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Enemy at the Gates

Kyle Mills
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. EPILOGUE
  55. More from the Authors
  56. ABOUT THE AUTHORS
  57. Novels by Vince Flynn

Cover

Cover: Enemy at the Gates, by Vince Flynn and Kyle Mills

Enemy at the Gates

A new Mitch Rapp novel by Kyle Mills

From the author of American Assassin

Vince Flynn

The number one New York Times Bestseller

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Title Page

Enemy at the Gates, by Vince Flynn and Kyle Mills, UK Adult

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It’s hard to believe that this is my seventh contribution to the Rapp-verse. The older I get, the faster time seems to flow.

What has stayed consistent, though, is the amazing team that makes the continuation of Vince’s legacy possible. I’ve said so much about them that I’ve decided (for the sake of glorious variety) to just create a simple list in utterly random order.

My undying gratitude to Emily Bestler, Kim Mills, Sloan Harris, Lara Jones, Celia Taylor Mobley, David Brown, Ryan Steck, Elaine Mills, Rod Gregg, and Simon Lipskar.

You make it possible and, more important, fun.

PROLOGUE

SOUTHWESTERN UGANDA

LUCKY.

Many years ago, Dr. David Chism had pledged to never take his good fortune for granted. That at least once per day, he would give thanks to whatever cosmic force had taken him under its wing.

He rolled down the window of his embarrassingly luxurious Toyota Land Cruiser, stuck his hand out into the seventy-three-degree air, and gave the world a thumbs-up. There was no reaction from the emerald mountains, terraced farmland, or red dirt road, but they knew. They knew that he understood the gifts he’d been given.

Based on his bland suburban upbringing, the fact that he was even in this place was a minor miracle. His parents were both accountants and had absolutely loved everything about that profession and lifestyle. The interminable columns of numbers and teetering tax forms. The complex machinations of the upper middle class. Their elaborate strategies for not only keeping up with the Joneses, but one day becoming the Joneses.

Despite all that, they’d been—and still were—solid, conventional parents. If only he’d been a solid, conventional child, everything would have gone smoothly.