Showing posts with label Conspiracy Thriller. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Conspiracy Thriller. Show all posts

Friday, May 15, 2026

The Pawn by John David ~ Mystery, Conspiracy Thriller ~ @johnpdavid @partnersincr1me

The Pawn by John P David Banner

THE PAWN

by John David

May 11 - June 5, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

About the Book:

The Pawn by John P David

THE LEMASTER FILES

 

When TV reporter Pete Lemaster gets an after-hours call from a college friend, he doesn’t expect it to catapult him into another big story in his reporting career. Scott “Uncle Scotty” Wilkins—a globe-trotting, charismatic businessman—has been arrested at a Singapore airport with enough drugs to guarantee a life sentence.

The case explodes into an international spectacle. Viral images of Scotty charm the public, fuel conspiracy theories, and attract opportunists eager to profit from the scandal. For Pete, it’s personal—he owes the family a favor. But pursuing the truth could compromise his career.

Teaming up with police lieutenant Rebecca Dawes, Pete follows a trail that leads from glossy boardrooms to Singapore’s prisons. Every clue exposes another enemy: betrayed lovers, vengeful spouses, shady investors, and rivals with millions at stake.

But the closer Pete gets to uncovering who framed his friend, the more he realizes he may be the next pawn in a deadly game of deception.

If you enjoy journalist-sleuth mysteries like The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, you'll be hooked on The Lemaster Files!

Praise for The Pawn:

"The Pawn is a stellar sequel to The Bystander. I was zipped away on this zany and captivating narrative."
~ Leaf Bound Review

"The Pawn is the follow-up to this author’s first novel, The Bystander, featuring reporter Pete Lemaster. I loved the first book, and this one was no exception. The pacing, dialogue, and banter keep the reader engaged in the story. There were many times I did not want to put the book down."
~ Mystery Review Crew

"Fast-paced yet purposeful, The Pawn explores timely themes of media influence and the fragility of truth in the digital age... With a well-earned twist and confident storytelling, the novel is a sophisticated, gripping sequel that not only meets but surpasses expectations."
~ Steve, Best Thriller Books,

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Conspiracy Thriller
Published by: Tule Publishing
Publication Date: May 13, 2026
Number of Pages: 251
ISBN: 9781970840513 (ISBN10: 197084051X)

The Lemaster Files:


Book 1
Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Audible | Goodreads | BookBub | Tule Publishing

Book 2
Amazon | Kindle | Audible | Goodreads | BookBub | Tule Publishing

Read an Excerpt from The Pawn:

Chapter One

Jacksonville, Florida, USA
Thursday, 7 p.m. EST

THE PHONE STARTED to vibrate its way across the kitchen counter. I hated that. It shook when it went unanswered, bleating like a wounded sheep.

Pay attention to me. Answer me.

But it was my day off, and my phone had been set to DO NOT DISTURB. Yet it still rang. I was watching the NCAA basketball tournament, as was my right on my day off. My Florida Gators were struggling more than they should as the favorite in their first-round game. I had a little bit of money but mainly pride on the line.

Still bleating.

I read an article recently, saying members of Generation Z were now offended if you called unannounced. Text before you call, they so arrogantly professed. Make an appointment to hear any voice associated with the participation-trophy generation.

Being neither a Gen Zer nor a trophy, I didn’t know who was calling. Someone in my contact list had called in rapid succession, working around the do-not-bother-me setting. So, either something was up, or the spam callers had cracked another smartphone code.

I got up and went to the kitchen and to the phone. I wanted another beer anyway.

The name on the screen said Cole Nathan, one of my college buddies.

Not work. Thank you, basketball gods.

I was fully expecting we would immediately jump into a conversation about why our star player was launching three-pointers without anyone under the basket to rebound. The phenom had also seemingly forgotten how to pass.

I picked up the phone and just started talking, “Can you believe this guy? I mean, I know he’s gonna be in the NBA next year, but he’s like one step from half-court and letting it fly.”

“Pete, I’m not watching the game, sorry,” Cole said. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh, okay,” I said. “What’s going on?” “Uncle Scotty is in jail.”

“What?” I said. I had to think for a second. I had met Cole’s uncle a few times in college. We went out to bars with him. “What happened?”

“He got arrested yesterday at the airport in Singapore.” “You’re kidding. Shit. For what?”

“Drug possession.”

“Damn. That sucks. Singapore?” Questions were flowing through my head faster than I could articulate them. “Um, I don’t really know what to say, man. I can’t even remember Scotty doing drugs. It was usually fun, but it’s been years since you have even mentioned him. Did he have a problem?

And wait, Singapore?”

“He’s not a drug dealer, if that’s what you’re asking,” Cole said.

“I don’t know what I’m asking. Let’s start with what happened and what you know.”

“I’m not exactly sure what’s going on. We got a report they found drugs in his luggage when he was going to Singapore on business.”

“What kind of business?” I asked. Scott was always pretty slick.

“He works for a real estate fund. He’s been there before.

It’s a big mess,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Cole. It’s terrible. Do you need a referral for a lawyer? I can talk to my brother. I don’t think this is the kind of thing he does, but he knows a lot of other lawyers.”

“Well, he’s got a lawyer over there, and we’re talking to some guys here. But we think it might hit the news and be bad, and that’s why I thought about you.”

“Okay, Cole, you know I cover Jacksonville, right? Every once in a while, something crazy happens and I cover national news, but I’m not sure how I can help.”

“Uncle Scotty lives in Jacksonville,” Cole said.

“He does?” I said, putting down the not-yet-opened new beer and looking for a pen.

“Yes, he does.”

“Oh, okay, if a business guy from Jacksonville just got arrested in Singapore, I’m guessing our desk already knows about it. I don’t know who’s going to cover this or even if it’ll get assigned to somebody. Do you guys want the world to know about this? I mean, I can’t kill it if the desk is on it, but I might be able to help. What do you want?”

“Pete, we’re worried the world will think my uncle is a drug dealer. You know him. I don’t know what happened, but something is not right about this. It makes no sense. I need help figuring out what is going on. My uncle is rich. He has no reason to smuggle drugs.”

“Was he traveling alone?” I asked. “Did he ever get mar-ried?”

“My uncle, married? That’s a good one.” Cole said. “He was traveling alone, baching it like always.”

“Got it. Well, I was supposed to be off today to watch the game, but it looks like our Gators have this one under control.”

Famous last words.

The Gators were up eight with seven minutes left. “I will make some calls, see what I can find out, and call you back. Is this the best number?”

“Yes and thanks,” Cole said.

As I hung up, our star guard again launched a bomb from the mid-court logo, which clanged off the rim and bounced over the backboard. Not sure who was giving me more heartburn—the star player or Cole’s uncle.

I called the breaking news desk at WJAX-TV where I work as a general assignment reporter and sometimes investigative journalist. My friend and colleague Olivia Marquez, a breaking news digital journalist and all-around technology maven answered.

“I thought you were off,” she said.

“I am, but when did that ever stop me from bugging you?” I said. “Have you heard anything about a Florida businessman being arrested in Singapore on drug charges?”

“Is he from Jacksonville?” “He is.”

“I think I would have noticed that.” I could hear her typing, and I turned to take another look at the game.

A moment later, she found it. “Well, here’s something from the Associated Press about American executive Scott Wilkins arrested in Singapore, I guess yesterday.”

“That’s the one,” I said.

“But isn’t it already tomorrow over there, like a major difference, twelve hours ahead?”

There were several questions in there. Olivia had a su-premely quick brain. “Says he entered the country from a flight from San Francisco, and he originated in Orlando.”

“Gotcha. Well, he’s from Jacksonville.” “Do you know him?”

“Well, sort of. He’s my friend’s uncle. I met him when I was in college. We painted the town a few times, among other things. The family is freaking out.”

“Can’t blame them. What do you want me to do with this?”

“Do me a favor and just hold tight on it. I will call you back.”

Cole answered on the first ring. “Pete, what do you know?” he asked.

“It’s on the AP wire with his full name and that he’s an American businessman arrested in Singapore on drug charges. It’s short. The story is tagged Orlando because I guess he flew out of there. I’m guessing the story hasn’t gotten any traction because he’s not from Orlando and the time difference.”

“What do you mean about Orlando?”

“Stories come across the wire tagged with locations, kind of like keywords. In Jacksonville, we care about stories relevant to Jacksonville. In Orlando, they are looking for stories tagged to there. Doesn’t mean anything except it kind of gives you and your family some time to try to get ahead of it.”

“Okay, so it’s not all over the place?”

“Not yet. But it may not turn into anything because, you know, the news gods are fickle. Right now, Orlando news stations might be trying to confirm he is from Orlando, but they aren’t finding anything because he’s not. So the story is in limbo.”

“You are in a weird business, Lemaster,” Cole said with a sigh.

“Yes, I am. Listen, it’s up to you. It’s my day off. I can do nothing on this story and be fine with it, but I can’t prevent somebody else from covering it. If you want me to do something today, then you have a bit more control because, well, we’re buddies, and I’m gonna make sure it’s balanced. Honestly, we would probably start with a short item that this local guy was locked up in Singapore. If I get you on the record, confirming it and the basic info, then we can pull a short story together, maybe thirty seconds or so. Just a short item. We don’t have a lot. We would need to get a picture.” I paused. “Or I could watch the end of the game, and we can wait it out and talk tomorrow. It’s up to you.”

“My uncle has been locked in a fucking jail cell in Singa-pore for like the past two days, so whatever they’re doing now hasn’t gotten him out,” he said, somewhere between pissed off and distressed. “So I say let’s try to generate some support. We’ve got to maybe try to get the government to help us or somebody to help us.”

“I get it,” I said.

“Do you know what the penalties are for drug possession in Singapore, Pete?”

“I have no idea.”

“Google it. It’s scary. We need to do the story.”

“Okay, Cole. So, let me get this on the record and make it official. You are confirming that your uncle, business executive Scott Wilkins of Jacksonville, was arrested in Singapore on drug charges?”

“Yep, 100 percent. He lives in Ponte Vedra Beach.” “And you are saying he is being wrongfully detained?” I added, coaching-prodding in a way I technically should not do.

“Absolutely. Singapore has made a huge mistake, and we need the support of the US government to get him out. How does that sound?”

“That helps me. Do you have a picture of him?” “I will send you one.”

“Okay, I will let you know if I need anything else.” We hung up.

I called Olivia back.

“Hey, so is Rod there?” I asked.

Rod Kirby was the acting general manager of the station and my boss.

“Yeah, he’s in his office. Do you want to talk to him?” she said.

“No, not yet. Please do me a favor and take this down. I can confirm business executive Scott Wilkins of Ponte Vedra Beach has been detained on drug charges in Singapore. Looks like it happened two days ago. I’m trying to get you a picture. The family in the US is saying he has been wrongly detained, and they want the US government to intervene. Please take this to Rod and see what he wants to do with it.”

“Okay,” she said.

My phone chimed, and I opened a text message from Cole with an image attached, and there he was—Scott “Uncle Scotty” Wilkins—just as I remembered him. He had light brown hair just past collar length, with a little bit of gray in the temples, and steely blue eyes that accented high, chiseled cheekbones. In the photo, he had a light tan, a big smile, showcasing perfect teeth, and a day or two of manicured stubble. He looked like a model, straight off a billboard. He was wearing a casual linen long-sleeved shirt with a sweater pretzeled over his shoulders in a way no one ever wore—just people who were posing for pictures. He wore jeans and unfinished leather loafers, no socks. The perfect, eligible rich guy online dating photo.

“I just got his photo—sending it to you now,” I said.

I forwarded the image to her and a moment later heard her phone beep.

“Oh my god, he’s hot,” she said, giggling. “Is he single?” “Well, I don’t know, but he’s not available because he’s in jail in Singapore.”

“He’s ridiculously good-looking. Gotta share this with the girls in the office.”

“How about talking to Rod first?” I suggested, hoping to bring her back to earth.

“Yeah, I’m on it.”

“Thank you, Olivia.” I hung up and texted Cole that we were probably going to run an item with the photo, and I would stay in touch.

I turned the basketball tournament back on, watching my Gators advance to the next round, not knowing I had just lit a most unusual fuse.

***

Excerpt from The Pawn by John David. Copyright 2026 by John P David. Reproduced with permission from John P David. All rights reserved.

 

 

Meet the Author:

John P David

John David is a long-time public relations and crisis communications consultant, author of a non-fiction business book, and a corporate ghostwriter. His debut novel, The Bystander (The Lemaster Files Book 1), was longlisted for the BPA First Novel Award, was awarded as a finalist for the 2025 Storytrade Book Award for traditional mysteries, and was named to the shortlist for the 2025 Page Turner Award for mysteries and cozy mysteries. It was released by Tule Publishing in September of 2025. Though not a big joiner, he is a member of the International Thriller Writers Debut Author program. When not working or writing, he enjoys fishing, talking about politics, and following the Florida Gators. He and his beautiful wife Pamela live in Pinecrest, Florida.

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Monday, April 8, 2024

The Underhanded by Adam Sikes ~ International Thriller, International Spy Thriller, Conspiracy Thriller ~ @Adam_R_Sikes @partnersincr1me

THE UNDERHANDED by Adam Sikes Banner

THE UNDERHANDED

by Adam Sikes

April 8 - May 3, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

About the Book:

THE UNDERHANDED by Adam Sikes

Europe’s last line of defense against neofascism—a history professor?

Professor William Dresden has found solitude in the south of France to grapple with his troubled past—a neglected upbringing, failed romances, the recent demolition of his life’s work in academia, and even witnessing genocide, among other secrets. But he soon learns that he has much larger problems when an adrift MI6 officer, Adeline Parker, calls and insists on a meeting, revealing shocking information about his family. Then a bomb explodes.

William and Adeline narrowly escape the attempt on their lives and find themselves battling a group of neofascists and extreme nationalists who are inciting violent divisions across Europe. They are pulled into a shadowy war against a cabal called the Strasbourg Executive and pushed to the brink by family betrayals, corrupt institutions, and the Executive’s subversive plots against the fabric of Western society.

To survive, William must make tough decisions and act in ways he could’ve never previously imagined—but even that might not be enough.

Perfect for fans of Dan Brown and Jack Carr

Praise for THE UNDERHANDED:

"The latest by Adam Sikes, The Underhanded, is a ripped-from-the-headlines thriller that left me awed and at the edge of my seat. It’s a suspenseful mix of historical intrigue and present-day repercussions. It reminded me of the spy craft and nerve-rattling storytelling of Ken Follett and John le Carré. A must-read for all thriller fans . . . don’t miss it!"
~ James Rollins, New York Times best-selling author

"I couldn't put down this ripped-from-the-headlines novel from a writer who gets all the details right--in The Underhanded, Adam Sikes joins the ranks of the best names in espionage and political thrillers. As his intelligent and complex hero grapples with his past and a threat posed by a secret neo-fascist cabal, you will be rooting for him all the way to the last page."
~ Deborah Crombie, New York Times best-selling author

"Fast-paced and engaging, The Underhanded grabs you from page one and doesn’t let go! Great storytelling that weaves together rogue spies, ancient secrets, and clever tradecraft—Adam Sikes is destined for great things!"
~ Ward Larsen, USA Today best-selling author

Book Details:

Genre: International Thriller, International Spy Thriller, Conspiracy Thriller
Published by: Oceanview Publishing
Publication Date: April 2, 2024
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 9781608096008 (ISBN10: 1608096009)
Series:A William Dresden Novel, 1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Oceanview Publishing

Read an Excerpt:

Chapter 1

Provence, France

The unexpected vibration of my phone startled me, and I immediately regretted bringing it out here. I should have left it tucked in my jacket draped over the chair or dropped it carelessly on the kitchen counter. As it was, only a few people had this particular number, and I wasn’t expecting a call from any of them. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to hear from Phil or Gwen or Elliot or Alison—all good people whom I would call friends—but not at this moment.

I’d been enjoying my evening of quiet reflection, lost in my thoughts, mulling over what had happened and pondering what I was going to do next. I needed to do something; I couldn’t hide away forever, even if the idea was mildly appealing. I needed to get on with my life and my work, and just a few moments ago before this distraction, some acceptable ideas had started to percolate.

The phone vibrated again, rattling on the table next to me. And the caller ID showed Restricted, which made it even more bothersome, particularly now and especially here.

The south of France—with its beautiful beaches, superb wine, decadent women, and unbridled past—was where I went to escape or relax. It was a little of both this go around. Amidst the centuries-old villages, I could read, eat, flirt with socializing, and recharge. I was content here, and after a few days or weeks, I would be fortified to thrust myself into the breach and face the big bad world.

I watched the phone vibrate once more—three times now—and debated whether to let it go to voicemail. I preferred that option. It was the better option. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Although I had my friends and colleagues and acquaintances and could attempt a front of affable charm now and again, in my truest form I was quiet, preferring the conversations in my head to those with actual human beings.

I was a historian and I preferred books to . . . well . . . just about everything. Books didn’t need anything, just to be read and understood. They embodied a conversation with the author that was codified with ink on paper, there to be surveyed and contemplated and always available. People, on the other hand, tended to be complicated and unpredictable, some exhaustingly so.

But there it went again. My phone. Four rings now.

Voicemail, I thought. If the call was important, the person would leave a message or ring back, right?

But . . .

The phone vibrated once more, the noise jarring as it clattered on the patio table, demanding attention like the obnoxious party guest who spoke too loudly for the room and who no one could avoid. I think everyone has encountered those individuals at one moment or another.

And again—it vibrated.

Dammit.

I threw back the last of my wine and snatched up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello. Am I speaking with Professor William Dresden of Princeton University?” asked a woman’s voice I didn’t recognize. She had a British accent and a confident tone, like one accustomed to chucking authority around.

“May I ask who’s calling?” I replied.

“My name is Adeline, and I have something urgent to chat with the professor about.”

“Okay,” I replied, remaining polite but noting that she hadn’t offered a last name.

“Are you Professor Dresden?” she asked again.

“I am.”

“Good. Glad I reached you.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I’ll get right to the point. Neither of us like having our time wasted,” the woman began. “My organization needs your assistance. We’re aware that for the past few years you’ve been researching the lives of some lesser-known men from the nineteenth century. You’ve argued that they were driving forces during Europe’s imperial era, and you recently gave a talk in Washington, D.C., about them. You caused quite a bit of controversy.”

I didn’t respond but she was right. My latest research had indeed caused a pompous cabal to descend from the Ivory Tower who were intent on ripping up my life’s work. By focusing on the people that surrounded the famous personalities of the past—rather than the statesmen and generals themselves—I’d shown that the aides and deputies of history were often as influential as the principals. They worked behind the scenes, pushing here and whispering there, orchestrating events according to their own designs and those of their masters. Their obscurity was their power, and these lesser-known individuals had intrigued me for the past twenty years or so.

Sadly, in recent months, more than a few scholars—people I would call my peers—had attacked my conclusions, picking apart my research methods and analysis and even my misplaced commas. Some went so far as to call me second-rate, which I will admit hurt.

It wasn’t all that surprising, I suppose. For those who’d devoted themselves to being the renowned authority on the likes of Napoleon or Roosevelt, my analysis had called into question their life’s work. One historian from George Washington University even accused me of fabricating my research, although nothing could be further from the truth. That comment truly shocked me, something I’d not encountered before and never in all my years of academia heard leveled in front of an audience.

To say it had been an uncomfortable time would have put it too gently.

Thus, I wondered what side of the argument this woman was on and what she wanted. The prospect of thrashing out some minor point of no real consequence didn’t entice me. And in my current state, if provoked, I’d likely pop off and say something I’d regret. Being kind was one of life’s most important qualities, my dear mother had always said, and I agreed with her. But after a drink or two I could become a little edgy, which might be good or bad, depending on your perspective.

“From my own work,” the woman continued, “and in light of what you claim to have uncovered about these men, I have some documents I think you should see.”

“Is that so? May I ask what they’re about?”

“They pertain to a small group of men of the same era and caliber that you lectured on. Their actions connected.”

“Could you be more specific, please?” I asked, now thinking the woman may not have called to put me on the rack. She had another angle, though it was still unclear. Maybe she was nuts. “You said your name was Adeline, and you represent who?”

“I’d rather not say anything more on the phone. All I can tell you is that the papers have been secreted away for a long time. The information they contain, coupled with events in recent years, suggests we’re facing a revived threat to both Europe and America.”

I sat up. “What? What are you talking about?”

“This may sound bizarre, but you must believe me. What I’m referring to is highly sensitive.”

“I don’t understand. What information?”

“I shouldn’t say any more right now. I need you to trust me.”

“Trust you?”

“We shouldn’t discuss anything else. It’s too dangerous. We must meet in person.”

“Too dangerous? Who are you and how did you get this number?”

I raised out of my chair and scanned the backyard of the villa. It was sunset and the shadows were dancing underneath the Aleppo Pines that dotted the hills. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up and, for a reason I could not explain, I wondered if I was being watched.

“Professor Dresden, I’ve no doubt you’re aware that Europe is facing numerous concerning challenges. An immigration crisis, climate impact, a resurgence of ethno-nationalists movements, Russia hammering on the eastern door . . . We need to meet tomorrow morning. Everything will become clear once we speak.”

I didn’t know how to respond. The woman wasn’t making sense. It was as if she’d drenched me with a mass of my own personal strife threaded with societal chaos and nonsense, intending to frighten or motivate me, I couldn’t tell. All I could muster was, “Thank you for the call, Miss . . . Adeline. But I’m going to hang up now. Have a good—”

“Professor, wait. There’s more. I wanted to tell you this in person, but,” she paused. “I have information about the death of your father. It was no accident.”

I slowly sat back down, her words reverberating in my ears, my chest suddenly going hollow. My father had died over twenty years ago in a car crash outside Paris. Images of a crumpled car and emergency workers scrambling about flashed through my mind. “What are you talking about? What do you know about my father?”

“Meet me tomorrow morning at eight at Le Trastevere in Villefranche-sur Mer. It’s on the water. Do you know it?”

“Yes,” I said without thinking. It was a restaurant in a small coastal town east of Nice.

“Good. See you then.”

The line went dead, but I kept the phone to my ear and stared across the countryside at the setting sun. I lost track of time, unable to form a coherent thought. The woman—Adeline—everything she’d said was at once a blur but jostled with vivid points of intense clarity . . . painful memories.

I interlaced my fingers on top of my head and pressed my palms against my temples, trying to stop the whirls of my thoughts.

Then, like one emerging from a storm, I grasped what just happened—what she’d done.

Son of a bitch.

I’d just been cold-pitched—approached without circumstance or context, and done in a manner so as to demand subsequent contact. It was how professionals orchestrated meetings when there was no logical reason for an introduction. Except this woman had done it using fear and pain, knowing enough about me to zero in on issues no normal person would have any idea about unless I’d shared it with them.

As everything began to crystallize, I then realized it was the combination of what the woman had said that was most unsettling.

I was a European historian and, by definition, my work—my life—focused on the past, not the present. Yet she’d brought up my lecture and said something about how it was connected to Europe’s current struggles . . . good Lord.

What could she possibly have to show me? What connected my work with the problems of today?

I had no idea.

As for my father—what did she mean his death was no accident? What else could it have been?

It had been nearly two decades since I’d put the man in the ground, and it had taken another year to close the man’s affairs and move on. My father—Ambassador Karl Dresden—had been an asshole, and I had no desire to reminisce.

A clap of thunder off in the distance brought me back. I glanced at my watch and saw it was getting late.

Leaning forward, I looked at the half-empty bottle of wine on the table that I’d been working on since dinner. It was a good vintage from a local winemaker, a Rhone blend, full-bodied and earthy, but I debated switching to scotch. I needed something stronger and no longer cared if someone was lurking about. If they were going to do something, they would have already done it.

Taking one last look at the call log on my phone, I snatched up the wine bottle and my empty glass and walked back into the villa. The stone walls were cracked and weathered, and the neglected hedges had overgrown what little there was of a patio.

The place hadn’t always been like this—dilapidated and forgotten. I’d spent several summers here as a child doing what young boys do, and I and my dear Olivia had come twice a year ever since we first met. She possessed a heart-stopping smile when she gazed through the backdoor across the fields. But that was a long time ago.

I made my way across the terracotta floor of the sitting room to the sideboard and opened the bottle of Balvenie. I filled a tumbler with a treble, downed half of it, swirled my glass, and finished the rest.

Shouldn’t discuss anything else over the phone. What the hell does that mean?

I poured myself a second glass—just a double this time—ran my fingers through my hair, and dropped down on the leather sofa. I leaned back, sinking into the cushion, and squeezed the bridge of my nose. When I opened my eyes, I beheld the painting above the stone fireplace. It was a landscape by Albert Bierstadt, an original, and one of the artist’s lesser-known pieces depicting the Swiss Alps, painted in 1856. It had been in my family for years.

The interplay between light and darkness was masterful. The snowcapped mountains were brilliantly lit, and the gentle slope of a hill was lush with grass and evergreens. But there were crevices and depths that were nearly black. I had always considered those places the unknown, hiding something sinister, like a troll or an evil wizard. A child’s imagination.

I took another drink of my scotch and tossed my phone on the coffee table. I closed my eyes and tried to block out the memories that Adeline had resurrected.

***

Excerpt from THE UNDERHANDED by Adam Sikes. Copyright 2024 by Adam Sikes. Reproduced with permission from Adam Sikes. All rights reserved.

 

 

 

Meet the Author:

Adam Sikes

Adam Sikes is a novelist, U.S. Marine Corps veteran and Silver Star recipient, and former CIA paramilitary officer who has lived and served around the world, with combat tours in the Balkans, Iraq, and elsewhere in the Middle East. He has also operated in Central Asia, East Africa, and Europe. He is the author of Landslide, and in addition to writing fiction, Adam co-authored Open Skies: My Life as Afghanistan’s First Female Pilot. The Underhanded is his latest novel. Adam holds an M.A. in Global, International, and Comparative History from Georgetown University and resides in Southern California.

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Wednesday, December 16, 2020

Book Blitz ~ Storm Warning by Brett Diffley @brettdiffley @RABTBookTours ~ Conspiracy Thriller, Action Thriller, Thriller ~ Davenport Series, Book 6

 


Davenport Series, Book 6

Conspiracy Thriller, Action Thriller, Thriller

About the Book:

In this book, the Rickter Plague has descended onto the world, wiping out populations across the globe. Civilizations are no more. Some people are naturally immune. Most are not. A serum is on every survivors mind. But without laws or the ability to enforce them, the lawless have also descended onto the world. Some have even planned for it. Before unleashing the plague, Stan Rickter had purchased several properties—outposts—all across the United States. These staging areas, like the abandoned Roosevelt Island Smallpox Hospital in New York State and the Seaside Sanatorium on the Connecticut coast, would be the starting points for a new world controlled by his extremists. Guided by a manifesto, and with the dollar value all but decimated, these rebels have established trade markets. Nothing is off limits. As their growth grows, they continue to acquire more resources and properties. One, though, they don’t have, but very much want. The grow fields—once controlled by the New York Syndicate for decades and hidden in the rugged Debar Mountain range—has produced billions in revenue in growing illegal drugs over that span. It would also be a key piece of revenue in the future, given the state of the world and its lack of replenishable medicines. Maria Kaylor knows this too. The sixteen year old is in charge of the grow fields, her knowledge of growing the illicit drugs unmatched, and her clever mind, unprecedented. To acquire the coveted property, Mel Belegore, one of Rickter’s extremist’s, will do anything, including kill, to get what he wants. A battle ensues: Maria and her ragtag group against a powerful juggernaut with extensive resources, including men, guns, ammunition, and even helicopters. This will bring Tom Spears, her father, an assassin known as the Shadow, out of retirement to find her. He has one goal and cares little about who gets in his way.

 


About the Author:


Author - Brett Diffley

Born in Anchorage, Alaska

Raised in Tri-Cities, Washington

Attended Finley High School

Living in Covington, Washington

Adventure lurks in the soul of each of us to varying degrees, and there are some of us that seek it out, making us better for it. It’s his experiences that give him insights as a writer, and it’s his overwhelming creativity that makes him a great story teller. He’s a fixed-wing pilot, commercial helicopter pilot and flight instructor, and also has been a commercial diver, professional dog trainer for retrievers, self-employed entrepreneur (patented his own line of water toys, and also a wakeboarding trainer-board), commercial crab fisherman in Alaska, and commercial fisherman in several areas. Most recently, he is the author of the Pinnacle Award winning Davenport Series. His 6 books include: Perfect Plan, Perfect Plan II, Black Tide, Black Dawn, Safe Passage and Storm Warning.


Contact Links:

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Purchase Link:

Amazon


RABT Book Tours & PR

Thursday, March 22, 2018

Book Spotlight & Book Trailer ~ The October Men David Impey ~ Suspense, Mystery, Conspiracy Thriller @David_Impey1

Welcome to the Book Tour for 
The October Men
David Impey


The October Men
David Impey

Genre: Suspense, Mystery, Conspiracy Thriller

Publisher: Big Bear

Publication date: 20 March 2018

ISBN: 9781912145799

Pages: 339

About the Book:

Otto Parsons, a brilliant Oxford physicist, is missing. His early experiments on zero gravity machines have produced unimaginable results. His professor, Dan Sibley, has to secure funding for their work or close the project down.

A wealthy organisation has made him an offer to secure the project’s future. Only now, it seems his backers may have an altogether more sinister agenda. Wheels are in motion that cannot be stopped.

What is it that connects their work with the assassination of JFK, the Roswell Incident, the Wall Street Crash and a mysterious cache of priceless art?

And who are the shadowy partners of the October Foundation? The answers will threaten the safety of everyone on the planet.

Watch the Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/N1vuYEFoZgE

Purchase Your Copy from   
Amazon     
Amazon UK

Meet the Author:

This is the first full-length novel by David Impey. He originally graduated in Chemistry and, afterwards, worked in high-tech industry either on the marketing/commercial side or in advertising.

David has helped write campaigns with a heavy emphasis on demystifying supposedly obscure areas of science that affect everybody on a day-to-day basis and has won several awards for his work.

His first published work was an April Fool’s article in a yachting magazine and, since then, David has been a frequent columnist, contributor to industry journals and online blogs, as well as setting up some and editing others. He also developed a TV series about health called “The Dose”.

When he’s not writing, David is a composer, producer, and keyboardist. He has worked as a musician for 20 years principally as a composer of soundtrack music for corporate clients ranging from sherry to paint to insurance and cruise lines.

Some of his music has been used extensively by TV companies across Europe including the UK and the Netherlands. David lives near Oxford with his wife and insane dog.

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