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Hurricane Hunters      Adventure loving seventeen-year-old Craig Hancock can't wait to fly with NOAA into the eye of a hurricane. Excited, he boards the plane and heads to Miami and Halsey Naval Air Station. He has no idea he is stepping into a mystery that threatens not only the nation's security but his life. Pre-release praise for Hurricane Hunters      HURRICANE HUNTERS provides adventure many times over.      Craig Hancock, 17 years old, sail boards, is trained in martial arts, is a licensed pilot, and can operate heavy machinery at the direction of his engineer father who travels the world freelance trouble shooting for a variety of customers. Craig gains the opportunity to fly into the eye of a hurricane with NOAA (The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) group while his father is busy repairing a sinkhole that has developed in the runway at Halsey Naval Air Station.      Craig soon finds himself in the middle of a mystery with several possible suspects and too few answers. The new satellite project seems to be jinxed from the start. Computer diagrams and manuals keep disappearing. Sabotage seems to be their daily nemesis. National security, the survival of NOAA, and Craig's life all come under attack in this well written and very descriptive novel. The story is every bit as exciting as the flight that Craig takes through the eyewall of Hurricane Pepe.      Ms. Miller is currently working on the second installment in the Craig Hancock series and, after reading Hurricane Hunters I look forward to his next adventure. This promises to be a series worthy of the devoted attention of young readers hungry for adventure. Review by MARGE ANNA CONRAD May 2005 Sample Scene from Hurricane Hunters      Craig had been on bumpy flights, but he'd never seen anything as wild as this. As they moved closer to the hurricane, the turbulence increased. The wind howled around the plane as if trying to rip the wings off.      He grabbed his seat when the plane abruptly dropped ten or twelve feet - braced when it jolted to the left, then the right.      A few minutes later, the plane hit the vortex, the brooding eyewall, and bucked violently. Craig was in the eye of the storm.      Suddenly, a downdraft, combined with the change in barometric pressure rocked the plane. It plunged, dropping 3,000 feet in thirty seconds.      Craig gulped. It was like dropping off the top of a roller-coaster, only a hundred times worse.      The co-pilot grabbed a handful of throttle. Captain Jennings clutched the yoke, trying to control the plane's bank and pitch as it plummeted toward the raging ocean below.      Craig's seat belt was the only thing that kept him from slamming into the ce4iling. His feet were above his head, his stomach in his throat when, out of the corner of his eye he saw Lt. Burton's calculator floating in mid-air.      As Lt. Burton snatched the calculator, Craig grabbed the seat and pulled his legs down. Then the plane leveled off. The turbulence was gone, the wind in the eye of the storm calm.      Craig looked at the dark, churning funnel of angry clouds, held back as if by an invisible wall.      The crew began talking again. "Another five left, please," the flight director said. "Keep it there. Okay, roll out. Bring me left a couple. Right two. Keep coming right, keep coming. Okay, let's mark it here."      Craig turned as Ensign Parker pushed a button. The sonde cylinder dropped from the plane with a metallic "Whang." A chute opened and the cylinder floated toward the ocean below.      Lt. Burton turned and adjusted dials on the receiver behind him. "Okay, let's make another pass - see what we've got."      Lt. Burton ran a series of tests, and nodded. "The sonde is relaying the storm data to the hurricane center."      "Our job's over," the flight director said after a couple more passes. "Let's head for home"      "Roger," Captain Jennings said.      This time, Craig knew what to expect. When they hit the eyewall, a strong gust of wind rocked the plane. One of the engines sputtered - caught, sputtered again then died.      "We've lost the number 3 engine," Captain Jennings said. "Looks like we'll have to crab our way between Cuba and Haiti."      Craig knew what "crabbing" meant. Instead of flying in a straight line, you flew sideways, aiming toward a spot between ten and eleven o'clock. With three engines still running, there should be no problem.      He leaned back and relaxed. They'd been flying thirty or forty-five minutes when the navigator's frantic voice suddenly shouted. "Bank right! Bank right! We've drifted too far to the left. We're in Cuban airspace."      Just then, a Mig rose out of the clouds, followed by a second one. The soviet-made Cuban Migs flew along side - one on the right, one on the left.      Craig gulped and sat up straight. The Mig on his side of the plane had his thumb on the trigger.