Eric Martin is desperate to forget his past, one that almost cost him his future. Three years ago, he discovered that the investment firm he worked for was run by a terrorist organization determined to get its hands on a predictive algorithm that promised unsurpassed success in global financial markets. Although he was able to stop the terrorists from getting the algorithm, he nearly sacrificed his life to do so.
Now working in Paris as deputy head of a bank’s internal security department, Eric notices a high-speed trader’s uncanny ability to predict extremely profitable trades. Even though there’s nothing overtly illegal about the activity, Eric can’t help but feel the trader’s success is more than just luck. Yet, no one believes him. Armed with just a handful of data and a powerful instinct, Eric searches for the mysterious trader on his own. He soon suspects that the same predictive algorithm he fought so hard to protect has fallen into the wrong hands.
Eric sets off to Istanbul to find answers promised to him by a less than forthcoming informant. He finds an unlikely ally in Interpol agent Stephanie Brulé, but is adamant about completing his mission alone. With Interpol determined to get him back to Paris and out of the way, the sudden appearances of his ex-lover, a boss he’s not sure he can trust, and a terrorist who always seems one step ahead, Eric’s quest for justice is hampered at every turn.
When the trader’s accomplices detect his presence in Istanbul, Eric finds himself visiting the underground cities of Cappadocia—with gun-toting terrorists as his travel guides.
Will Eric finally put an end, once and for all, to the nightmare that began when he hastily accepted a job that was too good to be true? Or will his need for revenge and justice lead him deeper into a dangerous world he cannot escape?
Excerpt from The Nomad’s Premonition
Nevsehir, Central Anatolia (Cappadocia)
Eric was greeted in Cappadocia by a bright, blinding sun and a gust of dry desert heat. He closed his eyes for a moment and filled his nostrils with the scent of the arid land which morphed into a sapphire sky in the distant horizon. He loved the feeling of burning heat on his face and the acrid taste in his dry mouth. It felt like home, where he was born—a modest dwelling on a small triangular piece of land in the northern tip of Africa, where he discovered his passion for the desert. As mariners love to sail the sea, with nothing and no one in sight but the ebb and flow of undulating waves, so he loved to roam the parched wilderness with the sun and the solitude as his only companions. There was never any doubt in his mind that he would one day return to this barren expanse of sand and shifting dunes on the edge of the Sahara. It was in that bleak land that his soul belonged. After all, he had often heard the wind whisper in his ear that the nomad always found his way back to his tribe. It was not just a matter of survival, more a way of life, where authenticity and faithfulness meant everything.
The road to Nevsehir—or Nyssa, as the picturesque town was called in antiquity—snaked down a valley in the middle of a wide area of fairly flat, sun-baked land. There was not an ounce of shade anywhere in this stark lunar landscape, and the temperature inside the rental car kept rising a degree or two at every turn of the road. He drove with his window wide open and his arm rested on the sill. To him, air conditioning was an unnatural invention of modern times—definitely not something he would ever contemplate using. Once in a while he would stick his neck out the window in a show of defiance against the elements, and then he would shake his head from side to side, letting the hot wind brush his hair back. This was something he had often done as a child to cool himself off while his father drove his brother and him to town in the deep south of Morocco.
After a couple of miles, he swerved off the main road and turned onto a gravel trail that led to a plateau populated by a remarkable array of conical pillars, mushroom- and pedestal-shaped rock formations. He glanced at his watch and gave himself a fifteen minute break. Just enough time to get a quick desert fix, he reflected. At one point, the winding trail became more uneven and challenging as it steepened sharply around a jagged ridge. The rental car swerved and bounced around widely under a cloud of dust while he navigated his way through a cluster of massive rock cones. On at least three separate occasions, he almost lost control of the vehicle in the fine sand that blanketed the twisting incline. But he kept on driving, drawn by the air of mystery that pervaded Cappadocia with its natural rock statues and huge expanses of silence.
About the Author
Georges Benay is a former international banker who is now working as a Toronto-based writer and award-winning photographer. He is the author of two novels, including Nomad on the Run, and a collection of short stories. His award winning pictures have been featured in several magazines and book covers.
Connect with George Benay on Twitter: @NomadG8
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