Hot Pursuit by Stuart Woods
Stuart Woods deserves an awful pun title like that. In yet the latest of his airport dominating series on Stone Barrington, Stone has taken order of his latest private jet. I’m about 93% positive Woods wrote this book solely to justify the tax writeoff for buying his own private plane. The jargon of this reads like when I was a little kid and people asked me questions about dinosaurs or ninja weapons. And I’d be rattling off Ankylosaurus and Triceratops and wakasashi and no-daikyo and katana and the adults are just like, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, nerdlinger, stem the flow. I just thought the pointy thing was interesting. Go drink another Dr. Thunder.”
Despite Stone being the Mary Sue alter ego for everything Stuart Woods craves in life — eating Dover Sole in private clubs and drinking Knob Creek like he’s got a fucking corporate sponsorship, getting fitted for Turnbull and Asher, drinking fine wines and bedding anything and everything with a vagina with the exception of the President and his son’s girlfriend — this one’s got a decent enough plot. In that, he balances it between several story threads.
Stone’s banging his new airplane concierge, and she’s on the run from two creepers — a rich guy and her ex-lover pilot. They were all involved in some shady dealings as gets eked out over the course of the novel, and now Stone’s trying to protect her. Meanwhile, some Al Qaeda are currently planning a strike on the UK and US simultaneously, and so Holly Barker, now in a new high-level position, is working with a new assistant to stop everything. So you’ve got the convergence of three decent plots sweeping across one another. It’s Stuart Woods, so it’s just kind of like James Bond if he was written by an elderly dude who knows what he likes. Like banging on a Craftmatic adjustable bed and drinking piss pour bourbon. Still better than Heineken.