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Gone Tomorrow: (Jack Reacher 13)
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Gone Tomorrow: (Jack Reacher 13) [Format Kindle]

Lee Child
4.2 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (4 commentaires client)

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Descriptions du produit


Chapter One

Suicide bombers are easy to spot. They give out all kinds of tell-tale signs. Mostly because they're nervous. By definition they're all first-timers.

Israeli counterintelligence wrote the defensive playbook. They told us what to look for. They used pragmatic observation and psychological insight and came up with a list of behavioral indicators. I learned the list from an Israeli amy captain twenty years ago. He swore by it. Therefore I swore by it too, because at the time I was on three weeks' detached duty mostly about a yard from his shoulder, in Israel itself, in Jerusalem, on the West Bank, in Leb anon, sometimes in Syria, sometimes in Jordan, on buses, in stores, on crowded sidewalks. I kept my eyes moving and my mind running free down the bullet points.

Twenty years later I still know the list. And my eyes still move. Pure habit. From another bunch of guys I learned another mantra: Look, don't see, listen, don't hear. The more you engage, the longer you survive.

The list is twelve points long if you're looking at a male suspect. Eleven, if you're looking at a woman. The difference is a fresh shave. Male bombers take off their beards. It helps them blend in. Makes them less suspicious. The result is paler skin on the lower half of the face. No recent exposure to the sun.

But I wasn't interested in shaves.

I was working on the eleven-point list.

I was looking at a woman.

I was riding the subway, in New York City. The 6 train, the Lexington Avenue local, heading uptown, two o'clock in the morning. I had gotten on at Bleecker Street from the south end of the platform into a car that was empty except for five people. Subway cars feel small and intimate when they're full. When they're empty they feel vast and cavernous and lonely. At night their lights feel hotter and brighter, even though they're the same lights they use in the day. They're all the lights there are. I was sprawled on a two-person bench north of the end doors on the track side of the car. The other five passengers were all south of me on the long bench seats, in profile, side on, far from each other, staring blankly across the width of the car, three on the left and two on the right.

The car's number was 7622. I once rode eight stops on the 6 train next to a crazy person who talked about the car we were in with the same kind of enthusiasm that most men reserve for sports or women. Therefore I knew that car number 7622 was an R142A model, the newest on the New York system, built by Kawasaki in Kobe, Japan, shipped over, trucked to the 207th Street yards, craned onto the tracks, towed down to 180th Street and tested. I knew it could run two hundred thousand miles without major attention. I knew its automated announcement system gave instructions in a man's voice and information in a woman's, which was claimed to be a coincidence but was really because the transportation chiefs believed such a division of labor was psychologically compelling. I knew the voices came from Bloomberg TV, but years before Mike became mayor. I knew there were six hundred R142As on the tracks and that each one was a fraction over fifty-one feet long and a little more than eight feet wide. I knew that the no-cab unit like we had been in then and I was in now had been designed to carry a maximum of forty people seated and up to 148 standing. The crazy person had been clear on all that data. I could see for myself that the car's seats were blue plastic, the same shade as a late summer sky or a British Air Force uniform. I could see that its wall panels were molded from graffiti-resistant fiberglass. I could see its twin strips of advertisements running away from me where the wall panels met the roof. I could see small cheerful posters touting television shows and language instruction and easy college degrees and major earning opportunities.

I could see a police notice advising me: If you see something, say something.

The nearest passenger to me was a Hispanic woman. She was across the car from me, on my left, forward of the first set of doors, all alone on a bench built for eight, well off center. She was small, somewhere between thirty and fifty, and she looked very hot and very tired. She had a well-worn supermarket bag looped over her wrist and she was staring across at the empty place opposite with eyes too weary to be seeing much.

Next up was a man on the other side, maybe four feet farther down the car. He was all alone on his own eight-person bench. He could have been from the Balkans, or the Black Sea. Dark hair, lined skin. He was sinewy, worn down by work and weather. He had his feet planted and he was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Not asleep, but close to it. Suspended animation, marking time, rocking with the movements of the train. He was about fifty, dressed in clothes far too young for him. Baggy jeans that reached only his calves, and an oversized NBA shirt with a player's name on it that I didn't recognize.

Third up was a woman who might have been West African. She was on the left, south of the center doors. Tired, inert, her black skin made dusty and gray by fatigue and the lights. She was wearing a colorful batik dress with a matching square of cloth tied over her hair. Her eyes were closed. I know New York reasonably well. I call myself a citizen of the world and New York the capital of the world, so I can make sense of the city the same way a Brit knows London or a Frenchman knows Paris. I'm familiar but not intimate with its habits. But it was an easy guess that any three people like these already seated on a late-night northbound 6 train south of Bleecker were office cleaners heading home from evening shifts around City Hall, or restaurant service workers from Chinatown or Little Italy. They were probably set for Hunts Point in the Bronx, or maybe all the way up to Pelham Bay, ready for short fitful sleeps before more long days.

The fourth and the fifth passengers were different.

The fifth was a man. He was maybe my age, wedged at forty-five degrees on the two-person bench diagonally opposite me, all the way across and down the length of the car. He was dressed casually but not cheaply. Chinos, and a golf shirt. He was awake. His eyes were fixed somewhere in front of him. Their focus changed and narrowed constantly, like he was alert and speculating. They reminded me of a ballplayer's eyes. They had a certain canny, calculating shrewdness in them.

But it was passenger number four that I was looking at.

If you see something, say something.

She was seated on the right side of the car, all alone on the farther eight-person bench, across from and about halfway between the exhausted West African woman and the guy with the ball player's eyes. She was white and probably in her forties. She was plain. She had black hair, neatly but unstylishly cut and too uniformly dark to be natural. She was dressed all in black. I could see her fairly well. The guy nearest to me on the right was still sitting forward and the V-shaped void between his bent back and the wall of the car made my line of sight uninterrupted except for a forest of stainless-steel grab bars.

Not a perfect view, but good enough to ring every bell on the eleven-point list. The bullet headings lit up like cherries on a Vegas machine.

According to Israeli counterintelligence I was looking at a suicide bomber.

Chapter Two

I dismissed the thought immediately. Not because of racial profiling. White women are as capable of craziness as anyone else. I dismissed the thought because of tactical implausibility. The timing was wrong. The New York subway would make a fine target for a suicide bombing. The 6 train would be as good as any other and better than most. It stops under Grand Central Terminal. Eight in the morning, six at night, a crowded car, forty seated, 148 standing, wait until the doors open on packed platforms, push the button. A hundred dead, a couple of hundred grievously injured, panic, infrastructure damage, possibly fire, a major transportation hub shut down for days or weeks and maybe never really trusted again. A significant score, for people whose heads work in ways we can't quite understand.

But not at two o'clock in the morning.

Not in a car holding just six people. Not when Grand Central's subway platforms would hold only drifting trash and empty cups and a couple of old homeless guys on benches.

The train stopped at Astor Place. The doors hissed open. No one got on. No one got off. The doors thumped shut again and the motors whined and the train moved on.

The bullet points stayed lit up.

The first was the obvious no-brainer: inappropriate clothing. By now explosive belts are as evolved as baseball gloves. Take a three-foot by two-foot sheet of heavy canvas, fold once longitudinally, and you have a continuous pocket a foot deep. Wrap the pocket around the bomber, and sew it together in back. Zippers or snaps can lead to second thoughts. Insert a stockade of dynamite sticks into the pocket all the way around, wire them up, pack nails or ball bearings into the voids, sew the top seam shut, add crude shoulder straps to take the weight. Altogether effective, but altogether bulky. The only practical concealment, an oversized garment like a padded winter parka. Never appropriate in the Middle East, and plausible in New York maybe three months in twelve.

But this was September, and it was as hot as summer, and ten degrees hotter underground. I was wearing a T-shirt. Passenger number four was wearing a North Face down jacket, black, puffy, shiny, a little too large and zipped to her chin.

If you see something, say something.

I took a pass on the second of the eleven points. Not immediately applicable. The second point is: a robotic walk. Significant at a checkpoint or in a crowded marketplace or outside a church or a mosque, but not relevant with a seated suspect on public transportation. Bombers walk robotically not because they're overcome with ecstasy at the thought ...

Revue de presse

“The ever-resourceful and vengeful Reacher takes on nearly a score of the bad guys in an exciting climax to an enthralling book…complete with cover-ups and numerous intriguing twists.”—Library Journal, starred review

“A superb New York novel…. Child grounds his hero’s hard body and hard-drive brain in believable detail, and he sets the action against a precisely described landscape.” —Booklist, starred review

“All good thriller writers know how to build suspense and keep the pages turning, but only better ones deliver tight plots as well, and only the best allow the reader to match wits with both the hero and the author. Bestseller Child does all of that in spades.... [He] sets things up subtly and ingeniously, then lets Reacher use both strength and guile to find his way to the exciting climax.”—Publishers Weekly, starred review

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 1586 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 434 pages
  • Editeur : Transworld Digital (23 avril 2009)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ASIN: B0038LB4TE
  • Synthèse vocale : Activée
  • X-Ray :
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.2 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (4 commentaires client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: n°11.437 dans la Boutique Kindle (Voir le Top 100 dans la Boutique Kindle)
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Commentaires en ligne 

4.2 étoiles sur 5
4.2 étoiles sur 5
Commentaires client les plus utiles
25 internautes sur 27 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 nuits blanches en perspective 29 avril 2009
Au risque de paraître emphatique, je l'affirme haut et fort: Lee Child est actuellement le plus grand auteur de thrillers au monde. Au cours des dernières années, j'ai suivi avec passion son évolution d'écrivain et je pense avec Stephen King qu'il est aujourd'hui au sommet de son art, aussi bien sur le plan du style qu'au niveau des intrigues. Son héros, Jack Reacher, est une création fascinante. Ancien flic, il a renoncé à toute existence officielle et vit "off the radar" comme disent les Américains, voyageur taciturne et inlassable, mais voyageur sans bagage, sans passeport, sans adresse. Bref, un "drifter". A ceci près que Reacher a une particularité. Où qu'il aille, les ennuis le suivent. Et il n'est pas du genre à esquiver. Dans ce dernier volet de ses aventures, ça commence une fois de plus très fort. Assis dans un wagon de métro, à New-York, Jack remarque le comportement suspect d'une femme et acquiert la conviction que celle-ci est une kamikaze. Mais comment en être certain? Très vite, la situation débouche sur une cascade d'événements qui vont nous faire remonter le cours de l'Histoire et nous rappeler, si besoin était, que les amis d'hier sont parfois les ennemis de demain, et inversement. Mais shhh! En dire plus vendrait la mèche... Comme toujours, Reacher boit beaucoup de café et, comme toujours, quand on lui demande pourquoi, il fait la même réponse: "It's not for the taste... It's for the caffeine!" Eh bien, moi, de la caféine, je n'en ai pas eu besoin pour achever ce roman en quatre petites heures. Vivement le prochain!
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1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 Reacher on the war path in New York 6 septembre 2012
Bloody thriller about Jack Reacher(JR), dream of many men and women, but for different reasons. He embodies what many men secretly like to be, a combination of Superman and not having a family with its obligations, strictures and routines: JR has no home or relatives and travels ultra light, with only his passport, ATM-card, some cash and a foldable toothbrush. No bag. No suitcase. Buys new set of clothes every few days. Pays no taxes. Women like him for his courteous, polite ways and occasional bursts of mutually agreed passion. Escape lit.
JR takes a nighttime subway train in NY. He spots a woman who raises all the red flags on an 11-point checklist for suicide bombers once developed in Israel. A very strong, dramatic start, because blood flows indeed, which he failed within a whisker to prevent. JR is questioned by the NYPD, then by a Federal agency working under post 9/11 rules. When set free he is accosted by a foursome in nice suits. For the third time that day he is asked, "Did she give you anything?"
But there are a few moments when LC appears to lose the plot. Or defies credibility. As always, JR relies on his hunting instincts, logical reasoning and brutal force. Quoting more than once from a famous Kipling poem, the book is instructive about the perils of waging war, declared or secret, in faraway lands. Such as Afghanistan in the early 1980s... Very well crafted and written, with great dialogue and intriguing tips about how and where to spend the night cheaply, or for free in NY. Interesting insights into the intense competition of agencies involved in homeland security and the scrutiny US politicians are subjected to.
To tell more would deprive fans and new readers of the joy and ingenuity of this book.
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3.0 étoiles sur 5 as good as usual 28 mars 2014
Par jploret
Format:Format Kindle
This is always good to go along with Reacher and to vibre to his adventures. I quite like this one as we are not used to see Reacher having an urban adventure. An urban night with all irs danger should have been his favourite terrain of investigation. Don't miss it... This is Reacher's longest urban night
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2 internautes sur 3 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Extrêmement intelligent 28 novembre 2011
Par per
Format:Poche|Achat vérifié
J'adore Lee Child. Ses romans commencent tout doucement et spiralent jusqu'à un dénouement très intelligent. Jack Reacher est un personnage riche et les personnages de femmes sont adorables
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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur (beta) 4.3 étoiles sur 5  927 commentaires
233 internautes sur 248 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 With my personal guarantee 23 mai 2009
Par Richard B. Schwartz - Publié sur
Some readers were disappointed by Nothing to Lose. They have my personal guarantee that they will not be disappointed by Gone Tomorrow. Jack Reacher is back and he's back with a vengeance. Literally. The story opens with Reacher on a northbound NYC subway car, one built in Japan, to specifications which he discusses in detail. Why? Because Jack is a curious man and so are the readers who overhear him telling his stories. He also details the specifications because they will come back to play a role in the story several hundred pages later. On that car, in the middle of the night, a woman who appears to be a potential suicide bomber does something else instead. Her action haunts Jack and he does not rest until he knows the reasons for her actions and exacts vengeance on those who have caused those actions.

Except for some brief moments in Washington, Gone Tomorrow is set in Manhattan, a city that both Jack Reacher and his creator know very well. The wide cast of characters includes members of the NYPD, the FBI, miscellaneous defense/homeland security types, some private security forces and some uber-baddies from Turkmenistan. The plot involves actions from the early 1980's and actions from today's headlines. The plot is as tight (to adapt one of the novel's similes) as the endpoint of the alimentary canal of a piscine creature. There is a bit of sex and a great deal of violence (strong but not pornographic).

The novel is replete with information, as Child taps into the wellsprings of the techno-thriller. There is also a great deal of ratiocinative mystery: how can you find someone in NYC in the middle of the night? How can you deduce the likely behavior of an individual from the scant remaining facts at your disposal? What are the best moves to employ against two individuals coming at you with brass knuckles? Why do you need a glove to operate a certain form of automatic weapon? How do the government's security-system computers operate?

This is Lee Child at his best: jackhammer suspense, pages flipping at light speed and Jack Reacher in full-tilt sarcastic mode, with a small army of baddies deserving of the business end of his best skills. Only one bit of advice: begin it when you have the time to finish it, because that is exactly what you will want to do. This is primo stuff; don't miss it.
46 internautes sur 49 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 One of Lee Child's Best 26 mai 2009
Par C. Baker - Publié sur
Format:Relié|Achat vérifié
Gone Tomorrow is the 13th novel in the Jack Reacher series. Reacher is a retired Army MP and a drifter who seems to find big trouble wherever he goes. Reacher is a great character and all the novels in this series are entertaining, but they are very uneven in terms of plot credibility and overall enjoyment.

Gone Tomorrow is one of the absolute best of the series. As the novel begins Reacher finds himself on the subway late at night in New York City and happens to see a passenger, Susan Mark, acting strangely. This sets off all kinds of alarm bells for Reacher who is trained to spot terrorists and other nefarious characters looking to do others harm. As the events unfold Reacher finds himself chasing, and being chased, by the FBI, the Department of Defense, the New York City Police Department, and a shadowy group of possible terrorists, all looking for a piece of explosive information, and willing to kill to get it.

This novel is a fast paced thriller and mystery and works extremely well as both. The plot becomes intricate and mysterious as Reacher tries to find out who is behind the events unfolding, and then tries to discover why the information being sought is so important. There are plenty of twists and turns as Reacher continues to unravel the mystery to a rather explosive and violent conclusion.

Other than a few quibbles over political details that are over generalized, this novel was a real page turner and very entertaining. One of Lee Child's best.
63 internautes sur 72 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 Reacher Returns To Form As Child Tones Down His Politics 30 mai 2009
Par TMStyles - Publié sur
Format:Relié|Achat vérifié
Lee Child's "Gone Tomorrow" is the 13th Jack Reacher installment. It is a much needed return to the stylings to which we loyal fans became addicted; certainly, it is far superior to the politically slanted "Nothing To Lose." My sole quibble with "Gone Tomorrow" is that Child again, although with much more subtlety, infuses his British perspective of American policy into Reacher's actions and consciousness. As a loyal reader of a great character, I am not interested in Lee Child's view of American foreign policy, past or present.

That being said, this novel begins with a random incident on a late night subway in New York where Reacher suspects a passenger of being a suicide bomber and due to his intervention, a death occurs which motivates him to trace the victim's backstory in hopes of understanding who and what caused the unnecessary tragedy. A continuous series of government and private agents begin confronting Reacher assuming he has valuable knowledge(and property)gained from the victim. Before one settles in, Reacher is fending off the NYPD, FBI, Homeland Security, paid investigators, and a slew of foreign bad guys that will please anyone's appetite for evil villains.

Reacher is as perceptive, logical,and analytical as ever in "Gone Tomorrow." He actually instructs the reader about a number of arcane minutiae such as how to knife fight, defend against brass knuckles, and disappear in NYC. Reacher is less taciturn and more focused than he has been recently and even pals up with NYPD detective and a grieving father for a time.

There is more than ample violence and gore to please the loyal Reacher fan, the plotting is tight, and Reacher continues to be fun to decipher as he analyzes people and events. As usual, Jack Reacher is NOT a character you want mad at you or to seek vengeance against you. And Child does a fasacinating job of describing Manhatten and the underbelly environs of NYC.

For me, the mark of a fine writer is his/her ability to entice me into reading chapter after chapter in a comfortable flowing exposition and not realizing the passage of time or the need to suspend disbelief. Child can do that when he is at his best--entice the reader to become one whith his signature character. I just hope he works more diligently to leave his political slant out of future Reacher novels.
27 internautes sur 31 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 Good- But Just Good 1 juin 2009
Par Rick Mitchell - Publié sur
Fair or not, every Lee Child Jack Reacher book has to be compared to the other Jack Reacher books. This was a reassuring step up from last year's "Nothing to Lose", but it still just missed. Like all the Reacher books, it can stand alone, but knowing the main character gives the reader instant familiarity with his eccentricities.

This entry in the series has plenty of action, especially in the last fifty pages, and plenty of Reacher's stellar deductive reasoning. However, the setting, like that in "Nothing to Lose" just doesn't ring true (understanding that "ringing true" in any of these books is a relative term). The old Jack Reacher used to be thrust into situations where he was forced to fight the bad guys to a) save some one; and b) save himself. In this book as in last year's, Reacher thrusts himself into a life-threatening situation just because he "hates to go backward". It's fine if a character does not want to walk away, but the plot here is so forced it really defies logic, especially for Reacher who likes to portray himself as a person who reacts rather than an agressor.

That having been said, the plot is still a good one. The foreign female characters are excellent (can't say much more without giving it away). What appears to be a suicide to start the novel is much much more and just the tip of the iceberg with foreign intrigue, the NYPD, FBI and nameless national agencies all aligned against Reacher at one time or another and even, for a short time, all at once. Once again, Reacher defies the odds through his unique blend or Holmesian reasoning and physical prowess.

All in all, a fair book, but nothing great. I hope Reacher is not tiring.
25 internautes sur 29 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
2.0 étoiles sur 5 Not the Best Reacher Novel 26 juillet 2009
Par L. P. Dictum - Publié sur
Lee Child is a journeyman author of airport books. He usually writes entertaining stuff, but he is becoming the victim of his own success. This book was cranked out on a tight schedule from the publisher. If Child had had more time, he would have written a shorter book. This one desperately needs a good edit. Reacher should be allowed to age gracefully. He is a protagonist in his late 40's who never works out, sleeps 1-3 hours every other night, drinks gallons of coffee, eats mostly fast-food, doesn't own a gun or practice with one, and yet remains in perfect physical condition and able to shoot any firearm with extreme accuracy on demand. I know this is fiction, but Child should leaven his imagination with a little reality.
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