Editora: Harper Collins

Esse é o primeiro de seus thrillers de aventura – 1999 – sem contar os roteiros de Indiana Jones e os infanto-juvenis Jake Ransons.

            O escritor James Rollins, criou outros thrillers de ação e aventura, antes de criar a Força Sigma (resenhas no blog: https://houseofthrillers.wordpress.com/?s=for%C3%A7a+sigma).  Esses livros forneceram importantes pesquisas para as missões do exército de cientistas.419291_10150602117478229_21898023228_9215588_26010055_n

Abaixo do gelo no ponto mais baixo da Terra, há um labirinto subterrâneo ainda não tocado pelos homens modernos – um lugar de maravilhas de tirar o fôlego – e terrores além da imaginação.

Um time de especialistas liderado pela Doutora em arqueologia e antropologia Ashley Carter, foi escolhido pelos militares, através do Dr. Andrew Blakely, para explorar este lugar secreto na Antártica, e descobrir as riquezas que esconde.

Uma estatueta esculpida num único diamante sem defeito nenhum, na forma de um ídolo da fertilidade, encontrada sob o gelo do Monte Erebus, numa intrincada rede de túneis e cavernas subterrâneas ocupadas pelo exército norte-americano, é o estopim para Ashley se meter na aventura, levando com ela seu filho de 11 anos, Jason.

Tudo leva a crer na existência de uma civilização perdida que vivia naquelas cavernas há 5 milhões de anos atrás.

Mas eles não são os primeiros a se aventurar aqui – e aqueles que eles seguem, não voltaram à superfície.

Com eles se reúne Benjamim Brust, herói de guerra que agora trabalha como guia de milionários a lugares exóticos e perigosos ao redor do mundo, especializado em cavernas; a bióloga evolucionista Linda Furstenberg; o geólogo egípcio Khalid Najmun; e o major da marinha Dennis Michaelson, cujo irmão estava na primeira expedição.

Há mistérios mais velhos que os tempos; e revelações que podem mudar o mundo.

Mas, também, há coisas que não deveriam ser perturbadas – e uma verdade devastadora que pode acabar com a expedição de Ashley: eles não estão sozinhos!

A expedição da Dra. Ashley descobre um povo esquecido e escondido, e monotrematas (mamíferos australianos que põem ovos como o ornitorrinco), entre outras surpresas.

Quanto mais fundo eles exploram, mais horrores descobrem.

Sem contar que um dos membros da expedição parece estar determinado que ninguém volte à superfície.

Um mundo intocado, cheio de ação e sem um único momento de calma e paz – perfeito para os amantes de adrenalina.

Este livro é de prender o fôlego!

Muito importante: jogue fora suas crenças – Subterranean é sobre exploradores que encontram uma civilização que vive debaixo da crosta da Terra.

Se for difícil para vocês aceitar isso, não devia estar lendo este tipo de thriller de Aventura.

Vá ler um jornal.

Viagem ao centro da Terra

Viagem ao centro da Terra

James Rollins é o novo Julio Verne em Viagem ao Centro da Terra ou o novo H. G. Wells, da Máquina do Tempo.

Foi isso que eu queria ler ao pegar Subterranean.

E consegui.

Rollins, neste livro, ainda não coloca no fim, o que verdade ou não (como o faz com todos os da Força Sigma) – este, por não ter essa parte, deixa todas as questões em aberto – a maior parte das informações parecem ser bastante ficcionais, embora os detalhes das explorações em cavernas sejam genuínos, já que o próprio autor pratica esse hobby.

Mas ele acaba de publicar o guia de leitura do livro, o que ajuda bastante, com as seguintes informações:01_subterranean_readers_guide_cover

  • O Monte Erebus é o 2o vulcão mais alto da Antártica.  Erebus era o deus grego da escuridão.
  • Viagem ao centro da Terra, de Julio Verne, foi publicado em 1864, narrando as aventuras de 3 viajantes que descobrem um mundo perdido dentro de uma cratera na Islândia.
  • A teoria da Terra Oca – muitos povos acreditam numa sociedade subterrânea, com cavernas e túneis, que os une aoagharta mundo da superfície.  Hitler, inclusive, teria mandado uma expedição até a Antártica para descobrir sua entrada.  Os budistas da Ásia referiam-se ao reino de Agharta, formado por um labirinto de passagens subterrâneas do tamanho do mundo.  Os gregos passavam o tempo especulando sobre as profundezas da Terra.  O poeta Homero imaginou um mundo subterrâneo aguardando explorações e o filósofo Platão escreveu que havia túneis ao mesmo tempo amplos e estreitos no interior, e no centro, um Deus que se assenta sobre o umbigo do mundo. Os egípcios acreditavam num reino subterrâneo infernal e os cristãos, mais tarde, tiveram seu inferno.  Os incas teriam ocultado seus tesouros dos conquistadores espanhóis em profundos túneis cuja localização é até hoje desconhecida.
    • Agartha seria um reino situado dentro do nosso planeta Terra, e a crença em sua existência estaria associada à cidade sagrada de Shambala.  Em toda a Ásia Menor, acredita-se na existência de uma cidade de mistério, cheia de maravilhas, conhecida como Shamb-Allah. Shambhala significa em sânscrito, “um lugar de paz, felicidade, tranqüilidade”.

terra oca

wp_subterranean_1024

Esse é o primeiro de seus thrillers de aventura – 1999 – sem contar os roteiros de Indiana Jones e os infanto-juvenis Jake Ransons.

É bom, mas ainda vai amadurecer e melhorar muito, inclusive, com a série Sigma Force.

The Godslayer Chronicles 1

The Banned and the Banished 1

James Rollins dedica este livro a James Clemens – seu nom de plume ao escrever as séries de fantasia The Godslayer Chronicles e The Banned and the Banished.

Site oficial de James Rollins no YouTube:

Booktrailer:

A ficção se encontra com a realidade quando o aclamado autor de thrillers de aventura, Dr. James Rollins, discute com renomados cientistas, como as profecias do calendário Maia podem tornar-se verdadeiras.  Como o mundo pode terminar?  Muitos acreditam no fim do mundo, mas quando isso vai acontecer?  E como?  James Rollins estuda 10 teorias de como isso poderá acontecer e discute essas possibilidades com cientistas norte-americanos.  Rollins irá convidar outros cientistas mundiais, teóricos e seus próprios leitores, a darem suas opiniões, todas as semanas.  A contagem regressiva já começou…

Know It Now! com James Rollins:

 Tenho necessidade de expressar a minha admiração pelo escritor.  Aventureiro (alpinista, espeleólogo e mergulhador) por hobby, faz um belíssimo trabalho de pesquisa histórica, científica e política, a cada volume de suas obras literárias. Nascido em Chicago, James é um graduado da Universidade de Missouri em Columbia, em 1985, com um doutorado em medicina veterinária. Seu trabalho de graduação é focado em biologia evolutiva. Posteriormente, mudou-se para Sacramento, Califórnia, onde exerce a sua profissão como um médico veterinário.

Outras resenhas de livros de James Rollins, aqui no House of Thrillers:  https://houseofthrillers.wordpress.com/category/james-rollins/

Acompanhe o escritor James Rollins: http://www.jamesrollins.com/ Para os interessados – ele responde às mensagens que enviamos – pelo menos, as minhas, tem respondido sempre.

Twitter: @james rollins http://twitter.com/#!/jamesrollins

Grupo de discussão sobre a Força Sigma, no portal Skoob: http://www.skoob.com.br/grupo/100-forca-sigma

Conversa entre a autora do blog, Lili Machado e o escritor James Rollins, no Twitter:

“Please tell me what is the real first one, that was not published here.” – Lili Machado
“If you are referring to the Sigma series: SandStorm is the prequel to Sigma and Map of Bones is the first of the series.” – James Rollins, em 15 de agosto de 2010

Também ofereço aos amigos leitores, os trechos suprimidos da edição oficial do livro, com palavras introdutórias do escritor. 

Quem sabe encontramos dados interessantes?

“O propósito deste capítulo era o de mostrar como o assassino que estava ifiltrado na expedição, havia conseguido os explosivos que iria usar mais tarde. Também neste capítulo eu apresento uma personagem menor: uma mulher asiática que usa um pendente em forma de dragão chinês e que lida com o tráfico ilegal de armas. Eu odiei tirá-la da estória… então a ressuscitei, assim que pude, como Seichan, na série da Força Sigma. O capítulo acontece em Buenos Aires, um dia antes da expedição partir para a Antártica.” – James Rollins

SUBTERRANEAN – LOST CHAPTER 2

The next morning, Bizan Saljinn grinned as he crossed Plaza de Mayo, the main square of Buenos Aires, happy with his successful performance as Khalid Najmon. His hard heels tapped loudly on the broken stone. He had fooled them all. Nobody had raised even an eyebrow. Bizan still remembered the real Khalid’s shocked face two months ago in Cairo. The Egyptian geologist had swung his door open, expecting room service, and found himself facing his own mirror image. Same eyes, same hair, same features. Only the 9mm Glock with a silencer attached had finally wiped the shock from the geologist’s face. After disposing of Khalid’s body, Bizan stepped smoothly into his role.

He had been trained well.

His fellow teammates posed no threat to his plan. The team leader, Ashley Carter, was just a woman. Pre-occupied most of the time, she would be oblivious until it was too late. The other woman, Linda, was no threat either. A pretty face and a body worthy of explorations, but no threat. He wet his lips as he thought of the nape of her neck, smooth and graceful.

Perhaps once he eliminated the others. . .

Preparations had already been made to handle Major Michaelson and his guards. And Ben seemed no real threat either, by appearances just a thrillseeker and womanizer. No, perhaps he was being too overconfident.

He sensed an edge to Ben, like a hard vein of quartz beneath the surface.

Something worth watching.

He shook his head and crossed the Plaza, passing by the Casa Rosada, the presidential mansion. Supposedly sightseeing, a Minolta camera kept bumping his hip as he walked. Pausing by a sidewalk cafe, he adjusted his hat in the reflection of a window, while studying the crowd for any suspicious people. A small clutch of schoolgirls outfitted in plaid skirts and blue sweaters fluttered noisily behind him. No one else of note. His trail stood clear.

He shook his head, snorted a bit. They didn’t even bother to post guards on the team. Naive.

Content that he was not followed, he hailed a cab.

The driver wore a blue kafiye turban. Palestinian. A fellow Muslim.

The city was mostly Spanish and Catholic, but there was still a strong Muslim presence. Even the president of Buenos Aires was a Syrian Muslim.

It seemed like a positive omen.

“Barrio Norte,” he instructed the driver. “To La Bolivar Cafe.”

The driver nodded and swore his way into the congestion of midday traffic. After a short trip of several blocks, he pulled in front of the restaurant. From the outside, the exterior was drab, just whitewashed brick interrupted by yellow windows, one of them cracked and repaired with tape.

Bizan entered the cafe and searched the scarred tables, stuffed now with hungry patrons.

The babble of the crowd was deafening. The odor of vinegar and stale beer permeated the humid interior.

He had been told to look for a woman wearing a silver pendant of a Chinese dragon. Bizan spotted her across the restaurant, seated at a small table. She was small of frame but generous of physique, black hair, shorn in a severe crop, almond eyes, wearing jeans and a black sweater. She had the morning paper spread out on the tabletop, a cappuccino at her elbow.

“I’m Bizan,” he announced as he stepped up to the table.

She ignored him and continued reading, flipping a page of newsprint.

Her only sign of acknowledgment was to kick a chair toward him with her heel. He sat down.

“You’re late.” Her voice was a sharpened icicle.

“My apologies,” he said.

She did not look up. “I do have other appointments.”

He breathed in her jasmine perfume. Intoxicating. “As do I.” He pictured her naked, her breasts bouncing as he enjoyed her.

She tested her cappuccino with a long-nailed finger, swirling. “Cold.”

She finally looked up at him, her eyes poisonous. All thoughts of ravishing her dried away like sunburned leaves. “I don’t like cold coffee.”

He swallowed. A truly handsome woman, he thought, but with a spider’s eyes. Predatory. “You have what I asked for?”

“Of course.”

“Even the plastique?”

“German manufacture,” she said. “The best.”

“The gun?”

“Your usual. Nine-millimeter Glock.”

Bizan was impressed. “Your reputation is well-earned”

“I like my job.” She passed him a Minolta camera case, identical to the one he carried, but much heavier.

He traded his camera case, hefting hers over his shoulder, appreciating its weight. So much death in such a small package. Much like the female arms dealer before him.

He rose from the table. “You have been paid. Correct?”

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” She went back to reading her newspaper, fingering her dragon pendant.

He left, careful now to stop the camera case from bumping his hip as he walked. Only one more appointment until he could return to the hotel.

This one would require patience.

* * *

The apartment was in the La Boca district of the city, a middle class community of somber buildings with clean streets. Bizan remembered the directions. He turned into an alley. The window was on the second floor, easily accessible from a balcony. He examined the jamb and found the two

wires, just as the dossier had described. He snipped the alarm wires with a pair of nail clippers, then jimmied the window open. He waited. No wail of an alarm. Only silence. Good. He crawled within the darkened kitchen.

The reek of cayenne pepper and fish almost made his eyes water. He heard someone whistling in a neighboring room and froze. He listened, ears straining. The whistler was not approaching. He slipped out of his walking boots, too noisy on the polished hardwood floors, and edged the kitchen door open just enough to peek through with an eye.

The hallway was carpeted in red.

He waited. The whistler, a maid, entered from a side room. She was dressed in a traditional black-and-lace maid’s outfit, a feather duster in one hand. She proceeded down the hallway, away from the kitchen, to an entryway table, pausing to dust the knickknacks there. She looked to be in

her early fifties. Heavy and slow.

With her back to him, he swung the door open. He whisked silently down the hall until he stood directly behind her. He preferred his targets to see him. To see what was coming. To watch the fear grow in their eyes. He held his breath.

She backed a step, bumping into him. With a gasp, she jumped away, turning toward him with a scream frozen on her lips. His hands were already wrapped around her throat, squeezing off her yell. He pinned her against the entryway door, using his weight to control her thrashing. He studied his quarry.

Yes, there it was.

The widened pupils, eyes bulging, tears at the corners.

Fear.

He squeezed until his knuckles whitened. Her face purpled, lips white. She slumped limp within his embrace, like a lover succumbed by passion.

He dragged her to a side room. The dining room. It took some effort to prop her into a dining chair. The old cow was heavier than she looked.

He stepped back, breathing heavily, and checked her. Except for the bluish complexion, she appeared to be napping. Satisfied, he returned to the kitchen and collected what he would need. He placed a wine glass in front of the dead maid and splashed some red wine into it. Then he took a deep draw from the lip of the bottle. A decent vintage.

Now it was time to wait again. The maid’s employer should be returning within the hour. He crouched behind the oak dining room door, leaning on his heels. He absently scraped the tip of the butcher knife on the maple floorboards. This was the part he hated. Waiting.

* * *

As he climbed from the cab into the Plaza, Bizan checked his fingernails for blood. Damn hard to clean under the nails. Blood always seemed to soak into the cuticle. Luckily he had found a toothbrush in the master bedroom of the apartment. After a bit of scrubbing, his yellowed nails now appeared spotless.

The assignment went well. But such a waste of a beautiful body.

Especially her breasts, small, the size of ripe apples, with wide firm nipples, were truly inspiring.

He glanced at his watch. In another two hours, the group would leave for the airport. Still enough time to shower and get some lunch. As he stepped across the sidewalk, he saw a shapely young woman crouched by the curb, feeding one of the city’s many scraggly stray dogs. He recognized her. Professor Furstenburg.

“There’s a boy,” Linda said as it nosed her, begging for another scrap.

“Good boy.”

As he approached her, Linda’s tender words and gentle attentions inexplicably aroused Bizan. “You have a way with animals.”

She blushed and stood up, shooing the dog away. With a quick bark, the gaunt Shepherd loped away, its belly full, tail wagging. “Good morning, Khalid,” she said brightly. She eyed the camera at his side. “How was your sightseeing?”

He placed a hand on the camera case. “Took some great shots. The city is quite charming.”

“Where did you go?”

“Just wandering.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flash of silver. “I ran across a street vendor. You know how they can be. He wouldn’t let me alone until I purchased something. I saw this.”

“What is it?” She leaned closer.

“A trinket.” He offered it toward her. “I hope you’ll accept it.

Something to remember the city by.”

As she reached for the offered object, Bizan suddenly spotted the smudge of blood on its corner. Damn. He quickly wiped it clear on the sleeve of his dark jacket. Did she notice? “Excuse me, it had a bit of dirt.”

Seemingly oblivious, she accepted the gift. “Hey, it’s a little Chinese dragon.” She raised the pendant so it sparkled in the sunshine. “Thank you, Khalid. How thoughtful.”

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