Page 1 of Stuart Woods' Golden Hour

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Dirt crunched under Tyler Stormas he was rolled onto his back.

The brute looming above him frowned, then said over his shoulder, “He ain’t dead yet.”

One of his buddies stepped next to him, then snorted. “He’s as good as.”

Bloodied and bruised, Storm cracked open his eyes. Around him stood half a dozen of Caleb Donovan’s men, all looking at Storm with disdain.

“Out of the way,” a familiar voice said.

The men parted and Donovan himself stepped forward and crouched beside Storm.

“Not your best day, is it?” Donovan said. “I did warn you this would happen.”

A smile crept across Storm’s face. “You did.”

Donovan narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think you fully grasp what’s about to happen to you.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

“Huh. How about that? Youdounderstand.”

Storm’s grin widened.

“Are you smiling because you’re thinking I’ll do it fast and end your pain?” Donovan looked at him with pity. “Sorry, Storm, I have bad news for you.”

A wet laugh slipped past Storm’s lips.

“What’s so damn funny?”

“It doesn’t matter what you do to me,” Storm said. “You’re done.”

It was Donovan’s turn to laugh. He rose to his feet. “You got some balls. I’ll give you that. But you couldn’t be more wrong. I’m not even close to done. Soon everyone in this city will know who I—” He paused and looked around. “You guys hear that?”

Thewhomp-whomp-whompof helicopter rotors began echoing off the abandoned buildings surrounding them, making it impossible to tell from which direction it came.

As Donovan twisted around looking for the source, the copter appeared above him, lighting him up with its spotlight. Dozens of police sirens could now be heard closing in.

The shot cut to Storm as his eyes fluttered closed, the smile still on his lips. The camera began to rise and the shot widened, first showing Storm surrounded by Donovan and his panicked men, then encompassing the police cars speeding in from all directions, and finally moving above the police helicopter hovering over the area.

The soundtrack hit a crescendo, and the screen went dark. After a beat, the credits began to roll.

When the film ended and the lights came on, everyone in the screening room applauded save Peter Barrington, the director ofStorm’s Eye, who was scribbling notes on a pad of paper.

“Fantastic,” Ben Bacchetti said. He was head of Centurion Pictures, one of the film’s producers, and Peter’s best friend. “No question, you’ve done it again. People are going to love it.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Billy Barnett said. He was the other producer. “Peter, I think this is your best yet.”

“You’re just saying that because it stars Mark Weldon,” Ben said.

Billy placed a hand dramatically on his chest. “Why, Ben, are you calling me biased?”

“Me? Never.”

The others laughed.

Everyone in the room was a member of the very select club who knew that Billy Barnett’s true identity was that of Teddy Fay, formerly of the CIA, and someone who, as far as most of the world knew, had perished several years ago.

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