Of Good and Evil

OF GOOD AND EVIL by Gerald G. Griffin

Paranormal Action Thriller. Published 2010 by Eloquent Books (Connecticut).



Ron Sheffield, a gifted but tormented Green Beret, plagued by suicidal guilt because of his “special” abilities, is discharged from the army for going “crazy.” Immediately, he is brutally beaten and shot by the Mafia, and is hospitalized near death. His life is dramatically saved by Amber Ash, who also possesses “special” abilities; and from there the two are propelled against mobsters, terrorists, and a government cell out to kill them over Iraqi documents Ron possesses from his army service. Ron becomes a Mafia hit man, targeting fallen mobsters. This brings Ron and Amber into contact with the powerful and humane gifted secret society, Eros; this contact eventually actualizing Ron’s mental gifts to a point beyond his imagination. Ron is confronted with the imminent nuclear obliteration of a major American city by a suicidal terrorist cell that only he can stop. But will he be able to do it in time? Of Good and Evil is a spiritual fight against tyranny.



Ron’s ramming tactics forced the Impala to the side of the road. He parked in front of it at a blocking angle — blocking other traffic as well, leaped out of the truck, and ran up to the car. It didn’t phase him that the driver was slumped over the wheel, dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. His only concern was the bomb. Quickly, he spotted it in the rear seat. A woman, still alive, bending over near it, was searching for something which had been knocked to the floor by the last impact.

Ron jerked the rear door open, his Magnum ready. He could see the woman had retrieved a Beretta semiautomatic, but wasn’t holding it in a position to threaten him.

Snow glared at him furiously, her eyes enlarged in a deathly defiance of green-eyed hostility. “You’re too late, whoever you are,” she hissed chillingly. “The bomb’s been triggered. You have less than five minutes. Praise be to Khalid!”

In a quick motion she raised the Beretta to her temple and pulled the trigger. The sound of the revolver’s discharge thundered brutally through the air as did pieces of Snow’s skull, splashing blood all over the front of Ron’s clothing. Ignoring it, quickly reholstering his Magnum, Ron reached across Snow’s body and grasped the bomb container, lifting it up and pulling it forward, setting it outside the car on the ground.

A woman with that shallow look of intelligence came running toward him, yelling, “You monster! What have you done to these poor women?”

“Get the hell out of here,” Ron barked thickly, giving her a quick minatory glare. Then he turned his attention back to the bomb, ignoring everything else around him.

The woman fled, screaming, a piercing bloodcurdling, reverberating scream. “Aaaaiiieeeeee! Poloce! Police!”

Ron’s eyes riveted on the lever. He saw that it was pushed down, a faint peculiar sound humming within the container, engulfing him with a sense of desolation.

The bomb’s been triggered. It can’t be stopped.

And that reality swept him away. His body became frazzled and numb, his face clammy, his knees barely supporting him.

I’ve failed. It’s over. Oh, God. Oh, God. My Go-o-o-d!

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