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Saint: A Paradise Novel (The Books of History Chronicles) Paperback – September 2, 2008


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Saint: A Paradise Novel (The Books of History Chronicles) + Showdown (Paradise Series, Book 1) (The Books of History Chronicles)
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Product Details

  • Series: The Books of History Chronicles
  • Paperback: 368 pages
  • Publisher: Thomas Nelson (September 2, 2008)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 1595546146
  • ISBN-13: 978-1595546142
  • Product Dimensions: 1 x 5.5 x 8.5 inches
  • Shipping Weight: 12.8 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
  • Average Customer Review: 4.2 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (121 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #553,952 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

Editorial Reviews

About the Author

Ted Dekker is the New York Times best-selling author of more than 25 novels. He is known for stories that combine adrenaline-laced plots with incredible confrontations between good and evil. He lives in Texas with his wife and children. Twitter @TedDekker, facebook.com/#!/teddekker

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

I see darkness. I'm lying spread-eagle on my back, ankles and wrists tied tightly to the bedposts so that I can't pull them free.

A woman is crying beside me. I've been kidnapped.

My name is Carl.

But there's more that I know about myself, fragments that don't quite make sense. Pieces of a puzzle forced into place. I know that I'm a quarter inch shy of six feet tall and that my physical conditioning has been stretched to its limits. I have a son whom I love more than my own life and a wife named . . . named Kelly, of course, Kelly. How could I hesitate on that one? I'm unconscious or asleep, yes, but how could I ever misplace my wife's name?

I was born in New York and joined the army when I was eighteen. Special Forces at age twenty, now twenty-five. My father left home when I was eight, and I took care of three younger sisters--Eve, Ashley, Pearl--and my mother, Betty Strople, who was always proud of me for being such a strong boy. When I was fourteen, Brad Stenko slapped my mother. I hit him over the head with a two-by-four and called the police. I remember his name because his intent to marry my mother terrified me. I remember things like that. Events and facts cemented into place by pain.

My wife's name is Kelly. See, I know that, I really do. And my son's name is Matthew. Matt. Matt and Kelly, right?

I'm a prisoner. A woman is crying beside me.

 

 

Carl snapped his eyes wide open, stared into the white light above him, and closed his eyes again.

Opening his eyes had been a mistake that could have alerted anyone watching to his awakening. He scrambled for orientation. In that brief moment, eyes opened wide to the ceiling, his peripheral vision had seen the plain room. Smudged white walls. Natural light from a small window. A single fluorescent fixture above, a dirty mattress under him.

And the crying woman, strapped down beside him.

Otherwise the room appeared empty. If there was any immediate danger, he hadn't seen it. So it was safe to open his eyes.

Carl did, quickly confirmed his estimation of the room, then glanced down at a thick red nylon cord bound around each ankle and tied to two metal bedposts. Beside him, the woman was strapped down in similar manner.

His black dungarees had been shoved up to his knees. No shoes. The woman's left leg lay over his right and was strapped to the same post. Her legs had been cut and bruised, and the cord was tied tightly enough around her ankles to leave marks. She wore a pleated navy-blue skirt, torn at the hem, and a white blouse that looked as if it had been dragged through a field with her.

This was Kelly. He knew that, and he knew that he cared for Kelly deeply, but he was suddenly unsure why. He blinked, searching his memory for details, but his memory remained fractured. Perhaps his captors had used drugs.

The woman whose name was Kelly faced the ceiling, eyes closed. Her tears left streaks down dirty cheeks and into short blond hair. Small nose, high cheekbones, a bloody nose. Several scratches on her forehead.

I'm strapped to a bed next to a woman named Kelly who's been brutalized. My name is Carl and I should feel panic, but I feel nothing .

The woman suddenly caught her breath, jerked her head to face him, and stared into his soul with wide blue eyes.

In the space of one breath, Carl's world changed. Like a heat wave vented from a sauna, emotion swept over him. A terrible wave of empathy laced with a bitterness he couldn't understand. But he understood that he cared for the woman behind these blue eyes very much.

And then, as quickly as the feeling had come, it fell away.

"Carl . . ." Her face twisted with anguish. Fresh tears flooded her eyes and ran down her left cheek.

"Kelly?"

She began to speak in a frantic whisper. "We have to get out of here! They're going to kill us." Her eyes darted toward the door. "We have to do something before he comes back. He's going to kill . . ." Her voice choked on tears.

Carl's mind refused to clear. He knew who she was, who he was, why he cared for her, but he couldn't readily access that knowledge. Worse, he didn't seem capable of emotion, not for more than a few seconds.

"Who . . . who are you?"

She blinked, as if she wasn't sure she'd heard him right. "What did they do to you?"

He didn't know. They'd hurt him, he knew that. Who were they? Who was she?

She spoke urgently through her tears. "I'm your wife! We were on vacation, at port in Istanbul when they took us. Three days ago. They . . . I think they took Matthew. Don't tell me you can't remember!"

Details that he'd rehearsed in his mind before waking flooded him. He was with the army, Special Forces. His family had been taken by force from a market in Istanbul. Matthew was their son. Kelly was his wife.

Panicked, Carl jerked hard against the restraints. He was rewarded with a squealing metal bed frame, no more.

Another mistake. Whoever had the resources to kidnap them undoubtedly had the foresight to use the right restraints. He was reacting impulsively rather than with calculation. Carl closed his eyes and calmed himself. Focus, you have to focus.

"They brought you in here unconscious half an hour ago and gave you a shot." Her words came out in a rush. "I think . . . I'm pretty sure they want you to kill someone." Her fingers touched the palm of his hand above their heads. Clasped his wrist. "I'm afraid, Carl. I'm so afraid." Crying again.

"Please, Kelly. Slow down."

"Slow down? I've been tied to this bed for three days! I thought you were dead! They took our son!"

The room faded and then came back into focus. They stared at each other for a few silent seconds. There was something strange about her eyes. He was remembering scant details of their kidnapping, even fewer details of their life together, but her eyes were a window into a world that felt familiar and right.

They had Matthew. Rage began to swell, but he cut it off and was surprised to feel it wane. His training was kicking in. He'd been trained not to let feelings cloud his judgment. So then his not feeling was a good thing.

"I need you to tell me what you know."

"I've told you. We were on a cruise--"

"No, everything. Who we are, how we were taken. What's happened since we arrived. Everything."

"What did they do to you?"

"I'm okay. I just can't remember--"

"You're bleeding." She stared at the base of his head. "Your hair . . ."

He felt no pain, no wetness from blood. He lifted his head and twisted it for a look at the mattress under his hair. A fist-sized red blotch stained the cover.

The pain came then, a deep, throbbing ache at the base of his skull. He laid his head back down and stared at the ceiling. With only a little effort he disconnected himself from the pain.

"Tell me what you remember."

She blinked, breathed deliberately, as if she might forget to if she didn't concentrate. "You had a month off from your post in Kuwait and we decided to take a cruise to celebrate our seventh anniversary. Matthew was buying some crystallized ginger when a man grabbed him and went into an alley between the tents. You went after him. I saw someone hit you from behind with a metal pipe. Then a rag with some kind of chemical was clamped over my face and I passed out. Today's the first time I've seen you." She closed her eyes. "They tortured me, Carl."

Anger rose, but again he suppressed it. Not now. There would be time for anger later, if they survived.

His head seemed to be clearing. More than likely they'd kept him drugged for days, and whatever they'd put into his system half an hour ago was waking him up. That would explain his temporary memory loss.

"What nationality are they?"

"Hungarian, I think. The one named Dale is a sickening . . ." She stopped, but the look of hatred in her eyes spoke plenty.

Carl blocked scattered images of all the possible things Dale might have done to her. Again, that he was able to do this so easily surprised him. Was he so insensitive to his own wife?

No, he was brutally efficient. For her sake he had to be.

Their captors had left their mouths free--if he could find a way to reach their restraints . . .

The door swung open. A man with short-cropped blond hair stepped into the room. Medium height. Knifelike nose and chin. Fiercely eager blue eyes. Khaki cotton pants, black shirt, hairy arms. Dale.

Carl knew this man.

This was Dale Crompton. This was a man who'd spent some time in the dark spaces of Carl's mind, securing Carl's hatred. Kelly had said Hungarian, but she must have meant someone else, because Dale was an Englishman.

The man's right arm hung by his side, hand snugged around an Eastern Bloc Makarov 9mm pistol. The detail was brightly lit in Carl's mind while other details remained stubbornly shrouded by darkness. He knew his weapons.

Without any warning or fanfare, Dale rounded the foot of the bed, pressed the barrel of the Makarov against Kelly's right thigh, and pulled the trigger.

The gun bucked with a thunderclap. Kelly arched her back, screamed, and thrashed against her restraints, then dropped to the mattress in a faint.

Carl's mind passed the threshold of whatever training he'd received. His mind demanded he feel nothing, lie uncaring in the face of brutal manipulation, but his body had already begun its defense of his wife. He snarled and bolted up, oblivious to the pain in his wrists and ankles.

The movement proved useless. He might as well be a dog on a thick chain, jerked violently back at the end of a sprint for freedom.

He collapsed back onto the bed and gathered himself. Kelly lay still. A single glance told him that the bullet had expended its energy without passing through her leg, which meant it had struck the femur, probably shattering it.

"I hope I have your attention," Dale said. "Her leg will heal. A similar bullet to her head, on the other hand, will produce far more satisfying results. I'd love to kill her. And your son. What is his name? Matthew?"

Carl just stared at him. Focus. Believe. You must believe in your ability to save them.

"Pity to destroy such a beautiful woman," Dale said, walking to the window. "Just so you know, I argued to tie your son next to you and keep Kelly for other uses, but Kalman overruled me. He says the boy will be useful if you fail us the first time."

Englishman put the gun on the sill, unlatched the window, and pulled it up. Fresh breezes carried a lone bird's chirping into the room. It's spring. I can smell fresh grass and spring flowers. I can smell fresh blood.

Englishman faced him. "A simple and quite lethal device has been surgically implanted at the base of your hypothalamus gland. This explains the bleeding at the back of your head. Any attempt to remove this device will result in the release of chemicals that will destroy your brain within ten seconds. Your life is in our hands. Is this clear?"

The revelation struck Carl as perfectly natural. Exactly what he would have expected, knowing what he did, whatever that was.

"Yes."

"Good. Your mission is to kill a man and his wife currently housed in a heavily guarded hotel at the edge of the town directly to our south, three miles away. Joseph and Mary Fabin will be in their room on the third floor. Number 312. No one else is to be killed. Only the targets. You have two cartridges in the gun, only two. No head shots. We need their faces for television. Do you understand?"

A wave of dizziness swept through Carl. Aside from a slight tic in his right eye, he showed none of it. Beside him, Kelly moaned. How could he ignore his wife's suffering so easily?

Carl eyed the pistol on the sill. "I understand."

"We will watch you closely. If you make any contact with the authorities, your wife will die. If you step outside the mission parameters, she dies. If you haven't returned within sixty minutes, both she and your son will die. Do you understand?"

Carl spoke quickly to cover any fear in his eyes. "The name of the hotel?"

"The Andrassy," Dale said. He withdrew a knife from his waistband, walked over to Carl, and laid the sharp edge against the red nylon rope that tied Carl's right leg to the bed frame.

"I'm sure you would like to kill me," Dale said. "This is impossible, of course. But if you try, you, your wife, and your son will be dead within the minute."

"Who are the targets?"

"They are the two people who can save your wife and son by dying within the hour." The man cut through the bonds around Carl's ankles, then casually went to work on the rope at his wrists. "You'll find some shoes and clean clothes outside the window." With a faint pop, the last tie yielded to Englishman's blade.

Kelly whimpered, and Carl looked over to see that her eyes were open again. Face white, muted by horror and pain.

For a long moment, lying there freed beside the woman he loved, Carl allowed a terrible fury to roll through his mind. Despite Dale's claim, Carl knew that he stood at least an even chance of killing their captor.

He wanted to touch Kelly and to tell her that she would be okay. That he would save her and their son. He wanted to tear the heart out of the man who was now watching them with a dispassionate stare, like a robot assigned to a simple task.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to kill himself.

Instead, he lay still.

Kelly closed her eyes and started to sob again. He wished she would stop. He wanted to shout at her and demand that she stop this awful display of fear. Didn't she know that fear was now their greatest enemy?

"Fifty-eight minutes," Dale said. "It's quite a long run."

Carl slid his legs off the bed, stood, and walked to the window, thinking that he was a monster for being so callous, never mind that it was for her sake that he steeled himself.

I'm in a nightmare . He reached for the gun. But the Makarov's cold steel handle felt nothing like a dream. It felt like salvation.

"Carl?"

Kelly's voice shattered his reprieve. Carl was sure that he would spin where he stood, shoot Dale through the forehead, and take his chances with the implant or whatever other means they had of killing him and his family. The only way he knew to deal with such a compelling urge was to shut down his emotions entirely. He clenched his jaw and shoved the gun into his waistband.

"I love you, Carl."

He looked at her without seeing her, swallowed his terror. "It'll be okay," he said. "I'll be back."

He grabbed both sides of the window, thrust his head out to scan the grounds, withdrew, shoved his right leg through the opening, and rolled onto the grass outside. When he came to his feet, he was facing south. How did he know it was south? He just did.

He would go south and he would kill.


More About the Author

"Ted Dekker is a true master of thrillers."
- Nelson DeMille, NY Times bestselling author


"BoneMan's Daughters is a tour-de-force of suspense that demands to be read in one sitting."
-James Rollins, NY Times bestselling author


"Ted Dekker is a master of suspense."
-Library Journal


"Priest's Graveyard is a thrill-a-minute ride, with heart-pounding action and a twist that you'll never see coming."
- Tess Gerritsen, NY Times bestselling author of Ice Cold


"Priest's Graveyard is an amazing novel, utterly compelling, intensely readable, well written, and completely original.
-Douglas Preston, co-creator of the famed Pendergast series


"Here's the best part about The Priest's Graveyard: It's smart enough to realize that, for many, the scariest thing in life isn't a monster or something that bumps in the night. It's love. Love is terrifying. And powerful. And unstoppable. And if you don't already know that, you're about to see why. Priest's Graveyard will haunt you--long after you want it to. - Brad Meltzer, #1 NY Times best selling author of The Book of Fate and The Inner Circle

"If you've never visited Ted Dekker's world, do it. The Priest's Graveyard is perfect entertainment. Beguiling, compelling, challenging, and riveting --fantastic gimmick-free storytelling -- that's what you get with Ted Dekker. Don't pass this one up." - Steve Berry, New York Times bestselling author


TED DEKKER is a New York Times bestselling thriller author. Heralded as a "master of suspense" by Library Journal, Dekker has sold millions worldwide, establishing himself as one of the most widely recognized author brands.

He began his career writing fantasy novels that explored spirituality (Black, Red and White) and has since become a major force in the mainstream fiction arena with his recent thrillers, "Adam," "Thr3e," "Skin," "Obsessed," "BoneMan's Daughters," which landed in the #10 on the New York Times hardcover bestseller list in 2009, and "The Bride Collector". Dekker has been honored with a Christy Award as well as a Gold Medallion Award for Best Fiction. "Thr3e" and his novel "House" became feature films.

Dekker was born to missionaries and grew up among cannibals of Indonesia, and his peculiar upbringing gives him a unique perspective outside the cultural bubble, allowing him the freedom to share provocative insights in his fiction. After leaving Indonesia, Dekker graduated from a multi-cultural high school and took up permanent residence in the United States, earning his B.A. in philosophy and religion, and then went into business.

In the early nineties, Dekker decided to pursue his desire to write fiction, selling his company, moving his family to the mountains of western Colorado, and writing full-time. Two years and three books later his first novel, a supernatural thriller called Heaven's Wager, was published. Dekker proceeded to write 6 more supernatural thrillers, rising to the top of many bestsellers lists and earning himself critical acclaim and legions of fans. "Thr3e" heralded his launch into mainstream fiction and was followed by "Obsessed," "Skin," "Adam," and "BoneMan's Daughters," all of which hit the New York Times bestseller list.

Ted Dekker's fans are comprised of readers of all ages, backgrounds, and belief systems who love his compulsively readable stories, authentic characters, and universal and relatable themes that he explores from a unique point of view.

He resides in Austin, Texas with his wife and children. You can find him at Teddekker.com and Facebook.com/teddekker.


Customer Reviews

The entire series is 13 books and I have read them all.
RC
This book just dragged on and on and on, by the time I got to page 250 I was so annoyed and bored with it that I just skimmed to the end.
GoodLiteraturePlease
From beginning to end this book is a non-stop page turner.
P. Lopez

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

28 of 33 people found the following review helpful By Bill Garrison VINE VOICE on November 27, 2006
Format: Hardcover
Saint is the latest novel from Christian best-seller Ted Dekker. "Saint" is a code name for an assassin named Carl that is being trained at a top secret location in Hungary. The training methods are intense and painful, and Carl has turned into one of the best snipers in history. Now ready for his mission, he is sent to the United States to assassinate a world leader. Carl's training has stripped him of his identity. He starts having memories of a wife named Kelly and a son named Matthew. Then he begins having doubts about the mission he swore he would complete.

The premise for Saint is very intriguing, and the first half of the book is great. The last half of the book is a severe letdown. It starts when the plot slowly moves from this world to the supernatural world. Then there is the costant referring to Project Showdown. I know that Showdown written by Dekker and released before Saint. Nowhere on Saint does it indicate this book is a sequel or part of a series, yet it is very necessary that Showdown be read before you read Saint. In some series books, you can read out of order because the author covers the previous events enough for you to not have had to read the first book. Dekker does not do that and thus I was confused and lost and the second half of the book was filled with characters and references from Showdown.

Whatever chance there was that I enjoyed this book was lost when I didn't read Showdown first. I blame that on the marketers of the book and Dekker too, perhaps. On his website, it doesn't indicate these books are linked and it doesn't on the book either. If you are going to read Saint, you must read Showdown (and House, because it is referrenced too).
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8 of 8 people found the following review helpful By theapoplectic1 on December 12, 2007
Format: Hardcover
Based on the blurb about the novel on the back cover, I was very excited to read this book. It was very entertaining and I flew through the first 250 pages or so. But then it took a weird turn in the plot and started introducing a lot of X-Men type powers. I like X-Men type stuff, but was not expecting it in this book based on the blurb on the back.

I made myself read the last 100 pages just so I could finish the book, but I regretted it afterwards. I wish I would have known about the Sci-Fi aspect before I started reading the book. It also seems not as well thought out of an ending. Parts of it did not make sense.
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7 of 7 people found the following review helpful By Mathachew on February 20, 2011
Format: Hardcover
As with Showdown, unrealistic situations and unbelievable dialog and interaction made this book difficult to enjoy. It may work for simple minded reading that will not make you think, but it felt like he was trying to create something bigger than simple and it disappointed. Too many questions for inexplicable situations, far too much thrown in for the sake of keeping things interesting. The ending capitalized on all the problems on the book to deliver an unsatisfying finish to an unsatisfying book. As a fan of Dekker and the Circle series, this was a disappointing addition the Book of Histories saga.
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7 of 7 people found the following review helpful By Joshua Burkett on December 8, 2009
Format: Paperback
With the overexposure of "24" and "Alias" type books, movies and TV shows, I thought that Saint would be a poorly done psuedo-Christianzied attempt. I was wrong...well sort of.

In a WELL represented genre, Saint's premise was actually unique and quite engaging. For a lack of a better term, it was awesome. But then, the plot got oh-so gradually unstable to the point where the ending was simply awful. The characters never got to flesh out their personalities. The villian, who had the potential to be incredibly complex and insidous just became redundant. And the main character, who had extreme personality issues, could have been slowly formed into a well-loved protaganist. He too, became redundant, if not annoying.

The ending, without going into any spoliers, felt way too rushed; as if Dekker was desperately trying to make a deadline. I guess there is another book written after Saint where the story should pick up. But Saint's ending wasn't written with a solid end to a plot nor a cliffhanger. Suffice to say, I won't be reading it.
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6 of 6 people found the following review helpful By D. Couse VINE VOICE on May 25, 2007
Format: Hardcover Verified Purchase
How could this book that grabs you from page one and suck you in halfway through, start to lose steam by three quarters of the way and then simply just die out?

In retrospect, I almost think he couldn't figure out how to end this book the right way. I don't know what the right way is, but it sure wasn't this way. As mentioned in a few other reviews, this book had killer (literally) potential. I mean, real, real potential. If you could just look into my eyes and see the truth...the ending will leave you puzzled. ;o)
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6 of 6 people found the following review helpful By Hope L. Williams on March 23, 2007
Format: Hardcover Verified Purchase
I'm a huge fan of Ted Dekkar, but lately I've noticed that his books have been lacking. Showdown was a wonderful read, and I was completely engrossed in it, thinking I would feel the same about SAINT I bought it. I think the most dissapointing about this book was that it was actually a sequel to Showdown, yet you don't know it till halfway through. I found this completely rediculous, and even though the story was somewhat interesting at times, it never really seemed to go anywhere...and never really ended either. There is never any true complete ending, and it leaves you feeling like you read a whole bunch of words instead of an actual story.
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