Format: 304 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: November 18, 2025
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Espionage, Thriller
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Espionage, Thriller
In this action-packed thriller, Special Agent Alex Martel's fight becomes personal when her father is abducted by rebel forces.
In the heart of Africa, CIA Special Agent Alexandra Martel’s safari with her father spirals into a deadly game of betrayal when he is kidnapped by rebels. Suddenly, her peaceful Serengeti vacation transforms into a desperate race against time. As the general is held by local rebels, Russian mercenaries and Chinese MSS operatives descend on East Africa, all hunting the military secrets locked in her father’s mind.
Alex assembles an elite team to navigate the treacherous terrain, but complications arise when her CIA boss, Caleb, shows up unexpectedly, stirring feelings she’s tried to bury since her husband’s death. As competing forces close in, Alex uncovers betrayals stretching from the Serengeti to the highest levels of global intelligence. Trust becomes as scarce as water in the African savanna.
With enemies converging from all sides, Alex must embrace her darkest instincts to save her father. But in a world where allies become enemies, and nothing is as it seems, how much of herself is she willing to sacrifice to honor the bonds of blood?
Alex assembles an elite team to navigate the treacherous terrain, but complications arise when her CIA boss, Caleb, shows up unexpectedly, stirring feelings she’s tried to bury since her husband’s death. As competing forces close in, Alex uncovers betrayals stretching from the Serengeti to the highest levels of global intelligence. Trust becomes as scarce as water in the African savanna.
With enemies converging from all sides, Alex must embrace her darkest instincts to save her father. But in a world where allies become enemies, and nothing is as it seems, how much of herself is she willing to sacrifice to honor the bonds of blood?
Blood Oath is the 3rd installment in author Steve Urszenyi's Special Agent Alexandra Martel series. Special Agent Alex Martel, a tough, skilled CIA paramilitary operative, Former FBI Agent, and sharpshooter who was awarded both the Purple Heart and Silver Star, is finally taking a well-deserved break: a photography safari in Tanzania's Serengeti National Park with her retired general father, David Martel. What begins as a peaceful father-daughter bonding trip quickly escalates into chaos when her father is kidnapped by rebel forces.
After her mother died unexpectedly, Alex and David formed a bond that neither would leave the other behind for any reason. "Blood of my blood, until my last breath." Complications arrive when her CIA boss, Caleb, arrives unexpectedly. Caleb and Alex have worked together for about a year, and Caleb wants more from their relationship. After David is kidnapped, they assemble an elite team to rescue the general, but betrayals are in abundance. Who can Alex trust? Nothing is as it seems. As Russian mercenaries and Chinese operatives swarm the region, pursuing sensitive military secrets held by David, Alex is thrust into a desperate rescue mission.
Trust is scarce in this treacherous environment, forcing Alex to confront betrayals, alliances of convenience, and her own limits. The story explores themes of family bonds, honor, sacrifice, and the blurred lines between right and wrong in the shadowy world of international intrigue. Nearly everyone had agendas, and the novel features deception, betrayal, espionage, power, protecting political careers, national security, compromise, cooperation, and more. Alex Martel remains one of the standout heroines in contemporary thrillers.
She's fiercely competent—a decorated sniper, combat medic, and operative—yet Urszenyi humanizes her by exposing her emotional vulnerabilities without diminishing her strength. This book makes her journey deeply personal, amplifying the stakes as she fights not just for duty, but for family. Supporting characters, including her father and various allies/antagonists, feel grounded and multifaceted, adding layers to the conflict. The ending of this book leaves hope that the author will write another novel. Too many secrets were exposed to leave them unanswered.
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CHAPTER 1
SERENGETI NATIONAL PARK, TANZANIA
Somewhere ahead in the fog lurked her quarry, and as she stalked through the grass she remained vigilant, watching and listening for any hint that she had been detected. But only the muffled sounds of the savannah filled the air—the whispering rustle of the grass, the distant bray of a zebra, the low grunt of a wildebeest chasing off a rival. All other noise was muted as if swallowed by the fog that crept in and enveloped her.
Special Agent Alexandra Martel, contract CIA paramilitary officer, pushed forward. Each beat of her heart sent a rush of blood coursing through her veins, echoing in her ears like a Maasai drumbeat in the stillness of the heavy air.
Alex had always trusted her instincts. They had served her well as a young combat medic in her Ranger regiment, and with every posting and assignment ever since. Now, having lost sight of her quarry, she hoped those instincts wouldn’t let her down. But as the minutes ticked by without another sighting, she wondered if perhaps she had lost her edge, and the moment had escaped her. Maybe she’d been outsmarted. Maybe they were on to her. Or worse, maybe they had circled back and flanked her.
Then, as if someone had lifted a veil, she saw her target and adjusted her aim through her optics.
A little to the right, she told herself. And ever so carefully, she slithered sideways on her belly, making the required adjustments to bring her subject back into range and focus.
“Eighty-five meters,” called her spotter.
But Alex wasn’t satisfied. The thorny branch of a blackthorn acacia partially obscured her primary target through her lens, so again, she waited.
“Alex,” whispered her spotter. “Take the shot.”
Moments slipped by as Alex watched and waited for the image in her mind to align with the sight picture presented through her optics. Luck was the intersection of preparation and opportunity, and she was content to await a stroke of it to achieve success.
“Take the shot! You’re going to lose him.”
“Her,” she whispered.
“What?”
“It’s her, not him. Now be quiet for two seconds.”
She was losing time. The sun was setting, and the rays reflecting off the thin layer of fog set her subject off in a hue of golden light that wouldn’t last more than an instant. But the wind shifted behind them, carrying their scent on the warming air currents up the slight grade to the kopje, an island outcropping of ancient granite in a sea of grass.
The female leopard she had been watching through her camera’s telephoto lens pressed her nose into the air, lifting it to sniff the wind. Then Alex saw her chest give a slight heave. Though she couldn’t hear it, she knew the mother cat had issued a warning call to her three leopard cubs poking their heads over the edge of the rock high above. They scampered down the rock face toward their mother. Together, they disappeared into the many small trees, shrubs, and hollows that provided plenty of cover and concealment options from predators.
“I told you,” said her companion.
“For an old man, you can be such a twelve-year-old girl,” she said, noting his frown. General David Martel didn’t seem amused by the analogy—or the snipe at his age. “Truth hurts, huh, Pops?” she said.
“Yeah, well, the truth is you missed the shot.”
“For your information, I got some great shots.”
“Maybe, Little Miss NatGeo, but you also miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”
“So now you’re channeling hockey wisdom?”
“If the skate fits…”
He was right, of course. Although she had gotten a few photos that would probably turn out well, she had been so focused on the great shot that she might have let the best of them slip away. But there was no sense telling him that and inflating his already robust ego.
She sat up and slung her camera over her shoulder, the long, heavy lens weighing down the front of her Nikon. She reviewed the images on the camera’s display. “Look at this one,” she said, tilting the screen toward him. “See how the light catches her eyes?”
It still amazed her that, after all these years, she still wanted her dad’s approval. She guessed she would always be her daddy’s little girl.
Retired US Army general David Martel leaned closer, his weathered face softening into a warm smile. “Beautiful shot, Allie.”
Alex grinned. For once, she wasn’t calculating wind speed or counting heartbeats between trigger pulls. No lives hung in the balance. There were no targets to eliminate. Just this moment of perfect stillness in the Serengeti, sharing her father’s company and the simple joy of photography—a passion she’d neglected during years of deployments and operations.
She had come out a few days ago to meet her dad for a safari vacation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken a vacation, let alone one with her dad. Despite being unable to spend much time together over the past few years, they quickly fell back into their usual banter and good-natured chirping. They were having fun, and she found herself smiling more than she had in a long time. She was relaxed, enjoying her time with her dad.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get back to the truck.”
They didn’t hike far before finding the Toyota Land Cruiser, where their guide awaited their return. James was a native of northern Tanzania, descended from the Chagga people who inhabited once-sovereign kingdoms within the Kilimanjaro Region on the mountain’s southern slope. When he wasn’t guiding safaris, he still called the town of Moshi, two hours east of Arusha along the Arusha Himo Road, his home.
“I was wondering if I was going to have to send a search party,” said James, exuding a cheerful facade through a robust accented voice.
“Alex thinks she’s a famous nature photographer,” the general replied as they climbed into the SUV.
“My daughter has much the same delusions,” he said, shaking his head, his puffy jowls shaking as he laughed. “We are in Tanzania, David. Africa is a magical place that elevates notions of our own greatness.” He sniffed like a lion checking a scent on the breeze. “It’s in the air,” he said.
Alex sniffed the air herself. “The only thing I smell here, James, isn’t coming from any magical place I’ve ever been,” she said. “Mavi ya tembo.”
He laughed even louder. “Now I am sorry that I am teaching your daughter Swahili, General. When she starts speaking about elephant dung, I know she is becoming too fluent in our language!”
“She’s a fast learner, alright,” said David Martel. “Just a slow photographer.”
“You’re a pair of real comedians,” said Alex. “Home, James.”
“And you seem to have lost your sense of humor, Ansel,” Alex’s dad teased, summoning the legacy of the groundbreaking American photographer Ansel Adams.
“Yes, but I’ll have the last laugh when I’m awarded a prestigious juried prize for wildlife photography for my photos of the leopardess and her cubs.”
James and the general burst out laughing as they headed along the two-track red dirt road toward their lodge.
The Land Cruiser featured a closed-cab design with a pop-top roof, sliding windows, and creature comforts like air-conditioning and a refrigerator. Alex and her dad preferred to ride with the roof up and the sliding windows fully opened rather than with the A/C cranking. Most of the time, they stood with their heads and shoulders protruding through the opened roof, taking in the majesty of the land and on the lookout for animals. But, as it was getting late, the pair lounged in their seats, one on either side of a center aisle.
Alex picked a traditional Maasai shuka off the seat in front of her, then wrapped the red, green, and black cloth around her shoulders like a shawl. She leaned her head against the 4x4’s window. She had almost drifted off into a much-desired slumber when two staccato pops in rapid succession reached her ears. Immediately, she sat bolt upright in her seat.
“What is it?” asked James, who had caught her movement out of the corner of his eye.
“Did you hear that?” she asked.
“I heard nothing.”
“Hear what?” asked the general.
SERENGETI NATIONAL PARK, TANZANIA
Somewhere ahead in the fog lurked her quarry, and as she stalked through the grass she remained vigilant, watching and listening for any hint that she had been detected. But only the muffled sounds of the savannah filled the air—the whispering rustle of the grass, the distant bray of a zebra, the low grunt of a wildebeest chasing off a rival. All other noise was muted as if swallowed by the fog that crept in and enveloped her.
Special Agent Alexandra Martel, contract CIA paramilitary officer, pushed forward. Each beat of her heart sent a rush of blood coursing through her veins, echoing in her ears like a Maasai drumbeat in the stillness of the heavy air.
Alex had always trusted her instincts. They had served her well as a young combat medic in her Ranger regiment, and with every posting and assignment ever since. Now, having lost sight of her quarry, she hoped those instincts wouldn’t let her down. But as the minutes ticked by without another sighting, she wondered if perhaps she had lost her edge, and the moment had escaped her. Maybe she’d been outsmarted. Maybe they were on to her. Or worse, maybe they had circled back and flanked her.
Then, as if someone had lifted a veil, she saw her target and adjusted her aim through her optics.
A little to the right, she told herself. And ever so carefully, she slithered sideways on her belly, making the required adjustments to bring her subject back into range and focus.
“Eighty-five meters,” called her spotter.
But Alex wasn’t satisfied. The thorny branch of a blackthorn acacia partially obscured her primary target through her lens, so again, she waited.
“Alex,” whispered her spotter. “Take the shot.”
Moments slipped by as Alex watched and waited for the image in her mind to align with the sight picture presented through her optics. Luck was the intersection of preparation and opportunity, and she was content to await a stroke of it to achieve success.
“Take the shot! You’re going to lose him.”
“Her,” she whispered.
“What?”
“It’s her, not him. Now be quiet for two seconds.”
She was losing time. The sun was setting, and the rays reflecting off the thin layer of fog set her subject off in a hue of golden light that wouldn’t last more than an instant. But the wind shifted behind them, carrying their scent on the warming air currents up the slight grade to the kopje, an island outcropping of ancient granite in a sea of grass.
The female leopard she had been watching through her camera’s telephoto lens pressed her nose into the air, lifting it to sniff the wind. Then Alex saw her chest give a slight heave. Though she couldn’t hear it, she knew the mother cat had issued a warning call to her three leopard cubs poking their heads over the edge of the rock high above. They scampered down the rock face toward their mother. Together, they disappeared into the many small trees, shrubs, and hollows that provided plenty of cover and concealment options from predators.
“I told you,” said her companion.
“For an old man, you can be such a twelve-year-old girl,” she said, noting his frown. General David Martel didn’t seem amused by the analogy—or the snipe at his age. “Truth hurts, huh, Pops?” she said.
“Yeah, well, the truth is you missed the shot.”
“For your information, I got some great shots.”
“Maybe, Little Miss NatGeo, but you also miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”
“So now you’re channeling hockey wisdom?”
“If the skate fits…”
He was right, of course. Although she had gotten a few photos that would probably turn out well, she had been so focused on the great shot that she might have let the best of them slip away. But there was no sense telling him that and inflating his already robust ego.
She sat up and slung her camera over her shoulder, the long, heavy lens weighing down the front of her Nikon. She reviewed the images on the camera’s display. “Look at this one,” she said, tilting the screen toward him. “See how the light catches her eyes?”
It still amazed her that, after all these years, she still wanted her dad’s approval. She guessed she would always be her daddy’s little girl.
Retired US Army general David Martel leaned closer, his weathered face softening into a warm smile. “Beautiful shot, Allie.”
Alex grinned. For once, she wasn’t calculating wind speed or counting heartbeats between trigger pulls. No lives hung in the balance. There were no targets to eliminate. Just this moment of perfect stillness in the Serengeti, sharing her father’s company and the simple joy of photography—a passion she’d neglected during years of deployments and operations.
She had come out a few days ago to meet her dad for a safari vacation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken a vacation, let alone one with her dad. Despite being unable to spend much time together over the past few years, they quickly fell back into their usual banter and good-natured chirping. They were having fun, and she found herself smiling more than she had in a long time. She was relaxed, enjoying her time with her dad.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get back to the truck.”
They didn’t hike far before finding the Toyota Land Cruiser, where their guide awaited their return. James was a native of northern Tanzania, descended from the Chagga people who inhabited once-sovereign kingdoms within the Kilimanjaro Region on the mountain’s southern slope. When he wasn’t guiding safaris, he still called the town of Moshi, two hours east of Arusha along the Arusha Himo Road, his home.
“I was wondering if I was going to have to send a search party,” said James, exuding a cheerful facade through a robust accented voice.
“Alex thinks she’s a famous nature photographer,” the general replied as they climbed into the SUV.
“My daughter has much the same delusions,” he said, shaking his head, his puffy jowls shaking as he laughed. “We are in Tanzania, David. Africa is a magical place that elevates notions of our own greatness.” He sniffed like a lion checking a scent on the breeze. “It’s in the air,” he said.
Alex sniffed the air herself. “The only thing I smell here, James, isn’t coming from any magical place I’ve ever been,” she said. “Mavi ya tembo.”
He laughed even louder. “Now I am sorry that I am teaching your daughter Swahili, General. When she starts speaking about elephant dung, I know she is becoming too fluent in our language!”
“She’s a fast learner, alright,” said David Martel. “Just a slow photographer.”
“You’re a pair of real comedians,” said Alex. “Home, James.”
“And you seem to have lost your sense of humor, Ansel,” Alex’s dad teased, summoning the legacy of the groundbreaking American photographer Ansel Adams.
“Yes, but I’ll have the last laugh when I’m awarded a prestigious juried prize for wildlife photography for my photos of the leopardess and her cubs.”
James and the general burst out laughing as they headed along the two-track red dirt road toward their lodge.
The Land Cruiser featured a closed-cab design with a pop-top roof, sliding windows, and creature comforts like air-conditioning and a refrigerator. Alex and her dad preferred to ride with the roof up and the sliding windows fully opened rather than with the A/C cranking. Most of the time, they stood with their heads and shoulders protruding through the opened roof, taking in the majesty of the land and on the lookout for animals. But, as it was getting late, the pair lounged in their seats, one on either side of a center aisle.
Alex picked a traditional Maasai shuka off the seat in front of her, then wrapped the red, green, and black cloth around her shoulders like a shawl. She leaned her head against the 4x4’s window. She had almost drifted off into a much-desired slumber when two staccato pops in rapid succession reached her ears. Immediately, she sat bolt upright in her seat.
“What is it?” asked James, who had caught her movement out of the corner of his eye.
“Did you hear that?” she asked.
“I heard nothing.”
“Hear what?” asked the general.
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