Flashpoint — Dan J. Marlowe

I had lived so long on the wrong side of the law I felt out of place as a special undercover agent for Uncle Sam. But I had no choice. One of the top brass in U.S. Intelligence had my number. So we made a deal - his silence for my services in tracking down and infiltrating a gang of Mid-Eastern terrorists. Besides, I had a personal interest in this job. They had stole $75,000 from me. So there I was - Earl Drake, bank robber and safecracker, playing on the side of the angels to outwit a bunch of fanatic Turks who were using their embassy for cover. I started with a Turkish delight. Talia. I conned her into leading me from the bedroom to their inner sanctum. I wished I hadn't. One look at the cold, bulbous eyes in the mound of flesh seated on the cushioned sofa before me told me I had stepped in the path of a rattlesnake. And if I couldn't charm it, I was a dead Drake.