The day of david webb
Pages
393
published
March 31, 2026
It does not take long for an old predator to return to the hunt…
David Webb has lived two lives for years: A family man on the surface and covert operative in the shadows. He thought he had left the second one behind, but in the dark world of deniable black operations, the most skilled assets are never truly let go.
During a mission in the Middle East, Webb unearths a secret buried deep within his own agency. A truth so explosive it transforms him from a prized weapon to a disposable loose end overnight.
Now, hunted across continents by assassins with his own elite training, he is cut off, burned, and outnumbered. To protect his family and expose the conspiracy, he must survive long enough to strike back at the very machine that created him before it erases him completely.
Fans of Robert Ludlum’s Jason Bourne, Vince Flynn’s Mitch Rapp and Mark Greaney’s Gray Man will be riveted by this action-packed thriller that blends espionage, betrayal and a gripping fight for survival.
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Excerpt
Dust settled around them in a thick haze. Then, silence. Nate scanned the dim interior with measured steps, his flashlight carving a narrow beam through lingering smoke. There, behind a set of reinforced bars, he spotted a stark white number stenciled above the doorframe: 808. The assignment code for the prisoner they’d come to rescue.
“Kilo six to all stations,” David crackled over the comms. “Alpha is on target. Stand by.”
Without missing a beat, he plucked a flare from his utility pouch and ignited it. The flare’s crimson glow flared suddenly, bathing the cell in harsh red light and rendering their night-vision goggles useless.
David lobbed the burning stick onto the floor a few feet ahead of the cell door. Then, rifle leveled at eye height, he boomed, “Step into the light!”
A lone figure stirred on the lower bunk. A man, by the shape of him, women were never housed in this hellhole. He sat with his back against the cold wall, legs crossed at the ankles, indifferent to the chaos beyond the bars. He coughed twice, a thin plume of gray smoke curling from his lips as the ember of a cigarette glowed in his hand.
Then he spoke, his voice carrying a distinctly Russian cadence. “Neuzheli tak davno, Devid?” “Has it been that long, David?”
David exchanged a glance and a curt nod with Nate. “Kilo one to all stations,” Nate replied crisply. “PID on eight-zero-eight.”