"Farther along was a minor monument to sudden death, a shooting gallery that bore little resemblance to the innocent minimum-caliber variety found in state fairs and rural carnivals." Chapter 1, pp 3, 4

"Marie looked at her husband, his suddenly passive face outlined in the dim wash of the dashboard lights. What she saw frightened her far more than the spectre of the Jackal. She was not looking at David Webb the soft-spoken scholar. She was staring at a man they both though had disappeared from their lives forever." Chapter 1, p 8

"'Medusa,' whispered Steven DeSole. "It's all buried. They were animals, killing wantonly without reason or authorization and stealing millions. Savages."'

Chapter 3, p 19

"It never failed, mused Culver. A little soft oil from the magnolia worked a hell of a lot better than the bark of a gnarled oak." Chapter 4, p 46

"'Chameleon?. . .Six people could come face to face...