The next pulse-pounding Michael Gannon thriller by the #1 New York Times bestselling coauthor of James Patterson’s Michael Bennett series.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Michael Ledwidge’s Closing Time, which releases on December 2nd 2025.
It’s springtime in Key West, and Michael Gannon is busy supporting his son’s dreams of making it in minor league baseball. But a late-night encounter with a seemingly harmless Australian at a dive bar turns deadly when Gannon unwittingly becomes the prime suspect in a convenience store shoot-out.
Seeking the mysterious Australian to clear his name, Gannon uncovers a deadly conspiracy involving a global banker on the run from a shadow paramilitary force that will go to any lengths to stop him.
From the Florida Keys to Wall Street, Gannon’s quest for answers takes him deep into the middle of a deadly game of power where one wrong move could be his last.
Closing Time is Michael Gannon’s most pulse-pounding and audacious adventure yet.
Somewhere over the North Irish Sea near the coast of Galway, there was a slight flash between two clouds as the Airbus ACJ319neo Infinito reached its cruising altitude of forty thousand feet.
Birch, in one of its mid-cabin seats, looked around at the incredible surroundings, the bird’s-eye maple paneling, the butter-soft leather seats.
The Jerries had cocked it up in Germany, so Birch had been called back into service.
Lucky, lucky me, Birch thought, looking around at the Criterion Group’s boss-level aircraft that had picked him up from Thailand. That it was to be his for the remainder of the mission was still hard to wrap his mind around.
If ever there was a reason to milk a job, Birch thought smiling, spinning the captain’s chair toward the puffy-cloud-filled porthole.
Birch had been from a poor working-class family in London. If they had stood out at all in their neighborhood, it was because his useless drunk of an old man had been a waiter at some of London’s great restaurants like The Ivy and Le Caprice.
The only thing the old bastard had ever done for him was get him his first job at fourteen at The Grill. He’d only been scrubbing pots, but how his eyes went wide as he caught glimpses of the high life out through the swinging doors of that grimy back kitchen.
What luxury, what privilege he had seen! The Savile Row–bespoke men, the long-legged, beautiful women draped in silk and jewels. Princess Margaret herself had come in one night, and the American movie star Robert De Niro.
There he was like a starved, whipped dog salivating as the master carved off slices of rare roast beef that he could smell but never, ever taste.
Until now, Birch thought, brushing the baby-soft leather with the back of his hand.
He was finally getting his taste now, wasn’t he? Birch thought. And he was going to savor every morsel.
What was perhaps the most remarkable thing about the aircraft, he thought, was the elaborate aquarium in the stateroom behind him. It was a small swimming pool of a saltwater tank with reefs and sea horses and dozens of fish. It was hard to say how many gallons it was, except that it was insanely heavy, which in terms of flying was so incredibly, fuel-burningly expensive.
Just the idea of a school of fish in an aquarium flying the friendly skies was quite the puzzler. What was this? Noah’s ark?
He was still looking back at the tank when Gabriella, the attractive flight attendant, arrived and placed a lacquer tray before him. The tray was lined with a bamboo mat, and on the mat arranged perfectly were six pieces of the most delicious-looking Edomae sushi Birch had ever laid eyes on in his life.
“Dassai 23?” she said, offering the black-and-blue sake bottle she lifted from the cart.
Birch smiled at the attendant, at the hundred-quid-a-bottle sake.
“I’d love some,” Birch said smiling.
He just had a fruity floral sip of it and was lifting some fresh New Zealand salmon to his mouth when his phone beside the tray rang.
“Hello, Control,” he said merrily, placing the chopsticks beside the pickled ginger.
“He’s on flight 564 to Atlanta like you said.”
“Where does the computer say he is bound for? Key West?”
“Right again,” Control said. “Sixty-three percent probability for Key West.”
Criterion Group and their famous AI computer, Birch thought, rolling his eyes.
It seemed quite useless to him to keep it in the loop all the time when you hired professionals like himself. But the Criterion Group people seemed to worship the thing like a god, so Whatevs, as the kids said.
He sipped some more of the delicate and fragrant rice wine.
When in Rome, Birch thought.
He knew Hayden was heading for Key West because Northdale Standard used to have a bank branch there. Hayden would feel safe there. He had need to feel safe after the botched snatch job the Germans had pulled. They cocked it up, all right. Hayden now knew he was a wanted man, so he would be running for his life.
“He’s looking for help,” Birch said, looking at his notes. “Has the computer come up with any names and addresses of former employees yet?”
“I’ll check,” Control said, and there was a pause. “Nothing yet.”
Do you check with the computer to see if you have to take a piss? He thought.
Instead, he said, “Who is in charge of Key West on our side? An American team out of Miami?”
“Yes, a lobo squad.”
Lobo squad. Interesting, Birch thought. The CIA’s blackest of black baggers. The poor bastard. He almost felt sorry for Hayden.
“They’re on their way to the airport now,” Control said.
“They’ll be there a half hour after his plane lands. But they also said they have eyes inside the airport. You are to head to Naval Air Station Key West. And as usual, if it comes up, you of course will say you work for MI6. I will send your American CIA contacts on the ground when I get them.”
“Splendid. Be in touch,” Birch said and hung up.
Key West, he thought, remembering his file. He imagined Hayden out on the street, scurrying like a mouse looking for a familiar hole.
But Hayden was no mouse, was he? he thought as he recalled the blood-splattered photo of the two Germans in the hotel room in Duren. The shorter one’s neck snapped, the head staring backward like an owl.
Hayden certainly wasn’t your typical banker. He had Special Forces training from his time in Australia’s Special Air Services Regiment. Plus some intel work. The hardcore kind. There was even some wet work in his file.
Birch thought about the way Hayden had made the German operative text that all was well. How it had bought him several hours more than if he had just run. Also, the neat way he had tied him up, leaving him alive after shooting him cleanly through the kneecaps.
They were dealing with a pretty dangerous, clever, and meticulous bastard, weren’t they?
That was okay, Birch thought as he lifted the chopsticks and dug in.
As it turned out, he was one himself.
“More sake, sir?” the attendant said with a warm smile as
she arrived at his seat.
“No, Gabriella. But if you would be a love and please tell the captain that plans have changed. Instead of New York, we are to head to Naval Air Station Key West.”
Excerpted from Closing Time by Michael Ledwidge. © 2025 by Michael Ledwidge, used with permission from Hanover Square Press, an imprint of HarperCollins.
