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About Mike Bond
Called “master of the existential thriller” by BBC, “one of America's best thriller writers” by Culture Buzz, and “one of the 21st century’s most exciting authors” by the Washington Times, Mike Bond is a best-selling novelist, war and human rights journalist, ecologist and prizewinning poet. He has covered death squads, guerrilla wars and military dictatorships in Latin America and Africa and Islamic terrorism in the Middle East, Asia and Europe. He has written widely on environmental problems including elephant poaching, whales, wolves, habitat loss, species extinction, renewable energy and climate change... Read More
"One of the 21st Century’s
Most Exciting Authors"Washington Times
When a beautiful journalist drowns mysteriously off Waikiki, former Special Forces veteran Pono Hawkins, now a well-known surfer and international surfing correspondent, quickly gets caught up in trying to solve her death. What he learns soon targets him for murder or life in prison as a cabal of powerful energy corporations, foreign killers and crooked politicians focuses the blame on him.
Haunted by memories of Afghanistan, and determined to protect the Hawaii he loves from dirty politics tied to huge destructive energy developments, Pono turns to Special Forces buddies and his own skills to fight his deadly enemies, trying to both save himself and track down her killers.
Alive with the sights, sounds and history of Hawaii, Saving Paradise is also a rich portrait of what Pono calls “the seamy side of paradise”, and a relentless thriller of politics, lies, manhunts and remorseless murder.
IT WAS ANOTHER MAGNIFICENT DAWN on Oahu, the sea soft and rumpled and the sun blazing up from the horizon, an offshore breeze scattering plumeria fragrance across the frothy waves. Flying fish darting over the crests, dolphins chasing them, a mother whale and calf spouting as they rolled northwards. A morning when you already know the waves will be good and it will be a day to remember.
I waded out with my surfboard looking for the best entry and she bumped my knee. A woman long and slim in near-transparent red underwear, face down in the surf. Her features sharp and beautiful, her short chestnut hair plastered to her cold skull....Read more
THE LAST SAVANNA
With Africa’s last elephants dying under the guns of Somali poachers, ex-SAS officer Ian MacAdam leads a commando squad against them, to hunt what for him is the only decent prey – man. Pursuing the poachers through jungled mountains and searing deserts he battles thirst, solitude, terror and lethal animals, only to find they have kidnapped a young archaeologist, Rebecca Hecht, whom he once loved and bitterly lost.
She escapes the kidnappers, is caught and escapes again to risk perishing in the desert. MacAdam embarks on a desperate trek to save not only Rebecca but his own soul in an Africa torn apart by wars, overpopulation and the slaughter of its last wildlife.
Based on the author’s own experiences pursuing elephant poachers in the wilds of East Africa, The Last Savanna is an intense personal memoir of humanity’s ancient heartland, its people and animals, the lonely beauty of its perilous deserts, jungles, and savannas, and the deep, abiding power of love.
THE ELAND DESCENDED four steps down the grassy hillside and halted. He glanced all the way round the rolling golden hills, then closer, inspecting the long grass rippling in the wind, behind him, on both sides, and down to the sinuous green traverse of acacia, doum palms and strangler trees where the stream ran. The wind from the east over his shoulder carried the tang of drying murram grass and the scents of bitter pungent shrubs, of dusty, discarded feathers and glaucous lizard skins, of red earth and brown earth, of old scat and stones heating in the midafternoon sun. He switched at flies with his tail, twitched his ears, descended five more steps, and stopped again
Thirst had dried his lips and eyes, tightened his throat, hardened his skin. Already the rain was drying out of the grass and soil pockets; here only the stream remained, purling between volcanic stones, rimmed by trees and tall, sharp weeds. He circled a thorn bush and moved closer several steps, his spiral gray horns glinting as he looked up and down the valley from north to west, then south, then up the slope behind him.
The shoulder-high thorn bushes grew thicker near the stream. The downslope breeze twirled their strong, dusty scents among their gnarled trunks; the sour smell of siafu, warrior ants, prickled his nose. He waited for the comforting twitter of sunbirds in the streamside acacias, the muffled snuffling of warthogs, or the swish of vervet monkeys in the branches, but there were none. ... Read more