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About the Book:
Title:
The Zombie Game
Author: Glenn Shepard
Publisher: Mystery House
Pages: 335
Genre: Thriller
ISIS terrorists are plotting to kill the
Pope during his visit to America.
Their
plan: Hijack a hospital ship in Haiti, convert it
to a missile launcher, and cruise into Miami Harbor, unnoticed.
Their
only obstacle: Dr. Scott James is a volunteer on the ship, and he’s recruited a
squad of Haitian zombies to stop the attack. But nothing adds up … until the
last seven minutes.
MEET
JAKJAK, DEAD MAN
Jacques
Jacobo, “Jakjak,” is the Haitian Finance Minister’s personal bodyguard. He’s
just taken two bullets in the chest trying to stop an assassination attempt on
his boss.
DR.
SCOTT JAMES, TARGET
Dr.
Scott James is a volunteer surgeon on a hospital ship anchored off the coast of
earthquake-ravaged Haiti. He’s got his
share of personal demons.
OMAR
FAROK, MASTERMIND
Omar
Farok wants to rule ISIS, and the
world. He’s just taken over the hospital ship and converted it into a launch
platform for a nuclear strike on Miami.
SANFIA,
VODOUN BOKOR
Sanfia
is the most powerful Vodoun priestess in Haiti. Omar Farok
will pay her big money to turn Dr. James into a zombie.
ELIZABETH,
THE WILDCARD
Beautiful
Elizabeth is one of the
most notorious freelance operatives in the world. She’s come to Haiti to defuse the
bomb.
They’re
all about to play The Zombie Game.
For More
Information
- The Zombie Game is
available at Amazon.
- Discuss this book at PUYB
Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.
Book Excerpt:
The
Streets of Port-au-Prince, Haiti
June,
2014
10:01 p.m.
JAKJAK, THE CHAUFFEUR, PEERED
through the windshield of the black Mercedes sedan, looking for danger. Haiti could be a
bad place after dark. Killings, kidnappings, and armed robbery were common.
Police protection was almost nonexistent in Port-au-Prince. Not only was
Jakjak a driver, but he was also his employer’s bodyguard.
It had been more than four years since
the terrible earthquake had destroyed the country, but massive piles of rubble
remained. Jakjak dodged broken stones that had spilled onto the road from the
high rows of demolished cement blocks lining the streets, and then suddenly a
black cat jumped out in front of the Mercedes.
Jakjak stomped on the brakes but heard
the thump of the animal striking the bottom of
the car. Slamming to a halt, he looked back to see the dead cat lying in the
middle of the road. His heart beat faster and he began to sweat. His mother had
warned him of this. She was a Mambo, a Vodoun priestess with strong
powers. According to Jakjak’s religion—Petro Vodou—the spirit embodied in black
cats, Iwa, grew angry and vindictive toward
those who brought him harm.
Jakjak felt through his black suit coat
to reassure himself that his .45 was in the holster strapped to his chest. He
was a young thirty-eight, muscular from his daily workouts with heavy weights,
and imposing at six-foot-two and 220 pounds.
But killing the cat made his large
hands shake.
Jakjak turned to the three men in the
back seat. “Mal se nan lé a. Evil is in the air. We must turn
back.”
Julien Duran answered, “No, Jakjak.
Drive on.”
“Please, sir. Listen to me. No good
will come of tonight’s meeting. I feel the spirit of the cat on me. We have
angered him.”
Duran cleared his throat. At
forty-eight, Duran was tall and thin, with prematurely gray hair. He wore a
white suit, white tie with a diamond stickpin, and a heavily starched white
shirt with gold cuff links and mother-of-pearl inlays. Jakjak had worked for
him for twenty years, since Duran had returned from his economics studies at
Yale, and law school at the University of Virginia. After only
two years in a prestigious law firm in Port-au-Prince, Duran had
been offered a government job as Assistant Minister of Finance, where his work
gained him frequent promotions. In 2010, after the quake, he reached the top.
He was made Minister of Finance.
Duran, sitting in the back of the
Mercedes between his two assistant ministers, leaned toward his driver and
said, “Jakjak, I respect your beliefs, but regardless of what your intuition
tells you, I must go to this meeting. Charles Roche is a billionaire. I can’t
keep him waiting.”
“Men lé a. But the hour
... Hooligans now rule the streets at night. The spirits say we are in danger.”
Duran folded his arms as he sat back.
“Tonight, Roche is choosing between giving financial aid to Haiti or Chile for
earthquake damages. I don’t want Chile to be the one
to take his money.”
A few minutes later, the Mercedes
cruised past the once opulent building of the Ministry of Finance. The white
columns and mahogany doors had all been bulldozed after the great building had
stood for months as an uninhabited ghost structure. The marble and white cement
that was once a palace now lay in ruins.
Jakjak continued a short way and then
parked in front of the temporary housing units that were still used from time
to time as offices for the Ministry. Piles of debris covered most of the
parking spaces, so Jakjak was forced to park the Mercedes a good distance away.
In the aftermath of the quake, the Minister and his two assistants were used to
this kind of thing. Jakjak got out, briskly opened the car doors for his
passengers, and then he escorted Duran and his two assistants to the office.
The visiting group consisted of three
officials and two bodyguards. They were waiting at the door of the main
temporary building. Jakjak unlocked it and ushered them in.
One of the bodyguards saw Jakjak’s .45
bulging against his coat and stopped him at the door. “No guns.”
Jakjak placed his hand over his gun. “Non, Mesye. I won’t give up my gun.”
“Then no meeting.”
Duran went to Jakjak’s side. “Check
these men for weapons and then wait outside.”
The five visitors raised their hands as
Jakjak patted them down.
Jakjak turned to Duran. “I cannot leave
you.”
“I’ll be fine. Stay in the car. I’ll be
out shortly.”
Asthe other men made their way to the
conference room, Jakjak returned to the Mercedes. But his hands began to shake.
He closed his eyes. He saw the cat’s eyes; they were in the face of the devil.
The introductions were brief. The
central figure was a lawyer Duran had known for years, Virgil Baccus. Baccus
was the attorney for billionaire Charles Roche. He was a portly man who
practiced law in St. John and often worked
with foreign clients. After shaking Duran’s hand, Baccus took his seat. Duran’s
heart beat fast as he thought about Baccus. He had a reputation for
representing men who created their wealth by embezzling corporate funds.
To Baccus’ right was a six-foot,
muscular man dressed in black; to his left was another tall, muscular man, also
dressed in a black suit. The two bodyguards stood by the door. Duran recognized
all the men as being from St. John and St. Croix.
Baccus spoke up immediately. “Well, I
have good news. Mr. Roche has already decided to give his money to your
country. I bring a check from him for five hundred million dollars.”
Baccus removed a check from an envelope
and handed it to Duran.
Duran looked at the check and smiled.
At the conference table were his assistants, Antoine Gabriel and Hugon Cheval.
Both were small and thin. Gabriel wore wire-rimmed eyeglasses. Both men were
dressed in black suits and black ties.
Duran showed the check to Gabriel and
Cheval. Both smiled and nodded their heads in appreciation.
Duran turned to Baccus. “Please extend
my sincere thanks to Mr. Roche. This will be incredibly helpful in rebuilding Haiti.”
“Indeed.” As they stood and shook
hands, Baccus said, “Mr. Roche would appreciate the check being deposited right
away so we can begin to allot money for building projects here on your island.”
Duran withdrew his hand. “We?”
“Yes. My client of course expects to
have a say in the distribution of his generous gift.”
Baccus handed a ten-page contract to
Duran.
Duran put on reading glasses and spread
the papers in front of his men. His smile turned to a frown. Cheval pointed to
an item on page one and shook his head. Gabriel pointed to two lines and then a
third. Duran put his finger on a paragraph on another page. The three men
raised their heads and locked eyes with Baccus.
Duran, looking over his glasses, asked,
“Is this some sort of joke? You’re proposing we have your client serve on the
board, my board, and have veto powers over everything, including my
authority?”
“That seems only fair. My client has
good insights into the needs of your country. He pledges to restore Haiti to an even
better state than it was before the quake. But he must be in charge of the
relief effort.”
“We’ll gladly accept his money, but
I’ll never agree to turning over control of the funds to outsiders,” Duran
said.
“You have twenty-four hours to sign
these papers, or else we will withdraw all our funds.”
“We don’t need more time. My associates
and I are in agreement. The answer is no. This meeting
is over.”
The two bodyguards moved quickly from
the door, just as Baccus broke open his briefcase. Passing by, single file, the
guards reached in and removed two, tiny, .22-caliber pistols, each fitted with
a silencer as hefty as a beer can.
Baccus spoke. “That is unfortunate.
However, there is still time to change your vote to our favor.” He looked
coldly at Duran’s assistants. “Mr. Gabriel?”
Gabriel trembled as one of the guards
raised his custom-fitted gun to the terrified man’s head.
But Gabriel’s answer was firm. “No.”
About the Author
Glenn
Shepard’s first novel, Surge, was written while he was still a surgical
resident at Vanderbilt. In the following years he wrote The Hart Virus, a
one-thousand-page epic about the AIDS crisis, as well as three other novels. In
2012, he created “Dr. Scott James,” his Fugitive-like action-hero. The first
volume of the series was The Missile Game, followed shortly afterward by The
Zombie Game. Born on a farm in eastern Virginia, Dr. Shepard
lives and maintains a thriving surgical practice in Williamsburg.
