Deep As The Marrow is, in many ways, the perfect F. Paul Wilson book. One part medical thriller; two parts Libertarian tract; and four parts adrenaline packed, page turning action awaits the reader in this pulse-pounding kidnap-gone-wrong adventure. Like many of Wilson’s works the plot starts out in a straightforward enough manner: the President of the United States makes a speech announcing that he is ending the drug war by decriminalizing drugs. The speech triggers a complex child abduction plan by the cocaine lords of the Colombian Cali Cartel. They use a local kidnapper to abduct the daughter of the President’s doctor in order to force him to poison the President, thus ending decriminalization keeping drugs illegal and the multi-billion dollar profits flowing.

Of course, in true Wilson style, things get even more complex about half way through the tale when the kidnapping falls apart and the action really heats up! I have zero doubt that my personal struggles over only being allowed to be a part-time father to my little girl (whose mother is constantly threatening to take her even farther away from me) compounded the emotional impact of the tale, but that doesn’t mean the writing should be discounted in any way. I finished the book today when I’d only planned on reading 20-30 pages during dinner. Instead I literally couldn’t put it down until I’d raced through the last 170 or pages.

I can’t recommend Deep As The Marrow highly enough. Regardless of your political leanings or your opinion of F. Paul Wilson’s other works if you’ve ever enjoyed a thriller than this is a must-read. The characterization is strong, the plot is convoluted but easily followed, and the pacing is absolutely superb. The Associated Press said “Once in a while, a thriller comes along that is truly inspired in conception and perfect in execution. Just such a book is Deep As The Marrow by F.Paul Wilson.” I couldn’t have said it better myself.

The fact that the book completely lacks any hint of the ‘Other’ness found in the Repairman Jack tales actually makes the story that much stronger. This is a tale that could easily play out in America today. Abduction for ransom is on the rise here and even the smallest thing going wrong means the fairly straightforward business ‘deal’ can quickly spin out of control.

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Ground Zero will be the 13th Repairman Jack novel by F. Paul Wilson and will be published next fall. But that didn’t stop fpw from sharing the first page of the story on his message board. I thought I’d bring it here for y’all to peruse as well. be sure to wipe the drool from your keyboard when you’re done

Surreal, he thought as he watched the twin towers burn.

His rented boat rocked gently on the waters of New York harbor, a thousand feet off the Battery. The morning sun blazed in a flawless cerulean sky. But for the susurrus of the light breeze and the soft lapping of the waves against the hull, the world lay silent about him.

A beautiful, beautiful day . . .

. . . unless you were anywhere near those towers.

He tried to imagine the Pandemonium in the streets around them—the klaxons, the sirens, the shouts, the confusion, the terror. Not a hint of that here. The towers belched black smoke like a couple of chimneys, but all in silence.

He checked his watch: nearly ten o’clock. The plan was to allow an hour or so of chaos after the Arabs completed their mission. By then, though fear and terror would still be running high, the initial panic would have subsided. The situation would be considered horrific and tragic, but manageable. The second jet had hit at 9:03, so the hour mark was almost upon him. Time to initiate the second phase—the real reason for all this.

From a pocket of his windbreaker he pulled a pair of gray plastic boxes, each the size of a cigarette pack—one marked with an S for the south tower, the other with an N for the north. He put the N away for later. After all, the south tower was the important one, the reason for this enormous undertaking.

He extended an aerial from the S box, then slid up a little safety cover on its front panel, revealing a black button. He took a breath and pressed the button, then watched and waited.

The vast majority would blame the collapse on the crazy Arabs who hijacked the planes and the Islamic extremists who funded them—the obvious choice. A few would notice inconsistencies and point fingers elsewhere, blaming the government or Big Oil or some other powerful but faceless entity.

No one—absolutely no one—could guess the truth behind the who and the why of this day.

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