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Noon The Rise to Power
Noon The Rise to Power
Amazon.com Amazon.com
Powell's Books Powell's Books

Zackary gives an overview of the book:

       In an America where the government is at the mercy of multinational corporations, where drug gangs terrorize entire cities, where only the wealthy receive police protection, and where the poor toil in cold and damp underground tunnels not for money, but for temporary relief from the draconian interest rate on their ever increasing debt.       One man comes forward.        And with the help of a media wizard, a genetic engineer, a renegade computer hacker and a deeply troubled military genius, incites a revolution that propels him into the national spotlight and changes the face of America forever.        That man's name? Noon!
Read full overview »

       In an America where the government is at the mercy of multinational corporations, where drug gangs terrorize entire cities, where only the wealthy receive police protection, and where the poor toil in cold and damp underground tunnels not for money, but for temporary relief from the draconian interest rate on their ever increasing debt.

      One man comes forward.

       And with the help of a media wizard, a genetic engineer, a renegade computer hacker and a deeply troubled military genius, incites a revolution that propels him into the national spotlight and changes the face of America forever.

       That man's name? Noon!

Read an excerpt »

It took two minutes for Madalone’s HumZee 5 to reach Nash Financials and pull to the curb. Outside people we racing through the streets, executives pouring into taxis, four and five at a time. The air smelled of fire and gunpowder, of oil and melting plastic. In the distance, sirens wailed and explosions shook the streets.

“What do you want me to do?” the driver asked.

Madalone yanked off his mask. “Wait here,” he said, and zippered his coat over his jumpsuit. “I’m going in to collect someone.” He took a moment to scan the streets. “Lay back, but keep your mask on,” he added as he grabbed the door handle. “We’re parked in front of a PTB stronghold. I don’t want one of our own people mistaking you for a PTB driver and tossing a bomb in your lap.”

“Okay,” the driver replied with a nod.

Madalone exited the HumZee, raced through the glass doors and into the building.

            Normally there would be a security guard stationed in the lobby but Jefferies was right—most everyone was either gone or in the process.

As he ran to the elevator bays and was about to board one, he saw a PTB executive emerging. As the man exited, a group of well-dressed young execs crowded around him.

“Mr. VonHarris, Mr. VonHarris!” several called out. “When do we come back to work? When do we reopen?”

VonHarris ignored them as he plowed through, briefcase and personal belongings in a cardboard box. With the youngsters trailing him like a rock star, VonHarris flung open the glass door, rushed out to the street and hailed a cab.

Madalone stepped inside the elevator and watched until its doors closed.

Several moments later he exited on the seventeenth floor, which housed the executive offices, and raced down the hall until he reached Garland Nash’s.

He flung open the door. Entered the reception area, scanned the room.

Empty.

“Jefferies!” he shouted.

Nothing.

He shouted again as he searched, checked behind the desk.

Nada.

He went to Garland Nash’s office and flung open the heavy oak door.

He saw blood on the once pristine white carpet, felt a breeze, turned and saw a very large man preparing to toss Jefferies out an open window.

Realizing he couldn’t reach the man in time, Madalone grabbed the marble pen and pencil set on Nash’s desk and hurled it at Holix.

As Holix turned to investigate the sound of the door banging against the wall, the marble desk set caught him above the right eye, creating a deep gash that began to bleed.

Holix put his hand to the cut, looked at the blood and roared in fury. He dropped Jefferies like so much garbage and charged Madalone like a rhino.

 

From the very instant the fight began, Holix knew something was wrong. Men always ran in terror when he charged, just as one would dive out of the way of an oncoming train. Yet this wiry redhead, who couldn’t be an inch over 5’11’ and weigh no more than 175 pounds was barreling toward him with eyes filled with a homicidal fury that easily matched his own.

And all it took was that split second, that momentary lapse of concentration that permitted Madalone to leap into the air and slam his knee under Holix’s chin.

As the giant reeled and staggered backward, Madalone dropped his leg over the big man’s shoulder and jammed his thumbs into Holix’s eyes. As Holix raised his arms and tilted his head back to yank free, Madalone punched him in the throat.

Holix bellowed and slammed backward into the wall. With his left hand he grabbed Madalone and hurled him to the blood stained carpet. The impact forced all the air from Madalone’s lungs but as Holix attempted to yank him from the floor and perhaps fling him out the open window, Madalone reached over, grabbed the leg of a mahogany end table, flipped it and swung the tabletop against Holix’s shins. As Holix grimaced and reached down in pain, Madalone swung the table upward, catching the giant in the forehead and raking it across the already bleeding cut over his eye.

Again Holix roared and swung downward hoping to shatter Madalone’s ribs, but Madalone spun the table over and dropped it directly over his chest as a shield.

            Holix’s fist split the wooden table in half, sent splinters flying and broke three of the knuckles on his right hand. As he bent over in pain, Madalone dropped the table legs, climbed to his feet and hobbled to a safe distance.

Holix began lumbering toward him. “I’m going to tear you limb from limb!” he growled, rubbing his hand. “I’m going to break every bone in your body.”

Madalone stuck out his chest and motioned to him. “Unlikely, you waddling bag of pig shit. Now come, and die at the hands of Madalone.”

“You smart-mouth fuck,” Holix grunted as he reached down and picked up two legs from the broken table. “This ends now!”

 

zackary-richards's picture

Noon The Rise to Power is the first of what I expect will become a trilogy. The present working title for the second book is Noon The Resurgence

About Zackary

I was born in the Bronx, New York. My mother was an artist so I learned how to draw early and by ten years old I was writing and drawing my own comic books.

At fourteen I discovered the guitar, began writing songs and started playing clubs in Greenwich Village.

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