Hard Road Quotes

“Reznick walked through the grand, sprawling lobby. Marble floor, ornate columns, chandeliers. A young man at the front desk took his details as he signed in under a false name: Ron Dixon.”
― J.B. Turner, Hard Road

“Jon! Jon! Please come and get me! Jon! Jon!” He tried to move, but he was paralyzed. He willed himself to move. But he was frozen. All of a sudden, an ominous thunderous roar, and the tiny figure was swallowed in a cloud of dust and ash as the building descended at speed, the smell of burning fuel thick in the air, the screaming unrelenting.”
― J.B. Turner, Hard Road

“Reznick pulled back her eyelids. His daughter’s pupils were pinpricks. Reaching over, he took her pulse. Her skin was cold, but he felt a faint beat. “Oh, Christ no, Lauren!” He shook her to try and rouse her.”
― J.B. Turner, Hard Road

“Hi, looking for a number in Weston, Florida. Is there anything for Magruder?” “How are you spelling that, sir?” “Magruder. M-A-G-R-U-D-E-R.” “Hold the line, sir.” Vivaldi’s Four Seasons started playing for what seemed like an eternity. It was probably only a couple of seconds. Eventually, the woman came back on the line. “Yes, sir, I’ve got one in the town of Weston, Florida.”
― J.B. Turner, Hard Road

“work”
― J.B. Turner, Hard Road

“Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.”
― J.B. Turner, Hard Road

“Luntz spoke in a hushed whisper. “My colleague, Scott Caan, and I have been working for years, trying to learn as much as possible about the origins of the 1918 flu pandemic. It killed at least twenty million people worldwide. I was part of the laboratory team, led by Dr. Jeffrey Taubenberg, who resurrected the killer flu.”
― J.B. Turner, Hard Road

“Saudi ambassador in 2011. Is this payback? I don’t know. So they can’t be ruled out. But the National Counterterrorism Center is working on the problem as we speak.” “Look, I’m meeting with the Director of National Intelligence. He’ll want some details. He’ll also want to know how this was possible. How could this happen?” “That’s what I intend to find out.” “Then again,” O’Donoghue said, shaking his head, “is it possible there’s a problem in our ranks?” Meyerstein saw where this was going. “I hear what you’re saying.” O’Donoghue shrugged. “Just playing devil’s advocate.” “I agree we can’t discount such a possibility.” The Director leaned back in his seat and stared at her. “I’m intrigued you think a foreign government might be behind this. What’s your rationale?” “Luntz’s area of expertise makes him valuable to any government. But the fact that he specifically asked to speak to the FBI so urgently makes me think something else is afoot—and that’s why they want to silence him.” O’Donoghue nodded. “Taken from right under our noses. Very audacious. And dangerous.” Meyerstein nodded. “Tell me more about Connelly. Was he new?” “Just a few months with us, sir. Was based in Seattle for a couple of years before being posted here.” “Married?” “Young wife, two kids.” O’Donoghue turned and stared out of his window over the Washington skyline. “I want the bastards who did this, Martha. You have whatever resources you want.” “Sir, my team will also be alive to the possibility another story is playing out. I’m of course talking about national security. We can’t rule that out.” Meyerstein got up out of her seat. “Oh, Martha?” he said. “Yes, sir?” “Let’s do this right. And let’s nail those responsible.” “Count on it, sir.” Meyerstein walked out of the office and took the elevator down two floors to where Roy Stamper was standing waiting for her, unsmiling. He was wearing his customary navy suit, white shirt, navy silk tie, and highly polished black leather shoes. He had been with the FBI since he was headhunted after graduating from Duke, coming top of his class at law school. They had both started training at the FBI’s academy at Quantico at the same time. He wasn’t a great mixer. Never had been. He was quiet, but unlike her errant husband, he was a great family man. Her own father, despite being a workaholic like her, was the same, trying to take time out of his punishing schedule to meet her mother for lunch or supper. Her father was devoted to her mother. He liked being with her. He liked being around her. They looked relaxed in each other’s company. Martha could see that. She’d never felt that with her own husband. He’d never wanted to share a glass of wine with her when”
― J.B. Turner, Hard Road

“Tell me, where’s the subject now?” “Walking the National Mall with his son.” “What kind of monitoring?” “Electronic. Far safer.” Reznick stayed quiet, knowing Maddox was right. “How about we speak later today?” “When?” “I don’t know. But stay”
― J.B. Turner, Hard Road

“Only his oldest friends in Rockland—guys he’d grown up with in the 1980s, when his hometown had been a tough fishing port struggling with boarded-up stores on Main Street, and motorcycle gangs and their dogs running amok in the bars—knew about his daughter. The bottom line was he wanted to protect her from his world and show her only the good things.”
― J.B. Turner, Hard Road

“Forty”
― J.B. Turner, Hard Road

“long-distance rifle shot would hit the guy. But he knew that the sound would give the subject a couple of seconds to hit the deck, and the other guy”
― J.B. Turner, Hard Road

“Suck it up. Enjoy the misery. It will not beat you. Nothing will ever beat you. Ever.”
― J.B. Turner, Hard Road