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Albert Camus

Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.

Sunday, October 27, 2019

Jack Bass, Black Cloud Chronicles by Edwin Dasso, M.D.

Praise for Death Hub: "I love to read a good thriller and I was not disappointed with Death Hub."
"... entertaining, exciting and scary at times."
"Cyber Security is a Priority... definitely a scary idea."

Description:

In the Line of Ire (#1)

Jack finds himself the target of a blazing hatred 

His commanding officer blames Jack for his own failings. Jack becomes a scapegoat of his malicious jealousy and hatred, and he is intent on making Jack pay – with his life! 
In the cross-hairs of an egotistical man without remorse 

Fighting for their lives, Jack and his new love – Major Lori Darden, RN - learn just how dangerous it can be to raise the ire of a psychopathic boss. Jack must fight back to prevent his world from turning to ash right before his very eyes. 
A mix of Lee Child’s Jack Reacher Series and TVs M.A.S.H. 

Download your copy today and become immersed within the pages of this brutally intense, thrilling adventure from international bestselling author Edwin Dasso. 

“This is a fast-paced, action-packed roller coaster of a read. A refreshingly different perspective…” 

Past Aghast (#2) 

Is He The Killer They Say He Is? 

Even Jack isn’t certain. 

Jack is left emotionally traumatized from his deployment in Iraq with severe PTSD and the Army forces him to retire. Jack’s PTSD flashbacks sometimes leave him unaware of his actions while under the influence of his unwelcome mental demon. 
Retirement isn’t Always What You Plan 

As the new Chairman of Anesthesia at Southern Medical Center, Jack thought he’d retired into the tame civilian job he’d dreamed of, but a series of bizarre murders and deaths occur under his watch. 

Can Jack put this puzzle together on time? Will he survive? 
Jack Bass, MD is Lee Child's Jack Reacher and Marcus Welby rolled into one! 

Sound confusing? Wait till you see inside Jack's head! 

“A dark psychological suspense thriller that will captivate you and leave you turning the pages well into the night!” 

Death Management (#3) 

After narrowly escaping murder at the Southern Medical Center, Jack Bass, MD, and his new love, Janice, move to a new city to start their life together. Jack steers his career away from the hospital, taking a promising position at a small healthcare company that provides support and assistance to people with serious medical issues. However, he soon discovers things at the company are not as they should be – something sinister is occurring. 
A medical suspense thriller that will keep you breathless 

Jack uncovers the deadly plan for profit lurking underneath the company’s innocent facade. Once again, Jack must uncover a ruthless web of plotters and connections in order to save the lives of innocent victims, including Janice and himself! Will he be able to neutralize the threat before it’s too late? 
An ultra-realistic medical murder mystery that will not cease to surprise you! 

Death Management is the third book in the bestselling Jack Bass Black Cloud Chronicles medical murder mystery series. Prepare to be amazed by a surprising plot full of unexpected twists and breathtaking turns. 

”Once more, Dr. Dasso has knocked this book into a home run…” 

You'll Be Safe (#4) 

After the murder of his wife and unborn child, Jack Bass longs for death. In fact, he welcomes it. That is, until Amanda, his lovechild with Major Lori Darden, unexpectedly enters his life. Jack tries to shroud his new life with his daughter in privacy, determined that the events of his past should not threaten his daughter. But no matter how hard he tries, Jack cannot avoid trouble. It relentlessly pursues him. 
Homeless Veterans Are Disappearing From The Streets 

After being kidnapped and delivered to an isolated encampment, veterans are given a medication that makes even the most out-of-control psychotic captives turn into walking, order-taking, defenseless shells. They are used as slave labor, exploited then killed whenever the mood strikes their captors. Despite his best efforts to remain isolated from the world, Jack is faced with a choice between protecting himself and his daughter or helping to save these veterans who are being victimized for profit. 
There Will Only Be One Man Left Standing after This Battle 

Jack is again unwittingly thrust into a world of conspiracy and murder as he follows yet another trail of bodies. This time, Jack may have bit off more than he can chew. Will his new-found daughter become an orphan? 

You’ll Be Safe is book four in Ed Dasso’s Jack Bass Black Cloud Chronicles series. 

“This is by FAR one of the best medical mystery books I have read.” 

Do I Know You? (#5) 

Jack Bass, MD: Lee Child's Jack Reacher meets Marcus Welby 

Sound confusing? Wait till you see inside Jack's head! 

Jack was shot while rescuing homeless veterans from from an isolated slave camp. He was left clinically dead but was revived by a team of trauma surgeons. When he awakens he has significant, but spotty, amnesia. His friends and family take him abroad in an effort to help him recover but, true to form, Jack unwittingly stumbles into the middle of, and thwarts, a terrorist bombing plot. The terrorists are hell-bent on revenge! Jack fights to survive and protect his family, all while he struggles to even remember who he is. 

A series for readers who love action thrillers with hard-hitting, complex characters. 

"...book #5 in this addicting series. Well worth the wait!" 

Empty Promises (#6) 

Big pharma is buying all the politicians in D.C.

They can then legally unleash their new, but deadly, super-narcotic on the American public.

When Hank Green has a bad reaction to a drug during a study, Jack Bass, MD gets involved. He soon discovers that many Veterans are being conned into enrolling in the same drug study…and many are dying as a result.

Will Jack survive looking under the rocks of the political landscape as he attempts to stop this scourge?

Move over Jack Reacher, and make room for Jack Bass, MD.

“A fantastic thrilling adventure that kept me glued to the pages. Every story tops the one before it." 

Death Hub (#7) 

From USA Today and Amazon International Bestselling Author Edwin Dasso comes the Seventh book in the Jack Bass Black Cloud Chronicles.

Jack Bass, MD, discovers that new medical technology can work wonders...if it doesn't kill you first. Jack is working feverishly with two of his favorite past students to figure out what is behind the chaos of medical technology gone crazy.

Is it a bigger issue than anything they could have imagined?

Although, this book is part of a series, it is easily enjoyed as a stand alone novel.

EXCERPT
Death Hub - Prologue

Tyler drove his county sheriff’s squad car slowly up the pot-hole filled gravel drive of the crumbling farmhouse, steering around the rusted, broken-down pieces of farm equipment scattered haphazardly about the muddy barnyard. He stopped the cruiser at the end of a cracked sidewalk, heavily overgrown by weeds and what passed for a lawn. The picket fence bordering the drive had long ago rotted, fallen over, and been swallowed by the tall grass. He clambered out of the car and exchanged a quick glance with his partner, Sherry, over the roof of the car. He tugged his ballistic vest into position and checked that his pistol slid freely from the holster.
“You want to do the talking, Tyler?” Sherry asked as she stood in her open car door, hiking up her gun belt. “You know Rankin doesn’t like women cops.”
“Not a problem, Sherry.” He turned toward the house. “This dump reminds me of that old TV show, Green Acres.”
This wasn’t the first complaint they’d had for this particular household, an isolated farmhouse in the lightly populated fringe of the county. The occupant had a well-known penchant for getting drunk in local bars and picking fights with anyone he happened to dislike on that particular day.
Tyler and Sherry had been sent out this time because Child Protection Services had received a call from a concerned neighbor. They’d been hiking in some nearby woods and claimed they had spotted a young boy chained to a chicken coop on the dilapidated, old farm.
“When we get to the door, you stand off to the side.” Tyler pointed at the porch. He flashed her a quick, tight grin. “Don’t want him to spot you right away, eh? Once he opens the door, go ahead and step up.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Sherry leaned into the open door of the car and looked at the Child Protection Services counselor sitting in the rear seat. “You wait here. If we find a kid, we’ll come get you.”
“S-sure thing, Officer.” The counselor nodded, her head moving like a bobble toy as she squirmed, sliding lower on the rear seat. “D-do you think there will be any trouble?”
Sherry shrugged, tugging on her bullet-proof vest. “Hell, if I know.”
Sherry tiptoed next to him as they crept toward the front porch.
The sound of clucking chickens emanated from behind a shed near the house and Sherry crinkled her nose. “Jesus! This chickenshit stink makes me want to puke!” she whispered.
Tyler shot her a quick glance then slid a foot onto the first rickety step, which looked like it hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in decades, cringing when it creaked. “Shit!” He vaulted up the remaining steps and bound across the porch of warped planks. He skidded to a stop at the door, banging on it with his fist. “Mr. Rankin! It’s the sheriff’s department. Open up—we need to ask you a few questions.”
He brushed away the dust and paint flakes that had floated from the ceiling onto his shoulders, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. C’mon, old man, stop playing games and open the friggin’ door! He rested a hand on his gun, his fingers drumming on the grip. Sherry slid over near a window, sneaking a quick peek around the edge. She turned her gaze back to Tyler and shrugged. Tyler hammered on the door again, the glass panes rattling in the weathered wooden frame.
“C’mon, Rankin. Open the damn door!”
They waited a couple of minutes, Tyler craning his neck as he listened for sounds of life within the house. He jiggled the door knob, and the door clicked open a small notch and he twisted his head to gaze at Sherry.
“What do you think? Probable cause?” He pushed the door open a few inches and peered into the dank interior. “Should we go in?”
Sherry nodded and pulled her Glock pistol from its holster. “Yep. I don’t think we have a choice—something doesn’t feel right here.”
Tyler held his gun at his side and stood to the side of the door then threw it open and stole a quick peek around the doorframe. He nodded once at Sherry, took a deep breath and stepped into the murk, dropping to a knee a couple of feet into the room. The only light inside came from a TV in the far corner, a national news station talking-head rambling on about the latest D.C. liberalist conspiracy theory. As Tyler waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, Sherry appeared next to him, swinging her pistol and her gaze around the space. She tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at a pair of feet hanging off the end of a recliner situated in front of the TV.
“Probably still sleeping it off from last night,” she whispered.
They rose together and slowly moved deeper into the room, kicking away empty beer cans strewn on the floor surrounding the recliner. An ashtray overflowing with cigarettes smoked down to the filter sat on a dingy, stained end table next to the tattered chair. Jesus! How can somebody live like this? The old man was sprawled in the seat, a cigarette butt with an inch of ash hanging from it, still clasped between his fingers. His eyes were open but unmoving, clouded over by a fog of death. Tyler holstered his gun and reached down, putting his fingers over the man’s carotid. He slowly withdrew his hand then gazed up at Sherry and shook his head. “Nothing. Dead as a doornail. From the temp of his skin I’d say he has been for a while.”
Sherry snorted. “From the looks of him and this place, probably a long overdue heart attack.”
They both jumped as a commotion came from the rear of the small home. Sherry swung her gun in that direction and Tyler yanked his pistol from the holster, pointing it toward the noise.
“What the hell?” Tyler said. “That sounds like a bunch of damn chickens back there.”
“And it sounds like they’re inside the house,” Sherry grumbled, shaking her head.
They slinked toward a shadowy hallway leading to the rear of the home, stopping to lean their backs against the wall to both sides of it. Cold sweat ran down Tyler’s back as he peered into the murk.
A wildly squawking chicken flapped past Sherry and she threw her arms up in front of her face. “Jesus! Really? Chickens in the house?”
“I sure hope the neighbor was wrong about seeing a kid here,” Tyler muttered. “This place is a friggin’ pig sty!”
“You got that right.” Sherry held a hand over her nose, pinching her nostrils closed. “Smells worse than it did outside.”
They stopped at a closed door and exchanged quick stares, then Tyler flung the door open. Several chickens ran around the room in a flurry, feathers flittering in the air amidst a cloud of dust. A couple of the birds burst past Tyler and Sherry as they stood at the door, Tyler’s mouth hanging open as he stared into the room.
Sherry spit dust and crud from her mouth, holstered her gun, then rushed in and kneeled on the floor next to the large cage. “Jesus Christ! You gotta be kiddin’ me!”
The boy appeared to be about eight-years-old, and he bounced around inside the cage like a pinball, clucking and flapping his arms like wings as he fired glimpses over his shoulders at Tyler and Sherry. Sherry took her phone from a pocket and hurriedly videoed the scene then undid the latch on the cage door. She inched out her hand, reaching toward the boy.
“We won’t hurt you, little buddy… We’re here to help,” she whispered, wiping tears from her eyes with her other hand.
The boy pressed himself against the far side of the cage, clucking frantically.
Sherry turned to Tyler. “You better go get that CPS lady.” She turned back to the child in the cage. “I’ll stay here with him.”
Tyler remained frozen for a few seconds, gawking in disbelief at the scene then shook his head hard. “I’m on it,” he said, bolting toward the door.
“And call an ambulance!” Sherry called after him.

The child calmed slightly after a minute, eventually squatting down on his haunches in a large nest of straw as he stared at Sherry, twitching his head like any chicken would when regarding something.
She scowled toward where the dead man sat in the other room. “You piece of shit!” Sherry growled. “The world’s a better place with you dead.” She crawled farther into the cage and rested a hand gently on the kid’s knee.
*     *     *
Mark Quinn, MD, the on-duty physician, peeked through the window into the ER exam room, watching as the young boy walked around, flapping his arms and jerking his head like a chicken when it walks. Quinn opened the door a crack and listened to the boy clucking like a nervous hen. The doctor let the door slip closed and turned back to the EMT who had just brought the boy in, arching an eyebrow.
“Is this for real?”
The EMT shrugged and held his hands up at his sides. “Don’t ask me, Doc. I just brought him in. When we picked him up, though, we found him locked up in a big cage with a bunch of chickens. They were in a back room in some beat-up, old farmhouse out in the boonies.” He rubbed at the back of his neck as he glanced through the window at the young boy. “He was squatting in a big straw nest on the floor of the cage when we arrived. When we pulled him out and asked him if he was okay, he just started clucking and running around like a chicken with its head cut off.” He grimaced.  “Sorry—bad choice of words.” He tapped on the window with a knuckle. “Cops think he might be a kid who disappeared from east of here a couple years ago.” He stepped back and locked eyes with Mark. “Damnedest thing any of us have ever seen—and in this business, that’s sayin’ something.”
Mark nodded slowly then opened the door, inching closer to where the boy now perched on a gurney like a bird on a power line. What kind of person could do this to a kid?
“Hi, buddy,” he said in a soothing voice. “I’m Dr. Quinn… I won’t hurt you.”
The boy clucked and moved away on the stretcher. Mark tried to examine the child, but the boy jumped from the bed. Every time Mark moved closer, the youth would flap his arms, squawk, and run to a far part of the room, wedging his back into a corner. Mark decided to forego the physical exam for the moment and see if the child would respond to a few questions. The only response Mark got was the child jerkily tilting his head from side-to-side and more cackles. Mark sighed then shuffled to the door, watching in amazement as the boy grabbed a bedpan, set it upside-down on the exam table and squatted on it like a hen warming it eggs. Mark backed out of the room, locking the door behind him.
“Nothing I can do for him,” he mumbled then groaned. “Hoo, boy—the psych folks aren’t going to believe this one when I call them.”
About the author: 
Edwin Dasso, MD, a USA Today and Amazon International #1 Best-Selling medical thriller author, writes works of fiction that leverage many of his "stranger than fiction" experiences from years of practice at major medical centers and community hospitals.

"You might be shocked at some of the events in the books that are based on an actual experience."

Member of the International Thriller Writers.

His "Jack Bass Black Cloud Chronicles" series has been developed into a TV series, "Jack Bass, MD," which is actively being discussed around Hollywood. Network feedback has been very positive.

Fiction writing is reviving a lost love from earlier periods in his life where he enjoyed writing short stories. In addition to a number of years as a practicing anesthesiologist and critical care specialist, he has published articles in national healthcare journals, written many "Ask the Doctor" columns and has spoken frequently at national healthcare forums. He has also been instrumental in designing and deploying population health programs to help people deal with depression related to poor health. 

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