From the Publisher

A Fallen Hero. His Missing Daughter. 48 Hours to Save Her Life-And The Clock is Ticking... A former prosecutor on the rise, Tom Redmon is today a low-rent attorney mired in unwinnable cases and an alcoholic haze. No one believes in him except his daughter, Jane, a Washington Post reporter, and his one friend, reformed biker and P.I. Mike Tubbs. Then suddenly Redmon gets the ultimate wake-up call: his daughter is gone-kidnapped. Jumping into his old pickup with Tubbs, Redmon burns rubber on a frantic search that will take him into the labyrinth that is Washington...and dangerously close to the line that separates right from wrong. There's no time for mistakes: as an ex-cop, he knows that victims have only two days to be rescued before they're found dead.

Publishers Weekly

More often than not, a person missing as a result of foul play will be killed if not rescued in the first 48 hours after the abduction. This actuarial statistic is taken as gospel by struggling lawyer Tom Redmond in Green's sloppy third thriller (after The Fifth Angel) when Redmond's Washington Post reporter daughter, Jane, disappears. Before she vanished, Jane was investigating the purported sexual misconduct of powerful Senator Gleason, who years ago destroyed her father's career as a district attorney. Now Tom believes the senator has hired a former CIA assassin to do away with Jane. Enlisting the help of former biker Mike Tubbs, Tom sets off on a 48-hour rampage of criminal trespass, kidnapping, assault, grand theft, burglary, torture and murder, racing up and down the east coast with the duct tape-wrapped senator in tow. Meanwhile, Jane makes her own escape, running half-naked around a Hudson River island, fighting snakes and psychopaths. Just as she thinks all is lost, she meets up with Mark Allen, a handsome mystery man who was one of her key sources on the Gleason story. Mark seems to be on her side-but who is he, really? After the 48 hours elapse, the action extends to the evil plan of a Ukrainian terrorist who talks like Speedy Gonzalez, and Jane's vigilantes commit a few more felonies to save the day. Improbabilities vie for attention with contrivances, and the novel is riddled with careless writing ("Mike began typing again, his stubby fingers running the keys like a prodigy"), silly dialogue (" `This is GD big' ") and irrelevant detail ("Tom paid at the Home Depot with cash"). As things wind down to a predictable ending, Redmond's 48 hours may seem interminable. Agent, Esther Newberg. Major ad/promo. (Feb. 2) Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.

Library Journal

When his daughter disappears before she can rat on an influential senator, cop-turned-lawyer Tom Redmond packs for Washington. Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

An offbeat pair of investigators scrambles to find a kidnapped Washington Post reporter, in that proverbial race against the clock. The title refers to a law-enforcement truism that if a hostage isn't found within 48 hours, there's little chance of finding him or her alive. The hostage here is ambitious young Post journalist Jane Redmond, who smells a Pulitzer in the complicated web of corruption emanating from jaded powerbroker Michael Gleason, a veteran senator. Not coincidentally, it was Preston who ruined the career of Jane's father Tom a generation ago. Tom, in his salad days a renowned prosecutor, now drinks a lot more than he should and scrapes together a living with low-paying clients. His sidekick, both personally and professionally, is investigator Mike Tubbs, who weighs in near the 300-pound mark. (Much of their routine revolves around diners and saloons.) Abducted while jogging in Potomac Park during a rainstorm, Jane is taken to a remote cabin in the woods. The story counterpoints, in quick cuts, her efforts to escape with the far blunter efforts of Tom and Mike to find her. News of his daughter's abduction ironically gives over-the-hill Tom a renewed energy and sense of purpose. With audacity and more than a little sadistic pleasure, Tom and Mike kidnap Gleason and torture him until he puts them on the trail of the kidnappers. While resourceful Jane tries a number of escape strategies, her would-be rescuers cut a reckless swath through Washington's power corridors. Caught in the middle is Jane's Deep Throat, an Armani-suited operator named Mark Allen. Will he do the right thing or cover his own . . . financial interests? Suspense 101 from the prolific Green (The Fifth Angel,Feb. 2003, etc.): slight, swift, and moderately involving. Much of its success with readers will rest on affinity for the woebegone duo of Tom and Mike, who could use more dimension. Agent: Esther Newberg/ICM

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THE FIRST 48

Warner Books

Chapter One

In his office, the paneling of one wall sagged under the weight of diplomas. A 1996 calendar of a German castle high on a mountaintop hung by a pushpin. In a wood frame was a cheap print of van Gogh's View of Montmartre with Windmills. Tom loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. Size nineteen. If he could have, he'd have taken off his coat.

The couple was young. Their little girl sat between them, her eyes hollow, her head bald and white. When she smiled, her teeth shone gray, with great gaps between them. The father worked at the power plant, stoking coal. The mother stayed at home. There were four other kids too. None of them were sick. Yet.

Tom slapped his hand on the desk and said, "We'll sue them." "Who?" the father asked.

"Everyone," Tom said, standing. "GE. The State of New York. The City of Ithaca. The Power Authority. The EPA and the DEC."

"Everyone?" "I mean it," Tom said. "I've done it before. I just sued the New York State Dormitory Authority and won.

"These big corporations. These colossal government entities. They need to be taken down, and that's what I do, Mr. Helmer.

Don't you worry, Mrs. Helmer. They'll pay." "I just want her to be okay," she said through the napkin. "We all do," Tom said.

He patted the little girl on the shoulder. She smiled up at him.

"I'll have the papers ready for you to sign by the beginning of next week," Tom said. "Say Tuesday. How's ten?" He opened the door and Sarah, his secretary, looked up from her romance novel. She was sixty. Yellow hair. Cat glasses and chewing gum.

"Tuesday at ten for the Helmers, Sarah," he said. "We'll start on the papers first thing tomorrow morning."

He showed them out and turned to Sarah. She sat staring blankly at him.

"The property management company called again," she said.

"That's the problem," he said, smiling. "When one man owned this building, a favor here and there wasn't forgotten. Now it's a nameless, faceless LLP that you can't appease and you can't kill."

"We are two months late." "Let them evict me," he said. He winked and grinned and took off his blazer and lost the tie. "Take the rest of the day, Sarah. Get some sun."

"You've got Mr. Potter scheduled for three-thirty." "Cancel it."

"Tom, they will evict you." "Cancel it. This Helmer case could be the big one." "We've had a lot of big ones, Tom," she said. "They never pay. The small stuff is what pays."

"We got the janitor." "That's one. They settled because their witness died, remember? Mr. Potter will pay a retainer up front. I told him that on the phone and he agreed."

"Sarah," he said. "I know you care, and I appreciate that. But I'm sick and tired of DUIs and shoplifters and aggravated assaults. I'm tired of drug dealers, pickpockets, drunks, crack-heads, motorcycle gangs, and dregs. These are the people I used to put in jail."

"You're a defense lawyer, Tom. You need money to file that suit. You need an index number. You need an investigator," she said. She was standing now, with her hands on her thick hips. "You already owe Mike Tubbs six thousand dollars." "He sent a bill?"

"Of course not," she said, pressing her lips tight. Tom flattened the tennis ball and rubbed his chin.

"Then reschedule Potter for Thursday and go get some sun," he said. "It's beautiful out there. And do me a favor, will you? Dial up Mike Tubbs and tell him I'll meet him at Friendly's at three-thirty, sharp."

"Of course," Sarah said.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from THE FIRST 48 by Tim Green Copyright © 2004 by Tim Green. Excerpted by permission.
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