Authors: John M. Green
A note from the publisher
If you enjoy riveting stories with engaging characters and strong writing as I do, you’ll love
Born to Run.
It’s an edge-of-your-seat political thriller,
action packed with terrorism… treason… and murder. It follows a nation’s desire for Isabel Diaz to be the first Hispanic and female president… but can she win? And should
she? I couldn’t put it down…
Born to Run
is a gripping read.
Born to Run
is John’s second novel.
Did you know that big-name authors, John Grisham and J.K. Rowling, were rejected many times by publishers? John Green’s own experience of this was one of the many factors
and our aim to become
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It’s already helping 100,000 pre-schoolers across Australia develop a love of
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Born to Run.
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First published in 2011 by Pantera Press Pty Limited
Text Copyright © John M. Green, 2011
John M. Green has asserted his moral rights to be identified as the author of this work.
Design and Typography Copyright © Pantera Press Pty Limited, 2011
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To my three amigos
“When I was a boy I was told that anybody could become president. I’m beginning to believe it.”
— Clarence Darrow, defence attorney and writer (1857–1938)
“Can a woman be president of the United States?
At present the answer is emphatically ‘No’.”
— Eleanor Roosevelt, “Women in Politics”
(Good Housekeeping, 1940)
“Yes, absolutely. I think, you know, because why not?”
— Arnold Schwarzenegger on allowing foreign-born Americans to run for president (60 Minutes, 2004)
“The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots & tyrants.”
— Thomas Jefferson (1787)
THE FINISH LINE…
OR ONCE, HILLARY Clinton and Sarah Palin are in synch, privately spitting their venom at the cloying barrage of TV images that show a beaming
Isabel Diaz sprinkling her pixie dust. Even their own supporters, in a distressing groundswell these two political foes once craved for themselves, are leaping to their feet across the country,
punching the air and chanting “Bel… Bel… Isa-bel.”
As the race to win the White House hurtles into its final straight, candidate Isabel Diaz streaks lengths ahead. “She’s not only smart, personable and visionary, she’s got an
impressive record of accomplishment,”
The New York Times
. “The nation, and the world, will be well-served if this woman occupies the Oval Office.”
Diaz’s well-chronicled slog to success is tunnelling her deep into the nation’s psyche, making it very tough for her opponents. It’s hardly wise politics to slam a minority
woman who crawled out of a rank pit of poverty, alcohol and violence to emerge as the big-hearted owner of an admired family restaurant chain, and an active philanthropist to boot. What little mud
her rivals have been able to dig up and toss at her isn’t sticking.
It’s true that some see her as too good to be true, but for most, in a nation deflated after so many pumped up promises of change, Isabel Diaz offers a credible breath of fresh air.
On policy, not only has she won over the Democratic heartland for her stance on moral issues, offers of relief for the middle class, and her doable list of programs of leg-ups for the underdog,
but the Tea Party also loves her for promising low taxes, small government and family values. Her running mate, the more traditionally conservative Hank Clemens who hails from North Carolina, helps
her shore up the religious right.
The media are chorusing that Isabel Diaz is a shoo-in, and that her rival Robert (Bobby) J. Foster is outfoxed and outpaced.
Buoyed for weeks with a 70-percent approval rating—higher than the rapture for Barack Obama at his peak—the presidency is within Isabel’s grasp.
And deep behind the scenes, a shadowy circle of zealots is conspiring to guarantee just that.
AX MASON HAD heard of Isabel Diaz. Who
know about the famous Burger Queen? But the twenty-five-year-old Australian had no clue
he was about to sacrifice his life for her.
Bent over tying his laces, his shoe on his skateboard and his fringe flopped over his glasses, he heard the elevator ping and, at 5 AM, he thought it had to be the night guard doing his final
rounds. Jax looked up, expecting that at any second the doors would slide open on the old guy’s barrel stomach and customary can of Pepsi Max.