstretched fingers find the lip of the ice sheet.
She slips underneath the ice, then twists around so that her back is to the pond floor, her face to the ice above. Stretches out her arms as wide as she can.
And pushes farther in.
A deserted city street. The distant ruckus of drunken revelers, laughter, Christmas carol fragments. Under the faint glow of streetlights a flurry of snowflakes drifts to the frigid cobblestone surface, then swirls aside as a girl sprints past.
Bare feet. No coat. Mid-twenties.
She darts through an intersection. Then another. Street names she can’t pronounce. On a wild guess she takes a left at the next corner and runs another block before stopping, bent over, hands on knees, breathing like a trapped animal.
There’s nothing but the silence of the snow and her own rapid panting. She looks around, frantic.
Has she gone too far?
Takes off running again. Squinting at the street signs, pleading for them to make sense. Fighting back the urge to stop and scan the darkness behind her.
The sound of her feet slapping the slick street surface drums against her ears . . . images explode through her mind—the mines . . . the Englishman . . . the lake house—
She pushes them away. Her feet are bleeding, but she has to keep going. She has to—
Wait.
Was that a glimpse of someone passing on the far side of the street?
She slows long enough to peer back through the murk. No one there.
She spat out the last pill, but the drugs are still too strong. She can’t tell what is hallucination and what is real.
Keep going.
Her feet slapping the cobblestones . . . the mines . . . the Englishman . . .
She won’t make it. It was a crazy idea. Should have known it was pointless to try. She reaches the next corner—
And there it is. Spread out before her like a banquet.
She stops again, hands on knees, gasping, the Arctic air searing her lungs. Squints into the dark and feels a rush of bitter relief. Not a hallucination. Really there.
A patch of open water.
The driver told her about this the day she arrived. In December the pond is covered in ice, he said, ice so thick they hold hockey matches on it. Except right here, at this spot. The city keeps this northeast corner heated year-round. “For the ducks!” he chortled.
And sure enough, through the gloom she can see their little bodies, tucked into themselves for warmth, still and silent. Living, breathing ducks, asleep on the water.
How do they survive the winters here?
How does anyone survive the winters here?
She whips her head around, suddenly alert, eyes and ears straining in the dark. There’s no one behind her. The only sounds she hears are her own hard breath and the faint splish-splash as she steps into the shallow.
From her pocket she pulls a stick of lipstick, blood-red.
Stares at it, her heart pounding.
She isn’t supposed to know.
Isn’t supposed to know about any of it.
But she does.
Hands trembling from the cold, she twists the lipstick open, pulls up her shirt with one hand and with the other scrawls a single word upside-down across her abdomen.
Then lets the lipstick fall from her fingers.
She strips out of her clothes, tossing each item behind her. Stark naked, she takes a few more steps into the water. Another flurry of snowflakes falls around her, the air a blast freezer on her skin. Teeth chattering, she kneels. Places her palms down against the shallow pond floor. Slides down onto her stomach and pushes herself away from the edge with her feet, propelling with her arms, each stroke drawing her further toward the pond’s center. After a moment her outstretched fingers find the lip of the ice sheet.
She slips underneath the ice, then twists around so that her back is to the pond floor, her face to the ice above. Stretches out her arms as wide as she can.
And pushes farther in.
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