A stunning new archaeological thriller by the New York Times bestselling co-author of Brimstone and Relic.
A moon rock missing for thirty years...
Five buckets of blood-soaked sand found in a New Mexico canyon...
A scientist with ambition enough to kill...
A monk who will redeem the world...
A dark agency with a deadly mission...
The greatest scientific discovery of all time...
What fire bolt from the galactic dark shattered the Earth eons ago, and now hides in that remote cleft in the southwest U.S. known as Tyrannosaur Canyon?
Tyrannosaur Canyon is a stunning novel from acclaimed bestselling author Douglas Preston, hailed by Publishers Weekly as "better than Crichton."
About the Author
Place of Birth:Cambridge, Massachusetts
Education:B.A., Pomona College, 1978
Read an Excerpt
By Douglas Preston
Tom Doherty Associates, LLCCopyright © 2005 Splendide Mendax, Inc.
All rights reserved.
STEM WEATHERS SCRAMBLED to the top of the Mesa de los Viejos, tied his burro to a dead juniper, and settled himself down on a dusty boulder. Catching his breath, he mopped the sweat off his neck with a bandanna. A steady wind blowing across the mesa top plucked at his beard, cooling him after the hot dead air of the canyons.
He blew his nose and stuffed the bandanna back into his pocket. Studying the familiar landmarks, he silently recited the names—Daggett Canyon, Sundown Rocks, Navajo Rim, Orphan Mesa, Mesa del Yeso, Dead Eye Canyon, Blue Earth, La Cuchilla, the Echo Badlands, the White Place, the Red Place, and Tyrannosaur Canyon. The closet artist in him saw a fantastical realm painted in gold, rose, and purple; but the geologist in him saw a set of Upper Cretaceous fault-block plateaus, tilted, split, stripped, and scoured by time, as if infinity had laid waste to the earth, leaving behind a wreckage of garish rock.
Weathers slipped a packet of Bull Durham out of a greasy vest pocket and rolled a smoke with gnarled, dirt-blackened hands, his fingernails cracked and yellow. Striking a wooden match on his pant leg, he fired up the quirly and took in a long drag. For the past two weeks he had restricted his tobacco ration, but now he could splurge.
All his life had been a prologue to this thrilling week.
His life would change in a heartbeat. He'd patch things up with his daughter, Robbie, bring her here and show her his find. She would forgive him his obsessions, his unsettled life, his endless absences. The find would redeem him. He had never been able to give Robbie the things that other fathers lavished on their daughters—money for college, a car, help with the rent. Now he'd free her from waiting tables at Red Lobster and finance the art studio and gallery she dreamed of.
Weathers squinted up at the sun. Two hours off the horizon. If he didn't get moving he wouldn't reach the Chama River before dark. Salt, his burro, hadn't had a drink since morning and Weathers didn't want a dead animal on his hands. He watched the animal dozing in the shade, its ears flattened back and lips twitching, dreaming some evil dream. Weathers almost felt affection for the vicious old brute.
Weathers stubbed out his cigarette and slipped the dead butt into his pocket. He took a swig from his canteen, poured a little out onto his bandanna, and mopped his face and neck with the cooling water. He slung the canteen over his shoulder and untied the burro, leading him eastward across the barren sandstone mesa. A quarter mile distant, the vertiginous opening of Joaquin Canyon cut a spectacular ravine in the Mesa de los Viejos, the Mesa of the Ancients. Falling away into a complex web of canyons known as the Maze, it wound all the way to the Chama River.
Weathers peered down. The canyon floor lay in blue shadow, almost as if it were underwater. Where the canyon turned and ran west—with Orphan Mesa on one side and Dog Mesa on the other—he spied, five miles away, the broad opening to the Maze. The sun was just striking the tilted spires and hoodoo rock formations marking its entrance.
He scouted the rim until he found the faint, sloping trail leading to the bottom. A treacherous descent, it had landslided out in various places, forcing the traveler to navigate thousand-foot drop-offs. The only route from the Chama River into the high mesa country eastward, it discouraged all but the bravest souls.
For that, Weathers was grateful.
He picked his way down, careful with himself and the burro, relieved when they approached the dry wash along the bottom. Joaquin Wash would take him past the entrance to the Maze and from there to the Chama River. At Chama Bend there was a natural campsite where the river made a tight turn, with a sandbar where one could swim. A swim ... now there was a thought. By tomorrow afternoon he would be in Abiquiú. First thing he'd phone Harry Dearborn (the battery on his sat-phone had died some days back) just to let him know ... Weathers tingled at the thought of breaking the news.
The trail finally reached the bottom. Weathers glanced up. The canyon face was dark, but the late-afternoon sun blazed on the rimrock. He froze. A thousand feet above, a man, silhouetted on the rim, stared down at him.
He swore under his breath. It was the same man who had followed him up from Santa Fe into the Chama wilderness two weeks ago. People like that knew of Weathers's unique skill, people who were too lazy or stupid to do their own prospecting and hoped to jump his claim. He recalled the man: a scraggy type on a Harley, some biker wannabe. The man had trailed him through Espanola, past Abiquiú and Ghost Ranch, hanging two hundred yards back, making no effort at deception. He'd seen the same joker at the beginning of his hike into the wilderness. Still wearing the biker head scarf, he followed him on foot up Joaquin Wash from the Chama River. Weathers had lost his pursuer in the Maze and reached the top of the Mesa of the Ancients before the biker found his way out.
Two weeks later, here he was again—a persistent little bastard.
Stem Weathers studied first the lazy curves of Joaquin Wash, then the rock spires marking the mouth of the Maze. He would lose him in the Maze again. And maybe this time the son of a bitch would remain lost.
He continued scrambling down the canyon, periodically checking his back trail. Instead of following, however, the man had disappeared. Perhaps the pursuer thought he knew a quicker way down.
Weathers smiled, because there was no other way down.
After an hour of hiking down Joaquin Wash he felt his anger and anxiety subside. The man was an amateur. It wasn't the first time a fool had followed him out into the desert only to find himself lost. They all wanted to be like Stem, but they weren't. He'd been doing this all his life, and he had a sixth sense—it was inexplicable. He hadn't learned it in a textbook or studied it in graduate school, nor could all those Ph.D.s master it with their geological maps and synthetic aperture C-Band radar surveys. He succeeded where they failed, using nothing more than a donkey and a homemade ground-penetrating radar unit built on the back of an old IBM 286. No wonder they hated him.
Weathers's ebullient mood returned. That bastard wasn't going to spoil the greatest week of his life. The burro balked and Weathers stopped to pour some water into his hat, letting the animal drink, then cursed him forward. The Maze lay just ahead, and he'd enter there. Deep in the Maze, near Two Rocks, was a rare source of water—a rock ledge covered with maidenhair ferns, which dripped water into an ancient basin carved in the sandstone by prehistoric Indians. Weathers decided to camp there instead of at Chama Bend, where he'd be an open target. Better safe than sorry.
He rounded the great rock pillar marking the entrance. Thousand-foot canyon walls of aeolian sandstone soared above him, the majestic Entrada Formation, the compacted remains of a Jurassic desert. The canyon had a cool, hushed feeling, like the interior of a Gothic cathedral. He breathed deeply the redolent air, perfumed by salt cedar. Above, the light in the hoodoo rock formations had turned from electrum to gold as the sun sank toward the horizon.
He continued into the warren of canyons, approaching where Hanging Canyon merged with Mexican Canyon—the first of many such branches. Not even a map would help you in the Maze. And the great depth of the canyons made GPS and satellite phones useless.
The first round struck Weathers in the shoulder from behind, and it felt more like a hard punch than a bullet. He landed on his hands and knees, his mind blank with astonishment. It was only when the report cracked and echoed through the canyons that he realized he'd been shot. There was no pain yet, just a buzzing numbness, but he saw that shattered bone protruded from a torn shirt, and pumping blood was splattering on the sand.
He staggered back to his feet as the second shot kicked up the sand next to him. The shots were coming from the rim above him and to his right. He had to return to the canyon two hundred yards away—to the lee of the rock pillar. It was the only cover. He ran for all he was worth.
The third shot kicked up sand in front of him. Weathers ran, seeing that he still had a chance. The attacker had ambushed him from the rim above and it would take the man several hours to descend. If Weathers could reach that stone pillar, he might escape. He might actually live. He zigzagged, his lungs screaming with pain. Fifty yards, forty, thirty—
He heard the shot only after he felt the bullet slam into his lower back and saw his own entrails empty onto the sand in front of him, the inertia pitching him facedown. He tried to rise, sobbing and clawing, furious that someone would steal his find. He writhed, howling, clutching his pocket notebook, hoping to throw it, lose it, destroy it, to keep it from his killer—but there was no place to conceal it, and then, as if in a dream, he could not think, could not move ...CHAPTER 2
TOM BROADBENT REINED in his horse. Four shots had rolled down Joaquin Wash from the great walled canyons east of the river. He wondered what it meant. It wasn't hunting season and nobody in his right mind would be out in those canyons target shooting.
He checked his watch. Eight o'clock. The sun had just sunk below the horizon. The echoes seemed to have come from the cluster of hoodoo rocks at the mouth of the Maze. It would be a fifteen-minute ride, no more. He had time to make a quick detour. The full moon would rise before long and his wife, Sally, wasn't expecting him before midnight anyway.
He turned his horse Knock up the wash and toward the canyon mouth, following the fresh tracks of a man and burro. Rounding a turn, a dark shape sprawled in front of him: a man lying facedown.
He rode over, swung off, and knelt, his heart hammering. The man, shot in the back and shoulder, still oozed blood into the sand. He felt the carotid artery: nothing. He turned him over, the rest of the man's entrails emptying onto the sand.
Working swiftly, he wiped the sand out of the man's mouth and gave him mouth-to- mouth resuscitation. Leaning over the man, he administered heart massage, pressing on his rib cage, almost cracking the ribs, once, twice, then another breath. Air bubbled out of the wound. Tom continued with CPR, then checked the pulse.
Incredibly, the heart had restarted.
Suddenly the man's eyes opened, revealing a pair of bright blue eyes that stared at Tom from a dusty, sunburnt face. He drew in a shallow breath, the air rattling in his throat. His lips parted.
"No ... You bastard ..." The eyes opened wide, the lips flecked with blood.
"Wait," said Tom. "I'm not the man who shot you."
The eyes peered at him closely, the terror subsiding—replaced by something else. Hope. The man's eyes glanced down at his hand, as if indicating something.
Tom followed the man's gaze and saw he was clutching a small, leather-bound notebook.
"Take ..." the man rasped.
"Don't try to talk."
"Take it ..."
Tom took the notebook. The cover was sticky with blood.
"It's for Robbie ..." he gasped, his lips twisting with the effort to speak. "My daughter ... Promise to give it to her ... She'll know how to find it ..."
"... the treasure ..."
"Don't think about that now. We're going to get you out of here. Just hang in—"
The man violently clutched at Tom's shirt with a trembling hand.
"It's for her ... Robbie ... No one else ... For God's sake not the police ... You must ... promise." His hand twisted the shirt with shocking force, a last spasm of strength from the dying man.
"Tell Robbie ... I ... love ..."
His eyes defocused. The hand relaxed and slid down. Tom realized he had also stopped breathing.
Tom recommenced CPR. Nothing. After ten futile minutes he untied the man's bandanna and laid it over his face.
That's when it dawned on him: The man's killer must still be around. His eyes searched the rimrock and the surrounding scree. The silence was so profound it seemed that the rocks themselves held vigil. Where is the killer? There were no other tracks around, just those of the treasure hunter and his burro. A hundred yards off stood the burro itself, still packed, sleeping on its feet. The murderer had a rifle and the high ground. Broadbent might be in his sights even now.
Get out now. He rose, caught his horse's reins, swung up, and dug in his heels. The horse set off down the canyon at a gallop, rounding the opening to the Maze. Only when he was halfway down Joaquin Wash did Tom slow him to a trot. A great buttery moon was rising in the east, illuminating the sandy wash.
If he really pushed his horse, he could make Abiquiú in two hours.CHAPTER 3
JIMSON "WEED" MADDOX hiked along the canyon floor, whistling "Saturday Night Fever," feeling on top of the world. The .223 AR-15 had been field- stripped, wiped clean, and carefully secreted in a crevice blocked with stones.
The desert canyon took a turn, then another. Weathers, attempting the same ploy twice, had tried to lose him in the Maze. The old bastard might fool Jimson A. Maddox once. Never twice.
He strode down the wash, his lanky legs eating up the ground. Even with a map and a GPS he had spent the better part of a week tramping around lost in the Maze. It hadn't been a waste of time: now he knew the Maze and quite a bit of the mesa country beyond. He had had plenty of time to plan his ambush of Weathers—and he had pulled it off perfectly.
He inhaled the faintly perfumed air of the canyon. This was not so different from Iraq, where he had done a stint as a gunnery sergeant during Desert Storm. If there was a place the opposite of prison, this was it—nobody to crowd you, nobody in your face, no faggots, spics, or niggers to spoil the peace. Dry, empty, and silent.
He rounded the sandstone pillar at the entrance to the Maze. The man he had shot lay on the ground, a dark shape in the twilight.
He halted. Fresh hoofprints in the sand headed to and from the body.
He broke into a run.
The body lay on its back, arms by its side, bandanna carefully spread over its face. Someone had been here. The person might even have been a witness. He was on horseback and would be heading straight to the cops.
Maddox forced himself to calm down. Even on a horse, it would take the man a couple of hours to ride back to Abiquiú and at least several more hours to getthe police and return. Even if they called a chopper it would have to fly up from Santa Fe, eighty miles to the south. He had at least three hours to get the notebook, hide the body, and get the hell out.
Maddox searched the body, turning out the pockets and rifling the man's day pack. His fist enclosed over a rock in the man's pocket and he pulled it out and examined it by flashlight. It was definitely a sample, something Corvus had pointedly asked for.
Now the notebook. Oblivious to the blood and entrails, he searched the body again, turned it over, searched the other side, kicked it in frustration. He looked around. The man's burro stood a hundred yards off, still packed, dozing.
Maddox undid the diamond hitch, pulled off the packsaddle. Yanking off the manty, he unhooked the canvas panniers and emptied them into the sand. Everything fell out: a jury-rigged piece of electronic equipment, hammers, chisels, U.S.G.S. maps, a handheld GPS unit, coffeepot, frying pan, empty food sacks, a pair of hobbles, dirty underwear, old batteries, and a folded-up piece of parchment.
Maddox seized the parchment. It was a crude map covered with clumsily drawn peaks, rivers, rocks, dotted lines, old-time Spanish lettering—and there, in the middle, had been inked a heavy, Spanish-style X.
An honest-to-God treasure map.
Strange that Corvus hadn't mentioned it.
He refolded the greasy parchment and stuffed it into his shirt pocket, then resumed his search for the notebook. Scrabbling around on the ground on his hands and knees, combing through the spilled equipment and supplies, he found everything a prospector might need—except the notebook.
He studied the electronic device again. A homemade piece of shit, a dented metal box with some switches, dials, and a small LED screen. Corvus hadn't mentioned it but it looked important. He better take that, too.
Excerpted from Tyrannosaur Canyon by Douglas Preston. Copyright © 2005 Splendide Mendax, Inc.. Excerpted by permission of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
First, I did not read the first book, Codex, because I couldn't get into it. This is a continuation of Tom Broadbent's story. I have a feeling a lot of Tom's development and the relationship with his wife, was done in the first book. That being said, this was a exciting thriller that can stand alone. The good guys are honorable and the bad guys are pure evil. It took a while to figure out (and I wanted to figure it out, which really counts) the prologue scene on the moon and how this relates to a dinosaur hunting in the west. Broadbent finds a body in the desert and of course, trouble. Broadbent makes some really smart moves, but sometimes I think he makes some really sporadic dumb moves. His buddy West, the want-a-be monk, is the brains. I have the next book of this on my shelf. I may even go back and give the first book another try, now that I think about it. P.S. The true hero of the story is the nerdy, overworked under paid scientist.
Just a bit slow and it takes a little bit to get into it. The characters are good though. I read this book because I liked douglas prestons style of writing. Once you get into it, its pretty good.
I bought this book as a bargain book and was pleasantly surprised at my overall enjoyment. This book is easy to read, has a great plot, good characters and descriptive of the nature and scenery where the story takes place. My favorite part was the prologue for each part of the book that described the dinosaur. I was never interested in this in the past but thought that this book kept me thinking about archeology long after I read the book. It is a nice thriller book for a vacation trip or a long weekend in a rain or snow when you are stuck inside. I easily read this book in three days. Was sorry to see the tale end.
Look, I'm not looking for a book to keep me on the edge of my seat every sentence. Or every chapter for that matter. But at some point in this thriller, I would like to be thrilled. Sorry, I just don't enjoy a book that tries to be mysterious, but let's you in on the mystery before it becomes one.
I thought the book was a good one with a lot of twists to it. It was fast pace at times, making it hard to put down.
Fascinating details about fossil hunting and finds. Good mystery. Utilizes characters from a previous novel, but it is not essential that one would have read it.
An amazingly fun read, if a little uneven. It's brain candy, but exquisite brain candy. Intriguing, well-written, suspenseful-- and after The Codex, I did enjoy getting to see Tom and Sally again. Overall, a worthwhile read.
A near-perfect fossil of a T Rex has been discovered in the desert of New Mexico, and some people will stop at nothing to get their hands on it. Tyrannosaur Canyon reads like a movie. There is fairly nonstop action and the book presents an intriguing situation. The characters were good, although one-dimensional. The bad guys were bad, the good guys were good... I'd recommend it for dinosaur buffs, but you don't have to be interested in dinosaurs to enjoy it.
Exciting well researched thriller, but a little over the top. The science, specifically the geology, was absolutely spot on. The research that went into this novel must have been an incredible undertaking. Even for someone with a background working for the Natural History Museum. When he described the mineralogy equipment and how they are used in such detail, I was bowled over. Literally the description of the optical microscope was masterful. His explanation of the K-T boundary and the theories surrounding the K-T extinction was just awesome. It certainly meshed with the latest research it was hard to argue that Preston didn¿t do his homework. I would say his research and use of science is much better than Crichton and Jurassic Park. One of my favorite parts was the story, at the beginning of the major breaks, of the ordinary day in the life of a T. Rex just before the asteroid hit. Preston really has a knack for description whether describing a past event like the sea of tranquility, the impact of the asteroid, the fictional environments, or the characters.While I think dinosaur and science buffs will find it interesting, the plot doesn't have the sense of wonder or thrills of JP. There are no living dinosaurs, although dinosaurs play a central role. And while it could have worked as a murder mystery had the author chose to hold back more information, he instead wrote a by-the-numbers thriller that doesn't get interesting until the late arrival of a new threat in the third act. It's the action sequences in the latter half of the book and connection to a larger government conspiracy that is so implausible and really ruin what could have been a very good book. It¿s too bad really, I think the book could of stood by itself without the grand conspiracy.
Meh. An enjoyable enough read, but not earth-shattering in any way, and I had to look up a synopsis to remind myself of what happened in the story. Combines dinosaurs and paleontology with alien stuff.
Again, A very entertaing book by Douglas Preston. It is a fast paced thriller that keeps you turning the pages. There is a completely and perfectly preserved Tyrannosaurus body somewhere in New Mexico. As everyone race to find, what will be the greatest paleontological discovery of all time, troubles lurkes not far away. Since the stakes are High some will do everything in there power to ensure they get the price... Even Murder.
I've been a fan of Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child together and the solo ventures of both authors have never disappointed either. Thankfully this novel is no exception, bringing a very unique story and cast of characters to the table. A quick read, it kept me up at night promising just "one more chapter" before bed. The whole novel was good and although I could have lived without the anthropomorphism of the Tyrannosauras, those passages were short enough not to annoy me. Overall a good read.
Excellent book! I loved every page!
There's something weird about a moon rock . . . this is in the Prologue but you don't hear about it again until Page 191 (out of a 365 page book!) Called a Venus Particle because it resembles the feminist symbol. This is really my main complaint about this book because this subplot wasn't pursued as it should have been. The bulk of this tome is about the hunt for a dinosaur hunter's notebook who is murdered at the beginning of the story. Tom Broadbent (veteran of THE CODEX-- I skipped chunks of this book and didn't pick it up until the last 2 chapters . . . just to see who survived. So disappointed in that one . . . but that's another story) makes a promise to the dying man to bring the notebook to his daughter, Robbie. But Broadbent doesn't even know the murdered man's identity so he brings the notebook to a monk (and former FBI guy) to have it deciphered so he can have a clue about where to start looking. Well, data in this book points to an incredible dinosaur find (this was where I started getting pretty excited because the description of the dinosaur was juicy!) And there's an all too brief account of the the dinosaur trade . . also fascinating . . . in Broadbent's quest to find Robbie. Meanwhile the murderer is scheming to get the notebook back-- an ex-con Jimson Maddox-- who works for a scientist, Corvus, who wants the dinosaur to advance his career. But then a third party comes into the story. JG Masago, a black ops guy who's after the dinosaur too-- but for worse reasons. The Venus particle and its unique properties was a great subplot that should have been developed. I mean it could have been Son OF-- THE Relic," imagine An Asteroid that contained enough sinister particles to populate the world with "Museum Monsters" and they don't need your dinky pituitary gland to survive! If these particles were part of that cloud that enveloped the earth and killed off the dinosaurs . . . then its everywhere!!!! But Preston chose to neglect it in favor of the dinosaur chase. And that made this an ordinary book, not up to the Preston/Child standard. (Maybe it will be the subject of his next book.) As it is, wait till Tyrannosaur Canyon comes out in paperback. Its a good beach read but there's nothing special here.
Since first reading Thunderhead many years ago, I've been a fan of Douglas Preston. This book returns to the beauty of the desert southwest. Although similar to other mysteries, this fast-paced book contains twists and turns that sets Preston apart from other mystery authors. A fan of public lands, hiking, museums, and science, the plot and settings were a perfect match for me.
no spoilers within; just synopsisI know when I pick up a book by this author that I'm in for a few hours of pure escape reading and highly improbable adventure so I just sort of kick back and let the book take me where it will. If you're even considering reading this one, you just have to tell yourself at the outset that it's going to be very unbelievable and won't have a real-world plot or it will make you a little crazy. Another thing: I've seen it reviewed anywhere from "stunning" to "flop," so that's why I just kind of lean on my own system: not great literary merit, but a fun ride. Yes, the book is sort of goofy toward the end, and I did groan but all in all I had a great deal of fun with it, and I'll probably buy the next one that this offer has to offer. Don't look for literature here -- I'm sure that's not the author's intent. He probably had a blast writing this!IHaving said that, here's a little mini synopsis:If you read The Codex, Preston's last stand-alone novel, you'll recognize the character Tom Broadbent. He is now married to Sally Colorado (who I really wanted to slap in the Codex) and even though he's inherited millions from his dad, he and Sally are living a very simple life out in the desert of New Mexico. He's still a vet along with his partner Shane; nothing much has really changed since he made it back to New Mexico from the jungle. Out on a ride one day in the desert near Tyrannosaur Canyon, Tom hears shots and stumbles in on a dying man. He tries to help him but just before he dies, the man gives him a notebook, making him swear he'll give it to his daughter. Tom agrees; he then leaves and brings the police back to the spot some hours later. The police find nothing, and think Tom's gone crazy until they ultimately find a lot of blood in the sand. Tom sort of forgets to tell the cops he's got the notebook, and they know he's holding something back. Anyway, Tom looks at the notebook, trying to figure out who the guy was and who his daughter is, and realizes it's written in some kind of code. He also remembers that there is an ex-CIA man who is living in a nearby monastery who has expertise in codebreaking and ultimately convinces him to crack the code. Without spoiling the story (it's in the dust jacket), Tom and the CIA guy (Wyman Ford) discover that the dead man had located a perfectly fossilized T-Rex. This gives Tom a way to look for the man's identity and thus his daughter. However, while Tom is trying to find the daughter, someone's after Tom -- the killer of the dead man who realizes that Tom must have the notebook. There could be room for a series featuring Tom and Wyman here (hint, hint)There are a few really good suspense moments in this story, and the story is good really up until the very end where I groaned with the introduction of Masago (I won't say who this is) and his quest. That was the point where I thought that the author should have gone elsewhere with the story rather than where he went. But what the hell. As I said, it was a fun read, and as it turns out, neither stunning nor a flop.
What do a prospector and a fossil have in common. Scientists discover the desert offers answers to how the dinosaurs died. Good read
For me this was a fun read and good thriller combining elements I love in escapist fiction: the Southwest, likeable characters, good and evil, an implausible plot, dinosaurs, and writing much better than hackneyed best selling authors. I expect to go back and read Codex by Preston.
Fast, fun read.
If you're a Douglas Preston fan, you'll give it your usual 5 stars. If you're not a fan, you can really enjoy it anyway!