# Read the first page of The Survivor by Vince Flynn

Read the opening of The Survivor by Vince Flynn free, no signup. Mitch Rapp in a no-holds-barred race to save America.

- Page: https://uncovered.ink/read/the-survivor-vince-flynn
- Genre: Political thrillers
- Year: 2015
- ISBN: 9781982147501
- Read it blind (cover and title hidden): https://uncovered.ink/?b=9781476783468&s=read-page
- Buy: https://bookshop.org/a/125786/9781982147501
- Borrow: https://search.worldcat.org/search?q=9781982147501

## The opening

Scott Coleman turned away from the color monitor and glanced right. The panel van seemed almost like a toy by American standards, barely large enough to fit him and his surveillance gear in the back. Even tighter was the front seat, where Joe Maslick’s 220-pound frame was wedged behind the wheel. Raindrops were collecting on the windshield, blurring ancient row houses and a street narrow enough that passing required having two wheels on the sidewalk.

After days on the move in a city where good driving etiquette meant clipping fewer than three people a week, they’d resigned themselves to the impossibility of staying with a pedestrian target. Since then, they’d been bouncing from illegal parking space to illegal parking space trying to maximize their surveillance camera’s signal strength. No small feat in a city constructed almost entirely of stone.

“How you doing up there, Joe?”

“Fine.”

It was a lie, of course. But it was the expected lie.

In fact, the former Delta soldier had recently been shot in a Kabul ambush that had left a hell of a lot of Afghan cops dead, put Mitch Rapp way too close to an explosion of his own making, and forced an agonizing alliance with Louis Gould, the assassin who had killed Rapp’s family.

Maslick should have been at home rehabbing his shoulder but he’d insisted on being included on this op. Bringing him along had been a tough call. The doctors were concerned about permanent nerve damage, but sometimes it was better to get back in the saddle as soon as possible. Before doubt could creep in.

“Glad to hear you’re having such a good time. Right now our feed looks solid, moving north on a pretty open street. We should be able to stay here for a little while, but be ready to move.”

“Right.”

Maslick’s one-word answers had nothing to do with what must have been the considerable pain in his arm. He’d always resisted stringing more than two or three together unless it was absolutely necessary.

Coleman turned his attention back to the screen secured to the side of the van. The image rocked wildly as the purse the camera was hidden in swung from its owner’s hand. Sky. A feral cat lounging on a dumpster. Thick ankles overflowing a pair of sensible shoes.

The legs and Hush Puppies belonged to Bebe Kincaid, a plump, gray-haired woman who was the most unlikely employee of his company, SEAL Demolition and Salvage. She’d spent her adult life as an FBI surveillance expert based on two considerable natural gifts.

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