Puma Easton has spent his life flying straight and narrow as an airline pilot. But when a ruthless terrorist seizes his family, the rules he's always followed are no longer an option. Compared to Zain Qadir's cold, brilliant cruelty, Puma's skills feel useless. Now, he must choose between the rational path and a dangerous, high-stakes improvisation. With a global catastrophe ticking down, Puma faces an impossible choice: save his family at any cost, or risk everything to take down a monster before the world runs out of time. For fans of high-octane thrillers, this gripping novel will leave you breathless. The idea for this book came from a casual conversation, a suggestion really, from a friend. It festered in the back of my mind for over 10 years. The concept was too scary, it seemed like a good way to get myself in trouble with the Muslim Nation. But I found a way around the inherent pitfalls and put my head down and started writing. A year later, I had a 400 page outline. With sharpening focus on what I wanted the end product to be, I fiddled with it between 5 and 10 hours a day. Goals: make it believable, and paint a picture of the dangers of blind faith and obedience. Twist it enough to baffle and surprise. Tame stereotyping and crush Islamophobia. It was by far the most difficult writing project I've ever untaken, but also the most gratifying. How I wished Arif's role and mine could have been reversed. I forced myself to remember that in about three minutes, all this suffering would end and my hysterical comrades would join ecstatic relatives. It was comforting to know that Allah would reward each for their high service, faith, and worship. ​A tempest seemed to rage against us, its fury slowly increasing as the air we penetrated thickened like soup in the lower altitudes. This we'd learned in flight attendant training so the noise wouldn't alarm us. But this was louder than I'd ever heard, and a few seconds later, the aircraft started shaking. I knew Arif had calculated all this and that we wouldn't go fast enough to rip the plane apart, but it was getting harder by the second to believe that. I forced a smile and started chanting, "Allahu Akbar," the homage comforting enough to carry me to the coming glory. Utah's mountains still bring a teenager's worth of gusto, their snowy steeps the ultimate dance floor once skis clamp on. He married his best friend, Marcia, their aging chemistry ably outperforming the finest wine. Twenty-five years off chasing jobs ended, at home. You can go back. Figure skating's the new Mecca, with more sliding around on what's frozen. 62 might be a little old to start, but better late, don't they say? Writing added in about when hair started leaving. Good trade.