Lincoln Childs novels are thrilling and tantalizing. Vince Flynn "By mixing fact and fiction as well as science and the occult, Lincoln Child once again has created an offbeat thriller that is both exciting and thoughtprovoking."--The Free Lance-Star"Bestseller Child (Terminal Freeze) more than succeeds in making a mummy's curse terrifying in this superb supernatural thriller...Child evokes fear through understatement...Readers will hope to see more of [lead character] Logan in a sequel."--Publishers Weekly (starred review)"Ample gadgetry, New Age soul-shifting, and pyrotechnics sufficient to employ a stable of stuntmen when brought to film: Childs newest is the sort of thing to delight all those who got wrapped up inThe Mummy. Think, a Dan Brown-ian adventure amongst Pharaohs ready with a pocket full of curses."--Kirkus"Its characters are well drawn, and the mystery is nicely handled, keeping readers guessing as to whether something supernatural is going on here. Of the authors solo novels, this could be the best so far."--BooklistAbout the AuthorLINCOLN CHILD is the New York Times best-selling author of Terminal Freeze, Deep Storm, Death Match, and Utopia, as well as coauthor, with Douglas Preston, of numerous New York Times best sellers, most recently Fever Dream. He lives with his wife and daughter in Morristown, New Jersey.Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.1Three Years LaterGrowing up in Westport, currently teaching at Yale, Jeremy Logan thought himself familiar with his home state of Connecticut. But the stretch through which he now drove was a revelation. Heading east from Grotonfollowing the e-mailed directionshed turned onto US 1 and then, just past Stonington, onto US 1 Alternate. Hugging the gray Atlantic coastline, hed passed Wequetequock, rolled over a bridge that looked as old as New England itself, then turned sharply right onto a well-paved but unmarked road. Quite abruptly, the minimalls and tourist motels fell away behind. He passed a sleepy cove in which lobster boats bobbed at anchor, and then entered an equally sleepy hamlet. And yet it was a real village, a working village, with a general store and a tackle shop and an Episcopal church with a steeple three sizes too large, and gray-shingled houses with trim picket fences painted white. There were no hulking SUVs, no out-of-state plates; and the scattering of people sitting on benches or leaning out of front windows waved to him as he passed. The April sunlight was strong, and the sea air had a clean, fresh bite to it. A signboard hanging from the doorframe of the post office informed him he was in Pevensey Point, population 182. Something about the place reminded him irresistibly of Herman Melville.Karen, he said, if youd seen this place, youd never have made us buy that summer cottage in Hyannis.Although his wife had died of cancer years ago, Logan still allowed himself to converse with her now and then. Of course it was usuallythough not alwaysmore monologue than conversation. At first, hed been sure to do it only when he was certain not to be overheard. But thenas what had started as a kind of intellectual hobby for him turned increasingly into a professionhe no longer bothered to be so discreet. These days, judging by what he did for a living, people expected him to be a little strange.Two miles beyond the town, precisely as the directions indicated, a narrow lane led off to the right. Taking it, Logan found himself in a sandy forest of thin scrub pine that soon gave way to tawny dunes. The dunes ended at a metal bridge leading to a low, broad island jutting out into Fishers Island Sound. Even from this distance, Logan could see there were at least a dozen structures on the island, all built of the same reddish-brown stone. At the center were three large five-story buildings that resembled dormitories, arranged in parallel, like dominos. At the far end of the island, partly concealed by the various structures, was an empty airstrip. And beyond everything lay the ocean and the dark green line of Rhode Island.Logan drove the final mile, stopping at a gatehouse before the bridge. He showed the printed e-mail to the guard inside, who smiled and waved him through. A single sign beside the gatehouse, expensive looking but unobtrusive, read simply cts.He crossed the bridge, passed an outlying structure, and pulled into a parking lot. It was surprisingly large: there were at least a hundred cars and space for as many more. Nosing into one of the spots, he killed the engine. But instead of exiting, he paused to read the e-mail once again.Jeremy,Im pleasedand relievedto hear of your acceptance. I also appreciate your being flexible, since as I mentioned earlier theres no way yet to know how long your investigation will take. In any case youll receive a minimum of two weeks compensation, at the rate you specified. Im sorry I cant give you more details at this point, but youre probably used to that. And I have to tell you I cant wait to see you again after all this time.Directions to the Center are below. Ill be waiting for you on the morning of the 18th. Any time between ten and noon will be fine. One other thing: once youre on board with the project, you might find it hard to get calls out with any degree of certainty, so please be sure youve cleared your decks before you arrive. Looking forward to the 18th!Best,E. R.Logan glanced at his watch: eleven thirty. He turned the note over once in his hands. You might find it hard to get calls out with any degree of certainty. Why was that? Perhaps cell phone towers had never made it beyond picturesque Pevensey Point? Nevertheless, what the e-mail said was true: he was used to that. He pulled a duffel bag from the passenger seat, slipped the note into it, and got out of the car.Located in one of the central dormitory-like buildings, Reception was an understated space that reminded Logan of a hospital or clinic: a half-dozen empty chairs, tables with magazines and journals, a sprinkling of anonymous-looking oil paintings on beige walls, and a single desk occupied by a woman in her mid-thirties. The letters CTS were set into the wall behind her, once again with no indication of what they might stand for.Logan gave his name to the woman, who in response looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and uneasiness. He took a seat in one of the vacant chairs, expecting a protracted wait. But no sooner had he picked up a recent issue of Harvard Medical than a door across from the receptionist opened and Ethan Rush emerged.Jeremy, Rush said, smiling broadly and extending his hand. Thank you so much for coming.Ethan, Logan replied, shaking the proffered hand. Nice to see you again.He hadnt seen Rush since their days at Johns Hopkins twenty years before, when hed been doing graduate studies and Rush had been attending the medical school. But the man who stood before him retained a remarkable youthfulness. Only a fine tracery of lines at the corners of his eyes bore testament to the passage of years. And yet in the simple act of shaking the mans hand, Logan had received two very clear impressions from Rush: a shattering, life-changing event and an unswerving, almost obsessive, devotion to a cause.Dr. Rush glanced around the reception area. You brought your luggage?Its in my trunk.Give me the keys, Ill see that somebody retrieves it for you.Its a Lotus Elan S four.Rush whistled. The roadster? What year?Nineteen sixty-eight.Very nice. Ill make sure they treat it with kid gloves.Logan dug into his pocket and handed the keys to Rush, who in turn gave them to the receptionist with some whispered instructions. Then he turned and motioned Logan to follow him through the open doorway.Taking an elevator to the top floor, Rush led the way down a long hallway that smelled faintly of cleaning fluid and chemicals. The resemblance to a hospital grew strongerand yet it seemed to be a hospital without patients; the few people they passed were dressed in street clothes, ambulatory, and obviously healthy. Logan peered curiously into the open doorways as they walked by. He saw conference rooms, a large, empty lecture hall with seats for at least a hundred, laboratories bristling with equipment, what appeared to be a reference library full of paperbound journals and dedicated terminals. More strangely, he noticed several apparently identical rooms, each containing a single, narrow bed with literally dozensif not hundredsof wires leading to nearby monitoring instruments. Other doors were closed, their small windows covered by privacy curtains. A group of men and women in white lab coats passed them in the hallway. They glanced at Logan, nodded to Rush.Stopping before a door marked director, Rush opened it and beckoned Logan through an anteroom housing two secretaries and a profusion of bookcases into a private office beyond. It was tastefully decorated, as minimalist as the outer office was crowded. Three of the walls held spare postmodernist paintings in cool blues and grays; the fourth wall appeared to be entirely of glass, covered at the moment by blinds.In the center of the room was a teakwood table, polished to a brilliant gleam and flanked by two leather chairs. Rush took one and ushered Logan toward the other.Can I offer you anything? the director asked. Coffee, tea, soda?Logan shook his head.Rush crossed one leg over the other. Jeremy, I have to be frank. I wasnt sure youd be willing to take on this assignment, given how busy you are . . . and how closemouthed I was concerning the particulars.You werent sureeven given the fee I charged?Rush smiled. Its trueyour fee is certainly healthy. But then your, ah, work has become somewhat high profile recently. He hesitated. What is it you call your profession again?Im an enigmalogist.Right. An enigmalogist. Rush glanced curiously at Logan. And its true you were able to document the existence of the Loch Ness monster?Youd have to take that up with my client for that particular assignment, the University of Edinburgh.Serves me right for asking. Rush paused. Speaking of universities, you are a professor, arent you?Medieval history. At Yale.And what do they think of your other profession at Yale?High visibility is never a problem. It helps guarantee a large admissions pool. Logan glanced around the office. Hed often found that new clients preferred to talk about his past accomplishments. It postponed discussion of their own problems.I remember those . . . investigations you did at the Peabody Institute and the Applied Physics Lab back in school, Rush said. Who would have thought theyd lead you to this?Not me, certainly. Logan shifted in his seat. So. Care to tell me just what CTS stands for? Nothing around here seems to give any clue.We do keep our cards pretty close to our vest. Center for Transmortality Studies.Transmortality Studies, Logan repeated.Rush nodded. I founded CTS two years ago.Logan glanced at him in surprise. You founded the Center?Rush took a deep breath. A grim look came over his face. You see, Jeremy, its like this. Just over three years ago, I was working an ER shift when my wife, Jennifer, was brought in by paramedics. Shed been in a terrible accident and was completely unresponsive. We tried everythingheart massage, paddlesbut it was hopeless. It was the worst moment of my life. There I was, not only unable to save my own wife . . . but I was expected to pronounce her dead, as well.Logan shook his head in sympathy.Except that I didnt. I couldnt bring myself to do it. Against the advice of the assisting doctors I continued heroic measures. He leaned forward. And, Jeremyshe pulled through. I finally revived her, fourteen minutes after all brain function had ceased.How? what products are in high demand right now The Third Gate (Jeremy Logan Series)
2 of 2 people found the following review helpful. When the dead protect the dead, the living should beware - An exciting scientific and high tech journey into the ArcaneBy Michael E LaRiviereThe Third Gate combines the best efforts of a leading Egyptologist, enigmologist (someone who specializes in enigmas), an uber-rich treasure hunter, a spattering of archeologists, the best high technologists money can buy, medical doctors, a previously dead woman, and a space station-like work center. All this and these sit amid the worlds most formidable and impenetrable swamp called the Sudd on the Nile River.No expenses have been spared in setting up a self-sufficient, scientifically competent, well supplied lab and tunnel visioned task force dedicated to finding the unbelievably well hidden tomb of an ancient pharaoh. There is also a curse worthy to be called a curse.Lincoln Child did his homework to come up with this techno archaic science fiction fact-filled fiction novel that throws in sufficient names and real historical instances to establish credibility with the story line. The authors in-depth research is apparent and produces an interesting read that moves along quickly and has a surprise at every juncture.This treasure hunting backdrop combines its suspense and often eerie sequence of events with the subject of near death experiences. The reader is presented with the unique possibility of invasion or possession of a body by a spirit other than that of the deceased due to modern medicine taking too long to resuscitate the almost corpse.If one believes in the occult afterlife that prompted the building of the pyramids and well stocked tombs of the early Egyptian kings or pharaohs, this book will guarantee aaahs and ooohs. Egyptology tidbits will delight the discerning history buff.Fighting the looming deadline of a dam completion that will terminate their efforts, the crew of this discovery operation tastes victory, albeit short lived. The terrible wrath and power of something or someone lashes out to wreak havoc on the modern humans that have set their greedy minds on ransacking the ancient sacred tomb and disturbing the rest of its chief occupant.The interesting death duel that ensues diminishes the edge provided by science and money and ushers many of the best equipped and brilliant professionals into the netherworld they so ineptly and sacreligiously have invaded.The final battle against the terrible and sickening Sudd swamp is masterfully waged by Lincoln Child as he describes the ugliest, most repulsive, completely overwhelming, naturally produced slime and pit of decay imaginable.The plot is somewhat predictable, but the twists and turn are priceless and leave the reader wanting more. The characters are charming, greedy, believable, well crafted, and interesting. Nothing was left out of this fine work of a highly creative imagination and excellent wordsmith. The reader can almost smell the rotting botanical ooze, feel the mosquitoes and hear them buzz, and in the end, feel the compressed mass become a death shroud about their sinking bodies.This book is recommended for anyone who really likes adventure mixed with reality and fed to them as fast as they can devour it.1 of 1 people found the following review helpful. Suspensful to the endBy JodelI have to admit I was very close to putting this book down after reading the first 10 chapters. It was taking a long time for Child to get to the point, but when he did there was no turning back and you understood why those initial chapters were important to the story line, if a little dull.This is one of those books that you read into the wee hours of the morning, skip your favorite TV shows and even take with you too the bathroom. I'll be reading more of Lee Child in the future.1 of 1 people found the following review helpful. Different twist from Lincoln ChildBy D. CoxI've been a long-time reader of Child and Preston (Predergast series, etc), and was a little leery about this novel. However I was very pleased to be introduced to a new character in Jeremy Logan and a different type of setting. It was a very fun read, quick with a lot going on. I learned a little and had a lot of fun reading this. I'm looking forward to reading the other Logan novel in the near future.