Airline Captain Frank Braden and his wife Nicole are suddenly stalked by professional assassins who have a deadline to make their deaths look like an accident or a suicide. And the couple doesn’t know why they are being targeted. They don’t realize that they stand in the way of a deadly conspiracy. Little by little they are pulled into a dangerous web of intrigue by a murderous criminal network that deceptively offers the pilot his wife’s life if he will concede to their demands. This is a thriller that rocks the highest levels of Washington.
Dangerous Past is a story of a man who must choose between doing what ought to be done or keeping his family alive by allowing a murderous and powerful VIP to escape his past.
About the Author:
A. F. Ebbers, a journalism graduate of Ohio University was a reporter/writer for major newspapers, ad agencies, and in public relations for Cessna Aircraft Company. He also graduated from Army Flight School and flew for the Ohio and Kansas Army National Guards. Later he was called to active duty and served two flying tours in Vietnam. After retirement from the military, he flew for corporations and for regional airlines. A dual rated ATP pilot, he has written for numerous national magazines, Sunday supplements and trade and travel magazines and has written screenplays and short stories. Today he lives with his wife in the Austin, Texas area and, when not writing, enjoys tennis, golf, flying and piano. Dangerous Past is his debut novel.
It was nine at night, when the FBI agent watching Frank’s house decided to drive down the road to get a cup of coffee. He figured it would take no longer than twenty minutes. Inside the house Nicole made some coffee and gave a cup to Frank to take outside to give to the agent.
Frank went out the front door and looked for the agent’s car. He peered into the darkness and started to cross the street when he heard a voice from the side of the yard.
“I’m back here.”
Frank turned around and walked into the dark beside his house.
“Over here.”
Frank thought the voice now came from the back yard and he continued toward the rear of the house. When he got to the rear yard, Frank still couldn’t see the agent. “Hey, where in the devil are you? I got some hot coffee.”
“I think I saw someone run into the foliage near the lake. You better go back inside where it’s safe while I have a look around.”
“No, I’ll help you search. Wait a minute.” Frank jogged towards the voice that seemed to be closer to the lake now.
Standing in the shadows, John smiled. For whatever reason, whether his victim was a macho know-it-all type or just naive of the danger, many of the men he had killed had swallowed that bait. He also figured from the fax sheet he had received, that the Austin police had taken Frank’s .38-caliber revolver. Under the new waiting law, John knew it was impossible for Frank to get another weapon so soon unless his intended victim wasn’t a law-biding citizen. And John was counting on Frank to be a law-abiding sort.
As Frank neared Town Lake, he wished he had brought a flashlight. He couldn’t see the agent at all. So he went toward the shrubbery where he last heard the voice. “Hey, fellow, where are you?” Frank said. He felt foolish that he didn’t know the agent’s name.
“Here, right behind you.”
The voice startled Frank and he whirled around to face a well-built man wearing all black as though he was on a Special Forces recon night team. I’m in trouble, Frank thought, as he looked down the silencer barrel of a 9mm pistol. God, this guy is really good. “Did you kill the agent that was watching me?”
“I wasn’t paid to do that. Now, Frankie boy, let’s me and you take a walk to the shoreline.”
Today my guest is Giacomo Giammatteo, I recently read and reviewed his book, Murder Takes Time, and was given the opportunity to ask him some questions:
Murder Takes Time, spans quite a chunk of time in terms of the main characters in the book. Was it your intention to do this, as this is the first book in a series, or was it the way you’d always intended to tell the story?
I don’t want to give out too many details for those who haven’t read it yet, but let’s say that because of the way the story unfolds and the actions of a particular character, this story presented a huge problem in determining how to tell it. After a lot of racking my brain—and a few glasses of wine—I determined that the only way to tell it was the way that I did.
What’s funny is that early in the process, when I was trying to go the traditional route of publishing, I had two agents interested but they insisted I tell the story in a linear fashion. I knew that wouldn’t work, so I opted to do it myself.
I think to sum it up best—I was forced to do the story this way because I had to draw out certain reader emotions that otherwise would have left the ending unsatisfactory.
Personal values and relationships are a key part of the story, were you particularly keen to use these to help tell the tale or did they evolve as you wrote?
Those personal values and relationships aren’t just a tool or a plot device to tell the story, they are the story.
I didn’t set out to write a mystery book. I was actually writing fantasy books. My kids kept pestering me to write a book that would use some of the stories about my life growing up. I tried to determine what kind of story that would be and ultimately decided it had to be wrapped into a mystery story of some kind.
I played the old “what if” game. What if we (my friends and I) didn’t separate when we were young. What if we stayed together as friends and let life interfere?
There are lots of nicknames for the characters. How did you come up with them, and are any of them based on people you know?
My whole family is laughing about this one. Because if you knew our family, or for that matter almost any large Italian family from one of the big Northeast cities, you’d know that nicknames were a fact of life. Nobody got called by their proper name. Everybody had to “earn” their name, just like in the book.
As far as the names being based on people I know. I tried to steer clear of real people in most cases, but some I didn’t. The character named “Doggs” was my older brother, down to the “colorful” language he used. Doggs was the only person I knew who could transform the “f” word into every part of speech. But just like the characters in the book, we never used that word around women. A lot different than it is nowadays. I’ve been married to my wife for 43 years and she still doesn’t hear that from me.
The one thing that was constant though, was the way the names were earned. That I kept true. A person’s nickname is what defined them, not their given name.
Who lives, who dies. Did you decide before you started to write or did you just see what happened?
I usually know all of the key points of the book before I start writing. I always know the ending, and I normally know things like who’s going to die. I did have one huge problem though, and that was how to kill one particular person. Since you read the book you know who I’m talking about. I ended up writing that scene three different ways and finally opted to keep it the way I wrote it the very first time, which is the way you see it now.
This is book one in the series. How many do you think there will be in total, and do you have any teasers for us in terms of the later books?
I know exactly how many will be in the series—six. One for each of the “rules of murder” listed in the book. The second one, Murder Has Consequences, will be out later this year. Murder Takes Patience is the third book, and it will be out next year.
In the meantime, I’ve got two other series that I’m working on; in fact, the next book that comes out, A Bullet For Carlos, is the first in the Blood Flows South Series. That features a female protag, which made for quite a change in how I wrote it. It will be out in September or possibly October. I’ll have the first book in the Redemption Series out next Spring. Old Wounds, it’s called, and it will feature yet a third protag.
SYNOPSIS:
A string of brutal murders has bodies piling up in Brooklyn, and Detective Frankie Donovan knows what is going on. Clues left at the crime scenes point to someone from the old neighborhood, and that isn’t good.
Frankie has taken two oaths in his life—the one he took to uphold the law when he became a cop, and the one he took with his two best friends when they were eight years old and inseparable.
Those relationships have forced Frankie to make many tough decisions, but now he faces the toughest one of his life; he has five murders to solve and one of those two friends is responsible. If Frankie lets him go, he breaks the oath he took as a cop and risks losing his job. But if he tries to bring him in, he breaks the oath he kept for twenty-five years—and risks losing his life.
In the neighborhood where Frankie Donovan grew up, you never broke an oath.
About the Author: I live in Texas now, but I grew up in Cleland Heights, a mixed ethnic neighborhood in Wilmington, Delaware that sat on the fringes of the Italian, Irish and Polish neighborhoods. The main characters of Murder Takes Time grew up in Cleland Heights and many of the scenes in the book were taken from real-life experiences.
Somehow I survived the transition to adulthood, but when my kids were young I left the Northeast and settled in Texas, where my wife suggested we get a few animals. I should have known better; we now have a full-blown animal sanctuary with rescues from all over. At last count we had 41 animals—12 dogs, a horse, a three-legged cat and 26 pigs.
Oh, and one crazy—and very large—wild boar, who takes walks with me every day and happens to also be my best buddy.
Since this is a bio some of you might wonder what I do. By day I am a headhunter, scouring the country for top talent to fill jobs in the biotech and medical device industry. In the evening I help my wife tend the animals, and at night—late at night—I turn into a writer.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Rule Number One―Murder Takes TimeBrooklyn, New York—Current Day
He sipped the last of a shitty cup of coffee and stared across the street at Nino Tortella, the guy he was going to kill. Killing was an art, requiring finesse, planning, skill—and above all—patience. Patience had been the most difficult to learn. The killing came naturally. He cursed himself for that. Prayed to God every night for the strength to stop. But so far God hadn’t answered him, and there were still a few more people that needed killing.The waitress leaned forward to refill his cup, her cleavage a hint that more than coffee was being offered. “You want more?”He waved a hand—Nino was heading towards his car. “Just the check, please.”
From behind her ear she pulled a yellow pencil, tucked into a tight bun of red hair, then opened the receipt book clipped to the pocket of her apron. Cigarette smoke lingered on her breath, almost hidden by the gum she chewed.Spearmint, he thought, and smiled. It was his favorite, too.
He waited for her to leave, scanned the table and booth, plucked a few strands of hair from the torn cushion and a fingernail clipping from the windowsill. After putting them into a small plastic bag, he wiped everything with a napkin. The check was $4.28. He pulled a five and a one from his money clip and left them on the table. As he moved to the door he glanced out the window. Nino already left the lot, but it was Thursday, and on Thursdays Nino stopped for pizza.
He parked three blocks from Nino’s house, finding a spot where the snow wasn’t piled high at the curb. After pulling a black wool cap over his forehead, he put leather gloves on, raised the collar on his coat then grabbed his black sports bag. Favoring his left leg, he walked down the street, dropping his eyes if he passed someone. The last thing he wanted was a witness remembering his face.
He counted the joints in the concrete as he walked. Numbers forced him to think logically, kept his mind off what he had to do. He didn’t want to kill Nino. He had to. It seemed as if all of his life he was doing things he didn’t want to do. He shook his head, focused on the numbers again.
When he drew near the house, he cast a quick glance to ensure the neighbors’ cars weren’t there. The door took less than thirty seconds to open. He kept his hat and gloves on, walked into the kitchen, and set his bag on the counter. He removed a pair of tongs and a shot glass, and set them on the coffee table.
A glance around the room had him straightening pictures and moving dirty dishes to the sink. A picture of an older woman stared at him from a shelf above an end table. Might be his mother, he thought, and gently set it face down. Back to the kitchen. He opened the top of the black bag and removed two smaller bags. He set one in the fridge and took the other with him.
The contents of the second bag—hair and other items—he spread throughout the living room. The crime scene unit would get a kick out of that. He did one final check, removed a baseball bat from the bag, then sat on the couch behind the door. The bat lay on the cushion beside him. While he stretched his legs and leaned back, he thought about Nino. It would be easy to just shoot him, but that wouldn’t be fair. Renzo suffered for what he did; Nino should too. He remembered Mamma Rosa’s warnings, that the things people did would come back to haunt them. Nino would pay the price now.
A car pulled into the driveway. He sat up straight and gripped the bat.
#
Nino had a smile on his face and a bounce in his step. It was only Thursday and already he’d sold more cars than he needed for the month. Maybe I’ll buy Anna that coat she’s been wanting. Nino’s stomach rumbled, but he had a pepperoni pizza in his hand and a bottle of Chianti tucked into his coat pocket. He opened the door, slipped the keys into his pocket, and kicked the door shut with his foot.
There was a black sports bag on the kitchen table. Wasn’t there before, Nino thought. A shiver ran down his spine. He felt a presence in the house. Before he could turn, something slammed into his back. His right kidney exploded with pain.
“Goddamn.” Nino dropped the pizza, stumbled, and fell to the floor. His right side felt on fire. As his left shoulder collided with the hardwood floor, a bat hit him just above the wrist. The snap of bones sounded just before the surge of pain.
“Fuck.” He rolled to the side and reached for his gun.
The bat swung again.
Nino’s ribs cracked like kindling. Something sharp jabbed deep inside him. His mouth filled with a warm coppery taste. Nino recognized the man who stood above him. “Anything you want,” he said.
“Just kill me quick.”
#
The bat struck Nino’s knee, the crunch of bones drowned by his screams. The man stared at Nino. Let him cry. “I got Renzo last month. You hear about that?”
Nino nodded.
He tapped Nino’s pocket with his foot, felt a gun. “If you reach for the gun, I’ll hit you again.”
Another nod.
He knelt next to Nino, took the shot glass from the coffee table. “Open your mouth.”
Nino opened his eyes wide and shook his head.
The man grabbed the tongs, shoved one end into the side of Nino’s mouth, and squeezed the handles, opening the tongs wide. When he had Nino’s mouth pried open enough, he shoved the shot glass in. It was a small shot glass, but to Nino it must have seemed big enough to hold a gallon. Nino tried screaming, but couldn’t. Couldn’t talk either, with the glass in there. Nino’s head bobbed, and he squirmed. Nothing but grunts came out—fear-tinged mumbles coated with blood.
The man stood, glared at Nino. Gripped the bat with both hands. “You shouldn’t have done it.”
A dark stain spread on the front of Nino’s pants. The stench of excrement filled the room. He stared at Nino, raised the bat over his head, and swung. Nino’s lips burst open, splitting apart from both sides. Teeth shattered, some flying out, others embedding into the flesh of his cheeks. The shot glass exploded. Glass dug deep gouges into his tongue, severing the front of it. Shards of glass pierced his lips and tunneled into his throat.
He stared at Nino’s face, the strips of torn flesh covered in blood. He gulped. Almost stopped. But then he thought about what Nino had done, and swung the bat one more time. After that, Nino Tortella lay still.
He returned to the kitchen and took a small box from the bag on the counter then went back to the living room. Inside the box were more hairs, blood, skin, and other evidence. He spread the items over and around the body then made a final trip to the kitchen to clean up. He undressed and placed his clothes into a large plastic bag, tied it, and set it inside the black bag. He took out a change of clothes, including shoes and plastic covers for them. Careful not to step in any blood, he went back to stand over the body.
Nino lay in his own piss, shit, and blood, eyes wide-open, mouth agape.
You should never have done it, Nino.
He blessed himself with the sign of the cross while he repeated the Trinitarian formula. “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” Then he shot Nino. Once in the head. Once in the heart. An eye for an eye. And then some.
Before stepping out the door, he removed the plastic covers for his shoes, placed them into the bag, then closed and locked the door behind him. The wind had picked up since he arrived, bringing a cold bite with it. He turned his collar up and tucked his head into his chest.
Forgive me, Father, for what I have done.
He walked two more blocks, almost to the car, when an image of Donnie Amato appeared in his head.
And for what I still have to do.
My Review:
It’s a difficult task writing a story that transcends a significant period of time; generally I stay away from them by choice as I rarely find them done well. In Murder Takes Time, it is written incredibly well. Decades pass between the events of the story, with each passing chapter drawing the past and the present together. Giacomo Giammatteo has masterfully crafted this together in to a real page turner.
The plot is a relatively simple one, but so cleverly written that I had to keep reading to see how the characters would get drawn in together, and where things would end up. Sometimes I read books and you know exactly how things are going to end up, but here I was never quite sure. There was always sufficient doubt to leave me wanting to read on to find out whether or not I was right.
The characters were all good, the principals were very well described, and with the time shifting element to the story it was easy to see why they became who they were in the present day. My only criticism would be that I never really felt I knew what they actually looked like, they were larger than life in terms of their thoughts and actions, but a little grey to me in terms of a visual representation. Not too big a deal, and as this is a series I’m sure that some of that will come out with later books.
Finally this book came with a warning of some sex and violence, I’m not sure that it really deserved it. Yes there was both within its pages, but to be honest there’s worse out there, so don’t let that put you off.
I’d say take your time and savour Murder Takes Time, but I have my doubts that you’ll be able to, I think you’ll be turning the pages just like me, wanting to get to the end to find out what happens. A great read and recommended.
My Rating: 4 out of 5 Stars – I Really Liked It.
Giveaway:
I have an ebook copy of Murder Takes Time to giveaway, to be in with a chance to win this, please leave a comment below. The winner will be selected at random from all the entries a week from the date of posting of this review i.e. November 16th 2012.
Money Back Guarantee:
As a part of this tour the author is offering a money back guarantee on e-book copies of this book:
From the author: For anyone who buys a digital book during this tour and mentions the tour, I will offer a money-back guarantee, with these conditions:
1. Understand that this book contains several chapters with graphic violence.
2. Understand that it contains rough, street language
3. Understand that there are two chapters with sexual scenes
4. Understand that the story is told in multiple Point of Views.
If for any reason, other than those stated above, you do not like the book or aren’t happy with it, just write me an email and tell me why. Email me a proof of purchase receipt, and I’ll refund your money. This applies only to the digital books. I can’t do it with print editions.
Please note this offer is from the author directly, and not from the owner of this website.
I recently reviewed Sasha Plotkin’s Deceit by Vaughan Sherman, naturally I had a few questions, and I had the opportunity to put them to the author.
1 You developed a relationship between the characters of Chris and Sasha that acted as both plot and subplot and transcended time. Did you always intend for them to be the core of your story or did you have other ideas that didn’t make the final draft?
The first driver for plot ideas came while I was posted in Sweden and learned about Gammelsvenskby (Old Swedish Town). I was taking a correspondence course for fiction writing, and thought what a great idea it would be to include a Russian character who is actually an ethnic Swede from Gammelsvenskby. This was an idea that cooked many, many years before I got serious about writing the novel, and it never changed.
2 Sasha Plotkin’s Deceit reminded me of some of the classics of spy and mystery fiction. What do you consider to be the classics of this genre, and did you take any inspiration from any of them in generating the ideas for your story?
My favorite author in the genre is John le Carré, whose novels include The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, Tinker Tailor, Soldier Spy, and The Little Drummer Girl. Unlike spy thriller writers like Robert Ludlum (the Bourne series), le Carré concentrates more on believable relationships and less on unbelievable car chases and shootouts.
Having said that, I have to add that another author of popular fiction, Tom Clancy, rises to believability with his Patriot Games, a novel that I think of as a classic in the genre he writes. Clancy seems to do a lot of research, which makes his plots believable. The Hunt for Red October and A Clear and Present Danger are two works that show his attention to real detail.
And finally, including mystery fiction, I like John Sandford’s Prey series for dialogue. In my CIA career I worked at times with law enforcement, including both active and former FBI agents. Sandford does a great job of capturing their lingo, a talent that adds greatly to his well-plotted and well-written novels.
I make an effort to use my own voice in writing fiction, but there is no doubt that my voice has been influenced by reading these classics.
3 Do you sail? Your descriptions of the Valhalla were accurate and sounded like the classic vessel you portrayed. Does she exist outside of the pages of your book?
Boating has been central to my life, beginning with my father teaching me to run an outboard skiff when I was barely in elementary school. I built a twelve-foot outboard skiff when I was fifteen years old, did a stint in the U.S. Navy between high school and university years, worked on Fish and Wildlife Service boats in southeast Alaska for four seasons, and have rarely been without a power boat for all my adult life.
I sailed one of the early catamarans when stationed in Formosa, have sailed small dinghies and sailing surfboards., but never a large sailboat like the Valhalla. I had a friend in Denmark who owned one of the world’s classic large sailing yachts, and heard many tales about his experiences. The Colin Archer boats are legendary in Scandinavia. While spending almost ten years there I heard much about them, and did research for descriptions in the novel.
4 What are your plans for your next book? What are you writing at the moment?
I am outlining another novel, using some of the same characters as in Sasha Plotkin’s Deceit (the twin, Matthew, along with his brother Mark and dad Chris), that will be on the theme of shipping in Puget Sound and the danger of a damaging explosion in Elliot Bay, where downtown Seattle is located.
It is 1972, and the Soviet Union has succeeded in planting a mole in the top echelons of the Central Intelligence Agency. Three years earlier, CIA officer Chris Holbeck took part in a failed mission to engineer the defection of a Soviet KGB officer who may know the mole’s identity.
His name is Sasha Plotkin. When they were both stationed in Stockholm, Sweden, in 1969, Chris and Sasha connected on a personal level. Chris was excited to find a KGB officer interested in changing sides. Then, on the day of the Soviet agent’s defection, Sasha was a no-show. Chris would soon discover the full extent ofSasha Plotkin’s deceit. Now Sasha has resurfaced and wishes to make another attempt to defect. To Chris’ dismay, he is the only CIA officer the man will consent to deal with, even though their once close relationshipis now riddled with mistrust. Chris’s wife, Lisa, has sworn to leave him if he abandons her and the family for one more perilous mission. His alluring young colleague Bisan seems determined to seduce him. Despite the risk to his life and his marriage, Chris answers the call of duty. If Chris succeeds in transporting Sasha to theUnited States–come hell or high water–will the Soviet agent reveal the true identity of the mole? One thing is certain: the lives of the two men will be forever changed.
Sasha Plotkin’s Deceit reads almost as a memoir of a real CIA agent’s life. It is much more than a spy novel. Amid the action and suspense, another drama emerges, based on the relationships between the three main characters—Chris, his wife Lisa, and KGB agent Sasha Plotkin—one of love, friendship, and betrayal. Chris’s love for his neglected wife Lisa. Chris’s burgeoning friendship with Sasha Plotkin, a fascinating, flawed man with a terrible past who gains the personal and professional trust of his American counterpart only to dash that trust to pieces. This betrayal is so much more complicated than it first appears. The ending is at once surprising, uplifting and devastating.
About the Author:
Vaughn Sherman’s career as a fisheries biologist was cut short when he was recruited by the Central Intelligence Agency. He served long assignments in the Far East and Europe before doing a short tour in Vietnam. After taking early retirement Vaughn joined in numerous community activities, most involving the governance of non-profit agencies and community colleges. In addition to Sasha’s Plotkin’s Deceit, he has written the memoir of a northwest mariner titled An Uncommon Life (1988). He has also published three books dealing with the management of non-profits.
FRIDAY DAWNED MUCH LIKE THE DAY OF HIS LAST MEETING WITH
PLOTKIN, COLD AND CLEAR WITH NEW SNOW. SUCH A PRETTY DAY THAT THIS TIME HE
RESOLVED NOT TO RETURN TO THE EMBASSY AFTER SIGNALING PLOTKIN AT NK THAT THE
MEETING WAS ON. AFTER THE SAFETY SIGNAL AT TEN O’CLOCK, HE’D GO DIRECTLY
HOME, MAYBE HAVE A CHANCE TO CHAT WITH LISA BEFORE LUNCH.UPON LEAVING THE EMBASSY, HE NOTED THAT THE SUN HADN’T WARMED THE AIR AT
ALL. THE SQUEAKING SNOW UNDER HIS FEET CONFIRMED HOW COLD IT WAS AS HE
WALKED TOWARD HIS CAR. THE SHADOWS FROM THE TREES ALONG STRANDVÄGEN
WEREN’T QUITE AS LONG AS THEY HAD BEEN LAST WEEK AT THIS TIME. STOCKHOLM
WAS ON THE DOWNHILL RIDE TOWARD SPRING. IN THE SCANT HOUR HE’D BEEN AT THE
EMBASSY THE CAR HAD COOLED OFF COMPLETELY. HE LET IT WARM UP BEFORE DRIVING
DOWNTOWN TO WAIT THE FEW MINUTES AT NK FOR PLOTKIN’S SAFETY SIGNAL. NO
POLICEMAN THIS TIME, AND NO PLOTKIN VISIBLE IN THE PARK. BUT THEN HE
HADN’T SEEN PLOTKIN LAST TIME, EITHER.
NEXT HE HEADED WEST FROM THE CITY, TOWARD HOME. CHRIS ENJOYED THE DRIVE AND
WAS FEELING GOOD AS HE SLID TO A STOP IN FRONT OF HIS HOUSE. LISA DIDN’T
REPLY TO HIS CHEERY “HELLO” WHEN HE LET HIMSELF IN THROUGH THE FRONT
DOOR. NOW WHAT? HER ACTIONS WERE SO STRANGE THESE DAYS HE WAS AFRAID SHE
MIGHT HAVE TAKEN OFF WITHOUT PREPARING THE LUNCH FOR PLOTKIN. A WALK THROUGH
THE DINING ROOM TO THE KITCHEN PUT HIS MIND AT EASE. THE TABLE WAS SET, AND
SOUP WAS SIMMERING ON THE STOVE. SHE MUST HAVE WALKED DOWN TO THE SHOPPING
SQUARE FOR SOME LAST MINUTE ITEMS. IT WASN’T YET TEN THIRTY, AND SHE HAD
NO REASON TO EXPECT HIM. HE WENT BACK TO THE FRONT WINDOWS TO LOOK DOWN THE
STREET, ON THE CHANCE THAT HE MIGHT SEE HER WALKING BACK. NO LISA, ONLY A
SKIER HEADING TOWARD DROTTNINGHOLM. THIS CASTLE WAS LOCATED NOT MUCH MORE
THAN A MILE FROM THEIR HOME ACROSS DROTTNINGHOLM BRIDGE. IT WAS A FAVORITE
RESIDENCE OF THE ROYAL FAMILY AND SURROUNDED BY A PARK OPEN TO THE PUBLIC.
HE AND LISA HAD SKIED THERE SEVERAL TIMES WITH THE CHILDREN DURING THE
CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS.
AN IDEA STRUCK. CHRIS WENT QUICKLY TO HIS BEDROOM TO CHANGE INTO LONG JOHNS
AND SKI PANTS, THEN TO THE FRONT HALL FOR HIS SKI PARKA, HAT AND MITTENS.
NEXT HE WENT TO THE GARAGE FOR HIS SKIS. HE’D SKI DOWN TO THE SQUARE TO
PICK UP LISA AND COME BACK WITH HER. OUTSIDE THE GARAGE DOOR, HE SLAPPED HIS
SKIS DOWN ON THE NEW SNOW AND FASTENED THE CABLE BINDINGS.
OUT ON THE STREET CHRIS LOOKED IN THE DIRECTION OF THE SQUARE. STILL NO
LISA. NOBODY, IN FACT, ON THE STREET. IN THE OTHER DIRECTION THE SKIER HAD
LONG SINCE DISAPPEARED. AN HOUR SKIING AT DROTTNINGHOLM WOULD PROBABLY DO
HIM MORE GOOD THAN TRYING TO TALK WITH LISA.
FEW PEOPLE WERE OUTDOORS ON THIS WORK AND SCHOOL DAY. IT WAS TERRIBLY COLD,
BUT THE ATMOSPHERE BROUGHT SOME NEEDED PEACE TO CHRIS. HE FELT GOOD. THE
CHILDREN IN THEIR NEIGHBORHOOD WERE ON SKIS MOST EVERY AFTERNOON. AS HE USED
HIS POLES TO PUSH HIMSELF ALONG AND KEEP HIS BALANCE, HE THOUGHT ABOUT HOW
MISSY AND HER FRIENDS SKIED MERRILY ALONG WITH NO POLES. AH, TO BE YOUNG
AGAIN!
THERE WAS A KNOLL OFF THE BEATEN PATH IN THE PARK WHERE SOMEBODY HAD BUILT A
SMALL SKI JUMP, MAYBE A COUPLE OF FEET HIGH. PROBABLY SOME OF THE OLDER BOYS
WHO LIVED NEARBY. CHRIS THOUGHT ABOUT TRYING IT.
HE’D DO IT.
CLIMBING THE KNOLL TOOK MORE OUT OF HIM THAN HE’D EXPECTED. WHEEZING AT
THE TOP, HE MADE HIS WEEKLY RESOLVE TO START AN EXERCISE PROGRAM. THE KNOLL
WASN’T HIGH, BUT LOOKING DOWN THE RUN TO THE JUMP, IT APPEARED A LOT MORE
IMPRESSIVE THAN FROM THE BOTTOM. WELL, HE HAD BEEN A PRETTY GOOD SKIER
DURING COLLEGE DAYS. THERE WASN’T ANYBODY IN SIGHT TO EMBARRASS HIM IF HE
BOTCHED THE LITTLE JUMP. HE POLED HARD AND HEADED DOWNHILL.
TWO THINGS SURPRISED CHRIS. FIRST, HIS SKIS WERE MUCH FASTER THAN EXPECTED.
WHEN HE STARTED OUT HE ALMOST LOST HIS BALANCE BACKWARDS. THEN, WHEN HE DUG
IN THE POLES AND LAUNCHED HIMSELF ON THE JUMP, HE WENT MUCH HIGHER THAN HE
THOUGHT HE WOULD. IN THE FEW SECONDS HE WAS IN THE AIR HE REALIZED THAT HE
HAD OVERCOMPENSATED FOR THE FIRST MISTAKE. NOW HE WAS LEANING TOO FAR
FORWARD. HE TRIED TO BRING UP THE TIPS OF HIS SKIS AND FAILED, HITTING THE
SNOW WITH THE TIP OF ONE SKI. HE SOMERSAULTED, BOUNCED ON HIS SHOULDERS,
MADE A HALF-ROLL AND CAME TO A STOP WITH HIS RIGHT SKI BURIED IN THE SNOW.
HIS LEG MUST BE BADLY TWISTED, HE THOUGHT. HE MOVED TO UNTANGLE HIMSELF AND
CAME CLOSE TO FAINTING. IT WAS MORE THAN A TWIST, FOR SURE. THE PAIN WAS
AWFUL WHEN HE TRIED TO MOVE.CHRIS LAY BACK, CHILLED, AND FELT THE PANIC START. NOBODY WAS IN SIGHT.
My Review:
If you’re a fan of classic spy fiction then I suggest you get Sasha Plotkin’s Deceit without delay. As I turned the pages of this book I was reminded of some of the best of them. The Le Carré’s, and Deighton’s; of classic East Vs. West espionage, with a troubled hero and an enigmatic foreign operator.
Set predominately in Sweden the story takes place over a number of years at the end of the 1960’s and early 1970’s and Vaughan Sherman brings that time back clearly through the pages of his story. The passage of time is important in the telling of the story and acts as both plot and subplot with the two main characters taking on the bulk of the story without the need for multiple additional identities confusing the reader. That said the vulnerability of Chris’ relationship with his wife is also critical, and well told as a side love story between the two.
I loved the simplicity of the story, it was well told without the author feeling the need to spoil it with unnecessary action to “spice-up” the spy element. There was tension without flash-bang heroics and this made the overall story much more believable than it would have been if the pages had been filled with break-neck action and adventure. The story was not slow however and cracked along at a good pace, keeping me turning the pages until late in the evening on more than one occasion.
I really enjoyed Sasha Plotkin’s Deceit and would recommend it. It holds a good story and makes for a great read.
Jen Estes is my guest on the blog today, I recently reviewed her new book, “Curveball”, a story of baseball set on a tropical island. I asked Jen
Baseball and the colour of a tropical paradise; what prompted you to write a series with the background of baseball, and why did you select the second one to be based in ‘Santo Domingo’ rather than a more familiar surrounding?
Here’s what she had to say:
When it comes to choosing a setting, there are three popular methods. The first is choosing a location close to your heart — maybe your hometown or current city. (Not only does this familiar route give your story the ring of truth, you’ll save oodles of time on research.) But sometimes familiarity isn’t an option, so you have to choose a setting based on your story instead. (Just because you’ve never been outside of Kansas doesn’t mean your mermaid detective has to fight crime in her underground city beneath a local water treatment plant.) Now if neither of those methods tickle your toes, you can always close your eyes, give a globe a big spin and point, then throw your characters in whatever city your finger landed. For Curveball, I chose the second route. (Mostly because my finger landed in the middle of the Pacific when I spun the globe.)
While my first book in the series, Big Leagues, was set in Las Vegas, Cat McDaniel’s career as a sportswriter kept her on the move — I was constantly creating new stadiums for her to visit and new characters for her to meet. That was a lot of fun, but in the sequel, one of her obstacles is being saddled with chaperoning the general manager’s daughter, Paige Aiken. As such, I didn’t want to give Cat a way to “escape” from Paige’s antics. Putting her in the Caribbean training camps during the offseason was my way of chaining her to Paige.
Timing also played a factor in my setting. Curveball directly follows the introduction in the series, Big Leagues, which concluded as baseball season was toward its end. By the time Curveball begins, it’s late November — which is when many Latin American players return home to train in their team’s camps and aspiring ballplayers are being scouted.
Authenticity was key too. The Dominican Republic is a baseball nation and Major League Baseball has a huge presence within the city, with real-life training facilities just like the one in my book (though Cat’s team is the fictional Buffalo Soldiers.) When I visited Santo Domingo, I fell in love with the city’s passion for baseball. There’s actually a chapter where Cat goes to a local baseball game that very much echoed my experience at a Tigres del Licey game. The atmosphere is spellbinding and I knew then that I had to get Cat down to this baseball paradise.
Though I was writing an unfamiliar setting, it helped that my main character is supposed to be unfamiliar with it. She’s a tourist. She’s not expected to know local lore or regional traditions. Though an everyday citizen might not even pay attention to Catedral Primada de América, the famous landmark leaves Cat breathless. Like me, Cat saw Santo Domingo through the romantic and strange eyes of a tourist.
Synopsis:
Baseball reporter Cat McDaniel specializes in exposés. Now that very talent has left her unemployed. Desperate to get off the bench and back into the lineup, she is thrilled to land an interview with the Buffalo Soldiers’ General Manager Roger “Rakin’” Aiken–Baseball legend, eight-time All Star … and oblivious father to a Major League bratty co-ed named Paige. Aiken offers Cat the team writer position for the following spring, but the opportunity is tempered by a curveball of a caveat: she must first spend the winter as a blogger reporting on the Latin American training facility. She is also supposed to look out for Paige, nominally the team’s newest scouting assistant. Being a glorified babysitter and chaperone still beats being an out-of-work sportswriter. Cat reluctantly leaves behind her gorgeous boyfriend Benji and accompanies the party girl to sunny Santo Domingo to balance baselines and conga lines. Paige falls for Chance Hayward, an agent who plays hardball—the figurative kind. Joining them on the field is Paige’s ex, Junior DeLeon, one of the coaches who’d really like to score with Cat. When an aspiring player turns up dead, it is up to Cat and Junior to devise a game-changing strategy. Will Cat’s snooping work in her favor this time, or will she strike out … losing her job, her boyfriend and her life? Curveball follows Big Leagues as Book 2 of the Cat McDaniel Mysteries, also known as the Foul Ball series.
About The Author:
Born and raised in Illinois, Jen Estes started her writing career as a baseball blogger in 2007 and expanded to freelance sports writing in 2009. She is an active member of the Society of American Baseball Research (SABR), Springfield Poets & Writers and the National Writers Union (NWU). Curveball is the second in a series featuring sassy sports writer Cat McDaniel. When Jen isn’t writing, she enjoys running, yoga, traveling and watching baseball with her husband and cat.
As they walked out of the restaurant, Cat caught the eye of a busy Cristian and waved goodbye. She tapped Chance on the shoulder. “That reminds me, we want to talk to you about your client.”
“Oh, that’ll cost you and Paige.”
Cat gave him a wary look. “Cost us what?”
“A walk on the beach.” He extended both arms. “One for each of you.”
Paige eagerly locked her right arm with his, but Cat pressed his left arm down to his side. She kicked off her sandals and let them dangle from her fingers before begrudgingly following the duo onto the damp sand.
A few fisherman could be seen on the jetty a hundred yards away, but otherwise they had the beach to themselves. Her steps broke the moist clumps and the powdery sand spilled out over her toes. The sand massaged her soles as they moved closer to the breaking waves. Living in downstate Illinois most of her life, Cat didn’t take the relaxing sound of the oceanic thunder for granted. The soft wind whipped her skirt around her thighs. As they approached the shoreline, the restaurant odors of garlic and grease were replaced with a salty tinge of sea air. The half moon smiled down upon them. It was a perfect moment, until Chance spoke.
“Not bad, huh?”
He said it as though he was taking credit for the beautiful evening. Cat sneered in his direction but it was too dark for the message to be received.
Paige looked around the vacant beach. “There’s nobody here. Is it always like this at night?”
“Almost. We’re just about at the end of our rainy season so the beaches will be busier. But on weeknights, most of the action is in town.”
Their stroll was nearing the rocks that bordered the end of the beach and led out to the jetty. Cat pointed up at the fisherman. “What are they trying to catch?”
Chance shrugged. “Hell if I know. I only eat it; I don’t hunt it.”
Paige watched them thoughtfully. “My dad loves fishing. Says it’s the only true way to get away from the field.”
“Let’s sit for a minute.” He placed his jacket on the sand.
Cat shook her head. “I’m good with standing. I was hoping we could talk about Cristian.”
Chance sat on the sand with his knees in front of him. “We will.” He patted the jacket. “Paige?”
Paige tucked her dress beneath her thighs as she sat on it, facing the ocean.
He scooted closer to her. “What do you think?”
Paige’s eyes didn’t leave the water. “Of the ocean, dinner, or you?”
He chuckled. “All of the above.”
Cat held in a groan as she waited for his predictable moves, expecting the yawn and reach any minute now.
He didn’t yawn, but sure enough, his tan arm slivered around Paige’s bare shoulders.
“Hmm …” Paige tapped her chin thoughtfully. “The ocean is beautiful. Dinner was delicious. And you, well you kind of pale in comparison. Perhaps you should’ve grouped yourself with the fisherman and that weird pile of seaweed over there.”
With his phony chuckles, Chance was beginning to sound like the laugh track from an eighties sitcom. Cat tapped her foot on the sand, but neither of them seemed to notice.
Paige tossed him a playful smile, but then was distracted by the aforementioned pile of seaweed near the jetty. She cocked her head. “What is that?”
In tandem, Cat and Chance turned around. “What?”
Paige stood up, dusted her dress off and pointed. “Over there, in the rocks.”
Chance squinted. “Probably just some litter.”
Cat shook her head. “That doesn’t look like litter.” She took off toward it.
Chance bounced to his feet and caught up to her. The waves smacked the rocks with loud slaps. Cat took slow, deliberate steps, as though trying to sneak up on the mound of seaweed. Another foamy wave crashed onto the shore, this time taking the pile of seaweed back into the ocean with it. Before she could take another step, Chance reached his arm out to stop her. “Cat, don’t go any closer.”
Cat gasped, choking on the breath wedged in her throat. It was too late.
She’d seen the body.
My Review:
You know right from the outset that all is not as it seems in the world of Cat McDaniel, the world of baseball. Jen Estes paints a picture where you have to feel that Cat is the kind of person that finds trouble wherever she goes, and if she doesn’t trouble will soon find her.
Curveball takes place mostly in Santo Domingo, and the local character and scenery is not lost from the pages of the story, it adds an additional dimension that bring alive many of the scenes within the book.
Classed as a ‘cozy’, it is certainly that. An easy going read that moves along at a good pace, but do not expect flash-bang action here. The story of Curveball is more subtle than that, with very little to hint at the reveal towards the end and a little bit of misdirection as the plot progresses.
The characters are well grounded and seem alive and believable; from the likes of Paige, who I could quite cheerfully have strangled myself to the main protagonist Cat, who made a very believable hero, if perhaps a little naive at times.
You don’t have to be a huge baseball fan or knowledgeable about the sport to understand Curveball, if there is something you need to know the information is supplied. There were a couple of parts where the baseball terminology took over a bit, but they were in the spirit of the story and so didn’t really detract from the plot.
Overall Curveball is a good read, if you like your action thick and fast, then you might find it a little slow, but it’s worth sticking with as overall the story plays out well.
My Rating: 3 out of 5 stars; I liked it.
Giveaway:
As part of this tour, the publisher is offering an ebook copy of Curveball to be given away. For a chance to win, simply leave a comment below. A winner will be selected at random from all of the comments left, seven days after this post is published, i.e. 9th November 2012.
Airline Captain Frank Braden and his wife Nicole are suddenly stalked by professional assassins who have a deadline to make their deaths look like an accident or a suicide. And the couple doesn’t know why they are being targeted. They don’t realize that they stand in the way of a deadly conspiracy. Little by little they are pulled into a dangerous web of intrigue by a murderous criminal network that deceptively offers the pilot his wife’s life if he will concede to their demands. This is a thriller that rocks the highest levels of Washington.
A. F. Ebbers, a journalism graduate of Ohio University was a reporter/writer for major newspapers, ad agencies, and in public relations for Cessna Aircraft Company. He also graduated from Army Flight School and flew for the Ohio and Kansas Army National Guards. Later he was called to active duty and served two flying tours in Vietnam. After retirement from the military, he flew for corporations and for regional airlines. A dual rated ATP pilot, he has written for numerous national magazines, Sunday supplements and trade and travel magazines and has written screenplays and short stories. Today he lives with his wife in the Austin, Texas area and, when not writing, enjoys tennis, golf, flying and piano. Dangerous Past is his debut novel.
Electronic Scrapbook 