tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4005007755917660282024-03-06T05:40:43.239+01:00Thriller-WriterGUESTS... and the random scribblings of a novelistEric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.comBlogger154125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-623720671594130202022-02-20T14:23:00.000+01:002022-02-20T14:23:11.699+01:00First few chapters of the CULL - Bloodline<p> <b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: red; font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><u>NOTE: PG-18 (graphic violence)</u></span></b></p><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;"><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="break-after: avoid; font-size: 14.85px; text-indent: 0cm;"><b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span></b><b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: red; font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">WARNING: Read Chapter 4 with the lights on!</span></b><br /><b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="break-after: avoid; font-size: 14.85px; text-indent: 0cm;"><b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="break-after: avoid; text-indent: 0cm;"><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="break-after: avoid; font-size: 14.85px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><b>1.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Black thunderheads obscured by the oppressive night air. Closer they move; drawn into explosive detonation. The first thunderclap announced a prodigious tempest. The strengthened glass wall shuddered as the sound waves tried to penetrate the quiet interior with their full force. Anka Syzmanski’s step hung suspended for a fraction of a second; the hallway lit with jagged electric blue. She completed the step; started another.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The lights went out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Another celestial drumroll; quicker now, the storm approaching fast.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Seconds passed; she waited. Fighting against the darkness, the emergency lighting sputtered into action.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Plick.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Plick.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Plick, plick.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Plick, plick, plick, plick.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Spattering against the glass separating wet from dry, the rain began. A heavenly tap opened; grime swabbed down the transparent wall by sluicing torrents; lightning filtered through cascading wash forming eccentric shadows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Syzmanski’s shoes picked up their clipping rhythm; pounding heels a counterpoint to the drubbing rain, announcing to all nocturnal dwellers: Beware! The night Nurse cometh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She fell into her routine: step close, depress handle, open door, insert torso, listen, watch, decide; alive or gone? Gone meant a retreat to the Nurses’ station and a quick phone call. Alive meant close the door, move to the next room.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Syzmanski eased the door to room 359.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Listen: the shallow, laboured breathing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Watch: no perceptible movement from the woman in the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Alive… for now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Windows rattling; another cracking roar as the storm ramped up. Close the door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nurse Syzmanski’s fleeting interruption done, a shadowy shape lowered itself from its hiding place under the metal-framed bed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>2.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ralph Graham and Amy Bree were cold. Toes no longer felt; lower legs going the same way. If they had to exit quickly from the panel truck now, they hoped adrenalin would overcome the lethargy they felt. Amy raised the binoculars for what seemed the millionth time that night, sweeping her magnified gaze over the single-story detached house on the outskirts of Houston. Although it was late, her wristwatch showed past two a.m., a fine tendril of smoke drifted lazily from the chimney, evidence of a cozy fire allowed to burn out after all had turned in for the night. Amy’s mind went to the soft couches in the large lounge; the warmth radiating from the stone fireplace; the comfortable beds with down to fight off the damp chill… She shook her head. No. She had never been in that house; hoped she never would.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She looked over at Ralph, sitting bored alongside. Two peas in a pod; cut from the same cloth. That’s what people said about them. Behind their backs, and often to their faces, they were just geeks. No mind they had both passed the physical and mental testing all Field Agents had to take; only just for Ralph in the case of the physical stuff, but a pass nevertheless. The commentaries were correct, however.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Both had excelled as students, gaining top honours. Both had IQs north of 150. Both had special abilities. Both were extremely competitive and ambitious, nurtured in a society that reduced everything to winning or losing. They were winners, yes; just not in the race they wished to run.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They both harboured secret desires. Once, some months ago at the party for Ralph’s retiring department head, with tongues loosened by liquid, they had confessed these wishes. Astounded to discover coincidence, as well as frustration, they had vouched to help each other win the prizes <i>they</i> wanted; not those imposed by others.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After University, Ralph could have gone to any of the Seattle or Silicon Valley computer software conglomerates; with some business experience thrown in, could have been another guru of Information Technology in ten years. But not him; he wanted to carry a gun. He applied to, and was recruited by, the FBI.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After an equally outstanding stint studying at MIT, Amy could have taken her talent for puzzle solving to NASA or any number of high-flying University or research outfits. Perhaps she would end up, one day in the not too distant future, working in the huge, secret National Security Agency data centre in Utah. Not what she wanted though; she needed to use her special talent in the field. She had also applied to the FBI.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Both had spent a little over seven years as junior Field Agents in small FBI offices, making up the numbers on raids, pushing paper around desks, fetching coffee for the Senior Special Agents; generally gestating disappointment. This was not their goal. It was, unfortunately in the rigid structure of the Bureau, a necessary rite of passage. Then, their talents had been noted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Again, matters did not quite work out as planned. They were both now in the Behavioural Science Unit at the FBI’s training facility in Quantico. There they had met for the first time: Ralph developing software to provide Artificial Intelligence Support for various Field Units; Amy assigned to problem-solving methodologies and Crisis Intervention. Neither was where they wanted to be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That changed today…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">…just not officially.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Any coffee left?” Ralph’s southern drawl made the sentence seem longer than three words.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“We drank the last an hour ago. I could go and find somewhere.” It was not really a question; Amy had no intention of leaving their stakeout.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Forget it.” He yawned. “Any movement?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Nothing. It’s been over three hours since she turned in.” For the first time since they had discussed the night’s venture, an element of doubt rose in Amy’s mind. “What if we’re wrong?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ralph pondered this for a while; breaking the question down, exploring multiple logical paths, finally reaching a conclusion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“If we are, then nothing’s lost. If we aren’t…” Left hanging in the frigid air of the panel truck.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Let’s give it another hour.” Amy stretched, willing warmth to her toes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page;" /></span></span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>3.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It had been Ralph’s idea, although convincing Amy was the work of seconds. He had been loaned temporarily to the prestigious Behavioural Analysis Unit Team 2, the serial-killer catchers, to write some bespoke software for their latest investigation. The Blood Sucker, the uninspiring name by which this particular Unknown Subject was christened by the Media, had the BAU team stumped. Over sixteen months and thirteen gruesome murders; the victim’s blood, all of it, painted on the walls of their homes. Four States; children, adults and the elderly; males and females; college students, bankers, even one police officer. No clues. No connections between the victims. No suspects. No end in sight.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ralph suggested they should take on, and of course, solve, the mystery. Combine Amy, and her uncanny ability to find clarity in confusion, with his knack of creating complex decision-tree designs he could rapidly convert to the zeroes and ones of the computers. That would get them noticed. That would get them where they wanted to be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He tried to approach the BAU Supervisory Special Agent, but geeks had no credibility for this seasoned law enforcement professional. So one evening, when the BAU team were off looking at the fourteenth murder scene, Ralph used his temporary key card to allow Amy into the BAU Team 2 office.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The corkboard walls were covered with full-colour photographs of the preceding crime scenes. They had a predominantly red tint. Amy tried to relax, forcing down the bile the bloody images threatened to expel from her stomach. Ralph was less successful and made abundant use of a plastic wastebasket. Neither she nor Ralph had any experience of this sort of crime scene gore.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On a desk they found a folder containing reports and images of the latest killing. This was different. Five victims, a complete family, yet only one had been singled out for exsanguination and wall-painting. What was so special about this teenager?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy sat at an empty desk and started to turn the pages of the latest report. Victimology, investigating what connected the objects of such violence, is a technique often used by the BAU’s profilers to try to identify where, when, who had been the common factor. Amy turned a page in the profiler’s notes about the family’s history. When the mental light bulb lit, she smiled and called Ralph over.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Look, five years ago.” She pointed to a brief annotation. “I’ve seen this also in the other three case histories you showed me, and all about the same time. Let’s check all the victim reports.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Another half hour; all but two of the reports showed the same detail. The two that didn’t were the first cases. Ralph said he would make some phone calls and scuttled off.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; text-indent: 17.85pt;"> </span></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="color: red;">4.</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The cold in the panel truck had become almost unbearable for Amy. Amazingly, it did not seem to bother Thin Ralph as much. He was proud of having used his FBI credentials to obtain this vehicle from the Police impound lot when they had flown into Houston earlier that day. This small victory empowered him in his eyes and he was determined to enjoy it to the full. He had tilted the driver’s seat back several degrees, to observe the house better he had said, and was now semi-reclining with his head tilted away, resting on the doorframe. It would have been a sell, if it were not for the gentle snoring coming from his obstructed sinuses.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Over at the house, nothing had changed; or had it?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy wasn’t sure; it could have been a trick of the light. For a fleeting second, her own eyes not entirely focused on their target, something, someone had moved past one of the front windows. This in itself would not be unusual. On many occasions she had risen from a warm bed to visit the bathroom, or the kitchen for a glass of water, even some ice cream, in the middle of the night. Yet, in all those instances, she had switched on the room lights.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The house was still in darkness. If they had tried to have their vigilance sanctioned, maybe, perhaps, they could have brought some night-vision scopes. Instead she had her own binoculars, which she now raised to straining eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The slight humidity in the air made the grey bricks of the dwelling shine in the moonlight. Could it have been the shadow of a branch from the trees in their target’s yard, caught in the moonbeams as some nocturnal bird made it move? Everything was possible; more so from the safety of Ralph’s sequestered panel truck. She dug Ralph in the ribs, eliciting a cacophony of grunts and gripes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I think I saw something. I’m going to take a look.” Her right hand went to the holster on her hip. Simultaneously, she tapped her left inside ankle with her right foot. Amy pulled back on the door handle. The roof-mounted courtesy light flickered on. She pulled the door closed; the light went off. Reaching up, she sought the plastic switch that killed the light, prepared to break the fixture if it became necessary. Her fingers felt the rough edges of the switch and pushed it to a position as far from opposite to where it had been. The door pull did not illuminate the panel truck’s cabin this time. She slid from her seat and stood outside. Ralph was now awake, watching her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’m going to take a walk round the house; check if all the doors are locked. If I’m not back in a couple of minutes…” She left the phrase hanging. She had no idea what she expected Ralph to do, alone, if she did not return. Amy shook her head and took a tentative step toward the house.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As she crossed the street, she drew the standard issue Glock 22 from her hip. Despite the Firearms Instructor’s insistence that the gun’s three separate safety mechanisms meant she could, and should, have a round in the chamber at all times, Amy did not trust the weapon not to go off and injure someone. She remembered now to work the slide, forcing a round from the magazine into the chamber. She had never had to shoot in anger. Even on the four raids in which she had participated, she had been in the last contingent of agents, armed with repeating shotguns. By the time she had reached the fray, it had always been well and truly over. Now she was leading; her backup, <i>pray he hasn’t snoozed off again</i>, at an ever-increasing distance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She could almost feel the adrenalin course through her veins. Her fingers and toes tingled. Her hands were shaking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She reached the low wall and black-painted railings at the front of the property. Reaching out, she unlatched the metal gate that gave onto the path to the front door. The hinges squealed as she pushed it inward, just enough to slip through. Four steps. Five. Behind her the gate crashed shut. She spun round, her gun levelled as they had taught her in Quantico. Should have closed it herself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">All pretence of stealth was now a thing of the past.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She ran to the front door and pushed with her left palm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was firmly locked. Moving along the grey brick wall to her left, she reached the large window, showing the lounge beyond. The moon’s rays illuminated enough for her to make out the fireplace, with its dull red embers, and a large screen TV. To their right, a couch and a single cloth-covered lounge chair. All empty.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy kept moving reaching the end of the wall, peering around. Nothing. No one. She moved down the side of the house, passing a tall hedge. A few feet from the rear, a door with a single, broad, stone step. She peeked through a vertical glass slit set at head height. The kitchen. She could not see anyone inside. A big kitchen knife was lying on the central island. Its blade and handle shining in the light filtering through lace curtains.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy placed her hand on the doorknob and turned. She expected resistance; a locked door. The knob turned smoothly; the door swung toward her. She was tempted to go back to the panel truck; fetch Ralph. A sense of urgency filled her. If they were right; if it was here, now, the house occupant could be in deadly danger. Amy realized just how much Ralph and her had screwed things up. No one knew they were here. They had not even left a note for their bosses, or anyone in the BAU. That meant she was on her own… with Ralph.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy pulled the door wide and entered. She sniffed. Something in the air. A faint tinge. A slightly metallic odour. She stepped forward; her pistol held straight-armed before her; the smell stronger.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She traversed the kitchen, emerging on a short hallway that led to the lounge. Amy poked her gun around the corner and swept her arms from left to right. No targets presented themselves. Apart from the stench, now much more pervasive, all seemed in order. She crossed the lounge, stopping briefly to peer behind the couch, before leaving it behind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At the far side, another hallway ran toward the back. She could make out four doors on the right, and one on the left at the end. Bathroom and bedrooms, she supposed. The occupier lived alone, so several of the bedrooms would be empty, she thought. Amy stepped across the hallway to the first door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A doorknob; a quick turn; an explosive push: a bathroom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy suppressed a cough. She had been holding her breath; since when, she did not know. She inhaled deeply, almost gagging on the aroma impregnating the air. What was that smell?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She forced herself to step down the hallway, nearing the second door. If this were my house, where would I sleep? Which would be my bedroom? Probably the closest to the bathroom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy reached the door. She could hear her own blood booming in her ears, creating a hypnotic drumbeat inside her head. Her hands felt sweaty; her feet were ice cold. She held her breath again. The door was partially open; a few inches. She placed her left hand against the wood and pushed gently.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The door imploded. Something grabbed her extended arm and pulled. The force propelled her across the room, up against the far wall, a couple of feet off the ground. It was too dark to see who had attacked her. It might be the house owner. She raised her gun-hand. Shocked, she realized the impact with the bedroom wall had shaken her grip on the Glock. She tried to crouch, her right hand reaching for her BUG, the backup gun strapped to her left ankle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Someone grabbed her throat. Pressure from immensely powerful fingers pressed on her trachea. Tears jumped into her eyes. She felt numb; could sense life sliding away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Summoning her will to survive; she lashed out, scoring a solid kick against a well-muscled body. She felt herself lifted; her feet leaving the ground. More kicking. The attacker absorbed the blows without as much as a grunt. Amy tried punching ribs, just as Quantico’s Instructors had insisted. There, your opponent would release their hold and go down; here…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy felt herself thrown against the floor of the bedroom. Her hands scrabbled about, looking for something to use as a weapon. The attacker was on top of her. She could not reach her backup gun.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The attacker now used both hands on her throat. The pressure increased exponentially. Amy felt her neck would snap at any moment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A yell. Far, far away. Receding.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“FBI.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Repeated.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Suddenly the hands were gone. She sensed movement. Fast, flowing; like a big cat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She could hear the sounds of struggle from the hallway. A gunshot, loud in the narrow space. Something small thrown, clattering down the corridor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy struggled upright, snatching the backup Glock 27 from its nest on her ankle. She commanded her trembling fingers to pull back on the slide. Stumbling. The bedroom door. More light. A crumpled figure, limbs strewn against the wall.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Outlined against the lounge doorway, a large shape paused, looking back, eyes seeming to glow. She raised her pistol and emptied the magazine; panic, fear, pulling the trigger until no rounds remained.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She peered through the smoky haze. The figure had gone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She looked down. Ralph lay still. She saw his gun on the floor near the lounge doorway. Amy powered herself forward, scooping up the weapon, feeling Ralph’s warmth still on the butt, rushing into the lounge.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On the far side, the moonlight showed a huge figure. Her mind, assailed by unfamiliar sensations, multiplied its height and girth. It filled the passageway leading toward the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She started pulling the trigger again; her training forgotten, her eyes closed; primeval hate for hurting Ralph drowning all rational thought.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy opened her eyes when the detonations stopped. There was no corpse on the floor, brought down by her reckless gunfire. The figure had left.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She reached to her left hip, extracting one of the two spare magazines in their belt support. Reloading was a series of clicks, familiar from the range, yet alien in this suburban home. She rushed across the space and emerged into the hallway. Running now. The kitchen empty. Its door hanging lopsided, hit with tremendous impetus.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Care to the wind, Amy charged outside.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Left. Right. Gun barrel seeking a target. God help anyone who came to see what the shooting was about. Amy was primed. She wanted blood.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A distant siren moaned. Then another.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy retreated inside, still gripping Ralph’s weapon. She hit the lights in the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Spotless. Except for the blood-stained kitchen knife on the central island.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She entered the lounge. Lights on. Crimson footprints, two sets, traversed the cream-coloured rug before the fireplace.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She stepped into the hallway. Lights. Ralph’s body lay unmoving. Amy knelt alongside, feeling for a pulse. He was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She stood, wearily. A couple of steps brought her to the bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The hallway light illuminated blood-soaked walls, smeared where her body had collided.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She stepped gingerly inside.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The smell hit her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy spun, directing the vomit into the hallway, careful, as her stomach heaved uncontrollably, not to defile Ralph’s body.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page;" /></span></span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>5.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy Bree had scared her parents when she was six years old. The fright, and its consequences, marked her father and dictated his attitude towards her for the rest of his life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was always a curious little girl, and far brighter for her short years than other children. She had been sitting alongside her mother in the family kitchen, in Bar Harbor, Maine. Her father worked in a local hotel and was absent for almost all of Amy’s waking hours. Her mother occupied her time by working her way obsessively through puzzle books. Alphabet Soup word problems were her favourite and it was one of these that caused her brow to furrow with concentration now. This was a particularly difficult challenge, requiring the location of over forty medical terms in a hundred by hundred letters square. She needed coffee. Dropping the book containing the puzzle on her chair, she rose to replenish her cup.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy had been observing her mother for over half an hour, at first not comprehending the nature of the page’s contents. Amy had learned to read three and a half years ago, although her reading choice was limited to Dr Seuss. She picked up the puzzle, looked at the list of words that needed to be found in the character chaos, and picked up her mother’s pencil.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her mother returned to her seat, taking a long sip from the steaming mug, then, carefully placing this in the centre of the coffee table, picked up her puzzle book. Every single word was ringed in the red pencil, not neatly, as she did, but in the unsteady hand of her six-year-old. She looked at her daughter for a full two minutes without speaking. Amy limited herself to gazing through the kitchen window, her attention drawn to the huge white sailboat leaving the harbour. Her mother turned the pages in the book, seeking a similar Alphabet Soup conundrum. She passed the book, without a word, to little Amy, watching as her daughter polished off the problem in less than a minute.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her mother screamed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That night the parents spoke. Over the next five months, Amy was subjected to CT and MRI scans, looking for tumour, aneurysms, or anything else that could offer a palatable explanation. Nothing. Then came the turn of the paediatric psychologists. They just reported back that Amy liked doing puzzles.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then one day, while waiting for yet another session with a child shrink, the doctor’s assistant, who had been trying to get into Mensa, the high-IQ club, left a practice entry test on the table where Amy had been drawing sailboats with coloured crayons. He’d gone to take a phone call. When he returned, twenty-five minutes later, the test was completed. Amy was still drawing sailboats, so at first he thought it was a joke played by one of his colleagues, aware of his frustration at falling short. He checked the answers against the published results on the web page, and calculated the score. 154! Impossible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For Amy’s father, though, this was not good news.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No, he wouldn’t agree to a special school.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No, he wouldn’t agree to private tuition.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No, he wouldn’t agree to more tests.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy’s younger brother, Barry, had shown no signs of precocious behaviour, so his daughter’s ability was not normal. From that moment onward, he treated Amy as a freak; something to be distrusted, even feared. Her mother had no choice but to shield her from her father’s displeasure as little Amy progressed through school and on to MIT. For Amy, her father’s attitude left her with an obsession of her own; the need to prove herself at every turn.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That was why she had embarked on the series of decisions that had ultimately led to Ralph’s death; why she found it almost impossible to explain her actions, let alone defend them. She knew this had ended badly for Ralph; and she knew it would abort any future she could have dreamt for herself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>6.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The FBI’s Office of Professional Responsibility raked Amy Bree over the coals. She was charged with gross misconduct leading to the death of an agent. There was even talk of criminal negligence charges, as they had not protected the house occupier. Had the surveillance been sanctioned, the first step would have been to remove the potential target to a safe house, under guard and far removed from the consequences if something went wrong. Ralph and Amy had not contacted the hapless victim before setting up their vigilance on the house, thus converting her into unsuspecting bait. Fortunately, politics intervened and this suggestion was quietly dropped. Politics did not help, in fact just the opposite, when Amy tried to defend herself by insisting they had spoken to the BAU team leader beforehand and had their suggestions summarily rejected. The BAU went on the defensive, and they carried far more clout than a geek from a Behavioural Science support unit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy was suspended, told to attend an FBI shrink, and not to leave town pending the pleasure of the OPR investigators. She felt the suspension justified; the shrink, given her considerable experience of psychiatrists as a child, a walk in the park; the attitude of the OPR, on the other hand, worrying.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What made everything worse: the killings had stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy recounted to the investigators the details of her ‘assessment’ and how they had deduced the last victim’s identity, but to no avail. The BAU was tasked to follow-up this theory. With politics in full flight, they lost no time in pointing out that, of the nineteen victims, only thirteen complied with Amy’s assertions; unfortunately, no data in this respect was available for the first two. So the BAU team-leader chalked it up to faulty analysis and dismissed the matter as quickly as humanly possible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy was left high and dry, out on a limb, up a creek paddle-less, and with a future looking distinctly glum.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After four weeks, the OPR concluded a criminal prosecution was uncalled for, but Amy Bree would be immediately terminated as an FBI agent. Her own Supervisory Agent mentioned to her, as he said his goodbyes, never to try to join any branch of Federal Law Enforcement because she had been blackballed from On High.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy collected her personal stuff, left her apartment, and drove back to Bar Harbor to ponder her next step.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She had been home for six weeks, taking her daily four-hour stroll, aimlessly, along the waterfront, allowing her mind to freewheel, when matters changed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For the last week she had been plagued by the sensation someone was following her. At first she thought it was the FBI doing some sort of follow up. Then it crossed her mind it could be the serial killer, tracking her down, seeking retribution for pre-empting the enjoyment of the last kill.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She had started to carry a handgun.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then, after one of her walks, sitting in a seafront cafeteria sipping on weak coffee, she spotted her tail. He looked to be in his late forties; dressed smartly in a dark suit, white shirt and dark blue tie, not the sort of clothes people wore out of season here in Bar Harbor. He stood, in plain sight, across from the cafeteria. Amy watched him, watching her, through the large panoramic window, as her coffee went cold. Finally she stood, left the coffee behind, and crossed directly to where he was standing. Her right hand held the butt of the pistol in her battered shoulder bag. As she approached, the watcher made no move to leave or avert his gaze.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Can I help you?” He took the initiative.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You are following me. Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’m sure you must be mistaken. I only arrived here a couple of hours ago. Today is the first time I have seen you in person. So I’m not following you, Miss Bree; my colleagues were.” The man’s perfect English was betrayed by an accent Amy could not place.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Who are you?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“My name is Cancelli, Monsignor Santiago Cancelli. I’m from the Vatican.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Which part did you not understand?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“The Vatican? As in the Pope? Rome? That Vatican?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I am unaware of any other.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What do you want with me?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“First, although the reports I have read about you have been thorough, I would like to talk to you personally. Then, if the answers you provide to the questions I bring are satisfactory, I may choose to offer you employment.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy’s mouth opened; no sound escaped.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The priest took her left hand, threaded it through the crook of his right elbow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Please walk with me.” He took a tentative step. Amy stumbled alongside. “Oh and yes, I would feel more comfortable if you release your grip on that gun in your bag.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>7.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Five hours later, Cancelli left Amy at the door to her parent’s house. A dark blue SUV waited for him across the street. He boarded and the vehicle drove away. Amy was in a state of confusion. Cancelli had not only offered her a job, at a vastly increased salary from her stipend at the FBI, but had promised to reinstate her in Federal Law Enforcement. She could not see how he could possibly perform that miracle. He was not even American.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Two weeks dragged past. Cancelli had told her to take the time to read as much as possible, from public sources, about the Blood Sucker, promising to augment what she discovered with official files, once he set certain wheels in motion. One morning a messenger service delivered a bulky package for her. Her curiosity was roused when she signed for the box, noting it had been sent from the Directorate of Intelligence at the FBI headquarters in Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington. Amy took the package to her room. She dumped the box on her bed and used a pair of scissors to cut her way in. She discovered it contained a copy of all the FBI files relating to the Blood Sucker case; not just the stuff she had already seen when Ralph smuggled her into the BAU, but more recent material.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy was impressed. Her degree of amazement rose several points when she read the Compliments slip folded into the topmost file. It was addressed to ‘Senior Special Agent A. Bree.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was about to tuck into the paper feast when the front door bell sounded. Her mother answered and called up the stairs to tell her she had a visitor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy was surprised to see Cancelli chatting amicably with her mother as she descended. She waited in silence as the priest bade farewell to her mother, then following his indications, grabbed her coat and joined him outside. He pointed to the SUV, and without another word, they boarded the vehicle. In the driver’s seat sat a muscular man with short-cropped hair and ever-moving eyes. A bodyguard, thought Amy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As soon as they were seated, the driver put the car into gear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Where are we going?” Amy asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Well I thought we might have lunch together. Can you recommend somewhere? I am a man of simple tastes, but I do like good seafood.” Amy responded by giving directions to the driver, who limited his response to nodding once.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Now to other matters.” Cancelli extended his hand and the driver passed back a briefcase. Cancelli turned to Amy. “Did you receive the material from the FBI?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“It just arrived. How...?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You will receive whatever they compile as a matter of course, but I would suggest you return to Washington. I have arranged an office for you, with a secretary, at the FBI’s Headquarters building. They will be expecting you next Monday morning. But you must be clear on one thing: you neither work for, nor answer to, anyone at the FBI. I will request status reports as and when I require them. Maintain your secretary appraised of your whereabouts at all times. You have one assignment: locate the abomination they call the Blood Sucker. Should you require additional help, or support in the field, this should enable you to commandeer anything you need.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Cancelli extracted an official ID wallet from the briefcase and passed it to Amy. She flipped it open. ‘Homeland Security, Investigations’ read the gold and blue badge, and underneath ‘Senior Special Agent’. The wallet contained a Personnel Credential ID, showing her old FBI photograph, and a matching Department Access Card.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“That card will allow you electronic access to all federal computer systems and installations. Use it carefully.” He rummaged in the briefcase extracting a bundle of dark objects. “You will also need these.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy took the heavy pile from his hands. There was a holstered gun, a Glock 22; two full magazines in a belt support; and a BUG, also a Glock, with its own ankle holster. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn these were the ones she carried while at the FBI. She clipped the bigger Glock’s holster on her jeans’ belt, checking the magazine’s full load before racking a round into the chamber and holstering the weapon. For now she placed the remaining items in her coat pockets.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’m glad to see you have learned your lesson.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What? Oh, you mean the bullet in the chamber.” Amy bowed her head slightly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“It is good you can learn from your mistakes. Next time you meet with the Blood Sucker, shoot first; head shots; three or four should be sufficient.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Don’t you want me to arrest him?” She had noticed the absence of handcuffs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“No. We cannot allow it to live. Even in the prison system, it will continue to kill. Furthermore, I am convinced there is no prison cell that could hold it for more than a short while. Allowing it to continue amongst us is a risk we should not take. Head shots; three or four at least.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You say ‘It’…?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Someone who commits crimes of that magnitude and brutality cannot be considered a member of the human race, Miss Bree.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What happens when he… <i>it</i> is dead? What do I do then? Will all this,” her hand waved the ID wallet, “be over?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Unfortunately not. The Blood Sucker is not the only concern we have.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’ve never killed…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I know. Yet you showed no hesitation in pulling the trigger in Houston.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“He… It had murdered my partner.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Then think of this as sanctioned revenge, if that helps. I can assure you, if you cross paths with it again… when you cross paths, it will not hesitate to kill you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Silenced reigned in the SUV for the remainder of the short journey. As they pulled up across from the restaurant, Cancelli spoke again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Do not underestimate this mission, Miss Bree. That is the undoing of your ex-colleagues. Use them, use whomever you have to, but stop this abomination, at whatever the cost.” He sighed, then smiled, disclosing small, perfectly white teeth. “Now, is the lobster good here?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>8.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Monday. Amy had driven down from Maine the weekend before. During the long journey she could not stop her mind bombarding her with unanswered questions about her new role. Just who was Cancelli? How did a Vatican priest come to have so much influence in Washington? Was she really expected to kill the Blood Sucker, not arrest him? Did she want to do this?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When Cancelli had said his goodbyes in Maine, he had given her a thick, padded envelope. Just some expense money, he said. Did not need to be justified. Spend as she saw fit. For personal use. Back at her parent’s house, she had opened the package; fifty thousand dollars in hundreds. She had used a little of that money in booking herself into a decent hotel in Washington.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy took a cab to the FBI’s headquarters on Pennsylvania Avenue. She had been told by Cancelli to use a small entrance on Ninth Street; more discreet, he had said. She walked up to the smoked-glass door, carrying the box of case files she had received. An agent, leaving at that moment, held the door for her and she passed inside.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The lobby area was unassuming. To her left, a security desk enclosed in a bulletproof glass cubicle. To her right, an X-ray machine and the ubiquitous metal detector arc. She approached the cubicle. There was no ledge to rest the file box, so she placed it on the floor. Amy took out her new ID wallet and slid it through the metal tray opening in the glass.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Good Morning. I’m Amy Bree, Homeland Security. I’m supposed to ask for Office 312.” At the mention of the office, the guard’s attention spiked. He flipped open the wallet and checked her picture on the credentials with an image on his computer monitor. Then he extracted her Department Access Card, inserted it into a reader, then returned it to the wallet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’ll need to call up, Ma’am. Please pass through the arc and wait on the other side.” He slipped her wallet back through the tray, and picked up the telephone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy pocketed her ID, picked up the file box and approached the X-ray machine. She nodded to the guard standing by the machine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’m a Federal Agent and I’m carrying.” She placed the box on the black rubber conveyor belt, lifted the right side of her jacket to display her weapon, and pointed to her left ankle. The guard looked over at the Security cubicle, receiving a nod from the man there.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Insert your DAC into the slot on the right side of the arc, and step through, Ma’am.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She complied. The arc did not emit the expected beep. The guard retrieved and returned her Department Access Card. The conveyor belt jerked into motion, shipping her files box into the beige-painted X-ray machine. As the box emerged on the far side, the guard made to lift the cardboard lid and examine the interior. A thin hand, speckled with liver spots, came down firmly on the top.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Need to know, Joseph. Sorry.” The hand belonged to a short, frail woman dressed in a knee-length skirt, colourful blouse and a blue long-sleeved cardigan sweater. Her short, spiky hair was grey, the same shade as her eyes. She ported a pair of dark-tinted, horn-rimmed glasses on a chain around her neck. The lower part of her face radiated a beaming smile, showing teeth slightly stained by too much caffeine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Hello, my dear, I thought you would arrive early. May I introduce you,” she turned to the Security Guard, “Senior Special Agent Amy Bree, meet Security Officer Joseph Doherty. Joseph is the man who knows anyone important in this building. He’s also the person to go to if you want tickets for any Nationals’ games.” Amy extended her hand and it was vigorously shaken by the man. “Now, let’s get upstairs.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhYW0StTWMGytMjMBlVR1ElbuX8uA9CwKh87Zx1hSwDTbY9_TrzGq2DQHghP8b06PryrrufBoc4spAcO6DaROUGGuGwIcRV8VXR1C6qE9BZPw8tY37FGa4Z4B1rRfwIiG5bfk0OLehU5E/s1600/Office+312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; color: #336699; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhYW0StTWMGytMjMBlVR1ElbuX8uA9CwKh87Zx1hSwDTbY9_TrzGq2DQHghP8b06PryrrufBoc4spAcO6DaROUGGuGwIcRV8VXR1C6qE9BZPw8tY37FGa4Z4B1rRfwIiG5bfk0OLehU5E/s400/Office+312.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="221" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy followed the elderly woman as she scooped up the box, turned and headed for the elevators. They rode in silence to the third floor. There they exited the cabin and turned right, walking some fifty yards before reaching the back corner of the building. The windows looking onto Ninth Street gave way to a solid wall painted light grey. A single, sturdy wooden door was set in the wall. Alongside its jamb, at a height perfectly matching the level of the older woman’s eyes, was a metal box with a keypad and a blue, silver dollar-sized lens set above. Amy’s companion moved her face close to the box. A faint blue light radiated from the lens, and an audible click came from the door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“We’ll get you registered on the retinal scanner in a while, my dear. For now, let’s have a cup of tea and get to know one another.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The woman pushed open the door and entered. Amy stood on the threshold for a few seconds, looking into the room. What she could see was totally not what she expected.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page;" /></span></span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>9.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At the very same moment Amy stood before the door to Office 312, the man the FBI knew as the Blood Sucker glanced through the Cafe’s window toward the FBI building, suppressing a smile. He sat alone in a window seat, his bulk and serious demeanour, a barrier to table-sharing. The warmth from a coffee cup permeated the fingers of his right hand, although the cup itself could not easily be seen through his muscular fingers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He was a patient man, marking time as the waitress brought him his full breakfast; the second that morning, though not eaten in the same place. That would attract the attention he eschewed; his size alone made him the focus of any room he entered; anything else was unwelcome. It didn’t do for the prey to be aware of the predator.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He took a large bite out of a slice of toast dripping with butter and honey, chewing slowly as he debated whether to continue this line of action, started weeks ago, or write it off and follow up other leads. The killing of her partner had sown the seeds of obsession and revenge, of that he was sure. When the tracker he had placed on her car in the small Boston town had finally begun its journey towards Washington, he had been relieved. It appeared she was getting back in the game. He had broken off his fruitless surveillance of the BAU team and quickly travelled to Washington to intercept her and follow her to the J. Edgar Hoover building. Seems she had somehow recovered her old job. That must be good; for her, and for him. With the FBI’s resources, she stood a better chance of locating his objective than he did. The United States was too extensive to find his target without assistance; assistance she would unwillingly supply. When it was time, and she was no longer of any use to him, she would die like her partner. She had seen him, he knew; she was therefore a loose end, and he never left loose ends.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He took another huge bite from the slice of toast.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He was a patient man.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fate loves a good joke, although many often go completely unnoticed by those involved.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the same Cafe, huddled together in corner table at the back of the room, three dour figures sat munching their way through frugal breakfasts. They did not speak more than was absolutely necessary. Occasionally, their leader glanced down at a tablet placed on the bench seat at his side. Its screen showed a street map of Washington. The red dot that had been pulsating near its centre, had just gone out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He glanced upward, across the large room packed with office workers and not a few FBI agents. Through the far windows, he could make out the brown stones of the building which their assignment had entered scant minutes before. He raised his hand, touching his left ear; just a quiet hiss. Audio had gone a few seconds ago also. She must have entered a secure room. He nodded at his companions; no words were necessary. They would wait. He turned his attention back to the food.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page;" /></span></span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>10.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy rocked back on her heels, swivelling her gaze to the left. Only light grey walls and similar-toned office furniture; the design brainchild of some low-echelon bureaucrat who thought this stark environment would be conducive to solving the FBI’s caseload. Before her, albeit set in an identical grey-painted wall, was an over-large, wooden door. Its deep red colour clamoured for attention, yelling its specialness to the Four Winds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Now the elderly woman had entered and moved off to the right, Amy could see inside. The view was strange, to say the least. Staring back at her from a seamless floor-to-ceiling mirrored wall, her own image reflected her puzzlement.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She took a step inside. The outside wall seemed unusually thick and inside the passageway only allowed movement to the right. She could see it ended after about fifteen feet; a two-foot gap on the left beckoned. She tentatively walked down the passageway. Amy found herself blinking rapidly; her stomach felt queasy. Her reflection in the abutting wall at the end of the short passageway did not look right. Behind her, the large redwood door hissed closed. She forced herself to reach the gap, and stepped through.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Immediately to her right, a large leather couch paralleled the inner wall. She flopped down on it, forcing herself to take deep breaths.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’m sorry about that, dearie, but you’ll get used to it. After a couple of days you’ll hardly notice it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What…?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Smoke and mirrors, my dear. This office is rather special. The mirrors slightly distort your image, and none of the walls or the floor are completely straight; they’re meant to disorient you. That wall is also one-way glass so we can see what’s coming, and with a quick keystroke, I can trap them in there and gas them.” Amy’s gaze flicked up to the older woman’s face, to be met only by a broad smile and twinkling eyes. She wasn’t sure if the grey-haired woman was joking or not. The woman approached Amy and held out her hand. “Let me show you around.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy let herself be aided from the couch. She gazed around the room. It was rectangular, with two large windows on the back wall. Set between them was a large metal filing cabinet, painted bright blue with a prominent combination lock centred on the top drawer. Off to the right, sharing a wall with the couch, an oblong table held a coffeemaker and water kettle as well as all the necessary bits and pieces for continual liquid refreshment. Below the table sat a small refrigerator, more at home in a five-star hotel than in this strange room. Next along the wall, another door, wooden, red like its counterpart, but more subdued. It was closed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“That’s your office. This is mine.” The woman walked over to a large L-shaped desk that dominated the other wall, its top festooned with large computer screens and a couple of keyboards. Just behind the desk, two large metal racks held an assortment of electronics and blinking red and green lights.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Are you my assistant?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The woman’s laughter was light and genuine. “No secretaries here, dearie. I’m your partner. Let me introduce myself. My name’s Mrs Lindon, but you can call me Katie. I’ll call you Amy, if that’s alright.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy’s queasiness was passing. “Your accent; you’re not American.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes I am, my dear, at least sufficiently to be allowed to work at Fort Meade for the last thirty years.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Fort Meade. The National Security Agency?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“My father was the head of the CIA station in London for many years. My mother was English. When he was posted back to Langley, we all came over. I was thirteen then, but the accent stuck. It’s come in handy once or twice over the years.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What do you do…?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Computers are my thing. Hate the buggers, but I have a way with them. I can hack into anything with a chip. Cuts down on the paperwork quite a bit, believe me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“So you’ll be providing backup from here?” Amy glanced towards the desks and its array of monitors.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Oh no. I’ll be out in the field with you.” She pointed to a large, metallic grey carry-on bag sitting next to the desk. “With that I can be anywhere in the World and use the power of this kit,” she nodded toward the metal racks, “to do whatever we need. I’m also handy with a gun, just in case.” She smiled disarmingly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes, my dear, I understand. That misogynist Cancelli thinks of me as a secretary. I just ignore him.” She smiled again and Amy found herself grinning as well. “Let’s have a look at your room. It’s still a bit spartan because I did not know what you like.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Katie crossed to the door and opened it inwards. She waited until Amy entered the room and then followed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This room was identical in size to Katie’s, but occupied the corner of the building. Amy had four windows, instead of two. A wooden desk, with three computer monitors, occupied the space to her left. On the far side of the room, a large couch, identical with the one in Katie’s office, ran along the wall. Taking up a quarter of the right-hand inner wall was a metal emergency door with a push-bar.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I know what you’re going to say. You didn’t see that outside, yes?” Amy nodded. “It’s camouflaged. Only for use in emergencies, if we are attacked in here.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Attacked?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I know we are on the third floor, but Office 312 is a bunker. Our foes are more than capable of trying to stop us if we get too close, so we need to be careful. This office was built to keep our investigations, and us, both secret and protected. The external walls are five inches thick with a steel plate and Kevlar core. The main door also has a steel and Kevlar layer inside. The whole setup is also a Faraday cage. Even the glass in the windows is the same we use at Fort Meade. It’s clear from inside, but opaque when viewed from outside, not just visually either. We can’t be monitored electronically or otherwise in here.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Has this always been here?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Good Heavens no. I’ve been running around like a headless chicken for the last four weeks setting all this up.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Four weeks? I didn’t know I was coming here until last week.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes, dearie. There was some discussion about that, but in the end, your motivation to track the Blood Sucker down won out. I knew someone would be coming, and, to be honest, I’m glad it is you. I think we are going to get on just fine.” Katie waved her hand at the remaining wall space. “I wasn’t sure how you worked, how you analyze your data, so I left the walls ‘old-school’; magnetic whiteboards and lots of them. There’s a filing cabinet in the corner, between the windows. And,” her eyes twinkled, “that couch is very comfortable; I’ve slept on mine for three nights so far while I was building our computer. It’s almost as comfy as my bed back home.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You built the computer? Couldn’t you just buy one?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“There’s no fun in that, my dear, and SANTA is not just any old computer. You couldn’t buy him anywhere.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“SANTA? You’ve given it a name?” Amy looked at Katie, trying to gauge if the older women was joking, or maybe even a sandwich short of a picnic, but her gaze was returned by steady grey eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“SANTA is based upon work I did for the NSA. It stands for Secure Autonomous Networked Tracing Analyzer. SANTA. And, like the old guy in red, he has a huge number of Little Helpers to get the job done. You need to learn how to use him; he’s probably our greatest asset. And it certainly isn’t Windows!” Katie seemed a little miffed at Amy’s reaction.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“See that?” She pointed toward one of the walls in her part of the office.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy looked through the open doorway. She had noticed a few embroidery samplers framed and hung on the walls of Katie’s office. They were exquisitely done, yet consisted of short collections of letters, instead of the usual full alphabets. She followed Katie’s pointing finger and saw “D.A.A.” outlined in burgundy red with yellow and blue highlights, against a dazzling white background.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Don’t Assume Anything. D.A.A.,” supplied Katie, observing Amy’s bemused expression.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy walked into Katie’s office and glanced around the room. There were eight other ‘samplers’, cryptically vying for her attention now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Don’t worry, dearie. I’ll let you know what they all mean, in time. Now about your office…?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I guess I could use a plant or two in there; maybe a poster.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Whatever you want, my dear. Just give me a list and I’ll make it happen. Let’s have a cup of tea and get to know one another a bit more.” She started to walk toward the table with the coffeemaker. “Tell me, how did you know where the Blood Sucker was going to strike? It wasn’t in your reports…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page;" /></span></span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>11.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They had hardly sat down to await the kettle boiling, when a sharp buzz sounded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“We have visitors” announced Katie. She stood and walked to her desk. Touching a key on an overly complex keyboard, one of the monitors flicked on, offering an image of a young man sporting an FBI ID.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes?” said Katie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A reedy voice replied from speakers hidden in the frame of the monitor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Mrs Lindon. Director Marshall wants to see Senior Special Agent Bree. Now. In his office.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“We’ll be right up.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“No. Just Agent Bree, he said...”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Thank you.” Katie hit another key, and they both watched in silence as the agent paused, spoke silently, realized the intercom had been cut off, then shook his head and left. Katie chuckled. “Ah, the game’s afoot, as old Sherlock would say.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy wasn’t sure what was going on, and it showed in her face.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“First tip on how we operate. Washington is all about Perceived Power and Influence.” She pointed to another of the samplers; P.P.I. in grey and yellow against a dark red background. “The Director is going to try to bully you, one of his ex-agents and a lowly one at that, into telling him what we are doing here on his territory. Now you’re not a number on his payroll sheet; you’re an untamed force to be reckoned with.” She beckoned Amy and moved towards the door. “Let’s go have some fun.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy was well aware of the Director’s reputation as a women-hating dictator who would voice his opinions against female occupancy of any position of authority at every opportunity. She felt her stomach flip.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They left Office 312. Amy glanced back, trying to spot the camera. Katie spoke, reading her mind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“It’s hidden in the keypad. The keypad itself’s just for show.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">D.A.A., thought Amy; smoke and mirrors.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They took the elevator to the top floor of the FBI building. Katie seemed pensive to Amy as they rode upward. Shortly before the metal doors slid open, Katie spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Help me distract the secretary for a few seconds.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy was still puzzling over this phrase as she watched Katie take something from her cardigan and palm it in her left hand. They exited the elevator and turned left, Katie in the lead, obviously knowing exactly where she was going. Amy looked around: deep dark blue carpeting, polished wood walls and soft leather couches adorned the Executive Floor. Obviously the low-echelon bureaucrat had spent the decorating budget here first, leaving scraps for the grey-painted walls of the rest of the building. Inverse Pyramid Theory, she thought: spend the most on the least productive area of the FBI; really creates a good impression for visiting dignitaries; any real law-enforcement people would not ascend to these lofty heights, so who is bothered about creating the right image for them? Only Politics here, Sir, Ma’am, move along please.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Their arrival at an unmarked door caused Amy to cut short her mental tirade. Without knocking, Katie flung the door wide and entered; a startled assistant was half out of her chair, when Katie spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Homeland Security, Office 312. Here to see Director Marshall.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The secretary lowered herself slowly back into her chair. “He’ll be with you in a few minutes. Take a seat, if you will.” Amy automatically gravitated toward the large leather couch, stopping when she saw Katie still standing near the assistant’s desk. She spun slowly and strolled over.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Katie was talking to the assistant using a barely audible tone, causing the other woman to lean forward to hear what she was saying. As Amy neared, a subtle push from Katie’s right foot moved her to the far end of the assistant’s desk. The effect was a crude pincer movement, dividing the assistant’s attention between the two. Out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw Katie do something with the contents of her left hand at the USB sockets of the assistant’s desktop computer, all the time moving her right hand repeatedly toward Amy. The assistant’s eyes followed the right hand gestures and looked at Amy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Can you tell me if there is a rest room nearby; it’s that time of the month…” Amy babbled the first thing that came into her head. She didn’t listen to the other woman’s reply, just nodded as she watched Katie withdraw her hand from the back of the computer and pocket whatever she held there.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Katie made a show of looking at the clock on the assistant’s desk. “Tell Director Marshall we are in a hurry, so if he is tied up with something else, we’ll re-schedule for a more convenient time.” The brusqueness of the phrase was tempered by one of her big smiles. The assistant blushed and grabbed for the intercom handset. She spoke, then listened, raising her eyes to Katie on several occasions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You may go…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Katie was already moving toward the interconnecting door; Amy had to quickstep to catch up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Director’s office was lavishly decorated with an overall theme of self-aggrandizing bad taste. The walls were strewn with plaques and framed medals; ostentatious reminders of the work of others. Where another colourful medal or shiny plaque would strain the mores of refinement, a framed photo imposed, naturally of the Director clasping the hand of someone important on the Hill.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Director Marshall sat behind a huge wooden desk, bereft of any papers or computers. At one end, a large glass ashtray crouched beside a burnished wood humidor; a statement if ever there was one. At the desk’s opposite extreme, a single silver-framed photograph of the President shaking hands with the Director in the Oval Office; what else?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I see we’ve caught you at a busy time, Director Marshall.” Katie charged in. “Too busy even to stand when two ladies enter the room. I suppose we’ll have to put good manner aside, for now. We are very busy and don’t have time for political nonsense, so if you’ll get to the point, we’d appreciate it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Director’s mouth slowly sagged open. Katie waited.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I…er…you…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Director, you asked to have a meeting with us. We assume it’s important; otherwise you wouldn’t have interrupted our work. So what is it?” Katie’s smile followed, disarming the barb.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Director of the FBI shuffled his overweight form around in his chair, composing himself. Amy, standing a little behind Katie, had a hard time keeping a straight face.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I wanted to… ask… for an update on your investigation…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“That’s not going to happen, Director,” interrupted Katie. “We don’t report to you. If you want to be copied on our work, you’ll need to talk to your superiors. Our work, and how we do it, is highly classified.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Director’s cheeks turned noticeably red.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’ll have you know I have held Top Secret security clearances for many years…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Access to our… <i>domain</i>, is far above that. It’s compartmentalized; need to know, and, last time I checked, you are not on the list.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Director was certainly not used to being spoken to in this way, and by a woman who could be his Mother.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What if I issued an order to suspend collaboration with your… unit?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Less than half an hour after you utter the word, your personal cell-phone will ring and someone, whose photo you have nearby, will be on the other end of the line. You’ll be lucky to keep your job if you choose to mess with us.” Katie paused, allowing the message to seep through the Neanderthal brain. “Now, if that’s all…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I don’t take too kindly to threats, Lindon…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Director stopped speaking, and sat back, as Katie leaned on the edge of the desk, claiming its expanse for the women.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“It’s Mrs Lindon, and should you have the balls to speak to me again, you will keep a civil and educated tongue in your head. You have no idea who you are talking to, and I, unlike the other women you terrorize in this building, will not take any of your crap. One phone call is all it will take to have someone more competent sit in that chair. Don’t mess with us, Director; it’s not in your own interest.” She paused and resumed with a more gentle tone. “If that’s all you’ve got, we’re busy.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Katie smiled and turned to leave. Amy followed. The assistant watched them with a gaping mouth as they exited the Director’s office. Amy now realized that Katie had deliberately left the interconnecting door wide open so the assistant could hear everything. They walked to the elevator in silence. Once inside…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What the f...!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Just a bit of acting, my dear. We need to draw the line to stop him and the politicos on the Hill interfering. Their messing about could get us killed, remember. Apart from that, I rather enjoyed that meeting.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“But it’ll be all over the building tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Exactly… payback’s a bitch!” Remember P.P.I.?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy paused before replying.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Would he really get a call from the President?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I couldn’t make that happen, but I’m sure Monsignor Cancelli could. The President is a devout Catholic, after all, …and that’s the sort of bluff that cowardly S.O.B. won’t ever think of calling.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I have another question…” Amy said timidly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Come on, dearie, out with it. I don’t bite, really; well, not much these days.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy was not sure whether the question would be welcome, but…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Mrs Lindon? Is there a Mr. Lindon?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Katie chuckled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“No. That’s a long story. Married to my work most of the time, but using Mrs is far more imposing than Miss or Ms, don’t you think?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“P.P.I.” said Amy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You’re catching on.” said Katie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What did you do to the assistant’s computer…?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Katie raised a finger to her lips.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Not here, my dear. Let’s get that cup of tea and I’ll let you into a little secret.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page;" /></span></span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>12.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Blood Sucker took a final swig of his coffee, dabbed a paper serviette across his full lips, and sat back. He stood, throwing a couple of bills onto the table, and fished out a pair of wrap-around sunglasses from the top pocket of his dark suit. Repeating a movement he had been doing for many years, he deftly opened the frames with one abrupt flick of his wrist. The shades firmly in place, he made his way to the street door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A movement; a sense of focused attention behind him in the depths of the cafeteria.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He continued moving forward, toward the door; his senses, however, were searching out the source of the disturbance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The leader of the three-man team raised his eyes from the tablet. The pulsating red dot had reappeared some fifteen minutes ago, but had just blinked out again. He had listened, a wry smile on his lips, to the exchange between the women and the FBI’s Director. Worthy of one of the American reality shows, he thought. Expectantly, he noted the reference to something which was about to be divulged. Then, teasingly, the signal, and the audio, vanished again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“It’s him!” The hushed whisper, delivered urgently by the man at his side, punctuated by a sharp elbow to his side.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What?” The leader looked up at his teammate, following his gaze to the front of the cafeteria. Outlined against the strong morning light, a hulking figure moved near the entrance. He was big, yes, over two metres; bulky with muscle. The light, steaming in from outside, impeded a clear look at the face. He watched the figure take three steps toward the exit; the manner of movement flowing, feline almost, out of sync with such a broad, tall man; more like an athlete at the top of his game.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“It’s him, I tell you.” The phrase insistent, spoken in rapid Italian.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You’re sure?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I caught a glimpse of his face when he stood up. I’m sure.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Five years of working together, building trust, was enough. The leader scooped up the tablet and dropped it into a messenger bag, flipping its strap over his right shoulder. He grabbed a handful of notes from his billfold and threw them on the table. His left hand found and extracted his cell phone from an overcoat pocket as he stood.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He was aware of people standing quickly; movement, with him as the focus. He resisted the temptation to flick his dark lenses down and use his unprotected eyes to see into the darkness at the back of the cafeteria. His hearing, confused by intermittent kitchen sounds, by patrons’ conversations, by orders shouted, did little to help. Yet he knew, instinctively, to trust the feeling. He stepped through the door onto 9th Street and turned right.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The harsh morning sun tried its best to take away his visual advantage. He was walking east. At the corner he stopped for a few seconds, concentrating. Behind him a door banged shut; not a sound anyone else paid attention to; yet he had memorized the sound as he had passed through the same door only seconds before. He strained: footfalls, quick, hard. Two sets; no, three. Walking fast so as not to draw too much attention to themselves. Closer; ten feet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He hopped off the pavement and trotted across to the FBI’s side of the street then turned right again, heading further down 9th Street, searching for a killing ground; somewhere more private to take care of the threat. He crossed F Street, still heading east, checking buildings; mostly storefronts and offices; not good for what he needed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Behind, the footsteps of his pursuers dropped back slightly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ahead, a grey slate façade and a downward-sloping ramp, announcing a car park. Possible. At least out of the public eye. As he came level, he saw the length of the ramp would not give him enough time to reach its end before the attackers could start shooting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next building: more office space, with a Travel Agent on the ground floor. Between it and the car park, an alleyway, in deep shadow thanks to the morning sun. He turned instantly, his speed increasing exponentially. Halfway down, he passed a large dumpster. With a deft flick of his hand as he ran past, he launched it into the centre of the alley to spoil a clear shot.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The alley jinked left, opening up behind some shops, the back of another office building on the other side. Right again, narrower. The taller offices blocking even more sunlight. He pocketed his shades as he ran; his brain processing the grey-tinted images received from eyes capable of seeing in complete darkness. He did not bother looking back; the sound of the dumpster being pushed out of their way told him all he needed to know.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They advanced more cautiously now, fanning out as much as the alleyway allowed. Their hands held large calibre pistols; their long suppressors probing the darkness ahead. Their leader knew the danger, knew the capabilities of their foe. He signalled for a halt, and all three donned compact night-vision goggles. Their world was now an array of green-washed hues that showed the alley branching left. A harsh light from the right, indicating another street-bound intersecting alleyway. Once they reached that corner, the light from the alley on the right would make the night-vision gear useless; a great place for an ambush. He hand-signalled his team; they removed their headgear and advanced slowly, guns extended in two-handed grips.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The leader held back momentarily, speaking urgently into his cell phone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Blood Sucker waited, his breathing shallow; a deadly game of human chess playing out in the shadows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page;" /></span></span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>13.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Katie opened their office door and entered. Amy was so intrigued with the events that morning, her mind overflowing with unanswered questions, she was almost unaware of the psychedelic disorientation of the inner passageway. She flopped down on the couch, looking over at Katie as she flicked the switch on the kettle again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I would die for a cup of tea just now.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Katie. The…?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“SANTA’s Little Helpers, yes. Although I call them my Subordinate Clauses,” she laughed lightly. “SANTA processes data it receives from out there,” her hand waved vaguely at the space beyond the windows, “stuff its bots supply it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Bots?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes, like netbots, or spy bots. We use them all the time at the NSA now. They can get at places human agents can’t, and usually much quicker and with far less risk.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“So that’s what you did to the Director’s assistant’s computer…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Not just to her machine. Oh no, wouldn’t be worth the trouble. I needed access to his. It was on a credenza at the side of his… throne. Did you see it? A laptop, connected through Wi-Fi to his secretary’s machine, and maybe to a few others. Great setup. Even now my bot is working its way into its secrets.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“But I don’t understand why we need to spy on him. He’s a bastard, yes, but he’s on the side of the good guys, isn’t he.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes and no. We operate outside his bailiwick and that irks him. That was my third run-in in as many weeks with him. He tried his overpowering bully crap on me the first day I arrived, when I went to see him to try to facilitate our installation here. I wasn’t having any of it, so I put him in his place. Two days later he cornered me in an office and tried again. He was with two of his bodyguards and I had to leave all three in some pain. Coincidentally, that’s when I decided on the bunker approach to our office.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Wait. You took on the Director of the FBI and two of his bodyguards? He must outweigh you by at least four times. And the bodyguards would be armed. How did you do that?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Oh, didn’t I mention it? I used to work in the Operations Directorate at the NSA. I started in Field Ops, because in those days we didn’t have the Internet to use as a means to attack our enemies’ computers. We had to go to wherever they were and break in to steal or copy what we wanted.” Katie waved a hand in front of her slight form. “I’m not exactly Rambo, so they found a way to provide me with some basic defence skills – firearms and Kyusho-jutsu; that’s vital points and how to attack them. I can look after myself quite well, even if I do say so myself.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“So why do we need to spy on his assistant’s computer?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Well, her machine is just the entry-point. My bots have four basic functions: Seek, Hide, Tunnel and Send. When I send a query to them via SANTA, they search out everything in their particular domain that may be related to what I’m looking for. Then they package and encrypt the data and send it to SANTA. Tunnel is basically domain growing. I load the bot into the secretary’s machine and, at the first opportunity, it creeps undetected over to the Director’s computer. His is a laptop and probably not connected to the main FBI network; but it will be connected to his secretary’s computer. Also, did you see that his smartphone was plugged into the laptop? That means he probably syncs the two.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I don’t get it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“He may or may not take the laptop home. If he does, and if he connects it to the Internet to check his emails, watch porn or whatever, the Send part of the bot piggybacks on that connection and SANTA receives the info. However, supposing he doesn’t let the laptop leave the office – I either have to break in and steal the data, old school, or allow the bot to use the sync link to pass what I want to the phone’s memory and then either generate a call to SANTA or use the Internet connection to get the data to us. Tunnel is the bit of the code that grabs any and all data processors and uses them to create an area of influence. People can be very security-minded about a laptop, but will use a cell phone at the drop of a hat without giving a single thought to protecting their data. That’s what I, and SANTA, exploit.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“And Hide is a sort of stealth mode, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You’re catching on. Hide does two things: it installs the bots without giving away any traces they are there, and, if push comes to shove, it destroys the bot leaving no trace of its activities.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“And you invented all of that?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes, it’s part of my deal with Cancelli; why I’m here.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A low, insistent buzzing came from one of Katie’s monitors.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Is that SANTA?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“No, it’s a phone call.” She picked up a wireless headset from the desk and, placing it in her right ear, hit a key on one of the keyboards. “Yes?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amy watched as Katie listened for a few minutes, typing furiously. One of the monitors lit up showing a street map. Katie gazed at it for a couple of second, then:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“That’s two blocks away! We’re on our way.” She dropped the earpiece on her desk, hit a key on the keyboard, flipped open a desk draw, withdrew a holstered pistol, then turned to Amy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You’re not going to believe this. That was Cancelli. The Blood Sucker’s been seen two blocks from here, a couple of minutes ago. Let’s go. Got your gun?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page;" /></span></span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>14.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Blood Sucker waited. He could hear the breathing of his pursuers, even their heartbeats, if he strained his senses to their limits. There were three; one slightly ahead of the others, advancing in a triangular pattern designed to prevent all three being eliminated in the first onslaught. He had contemplated using his powerful legs to scale the wall of this narrower part of the alleyway; set an ambush from high above. However, his plan would allow him to take out only one of the attackers at best before the other two opened fire. So Plan B was the only option left. He lay absolutely still, wrapped in his dark overcoat, on top of a thick pipe running horizontally along the left hand wall at just above head height, his bulk pressed against the wall, his back to the alley. He could not see the men in this position, but neither could they detect his breathing or the lightness of his face and hands in the dark shadows. He relied on hearing and smell to provide information about their movements.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Footsteps, carefully placed; quiet, but not silent to his ears.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The first pursuer was directly below.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Blood Sucker flexed his hands and pressed them against the wall to gain maximum leverage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Less than ten seconds; another man was now below.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Blood Sucker pushed against the wall. His strength, twice that of a fit human male, flipped him through the air. He landed catlike next to the third attacker. His right hand, fingers clawed open, clamped around the man’s trachea, pressing. He twisted his wrist violently to the right, feeling the snap as he crushed the attacker’s windpipe.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Despite his light landing and the speed of his attack, his presence had not gone unnoticed. The other two men had sensed movement through the air and had turned in his direction, their pistols seeking a target as they peered through the darkness. The Blood Sucker reached down, taking hold of the dying man’s weapon. He twisted around, grabbing the man’s arm, spinning the choking form toward the lead attacker. He dropped low and fired two quick shots at the other attacker; centre mass hits. The man staggered back against the far wall, but did not fall: Body Armour! The Blood Sucker raised the pistol and aimed higher. A single shot. His enhanced vision showing a spurt of liquid dark-grey ejected from the attacker’s head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The leader had tried to sidestep his blood-spewing companion, but flailing, grabbing hands had impeded his intent. He shook off the man’s demands for help, pushing the dying form to his left as he levelled the barrel of his pistol. He fired two, three, four shots at the shadows, unclear about his target’s position. He sensed, rather than saw, movement off to his left and flicked the barrel in that direction, firing through fear more than training. The gun jammed open; desperation made for fumbling hands as he pulled back the slide and tried to retrieve and reload a fresh magazine from his coat pocket. Before the clip found the quick-load guide in the pistol’s butt, the leader was hit solidly from behind. The blow pushed his chest forward; inertia flinging arms out to the sides. Years of training finally kicked in; the leader dropped the pistol and grabbed the handle of a large knife hidden under his right shoulder, pulling down to free the razor-sharp blade from its tether.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As soon as the foot-long blade was free he wielded it repeatedly in a figure of eight pattern in front of his body, trying to create a shield against his foe.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A low chuckle filtered from the darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I think you’ve seen too many films, me darlin’. What’ya going to do? Lop off my head?” The voice threateningly close, its menace hidden by the gentle lilt of Irish brogue.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The leader flicked the blade in the direction of the voice, aiming blind, hoping for fortuitous contact.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He felt solid finger close around his forearm, trapping his hand in the air. Less than a second later a stinging blow to the back of his fist caused the extensors in his hand to contract. His finger flew open, launching the knife off into the black shadows at his left. He heard his last line of defence clatter against something metallic in the distance. His forearm was released.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The leader dropped to his knees, staring into the gloom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span lang="ES" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Padre nostro, che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome, venga il tuo regno, sia fatta la tua volont…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Not His will; mine!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The leader closed his eyes as he felt the contact of two powerful hands on his head and left shoulder. He thought he saw a brief flash; then he felt nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Blood Sucker allowed the limp body to crumple at his feet. He stood, allowing his senses to open; seeking signs the events of the last few minutes, the shots, despite being suppressed, were bringing more people to the alleyway. He could hear the slapping of multiple feet against the pavement, closing on his position.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He glanced down at the corpse and started to turn away, then stopped. He reached down, taking hold of a dark plastic rectangle poking from the dead man’s messenger bag. The Blood Sucker touched the tablet’s surface and was rewarded with a street map; two red circles blinked, overlapped, blinked again, in rapid movement.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What do we have here?” he muttered to himself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Turning he trotted further down the alley, deeper into the shadows of a tall wall. With a last glance behind, he sped up his pace, using forward momentum to keep his body upright as he ran up the wall and vaulted over into the grounds at the back of Saint Patrick’s Catholic Church. A minute later he emerged at the Tenth Street Northwest façade of the church. Only a grey-painted wire gate and three short flights of stairs separated him from the street. Thirty seconds, and he climbed into a cab in front of the Zara store on F Street.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Lincoln Memorial, please,” he said to the driver, as he looked down at the tablet’s screen. The two dots were now in the alleyway, flashing their insistent rouge as they closed on the carnage he had left behind.</span><span style="font-size: 14.85px;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page;" /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="break-after: avoid; font-size: 14.85px; text-indent: 0cm;"><br /></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB">-- ooo --</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>so, what are readers saying?</b></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="a-row" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; width: 680px;"><a class="a-link-normal" href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/R3U0BUP7OXIBRX/ref=cm_cr_othr_d_rvw_ttl?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B00AGZ27FA" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #007185; text-decoration-line: none;" title="5.0 out of 5 stars"><i class="a-icon a-icon-star a-star-5 review-rating" data-hook="review-star-rating" style="background-image: url("https://m.media-amazon.com/images/S/sash/3-fm1Jbg4IHlyhq.png"); background-position: -166px -36px; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: 512px 256px; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 18px; position: relative; vertical-align: text-top; width: 80px;"><span class="a-icon-alt" style="box-sizing: border-box; clip-path: circle(0px at 50% 50%); display: block; font-size: inherit; height: 17.9972px; left: auto; line-height: normal; opacity: 0; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; top: auto; width: 80px;">5.0 out of 5 stars</span></i></a><span class="a-letter-space" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; width: 0.385em;"></span><a class="a-size-base a-link-normal review-title a-color-base review-title-content a-text-bold" data-hook="review-title" href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/R3U0BUP7OXIBRX/ref=cm_cr_othr_d_rvw_ttl?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B00AGZ27FA" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-weight: 700 !important; line-height: 20px !important; text-decoration-line: none;"> <span style="box-sizing: border-box;">Wow indeed!</span></a></div><span class="a-size-base a-color-secondary review-date" data-hook="review-date" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: rgb(86, 89, 89) !important; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px !important; text-align: start;">Reviewed in the United States on October 5, 2020</span><div class="a-row a-spacing-mini review-data review-format-strip" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 4px !important; text-align: start; width: 680px;"><span class="a-size-mini a-color-state a-text-bold" data-hook="avp-badge-linkless" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: rgb(196, 85, 0) !important; font-size: 12px !important; font-weight: 700 !important; line-height: 16px !important;">Verified Purchase</span></div><div class="a-row a-spacing-small review-data" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 8px !important; text-align: start; width: 680px;"><span class="a-size-base review-text" data-hook="review-body" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px !important;"><div class="a-expander-collapsed-height a-row a-expander-container a-expander-partial-collapse-container" data-a-expander-collapsed-height="300" data-a-expander-name="review_text_read_more" style="box-sizing: border-box; max-height: 300px; overflow: hidden; position: relative; width: 680px;"><div aria-expanded="false" class="a-expander-content reviewText review-text-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content" data-hook="review-collapsed" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow: hidden; position: relative;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">A whole new take on the vampire myth. Totally believable and completely engrossing. I read it in one sitting and loved the characters. Highly recommended.</span></div><div aria-expanded="false" class="a-expander-content reviewText review-text-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content" data-hook="review-collapsed" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow: hidden; position: relative;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><br /></span></div><div aria-expanded="false" class="a-expander-content reviewText review-text-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content" data-hook="review-collapsed" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow: hidden; position: relative;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div class="a-row" style="box-sizing: border-box; width: 680px;"><a class="a-link-normal" href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/R1RJA8SX910PVU/ref=cm_cr_othr_d_rvw_ttl?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B00AGZ27FA" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #007185; text-decoration-line: none;" title="5.0 out of 5 stars"><i class="a-icon a-icon-star a-star-5 review-rating" data-hook="review-star-rating" style="background-image: url("https://m.media-amazon.com/images/S/sash/3-fm1Jbg4IHlyhq.png"); background-position: -166px -36px; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: 512px 256px; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 18px; position: relative; vertical-align: text-top; width: 80px;"><span class="a-icon-alt" style="box-sizing: border-box; clip-path: circle(0px at 50% 50%); display: block; font-size: inherit; height: 17.9972px; left: auto; line-height: normal; opacity: 0; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; top: auto; width: 80px;">5.0 out of 5 stars</span></i></a><span class="a-letter-space" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; width: 0.385em;"></span><a class="a-size-base a-link-normal review-title a-color-base review-title-content a-text-bold" data-hook="review-title" href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/R1RJA8SX910PVU/ref=cm_cr_othr_d_rvw_ttl?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B00AGZ27FA" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-weight: 700 !important; line-height: 20px !important; text-decoration-line: none;"> <span style="box-sizing: border-box;">Incredible book</span></a></div><span class="a-size-base a-color-secondary review-date" data-hook="review-date" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: rgb(86, 89, 89) !important; line-height: 20px !important;">Reviewed in the United States on July 22, 2020</span><div class="a-row a-spacing-mini review-data review-format-strip" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 4px !important; width: 680px;"><span class="a-size-mini a-color-state a-text-bold" data-hook="avp-badge-linkless" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: rgb(196, 85, 0) !important; font-size: 12px !important; font-weight: 700 !important; line-height: 16px !important;">Verified Purchase</span></div><div class="a-row a-spacing-small review-data" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 8px !important; width: 680px;"><span class="a-size-base review-text" data-hook="review-body" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px !important;"><div class="a-expander-collapsed-height a-row a-expander-container a-expander-partial-collapse-container" data-a-expander-collapsed-height="300" data-a-expander-name="review_text_read_more" style="box-sizing: border-box; max-height: 300px; overflow: hidden; position: relative; width: 680px;"><div aria-expanded="false" class="a-expander-content reviewText review-text-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content" data-hook="review-collapsed" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow: hidden; position: relative;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">So I bought this book back in February. Was looking for something to read a day or two ago (now 5 months after book purchase) and saw this. I am not one to read gory books, just don't like them. And the title threw me for a bit. Started reading the book and I was hooked. Loved the 2 main characters, both female federal agents.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Now, I am not a good reviewer. But I will say this, if you like a little paranormal, a good mystery, and a good detective story all rolled up into one - this is the book for you. I highly recommend it. So go read this! I am off to get book 2 of this series.</span></div><div aria-expanded="false" class="a-expander-content reviewText review-text-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content" data-hook="review-collapsed" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow: hidden; position: relative;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><br /></span></div><div aria-expanded="false" class="a-expander-content reviewText review-text-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content" data-hook="review-collapsed" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow: hidden; position: relative;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div class="a-row" style="box-sizing: border-box; width: 680px;"><a class="a-link-normal" href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/R1QZGEZNCEUHF4/ref=cm_cr_othr_d_rvw_ttl?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B00AGZ27FA" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #c7511f; cursor: pointer; outline: 0px;" title="4.0 out of 5 stars"><i class="a-icon a-icon-star a-star-4 review-rating" data-hook="review-star-rating" style="background-image: url("https://m.media-amazon.com/images/S/sash/3-fm1Jbg4IHlyhq.png"); background-position: -84px -8px; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: 512px 256px; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 18px; position: relative; vertical-align: text-top; width: 80px;"><span class="a-icon-alt" style="box-sizing: border-box; clip-path: circle(0px at 50% 50%); display: block; font-size: inherit; height: 17.9972px; left: auto; line-height: normal; opacity: 0; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; top: auto; width: 80px;">4.0 out of 5 stars</span></i></a><span class="a-letter-space" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; width: 0.385em;"></span><a class="a-size-base a-link-normal review-title a-color-base review-title-content a-text-bold" data-hook="review-title" href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/R1QZGEZNCEUHF4/ref=cm_cr_othr_d_rvw_ttl?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B00AGZ27FA" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-weight: 700 !important; line-height: 20px !important; text-decoration-line: none;"> <span style="box-sizing: border-box;">Excellent well paced story</span></a></div><span class="a-size-base a-color-secondary review-date" data-hook="review-date" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: rgb(86, 89, 89) !important; line-height: 20px !important;">Reviewed in the United States on December 18, 2019</span><div class="a-row a-spacing-mini review-data review-format-strip" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 4px !important; width: 680px;"><span class="a-size-mini a-color-state a-text-bold" data-hook="avp-badge-linkless" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: rgb(196, 85, 0) !important; font-size: 12px !important; font-weight: 700 !important; line-height: 16px !important;">Verified Purchase</span></div><div class="a-row a-spacing-small review-data" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 8px !important; width: 680px;"><span class="a-size-base review-text" data-hook="review-body" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px !important;"><div class="a-expander-collapsed-height a-row a-expander-container a-expander-partial-collapse-container" data-a-expander-collapsed-height="300" data-a-expander-name="review_text_read_more" style="box-sizing: border-box; max-height: 300px; overflow: hidden; position: relative; width: 680px;"><div aria-expanded="false" class="a-expander-content reviewText review-text-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content" data-hook="review-collapsed" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow: hidden; position: relative;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">I chose this book for something different than my usual reading material. I went in curious, but with little preconceived expectations. What a treat this turned out to be. Plenty of twists and unexpected turns along the way to a satisfying conclusion. Can't wait to read the next installment. All the characters were well developed and piqued my interest. Katie is a hoot! Amy took a bit to come around, but by around a third of the way through the book she had me totally invested. I loved watching her grow into her role. Neumann kept me guessing right up to the end. This is definitely going on my recommended reading list.</span></div><div aria-expanded="false" class="a-expander-content reviewText review-text-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content" data-hook="review-collapsed" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow: hidden; position: relative;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><br /></span></div><div aria-expanded="false" class="a-expander-content reviewText review-text-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content" data-hook="review-collapsed" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow: hidden; position: relative;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div class="a-row" style="box-sizing: border-box; width: 680px;"><a class="a-link-normal" href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/R1RJA8SX910PVU/ref=cm_cr_othr_d_rvw_ttl?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B00AGZ27FA" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #007185; text-decoration-line: none;" title="5.0 out of 5 stars"><i class="a-icon a-icon-star a-star-5 review-rating" data-hook="review-star-rating" style="background-image: url("https://m.media-amazon.com/images/S/sash/3-fm1Jbg4IHlyhq.png"); background-position: -166px -36px; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: 512px 256px; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 18px; position: relative; vertical-align: text-top; width: 80px;"><span class="a-icon-alt" style="box-sizing: border-box; clip-path: circle(0px at 50% 50%); display: block; font-size: inherit; height: 17.9972px; left: auto; line-height: normal; opacity: 0; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; top: auto; width: 80px;">5.0 out of 5 stars</span></i></a><span class="a-letter-space" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; width: 0.385em;"></span><a class="a-size-base a-link-normal review-title a-color-base review-title-content a-text-bold" data-hook="review-title" href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/R1RJA8SX910PVU/ref=cm_cr_othr_d_rvw_ttl?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B00AGZ27FA" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-weight: 700 !important; line-height: 20px !important; text-decoration-line: none;"> <span style="box-sizing: border-box;">Incredible book</span></a></div><span class="a-size-base a-color-secondary review-date" data-hook="review-date" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: rgb(86, 89, 89) !important; line-height: 20px !important;">Reviewed in the United States on July 22, 2020</span><div class="a-row a-spacing-mini review-data review-format-strip" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 4px !important; width: 680px;"><span class="a-size-mini a-color-state a-text-bold" data-hook="avp-badge-linkless" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: rgb(196, 85, 0) !important; font-size: 12px !important; font-weight: 700 !important; line-height: 16px !important;">Verified Purchase</span></div><div class="a-row a-spacing-small review-data" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 8px !important; width: 680px;"><span class="a-size-base review-text" data-hook="review-body" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px !important;"><div class="a-expander-collapsed-height a-row a-expander-container a-expander-partial-collapse-container" data-a-expander-collapsed-height="300" data-a-expander-name="review_text_read_more" style="box-sizing: border-box; max-height: 300px; overflow: hidden; position: relative; width: 680px;"><div aria-expanded="false" class="a-expander-content reviewText review-text-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content" data-hook="review-collapsed" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow: hidden; position: relative;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">So I bought this book back in February. Was looking for something to read a day or two ago (now 5 months after book purchase) and saw this. I am not one to read gory books, just don't like them. And the title threw me for a bit. Started reading the book and I was hooked. Loved the 2 main characters, both female federal agents.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Now, I am not a good reviewer. But I will say this, if you like a little paranormal, a good mystery, and a good detective story all rolled up into one - this is the book for you. I highly recommend it. So go read this! I am off to get book 2 of this series.</span></div></div></span></div></span></div></div></span></div></span></div></div></span></div></span></div></div></span></div></span></div>Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-50836897683354882422021-10-26T17:55:00.006+02:002021-10-28T19:51:57.047+02:00Cumbre Vieja - I'm glad this didn't happen<p> Extract from my novel '2012' written in 2003:</p><p>(see my Newsletter 28th October for an explanation)</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: arial;"><b>Islas Canarias, España,<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: ES;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Martes, 11 de diciembre de 2012</b></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: ES;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The deep indigo raw energy hovered
over the area where the Halcón del Mar had been only instants before. Then,
somehow sensing its destiny lay elsewhere, it drew back into itself, until it
formed a dense purple fog, its shape elongated towards the north, as though
drawn by some invisible wire. Slowly at first, then with determined speed, the
purple haze arrowed almost due north. It raced barely half a meter above the
ocean, following the contours of the waves like a supernatural cruise missile.
Hapless birds that had cause to cross its path simply disappeared as soon as
the indigo vapor caressed their bodies. Two pleasure craft, navigating in the
tranquil waters, met the same fate. The speed of the purple haze was now beyond
anything man could manufacture. It took only a couple of minutes to find its destination;
the island of La Palma.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">As the energy crossed the
coastline, it slowed dramatically, rising higher and higher. It rose above the
Teneguía Volcano, hovering for a moment, then moving on. It passed over the
town of Fuencaliente de la Palma, rising higher and yet higher. Finally it
stopped. Below it, directly below, was the central cone of the dormant Cumbre
Vieja volcano. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The energy descended, dissipating
into the dark, cold, solidified lava of the volcano and down, into its heart.
There, deep in the Earth’s mantle, it encountered the chamber containing hot
magma awaiting release. The energy seemed to mix with the dense, slow-moving
liquid, agitating, pushing, pressuring. After a few minutes, the magma and its
scalding gases started to surge upwards, searching for channels in the rock,
ways to ease the painful pressure taking hold of its innards. Upwards,
outwards, until it burst forth into the air, with a shower of molten lava,
reaching almost a kilometer in height. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">As this first lava shower was
falling to earth, the volcano continued to spew more and more of the molten
brew, creating a fiery funnel of intense heat; tones of red liquid, belching
into the placid sky. The fountain of blasted gases and rocky fluid ejected a
huge, ominous cloud far into the atmosphere. The old volcano was active again
as never before. Its very structure straining under the immense forces
inflicted upon it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The ground around the volcano,
under a now constant vertical shower of lava, began to shake. The movement
became increasingly violent as the sudden release of the stresses, built up in
the volcano’s core, slammed against the earth’s crust. Old fault lines were
ripped opened, new gorges torn. Ravines, rooted deep within the island’s base,
filled rapidly by lava flowing prodigiously from the volcano’s cone. This in
turn generated steam as liquid fire met seawater. Huge grey-white clouds
billowed up, mixing in a surreal way with the dark smoke issuing from the
volcano. The steam created even more pressure until the first few tons of earth
began slipping into the sea. As gravity took over, the movement increased. The
earth shook as though trying to rid itself of the stresses within, loosening
large portions of its structure. The westward side of the island, millions upon
millions of cubic tons of rock, plummeted into the ocean. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">At first, the ocean seemed to
devour the debris; gradually it reacted. Salt water began to sprout from the
ocean’s depths, displaced by the landslip. Its watery mass grew, wider and
higher, as the ocean’s anger at being invaded, was spent in jettisoning its
liquid protest. A dome of solid water formed, each second adding to its girth
and height. At its zenith, it reached over five hundred meters, it diameter
many tens of kilometers. It fought against the Earth’s gravity, striving to
release energy anywhere but into the oceans, seeking its freedom from the
constraints placed by natural forces. As the watery cupola formed, the rocks
and terrain forming the western part of the island, were exposed. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There came a quiet moment when all
was in equilibrium. The water’s upward pressure equaled the grip of gravity.
Then this brief instant of respite was over. Gravity exerted its control over
the water’s mass. The dome collapsed, millions upon millions of liters of
seawater came crashing down into the ocean, dragging with it the landslip
terrain, taking it further under its surface.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The water cascade slammed against
the ocean’s bed with colossal force, tearing into the rocks and creating more
liquid destruction. Then, as though not satisfied with the outcome of its
previous battle with the Earth, it rebounded upwards again, carrying in its
form the same rocks that had formed the island only minutes before.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">This cocktail was expulsed upward
as the ocean sought a catharsis from the unnatural state imposed upon it. This
time, gravity was waiting; not caught unaware as before. Its inexorable
pressure exerted on the watery mass. The ocean fought back, gurgling, spurting,
but to no avail. The unrelenting primal forces of nature won out again. The
mixture of rocks, debris and water, in a dark, impenetrable frenzy, came
plummeting down onto the ocean floor deep below.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Still the battle was not over.
Unable to claim victory over the domain of air, the water’s energy retook its
control over its own element. Aided by the rocky debris moving in its depths,
it started to twist upon itself. Gradually currents were formed, each stronger
than the preceding. They surged outwards and upwards. A wall of water, still
only a few meters in height, started to form and move away from the island and
the volcano. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It moved north, west and south,
evidence of its passage above the ocean’s surface limited to the wave. Its
power, its threat lay hidden, travelling along with accumulating kinetic
motion, closely pursuing the visible wave. The rolling runaway moved outward,
expanding its liquid edges, reaching out with its dynamic destructiveness,
seeking the solace of vengeance against dry land. A tsunami had been born! A
mega-tsunami! Greater, more deadly, than any foregoing it. A watery beast,
seeking, hungrily devouring the kilometers separating it from its prey.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
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</v:imagedata></v:shape></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> </span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Atlantic Ocean, </b></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Tuesday, 11th December, 2012</b></span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In the first five minutes after its
traumatic birth, the tsunami wave travelled one hundred and sixty kilometers to
the north. The first major landfall to the north was the Iberian Peninsula. In
the neighboring countries of Spain and Portugal, people went on with their
daily lives unaware of the threat racing towards them.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">César Gil enjoyed fishing. Enjoy
was a tame word. It was far more accurate to say he had counted every minute of
last Friday, his last day at work. Now, a retiree, with a healthy constitution
and money well-saved over the years, he fulfilled his life’s dream of
purchasing a motor cruiser; nothing flashy, just solid with two dependable
Volvo diesels. He spent most of yesterday loading it up with provisions, bait
and tackle, ready to travel out to the Canary Islands to the south. He would
spend his days fishing, drinking cold beer and enjoying the excellent climate
of the Fortunate Islands, as they were known. He left the port of Huelva, in
southern Spain, early in the morning, wanting to make the long journey
south-west and reach his destination over the next two days. Now, in the middle
of the afternoon, he was sitting in the cabin of the motor cruiser, looking at
the horizon ahead, at the dark mist that seemed to have come from nowhere. He
glanced down and checked the radar. He picked up the updated weather report he
had collected from the port authority that morning. A cold front was moving in,
so it said, but from the north, behind him. Further south, it was supposed to
be clear and sunny, which was certainly what he had experienced so far. He was
a seasoned pleasure boat sailor and roughed it out in stormy weather before, so
he was not too worried. He reached over to his left and grabbed the large
binoculars. He twisted the focal knob and the image became clear; he
contemplated a black wall of water to both port and starboard, as far as he
could see. It appeared to be moving fast, visibly growing in size as it closed
on his fragile craft. He became worried. Never had he encountered anything like
this. He grabbed the radio mike and called out a Mayday warning. A Spanish
Civil Guard Coastguard vessel answered, indicating they were not far away. He
was about to explain the nature of his predicament when the wave breached the
bow of the cruiser. He was fortunate his craft had been prow-on to the
direction of the wave. The tsunami’s height, in these deep waters, was only six
meters. Nevertheless, the motor cruiser was flipped over on its back. César was
flung from the cabin into the air. He splashed into the cold waters and went
under. His life jacket automatically inflated and its buoyancy rushed him to
the surface. Spluttering, he tried to get his bearings. He could see the wave
receding into the distance; he could feel the undertow pulling at his submerged
body. He paddled around in a circle. There was no sign of his motor cruiser. At
that precise moment, he realized just how lucky he was. He started to cry
uncontrollably.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Captain Miguel Barrios of the Civil
Guard craft that had answered César´s call for help, order maximum speed. He,
and his crew of eight, felt the deep vibrations as the engines of the military
vessel powered them forward towards the blip on the radar that was the motor
cruiser. It was still a few kilometers dead ahead, but they were closing fast.
The forward lookout called to him. He raised his eyes from the radar in time to
see the wall of water approaching. He instinctively looked down at the radar
screen; the motor cruiser was no longer registering. He turned to the helmsman,
about to issue the order to turn head-on into the wave, when the helmsman also
saw the tsunami. Instinctively the man turned the wheel, assuming a course in
an attempt to outrun the wave. That mistake killed all on board. The wave hit
broadside, flipping the vessel over and under. The fierce undercurrents did the
rest. No one surfaced.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> Charo
Gutierrez liked the port of Cádiz on Spain’s southern coast. She was born
there, and spent most of her short life breathing its clean, salty air. Now she
felt a change in the atmosphere. Her senses detected a decent in air pressure.
She looked down at the water’s edge and saw it had dropped. On the horizon, a
dark mass was approaching quickly. She cried out, trying for the attention of
her mother who was talking to a couple of their neighbors. Her mother looked
over, smiling. Then she saw the wave. It was now over fifty meter high and
growing. It slammed into the port, taking little Charo, her baby carriage, her
mother and her mother’s friends in its first swallow. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The city of Lisbon, capital of
Portugal, had been a wise choice for Doctor da Costa. When she graduated as a
fully-qualified Dentist, she saw greater opportunities for her future in the nation’s
capital, than in her home of Coimbra, in the north. The move south was blessed
by the finding of a superb location for her clinic, halfway up the side of one
of the low hills overlooking the busy harbor. The view infused tranquility in
her patients, something she found useful, as she probed around their mouths.
Her practice had built rapidly, partly due to her skill and partly because of
the ambience of classical music and magnificent scene. Many regulars had even
taken photographs, through the panoramic windows, of the harbor view. It would
be night in a couple of hours and the lights on the shipping in the harbor
were to provide their usual spectacle. She was especially happy today. It was
her first Anniversary, and her husband would soon be here to collect her, and
whisk her off to whatever surprise he had organized. She was concentrating on
extracting a badly decayed premolar, humming along to the symphony playing
softly in the background, when a dark shadow made her look up. The cargo
container that crushed the lives of both her and her patient had been torn from
the superstructure of a ship heading into the harbor. The wave’s fury used the
debris it had created, to demolish everything it encountered in its path. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Paulo Alves
Silva was driving along the Avenida da Liberdade. He too was beaming a happy
smile at the world today. Who would have thought a trip to the dentist two
years ago would result in celebrating his wedding anniversary today? He had
found far more beauty in the deep brown eyes of the Doctor than in the spectacular
harbor view in the clinic. He had left his job at the bank earlier today to
make a quick trip to his wife’s favorite restaurant, in the nearby Rua de São
José, making a reservation for tonight. Hand-picked, freshly broiled lobster
accompanied by a smoky-flavored Ribeira wine. His mouth watered at the
thought. He had driven past the Bank headquarters building where he worked,
when the wave encountered him. His car was propelled through the armored glass
windows of the Bank. Although it was of little consolation, the wave had taken
both him and his wife within the same minute.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">A little further down the Avenida,
nearer its junction with the Plaça dos Restauradores, the history teacher
Anibal Carvalho saw the wave hurtling down the wide thoroughfare. He turned to
his right and started to sprint up the steep incline of the funicular railway.
As he ran, strange thoughts crept unbidden into his mind. Lisbon in 1755, first
an earthquake, then a tsunami tried to destroy the city. It survived, just!
Then in 1988, a fire raged through the main shopping district. The city again
survived. Now, this! He gritted his teeth in determination, just as the watery
fingers of death reached out and snatched his life.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Further along the Portuguese coast
to the north, at the mouth of the Douro River, lay the city of Oporto, famous
for the sweet wine that took its name. The wine warehouses, sited for the most
part in the suburb of Vila Nova de Gaia on the opposite bank of the river,
succumbed to the kinetic force of the wall of water. The great oaken casks,
containing millions of liters of the dark wine, flattened, their contents lost
within the maelstrom of swirling seawater. The city fared little better. The
wave crashed into the harbor, running up the narrow, cobbled streets of the
old quarter towards the cathedral situated at the top of the hill. Both it, and
the seventy-five meter tall Clerics Tower, were engulfed. The Cathedral had
resisted all since the twelfth century, and put up a gallant fight against the
power of the waters. The granite Tower, however, was swept away, snapped like a
matchstick, scattered like dust.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">An hour elapsed since the birth of
the tsunami. More than seven million people had died. The liquid raced on,
northward.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">As usual, he was shouting at the
Nigerian. The man made an effort to do things right, he begrudgingly admitted
to himself, but he was no sailor. Hector Ney, now into his sixtieth year at
sea, looked over his shoulder and called out to Shehu Abiola. He was about to
lose the tackle overboard. He released the wheel and strode aft to help the man
stow the nets. The wind had dropped in the last few minutes here in the Bay of
Biscay. He looked up and could just make out his home port of La Rochelle.
Well, tonight, when they unloaded the day’s catch, he was going to tell the
Nigerian to find another job. He did not have either the time or the patience
to teach the youngster the trade of a fisherman. He was so intent on untangling
the netting at his feet, he did not hear Abiola´s shout at first. He looked up,
about to speak, and then saw the wall of water, almost upon them. Abiola was
quicker; he jumped onto Hector and toppled them both overboard. As the wave
took the boat, its treacherous undercurrents pulled at Hector and Abiola. The
Nigerian used all of his strength to hold on to the old man, kicking his
powerful legs against the undertow. His lungs were bursting, desperate for air.
The turbulence such, he was not even sure he was swimming towards the surface.
The old man was now limp in his arms, all the fight gone from his aged body.
They broke the surface, Abiola gasping in huge lungful of salty air. He looked
at his boss; he was all right, he would live.
<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Danielle Chabrol loved to walk
along the breakwater at La Rochelle. The port was, as usual, a hive of
activity. Small fishing vessels arriving, unloading their catch. A large
freighter setting off, who knows where? Danielle dreamt of boarding such a
freighter one day, sailing away to see the world. A world she only read about
in books and magazines, or saw in films and documentaries. One day, she
thought, when I have saved enough money, I will quit my job at the patisserie
and take a passage to somewhere exotic. To start a new life. These thoughts
went through her mind, as almost every day for the past forty years, while she
strolled along the breakwater. She looked down at her feet, her shoes damp from
the waves lapping onto the cement surface. She closed her eyes, dreaming awake
of the caress of a fine, temperate breeze, of the sultry rays of a tropical
sun. She never saw Hector Ney´s fishing boat as it smashed into her, carried on
the crest of the wave. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The town of Brighton, on the south
coast of Britain, was well past its heyday as a top Victorian tourist attraction.
Its seaside charms only attracted families in the warmer, summer months now. At
this time of year, the promenade was sparsely populated by old-age pensioners,
for the most part. Charlie Beran knew the pickings from one of these old
codgers was usually not worth the effort, but the hollowness in his stomach,
the itching on his forearm, the aching in his very soul told him he had to find
a victim quickly. He walked briskly along the promenade, noticing how his
disheveled appearance made women clutch their bags closely, as he approached.
He saw a man, walking with the aid of a cane, a few meters further on. He
slipped his right hand into his anorak pocket, fingering the short, kitchen
knife hidden there. He approached the man. When he was a couple of meters
distant, he drew the knife, seeing a look of pure terror come into the face of
the pensioner. A cry escaped the old man’s mouth, as both he and his would be
assailant were lifted by the wall of water, and accelerated landward at over
three hundred kilometers an hour.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Kenneth Lee was aware something was
happening. He noticed the whole train had started to accelerate as though
pushed forwards. He glanced outside the cabin of the Eurostar and could see the
spot of light, the French end of the undersea tunnel, a couple of kilometers
ahead. He looked at the control panel in front of him, seeing the speed
indicator creeping forward; it now read one hundred and forty kilometers an
hour, ten more than it should. He had driven the Eurostar trains since they first
came into service and had a feel for their performance. The train emerged from
the tunnel at Coquelles, inland from Calais. He looked out of the right-hand
side window of the cabin and what he saw made him ram the control lever to
full. The wall of water was engulfing all in its path. It was still quite a few
kilometers away, but getting nearer every second. The train surged forward, its
powerful engines responding to his urging. It was a race he was determined to
win. The wave advanced but either it was slowing down, or the train was gaining
on it, he was not sure. He rocked forward, as though these little pushes would
add a few more kilometers to the train’s speed. He saw a red light ahead, but
did not slow down. A crash was preferable to the monster following them. He
called up the control room on his radio and quickly informing them of the
emergency, requesting green lights all the way. As he watched, the red light
became green. Thank the Gods, he thought. He looked out of the side window
again. Yes, he was winning the battle. The water had ceased to advance. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The Eurostar train pulled into the
Gare du Nord in Paris and drew to a halt. Even before the first passengers were
able to disembark, Kenneth Lee threw open the door to the cabin and jumped
down. The Stationmaster was waiting for him at the head of the platform. Lee
ran up and started to tell of the wave, his words jumbling out in his nervous
excitement.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: arial;"><v:shape id="_x0000_i1026" style="height: 36.75pt; width: 21pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="Ankh" src="file:///C:/Users/Eric/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image002.jpg">
</v:imagedata></v:shape><b>Eurostar, London to Paris,<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;"><b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: arial;">Tuesday,
11th December, 2012</span></span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">They hid Yakshi´s father in a
self-catering apartment in Bayswater, hired in Grey’s new name. They stocked up
his refrigerator and freezer with enough food for a month and left him with a
mobile telephone, also bought using Grey’s alias. All was done yesterday. Now
they were travelling again. They walked to Speaker’s Corner near Hyde Park,
taking a cab from there directly to Saint Pancras Station. They bought two
one-way tickets on the next Eurostar to Paris. They had almost an hour and a
quarter to wait for departure, so they went to the nearest snack bar and
ordered four coffees, two of which were immediately poured into the thermos.
They then went to a bookstore in the station and purchased a dozen novels. Grey
explained they would need to entertain themselves for many hours in the next couple
of weeks, but he did not offer any further explanation.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">When the time came, they neared the
automated check-in gates, presented their tickets to the validation machine,
and advanced to the security control. There they placed their backpacks on the
X-ray machine’s rubber belt and walked through the metal detector. Grey had
explained to Yakshi the hi-tech lining of the thermos would effectively show
the x-ray operator the thermos was indeed what it appeared to be. He commented
the thermos had cost more to develop than the weapons often transported within.
Sure enough, they passed through security without any problems. Then Passport
Control where their UK passports were hardly even glanced at. They walked down
the platform and found their carriage.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Leaving in the early afternoon on a
midweek day, many of the seats were empty and they took full advantage of the
space by placing their backpacks on the adjacent seats. They moved with purpose
now. Grey had a clear idea of where they were going and how they were going to
get there. He refrained from discussing his plan with Will Abrams however. This
was not a lack of confidence. Rather a precaution, in case Sirtak and Paredes
discovered Yakshi´s father. At least that was what Grey told them. In truth,
Grey had other plans, part of which he had no intention of sharing, even with
Yakshi, until he had to. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The train left on time, true
British punctuality, and after leaving the suburbs of London, soon picked up
speed as it headed east towards the Channel. Grey went to the buffet car and
bought sandwiches and more coffees. He took advantage of his trip to look
closely at the other passengers. He was expecting trouble, eventually, but if
his plan worked, they would not be seeing the Ophites for a few days yet. He
returned to their seats and shared the food and coffee with Yakshi.</span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">They were approaching the entrance
to the Channel Tunnel. The train slowed down to the speed permitted in the
tunnel, and was now passing the marshalling yards on the left. They were
plunged into darkness as they entered the tunnel and their eyes slowly became
accustomed to the artificial lighting in the train. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Grey had made this trip innumerable
times and knew they would be in the tunnel for a little over thirty-five
minutes. He started to relax for the first time in many a week. He could see
how things were coming together now and, with a little good fortune and
planning, this waking nightmare would soon be over.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">He must have dozed for a few minutes,
because he woke with a start. Yakshi was asleep beside him. He woke her.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“What’s up?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Something’s wrong!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“What? What’s wrong?” Truthfully,
Grey was not sure. Then it came to him. They were still in the tunnel but
accelerating. He felt his ears popping and opened his mouth to relieve the
pressure. This was not normal. He looked out the window of the train at the
wall as it rushed by. There seemed to be a luminescence down here, a light that
did not belong in the tunnel. He could also hear, faintly, a rumbling sound
beneath the noise of the train itself. He noticed other seasoned passengers
were also looking around nervously. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then the train exploded from the
tunnel, definitely moving faster than was normal. Grey started to stand but was
pushed back into his seat as the train lurched forward.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Mon Deux!” screamed a passenger
behind him. Grey turned. The man was pointing out of the right-hand side
window. Grey shifted his gaze. A dark mass, many, many meters tall was clawing
its way across the land, reaching out towards the train. At first he could not
comprehend what he was seeing. They it dawned on him. It was a tsunami. A huge
killer wave. It was gaining on the train, slowly, inexorably. It did not look
as if they were going to make it. People screamed, cried, prayers were said.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">At first, he did not notice, but
then he became aware the wave had diminished in size and was slowing down. The
train was advancing much faster than the water, slowly pulling away. As
realization hit the passengers, a loud, spontaneous cheer went up. Grey joined
in unashamedly.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 18pt;">Later, as they disembarked at the
Gare du Nord, they felt light-headed. They had escaped, by some miracle, the
very wrath of Nature itself. Now, as they walked past a train driver, excitedly
yelling at a railway official, Grey hoped their luck would hold out a little
longer.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><v:shape alt="Ra bw.png" id="_x0039_7_x0020_Imagen" o:spid="_x0000_i1027" style="height: 30pt; visibility: visible; width: 39pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="Ra bw" src="file:///C:/Users/Eric/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image003.png">
</v:imagedata></v:shape></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> <b><span lang="EN-GB">Atlantic Ocean & Eastern Seaboard, USA,<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Tuesday,
11th December, 2012<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The swell of water approached the
coast of the country of Western Sahara. As it entered the shallower waters, its
height increased. Millions upon millions of cubic liters of seawater
constructed an impenetrable wall. When it came ashore, the wave reached a
height a little under a hundred meters. It swept inland, taking with it
everything it encountered in its watery rage. This happened less than an hour
after the landslide. The swell spread out in all directions. Western Sahara was
the closest major landfall and as such was the first, other than the Canary
Islands themselves, to be affected.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Like some kind of savage beast, its
thirst not assuaged by this part of the African continent, it headed south,
hitting the Cape Verde Islands devastatingly hard.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Its merciless appetite for more
propelled it westwards. The swell barely noticeable as it traversed the ocean’s
upper layers. The first victims, in its western expansion, were the tranquil
Portuguese islands of Madeira, Porto Santo and Ilhas Desertas. The wave rose
again and engulfed Ilhas Desertas with one aqueous swallow. Porto Santo fared
little better. Only the main island of Madeira survived, in part, as the sixty
meter wave consumed Funchal and Santa Cruz. The deadly waters crashed up
against the higher ground on the south of the island and returned to the sea,
leaving death and desolation in its wake. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In the two hours since the
landslide on the island of La Palma, the wave picked up force and speed. The
tsunami warning system, deployed in the Atlantic Ocean after the Indonesian
Tsunami of 2004, noted the passing of the menace. Automatic radio signals were
emitted to the United States Coastguard stations in Southern Florida, the only
ones functioning after the electromagnetic pulse. There, the coastguards
monitoring their equipment could only pray. Evacuation was impossible for a
large area of the Eastern Seaboard, even though hours still remained. Several
left their posts, running out to claim their cars and head home, advising their
families to grab what they could, rushing to put as much distance between
themselves and the eastern coastline as possible. Sirens wailed. Storm warnings
howled. The radio and television broadcast their dire news. The panic started!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">An hour later, it was the turn of
the Portuguese again. The seven islands forming the Azores saw their watery
destiny too late to react. The crushing momentum of the water overwhelmed the
islands, swamping almost all the land surface. Only a small area of Ilha de Sao
Miguel and Ilha Terceira remained dry. The wave reached its maximum speed of
eight hundred kilometers an hour now. The thrust of the liquid fallout was unstoppable.
Headlong it went, forever westward.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Oceangoing transports tossed like
so many matchsticks, propelled forward and downward as the kinetic energy of
the swell caught them. Badly needed aid for the ravaged Eastern States
sacrificed to the depths.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Onward and onward, the impetus of
the swell emerging upward only as it approached shallower waters. By a quirk of
geography, the first landfall on the United States was at Cape Cod in
Massachusetts. The omnipotent fluid rose to a height of over a hundred meters.
Its mortal majesty mesmerized those who caught sight of its growth from the
blue-green depths. They knew, in that instant, although the water was still
kilometers away, there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from its potency.
Many knelt, praying for their end to be swift, painless. Others cried. Some
laughed at the cruel joke that spared them from the pulse only to snuff out
their existence when they least expected it. Husbands turned to wives. Lovers
embraced. Mothers shielded their children, uselessly. It would forgive none. It
wanted all. It was insatiable. Natural violence of the like humankind had never
experienced. It was here; now!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nantucket Island sank. Debris,
human remains, vehicles, houses, unidentifiable objects carried along with
crushing force, razing all in its path, leaving absolute destruction in its
wake.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Long Island Sound channeled the
water’s temper against the City of New York. New Haven, Bridgeport, Stamford,
and then Yonkers. New York’s fifty islands and millions of people, pulped by
the hydrous steamroller. The skyscrapers of Manhattan saved many, acting as
breakwaters. The lives of those on the lower floors were expunged by the
irresistible combination of debris and fluid. Some of the buildings gave under
the smothering pressure; their foundations never meant to withstand this
punishment. The Big Apple, consumed. Staten Island Ferry boats flung against
the island. The waters levelled where they could; shattered where they encountered
opposition. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Aircraft descending to land at JFK,
La Guardia and Newark were plucked from the sky. The tunnels, so essential for
the New Yorkers´ transit, were filled with deadly damp detritus. The unlucky
few, trapped in diminishing air pockets, destined to expire unseen, unheard.
The Statue of Liberty raised a defiant hand against the onslaught, unknowingly
mimicking the ancient King Canute commanding the waters desist. It prevailed
for a few seconds, resisting the pitiless pushing of the wave, its torch
finally smothered in sunken depths. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And yet the monster’s appetite was
still insatiate. Down the coast it rode, penetrating inland for many miles;
quashing people, bulldozing whole townships, liquefying man’s attempts to shape
nature.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The first of the big cities
affected by the pulse was next. The waters engulfed much of New Jersey, the
indentation of Delaware Bay serving to funnel the wet wildness toward
Wilmington and then southern Philadelphia. The pulse had eliminated the means
to advise the people. Only a few heard through the limited radio stations now
functioning. They ran causing stampedes as word spread of the imminent
extinction. Stampedes that claimed even more lives.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The Delmarva Peninsula helped
reduce the impact against the Capital. Ocean City became a watery grave for
many. The waters slammed into Newport News and Hampton, diverting northwards
again seeking to show the once-powerful nation that nature held sway. Saluda
welcomed the aquatic extermination preceding the advance on to Richmond. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Into Chesapeake Bay, the deadly
swamp advanced; the Capital beckoned, daring. The pulverizing force of the
tsunami spent itself slowly as it rose towards the center of world democracy.
The level of the wave dropping until, as though completing a mission, it lapped
against the pedestal of the Washington Monument; the obelisk staunching the
flow where Lady Liberty had failed. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And still there was more! The
Southern States challenged! The humid element accepted! Imposing its might on
the dry shoreline and then inwards, joining its immense volume with rivers,
lakes; filling valleys, drowning all life; throwing debris ahead as it smashed
its way south. Almost nine hours since the watery genesis, and Charleston was
annihilated. Then Savannah, and onwards into Florida. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The smaller coastal towns were no
match for its mortal ruin. People tried to run before it, knowing it was a
hopeless gesture, but at least they could not see death’s thrust, their lives
pulverized in chaotic instants as the mix of vehicles, boats, wood from houses,
signs, and countless objects deracinated in its onslaught, hit them seconds
before the seawater. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">As the wave consumed Jacksonville,
much further south it was already arriving at the Caribbean islands. Antigua,
Barbados, the picturesque beauty of Martinique; all raped by the savage liquid.
Santa Lucia, Grenada, Trinidad and Tobago and the northern coast of Venezuela,
Guyana, Suriname all fell beneath the suffocating waters. Caracas was hit
especially hard. Miraflores, the Presidential Palace, was demolished, as was
the entire city centre. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It dumped itself on Puerto Rico and
then westwards to the main tourist areas of the Dominican Republic. The Island
of Hispaniola, the Dominican Republic and Haiti, served as a breakwater to
protect Jamaica and southern Cuba from the worst of the crushing water. The
north coast of Cuba fared much worse. Whole houses lifted and discarded, primal
screams lost in the roar as the wave demanded more sacrifice.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The Bahamas were little obstacle
for the flexing watery sinews of the monster. The smaller, outlying islands had
their existence blinked out mercilessly. The shallower waters between them and
the inner islands gave new energy to the aquatic menace. Nassau was propelled
into the sea, violently, ruinously. Now the waters rampaged onwards, covering
the nautical miles of the Straits of Florida, laying waste to any brave enough,
or stupid enough, to be out in seagoing craft. Big, small it made no difference
to the unstoppable destroyer. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">To the north, the flat, uniform
lands around Cape Canaveral were easy prey. The wave levelled NASA´s
installations and swamped inland as far as Orlando. The theme park facilities
would be no more; ravaged by the monster’s impetus. Take all! Leave nothing!
This was the beast’s credo. Shatter, tear, erase, flatten, drench. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Palm Beach; Fort Lauderdale; Miami.
The monster rose from the beaches, exterminating man’s mark on the land. The
Miami coast’s more than four million had fled, hours before, when the
Coastguard had given the news to the incredulous population. Some stayed,
unwilling or unable to leave. They met their watery destiny almost willingly,
resignedly. One group of young people, high on all the drugs they managed to
find, even tried to surf the wave, ineffectually throwing away their lives as
the beast devoured them without pity, their corpses pulped and mangled as the
wave encountered further obstacles. Aircraft of all sizes were shredded on the
ground in the airports. The devastation suffered by the city was incomparable
even to that caused by so many hurricanes in its past. Fate had taken the City
of Miami, laughed at its name, which in Tequesta meant “Big Water”, and
submerged it, extinguishing all life forms. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Some survived. The Orca killer
whales on show at the Miami Seaquarium were unceremoniously freed from their
enclosures. Disoriented, disavowed, they were returned to their wild state.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The wave rushed into the Everglades;
no resistance, uprooting the prehistoric alligators and taking them away from
their ancestral home. Birds launched themselves skywards in time to avoid the
crushing wall of water, and high above they circled, mute observers to the
progress of the tsunami, content in a primeval way at the pickings in its wake.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The Florida Keys, all but ground
down. The Causeway toppled into the depths, isolating the islands. Fishing
boats, pleasure craft, large yachts; none were a match for the slamming liquid.
Most were scuppered instantly; some held sway on the crest for seemingly
interminable moments, only to be dashed against the land.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The wave burst into the Gulf of
Mexico now. Spreading out, losing some of its momentum in the slow-moving,
brown waters. New Orleans´ levees were once again demolished, the city
swallowed, the southern oil refineries steamrollered into nonexistence. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">To the north, in Washington DC,
President Page ventured from the White House Bunker. A military helicopter took
him, General Westmann, Kathleen O’Neill and Phil Mautaugh over the city and up
the coast. Words were not said. Eyes looked desperately for evidence of
survivors. The Capital had been spared, but the nation suffered to an extent
even man would be hard put to emulate. John Page sat looking, desolately, out
of one of the side windows of the helicopter, the Pilot’s commentary spilling
into his deaf ears through the headphones. Tears rolled, uncontrolled, down his
face. He felt helpless. The Most Powerful man on the Planet, as the tabloids
liked to refer to him, humbled by this beast. Instinctively, then, he knew. The
United States of America would not be able to recover from this disaster and
remain the World’s leader. In a matter of hours, they had been relegated to the
status of a third world nation. Worse! In the west, life went on, almost as
normal. Money was being made, lives were lived. A wistful though crept into his
mind. Where should the new Capital be? Los Angeles or San Francisco? Maybe
Vegas; far from the threats of nature. History had not been written today;
history was irrelevant. Was this the beginning of the end?<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" /></span></p><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDade7lVTwIfGqNGO2a8705FhtNIHBUmNzokTe6Z7m4Q8qlix5uhi5bbJK4oWaOR0nwaw15dwY88Jm_G2_XbgfTpJsv15L1n0bBnwvqeU5teeb1OIAnSkHISoUELgPEFAAoIvWt01YSAY/s904/Tsunami+advance+%2526+pax+affected.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="904" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDade7lVTwIfGqNGO2a8705FhtNIHBUmNzokTe6Z7m4Q8qlix5uhi5bbJK4oWaOR0nwaw15dwY88Jm_G2_XbgfTpJsv15L1n0bBnwvqeU5teeb1OIAnSkHISoUELgPEFAAoIvWt01YSAY/w630-h420/Tsunami+advance+%2526+pax+affected.jpg" width="630" /></a></div><br />Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-28545029504706217602021-08-31T19:43:00.001+02:002021-08-31T19:43:14.882+02:00Danger and excitement abounding<p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16.875px; white-space: pre-wrap;">"5 stars: <b>Danger and excitement abounding</b></span></p><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16.875px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Reviewed in the United States on August 30, 2021</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Verified Purchase</div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16.875px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><i>Every chapter has suspense, danger, excitement and some heartbreak. What starts out as an unexplainable attack on a woman who left her world of violence behind becomes more stressful as the story goes on. Zoe had a life of being a government assassin where she was extremely good at her job. She took great pains when she "retired" to leave that life totally behind her. Or so she thought. When her new family is put in mortal danger, she lays out a plan to keep them safe while she deals with the impending threat.</i></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16.875px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><i>Soon Zoe discovers that people she used to work with are involved in the plot to kill her. She is befriended by someone she used to work with and together they set about trying to eliminate the threat. However, every time they deal with one, another one materializes. Thankfully Zoe has planned ahead for something similar and has resources she can call on to see her through.</i></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16.875px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><i>The character development in this book is outstanding. The plot is amazing. The details paint a graphic picture of every scene. There are many surprises that Zoe encounters, such as people from her past life who have planned for her to play a vital role in national defense. What a brilliant story to weave everything together!"</i></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16.875px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Latest review for 'Death Mask' <span style="font-family: inherit;"><a class="oajrlxb2 g5ia77u1 qu0x051f esr5mh6w e9989ue4 r7d6kgcz rq0escxv nhd2j8a9 nc684nl6 p7hjln8o kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x jb3vyjys rz4wbd8a qt6c0cv9 a8nywdso i1ao9s8h esuyzwwr f1sip0of lzcic4wl py34i1dx gpro0wi8" href="http://authl.it/B08PCDZWB6?d=" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: transparent; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; font-family: inherit; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation;" target="_blank">http://authl.it/B08PCDZWB6?d</a></span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16.875px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Not read it yet? Waiting for the movie? Me too!</b></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8dW0cyyKQKzU8TwDYUiT47tLGRi7Z_niWhx26rpMtReVSz4CNIIa5FrT5lQRcMlZkpehZ66KN_7rr6ZCBRNZHWh3rV8D5CgNeVVtUuGNDhzV3k-mz4DsgXW2GNvoFIHm6_GMZ1lpeAoQ/s2048/Death+Mask+2021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1328" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8dW0cyyKQKzU8TwDYUiT47tLGRi7Z_niWhx26rpMtReVSz4CNIIa5FrT5lQRcMlZkpehZ66KN_7rr6ZCBRNZHWh3rV8D5CgNeVVtUuGNDhzV3k-mz4DsgXW2GNvoFIHm6_GMZ1lpeAoQ/w416-h640/Death+Mask+2021.jpg" width="416" /></a></div><br /><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div></div>Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-45598313675982570252021-06-07T11:17:00.005+02:002021-06-07T11:17:49.930+02:00Press Release : Death Mask<p> <img src="https://readersfavorite.com/images/review.png" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; outline: none !important; padding: 0px; vertical-align: middle; width: 211.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 700;"> </span><img alt="" src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51Nllp7sY7L._SL320_.jpg" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 700; margin: 8px 0px 0px; max-width: 100%; outline: none !important; padding: 0px; vertical-align: middle; width: 211.5px;" /></p><div class="col-lg-9 col-md-9 col-xs-8" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; float: left; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; min-height: 1px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px 15px; position: relative; width: 724.5px;"><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px 0px 18px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px; position: relative;"></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px 0px 18px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px; position: relative;"></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px 0px 18px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px; position: relative;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px;" />For immediate release:</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px 0px 18px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px; position: relative;">Author's new book receives a warm literary welcome.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px 0px 18px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px; position: relative;">Readers' Favorite announces the review of the Fiction - Thriller - Conspiracy book "Death Mask" by Eric J. Gates, currently available at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08PCDZWB6" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f8140; margin: 0px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px; transition: all 0.2s ease 0s;" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08PCDZWB6</a>.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px 0px 18px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px; position: relative;">Readers' Favorite is one of the largest book review and award contest sites on the Internet. They have earned the respect of renowned publishers like Random House, Simon & Schuster, and Harper Collins, and have received the "Best Websites for Authors" and "Honoring Excellence" awards from the Association of Independent Authors. They are also fully accredited by the BBB (A+ rating), which is a rarity among Book Review and Book Award Contest companies.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px 0px 18px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px; position: relative;">"Reviewed By Peggy Jo Wipf for Readers' Favorite</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px 0px 18px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px; position: relative;">Death Mask by Eric J. Gates is an espionage thriller that makes you doubt your neighbor. Zoe Davis (or Sheran) is a bookstore owner living with the man she loves, which is normal enough. After he proposes, her past collides with her present and she puts him and his sons in danger. One freak mistake saves her life, giving her enough time to put distance between herself and Liam. Transforming back to her ghost agent days, she must decide if she will try hiding again or take the fight to them. It has taken them six years to find her, but now she doesn't even know who is leading this renegade team of killers.<br style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px;" />I found Eric J. Gates' writing similar to Robert Ludlum's. Death Mask is a military thriller that will have you hanging onto every step Sheran takes. The Egyptian process of mummifying a person is behind the meaning of Death Mask. The Egyptians constructed a similar face on the outside of the coffin so that the soul would recognize and join its body in the afterlife. Sheran had to find her death mask when she left the special ops so she could distinguish her soul after she left it behind. This novel is a fast-paced journey from near-death to impossible odds. With an edgy precision for details and danger, Gates creates a web of espionage and deceit at the highest levels. I loved how the characters come alive, with strong personalities that connect readers to the terror that awaits them."</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px 0px 18px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px; position: relative;">You can learn more about Eric J. Gates and "Death Mask" at <a href="https://readersfavorite.com/book-review/death-mask" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f8140; margin: 0px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px; transition: all 0.2s ease 0s;" target="_blank">https://readersfavorite.com/book-review/death-mask</a> where you can read reviews and the author’s biography, as well as connect with the author directly or through their website and social media pages.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px 0px 18px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px; position: relative;">Readers' Favorite LLC<br style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px;" />Media Relations<br style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px;" />Louisville, KY 40202<br style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px;" />800-RF-REVIEW<br style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px;" />support@readersfavorite.com<br style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; outline: none !important; padding: 0px;" />https://readersfavorite.com</p></div>Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-26742974044451290442019-02-15T15:04:00.001+01:002019-02-15T15:04:41.916+01:00The OPENING CHAPTERS of 'FULL DISCLOSURE'<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 36.0pt;">The Past<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I do
solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the
United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend
the Constitution of the United States.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;">-
from the Presidential Oath of Office.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">11 months ago, 02:08 hours,<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">outside Las Vegas, Nevada<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seventy-six
kills. Seventy-six. If circumstances were different, he’d rank amongst the most
prolific serial killers of the twenty-first century. Taking another life,
another human life, carves a piece out of your soul. That’s what the popular
writers would have you believe. Anson Moore knew otherwise. Forty-seven of
those deaths, deaths up close and personal, had given him… what? Pleasure? No,
not pleasure. Something else. Something… a sense of doing what was right, what
was needed? Perhaps… <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Moore
knew what he felt. The emptiness he carried inside, filled, a little, by a new
victim. Some in his business, kept a record. A small notebook, coded notations;
who, how, when, where, never why… and, above all, the Number, worn as an
invisible testament to their efficiency. Moore didn’t bother with such details.
He felt the number; felt the emptiness remaining. She would have been
thirty-nine today, two years younger than him. He had failed, not kept his
promise, not been there when needed. Failed!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He
shifted position in the car. The seat bottom, too short for comfort, had tried
to cut off the circulation in his legs hours ago. His shallow, measured breath
streamed through the small window opening into the cool night air. His hands
were thrust into opposing armpits, deep under his jacket. He hated the cold;
too many bad memories associated with the cold. Too many missions in the cold.
Too many deaths. Seventy-six; an old hand; a Pro. Yet this one was different.
The man was innocent. Just some misguided tech who thought he was doing the
right thing. Just like Moore. Only difference was, the guy’s actions had
stirred-up some serious concern; so serious they had sent him to eliminate the
problem. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Moore
knew this was a test. The make or break for him. He knew the mission came
first, and an innocent life could not stand in the way. Quietly, he swallowed,
clearing the bile at the back of his throat; something he had never experienced
before on the job. This wasn’t a kill. It was murder, plain and simple. Easy
for the General to say it’s justified; if Moore didn’t do it, someone else
would. Then they would eliminate him. End of mission. End of months living on
the edge. End of the deceit. End of his emptiness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Four
hundred yards away a light blinked off. At last, thought Moore. He would wait
another fifteen minutes before leaving the car, just to make sure. He raised a
warm hand to rub tired eyes. His mind drifted. Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan,
Hong Kong, India, and many more. All the exotic stamps in so many false
passports. This was the first one on home soil. Not the first time he had
killed a fellow American though. There was that bastard in Karachi, selling
troop details to Al-Qaeda. Then the guy in Madrid; more terrorist connections.
Even the rogue CIA agent in Liege. All sanctioned, all approved, all justified.
This guy? He’d done a phone-in on a live radio program for conspiracy nuts.
That’s what would get him killed; a damn phone call.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His
left hand left its warmth, the ghostly glow of a watch face telling him what he
needed to know. Can’t put it off any longer. The emptiness surfaced. And
something else. A tension, a sixth sense. He knew they were watching. He had
tried, all the way from L.A., to spot the tail. They were good, very good, and
he felt tired. Two days without sleep now. Not good for reflexes. He reached
across to the passenger seat and picked up the .22LR Sig Mosquito pistol, the
suppressor already screwed in place. The familiar tactile sensations calmed his
mind. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anson
Moore went into Psychopath Mode.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At
least that’s what the Base shrinks had called it. No emotion. No feelings.
Detached. So they said. They were wrong. The emptiness was always there. More
so tonight. “Forgive me, Jen,” he said quietly as he opened the car door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
walk to the house was circuitous. The target’s bedroom was at the back. His
plan was to approach from the desert. Recon showed no dogs, either at the
target or at the neighbours. He slipped between the houses. No lights anywhere.
The neighbours on the left were home, but had gone to bed three hours earlier.
Those on the right were celebrating their anniversary in Hawaii, not due back
for five days. So far he was just a prowler; not too serious.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As he
neared the corner of the target’s house, a sound froze his advance. An empty
can hitting dirt; bouncing against a stone. The target was awake. The target
was outside, fewer than ten feet away. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Moore
crouched slowly. He leaned forward, his left eye clearing the side wall. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There
was an old wicker lounger on the porch, its back to Moore. It creaked as the
target reached down to grab another beer. The moon, high in the clear sky,
briefly highlighted a young profile, about Jen’s age. Moore felt his throat
constrict, his mouth became an extension of the desert. He fought the urge to
cough, to yell even. “Run, dammit! Get the hell away from here! Get the hell
away from me!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Psychopath
Mode triumphed, slowly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Moore
raised himself in silence; a snake uncoiling. He extended his right foot half a
pace, placing it, heel first, with care on the dirt floor. Weight transferred,
his left leg crossed over, foot at ninety degrees. The action repeated. Mae
Aruki, a stealth walk, taught to him many eons ago… by a gardener! Moore’s
right arm extended, the muzzle of the silencer unwavering on the back of the
chair. Seven feet… six… five. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The man
stood. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He
turned, seemingly ever so slow. In his right hand, a can of beer dribbled its
contents to the earth. In his left, a big revolver, pointed down. The target’s
mouth opened. No sound came forth. His brain must be refusing to process the
nightmare before him, thought Moore. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Moore
stared at the target, unblinking. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Sorry.”
A one-word expiation. The pistol bucked. Again. The blood rushed through his
head dulling his senses. No sound perceived. The target crumpled onto the
chair, tipping it sideways. All silent, like some old Chaplin film. A moment
passed; then two. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Moore
forced himself to advance. He knelt and checked the carotid. A clean kill. No,
just a kill. The emptiness unsatisfied this time. Moore felt bile bursting from
within. He clamped his left hand over his mouth. Can’t leave DNA! His nostrils
flared, trying to force air into desperate lungs. He ripped off his jacket,
formed a makeshift bowl, ejecting the acid vitriol. He collected the spent
cartridges, on autopilot. Business as usual.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Moore
regained the relative calm of the car. He dumped the balled-up jacket on the
passenger side floor, and slid behind the wheel. No, this one was different. No
Psychopath Mode now. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">9 months ago, the Oval Office,<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Washington D.C.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
President’s hand came crashing down on the desk. The report echoed briefly
around the curved walls and the room’s other occupier flinched. On the
President’s left, a door edged open and the concerned face of a Secret Service
agent poked in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It’s
okay, Evan. No problem.” said President Tyler. The agent withdrew, closing the
door with exaggerated slowness. When they were alone again, the President
turned back to his visitor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Hell,
no, it’s not okay! It’s far from okay! Who the hell do you think you are
talking to?” The object of the question paled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Mr
President, Sir, I meant…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I
don’t give a damn what you meant.” He stopped, abruptly aware that his tirade
would not help the matter. Time for a change of tactics. After a short pause,
he continued, his tone much calmer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Let’s
see if I understand this situation. I am the President of the United States.
You are my National Security Adviser.” So far, so good. “I gave you a direct,
legitimate order which you refuse to carry out.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
National Security Adviser swallowed hard. He could see where this was going;
did not like it one bit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It’s
not that I refuse, Mr President…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Again
the President interrupted the man. Speaking now in the low, quiet voice all his
aides knew meant ‘no bullshit’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What
is the problem here?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It’s a
question of security clearances, Sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I say
again, in case you are a little hard of hearing. I am the President. You are an
adviser. I’m not asking for advice here. I’m giving you a direct order. So
again, what’s the problem?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“The
material you ask for is classified above Top Secret. It’s compartmentalised on
a need-to-know basis. Even I don’t have access…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
President interrupted again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I am
the highest elected official in this nation. I am expected to run this country
to the best of my abilities. No, even better than that. How do you expect me to
do the job if the penny-ante, power-hungry, secret-keepers won’t collaborate?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I…”
began the other man.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Just
make it happen. Now! I want a complete, uncensored presentation on this matter
by the end of THIS week. Tell my staff just how much time you will need, but no
later than Friday afternoon, I want to see you, and whoever you need to do this
briefing, in here. Is that understood?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yes
Sir. There are many issues with this subject, Sir, far-reaching issues. Some of
them will cause major unrest. I’ll…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tyler
crossed the distance between them in two long strides. He forcibly took the arm
of the National Security Adviser and half-dragged him to the opposite end of
the Oval Office. Standing with their backs to the unlit fireplace, the
President pointed down to the wheat-coloured carpet at their feet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Do you
see that? Read it. Aloud.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
Adviser looked down. He stepped back so the text woven into the edge of the
carpet was clearly visible. He cleared his throat, swallowed a couple of times
and started reading.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No
Problem of Human Destiny is Beyond Human Beings,” he said quietly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Do you
know who said that?” demanded the President.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I
believe it was President Kennedy, Sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Damn
right. Now, just to make this absolutely clear to you. If you were military,
you’d be on your way to a full court martial now. But as you’re not, my options
are more flexible. I’m thinking along the lines of doing what many White House
staffers have done in the past; a quick, anonymous phone call to some hack on
the Post. Then I’ll follow that by an Official Press Release announcing your
immediate dismissal.” The President paused, letting the significance of the
last word sink in. “Yeah, I said dismissal; there will be no politically-correct
“resignation” here. Hell, man, the way this city works, before the day’s out
you’ll need to move to Idaho to find someone who’ll talk to you. Now get out
and do the job I’ve given you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
National Security Adviser moved toward the door on his right. He took several
steps backwards, as though leaving the presence of royalty, or maybe
subconsciously reacting to a primitive instinct to safeguard his own rear. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the
door closed, President Tyler took in a deep breath, forcing it out with a
strident sigh. He walked back to the burnished timbers of the large desk near
the southern end of the office. His fingers stroked the elegant wood, seeking
communion with the sentiments the desk represented. The origin of the wood was
HMS Resolute; he needed resolve above all now. He looked down at the edge of
the carpet behind the desk. Perhaps I should have shown him this quotation
instead, he thought. With the sole of his shoe he caressed FDR’s words, curved
upside down, at his feet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">* * * *
*<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Outside,
walking briskly down the corridor, trying to put distance between himself and
the Oval Office’s occupier, the National Security Adviser took out his Sat-phone.
He dialled a number from memory. Instead of a ringing tone, he heard a single
click. He nervously typed in a seven-digit code, invoking high-level encryption
software. More clicks followed. Then, he spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“We
have a problem. I need to see you now.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Come.”
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Sat-phone
clicked once. The National Security Adviser pocketed the device, muttering
under his breath.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Shit,
Shit, Shit!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Heading3Char"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 11pt;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span></span>
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Heading3Char"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Heading3Char"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>8
months ago, Washington, D.C.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none; page-break-after: avoid; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
Secret Service agent introduced the key card in the hotel room lock. The
mechanism emitted a harsh click, and the door swung inward a couple of inches.
His hand went to his right hip, seeking the familiar comfort of the Glock's
grip. He pushed the door with his foot. As it opened, he scanned the room. All
seemed in order. Before advancing inside, he swivelled his head from side to
side, taking in the hallway. No one had seen his entry to the room. The security
camera system was disabled; the hotel still waiting on a call-out to the
support people. All as planned. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Secret
Service agent Crawford slipped inside the room and, pocketing the key card,
quietly closed the door. His training took over as he meticulously checked the
bathroom and bedroom for anything unexpected. Satisfied all was as it should
be, his attention centred on the male figure lying alongside the double bed.
The man was unbound, but drugged; no ligature marks for forensics. The agent
bent down and felt the man's carotid artery with two fingers of his left hand,
his right still gripping the Glock in its holster. A strong pulse, good. The
agent pried up an eyelid. The pupil reacted slowly to the change in light. He
glanced at his wristwatch; an hour remained. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On top
of the bed was a plastic shopping bag. The Secret Service man upended its
contents. Five objects: a pistol and suppressor, a pair of black, heavy-duty
latex gloves and a small roll of plastic wrap. He quickly snapped on the gloves.
Next, the suppressor and the Beretta. He screwed the silencer onto the barrel
of the automatic and dropped out the magazine. Deftly he flipped the cartridges
out of the clip. He bent and, with some difficulty, used the unconscious man's
left thumb and forefinger to reload the clip. He clicked off the safety and
pulled back the slide, also using the man's fingers. For extra measure, he
placed the suppressor in the man's right hand and wrapped his fingers around
it. Now he carefully folded the left hand around the pistol’s grip. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Agent
Crawford thought about firing the weapon now, but decided to hold off until
later. Too many Crime Scene shows on TV - you never know if someone will smell
the barrel or check its heat. The acrid smell would still linger, but the metal
would have cooled; inconsistent with the desired effect. He dropped the gun on
to the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Crawford
turned his attention to the other unusual objects in the room: the Javelin
Anti-Armour Missile. Unassembled, as requested. He took hold of one of the two
missile tubes and, using the drugged man's hands, left suitable fingerprints
and DNA in the places where such trace evidence would be expected. He repeated
the actions with the second missile tube. He lay this down on the floor and
turned to the CLU. The stubby Command Launch Unit was easier to handle and
placing more trace on the device was easier. Carefully he positioned fingerprints
in the area where the CLU clipped onto the missile tube and then rubbed this
area on the bedspread, relying on Locard's Exchange Principle to transfer
minute fibres between the bed and the CLU. Any Doubting Thomas, in the
resulting investigation, would be convinced the man on the floor had assembled
this weapon in this room. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
Secret Service man glanced at his wristwatch again. Only forty-three minutes.
He raised his left fist to his mouth and keyed his communicator.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Position
West Nineteen. Position West Nineteen to Control. All quiet and secure.
Continuing area sweep."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Copy
that, West Nineteen. POTUS party will leave on schedule. Check again in
fifteen," the tinny voice of the Secret Service Mobile Control Unit echoed
in his left ear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Copy,
check in fifteen. Out."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
agent sat on the floor, in the middle of the room, and started to assemble the
missile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">* * * *
*</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<br />Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-2562099511838563792019-01-24T19:22:00.002+01:002019-01-24T19:22:51.486+01:00The opening chapters of CHASING SHADOWS<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">CHASING SHADOWS</span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Book 2 of the Shadows series</span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Copyright Eric J. Gates 2018. All rights reserved)</span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">1.</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It
watched from unwavering, hooded, reptilian eyes. Its massive body, at least
four meters long, remained immobile as he stepped off the edge. Less than
fifteen meters away, open jawed, soaking up the sun, watching, waiting. A foul
footfall and he would roll down to within striking distance. These beasts could
move rapidly over short distances. Faster, much faster, than a human. With the
clamping of those teeth around a limb, it would be all over. A short drag to
the river, a death roll, drowning and... <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The red
dust clung to the sweat on his lower legs as he slid down the scree. He used
the geologist’s hammer in his left hand to brake his descent. This only served
to raise more of the burgundy-colored dirt. His once-white shirt now stained
with claret streaks where sudor and soil had mixed. He coughed, a rasping resonance
as the cliff face reflected the noise in the still air. The caw of an
unidentified bird responded from somewhere above. Otherwise the silence was
marred only by the loose soil sluicing under his boots. A furtive glance below
to ensure the reptile had not encroached on safe separation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perhaps
he should have asked Joao, the official minder assigned by the Ministry, to
accompany him. He could find himself in all kinds of trouble here. Everything
from venomous snakes to crocodiles, from poachers to thieves. Not to mention he
had exceeded the restrictions of his work permit just by being in this remote
part of the country. If a patrol chanced upon him there was no telling what
would happen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He
slowed his downward travel almost to a stop and glanced below. Another couple
of meters and he could see a ledge which offered firm footing. More
interestingly, the earth slide he had caused now exposed the rock face he
sought. A darker brownish grey pierced the red tint of the African dirt. The
prize, if his expectations were to be fulfilled, hinted at when the February
rains had flushed the topsoil.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now
safe on the ledge, he looked up. The chisel point of the hammer would help him
climb back up easily enough; that and the rope he had secured to the tow hook
on the rear of his 4x4 Toyota Land Cruiser LC79 pickup. Going further down,
toward the thankfully still croc, was not an option.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He
turned his attention back to the exposed rock. Its color and composition seen
this close up matched what he was looking for, but he needed to perform more
tests before he could be sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
reached into the bag hanging from his shoulder and extracted an insulated metal
tube. After unscrewing the lid, he placed the tube carefully on the ledge. Next
he extracted a pair of thick gloves and a small trowel. After donning the
gloves, he held the trowel under the exposed brown-grey rock then chipped away
with his hammer’s chisel point. In a few minutes, a decent sample had collected
on the trowel. This he deposited in the tube and reapplied the lid. He returned
everything to the bag and used the hammer and rope to climb the rock face.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once
alongside his truck, he stashed the bag out of sight under the passenger seat. For
now, his find needed to be verified and then reported back. Once that was done,
people way above his own paygrade would negotiate exploitation rights on an
International level. He might receive a substantial bonus if everything turned
out as he hoped.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He
dropped his hammer on the floor of the passenger well then closed the door.
Untying the rope and stowing it in the lockbox in the bed of the truck took a
couple of minutes. Now he was ready for the long drive back to the coast.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He
glanced up at the sky. At least no rain was expected, so he would only have the
dust to contend with. Dust and potholes, mudslides, stray fauna. The usual
assortment on West African roads.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just as
he was about to climb into the cab, a glint of bright light caught his eye. He
reached into the door pocket and extracted his binoculars. Cranking them up to
maximum power he could make out a plume of dust, no, two.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Vehicles
coming fast from the west.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This
could be a problem.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></div>
</span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>2.</b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two
military Jeeps.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Four
men in the first, three, and a .50 caliber machine gun, in the second.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He
slowed to a stop and awaited their approach. The braking tires of the oncoming
vehicles sent a red cloud tsunami at the closed windows of his own car. By the
time it had settled, he was surrounded by angry faces, all porting the Israeli
Galil ACE 31 assault rifles that had been issued to the country’s army the
previous year after some astute arms trader had made the deal of a lifetime.
All, that was, except the last man to descend from the jeep. His face was
instantly recognizable. Hardly a day went by without Colonel Nelson Dembo’s
visage gracing the few pages of the local, state-run newspapers. Officially he
was the second most powerful man in the country, though many whispered his
reach was far longer, and more deadly, than President General Jordan Savimbi.
The joke was he had acquired the rank of Colonel after the coup that had placed
Savimbi into the President’s Palace in the capital as a dig at his fellow
rebel, the new President. Both Savimbi and Dembo had been Corporals in the
armed forces of the previous regime. Savimbi, however, had sought to make his
intentions clear and assumed the rank of General the very next day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dembo
approached the Toyota taking every step as though time was irrelevant. The
geologist lowered his window. When the Colonel spoke, the slow, plummy tones of
his affected British upper-class accent grated on his ears.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“My
dear fellow, what a surprise! I did not expect to find you out here, so far
from the area your contract restricted you to. Please, do step out of your
car.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dembo
nodded to one of the men who stepped forward, yanked open the Toyota’s door,
then dragged the geologist onto the dried mud ground.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
Colonel waited until he regained his feet then spoke again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Do you
have a legitimate explanation for why you are here? A special permit, perhaps,
from our beloved President Savimbi?” His smile was as wide as it was false.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I, er,
no, Colonel Dembo, I don’t have permission to be this far up-stream. It’s just
professional curiosity. I’m due to finish my work in your country in a couple
of weeks and decided I’d like to examine the rock strata along the river bed.
Curiosity, nothing more.” He lowered his head hoping a humble demeanor would
count in his favor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Ah.
What do we have here?” The Colonel reached collected the geologist’s bag from
the soldier who had been rummaging inside the Toyota’s cabin. He held aloft the
metal sample tube. “And this, dear boy?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Just
some dirt and rock samples I wanted to analyze back at base camp.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Why?
Do they hold some kind of special interest for you?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No,
nothing out of the ordinary. I just wanted to check for the presence of any
indicators for minerals you might like to mine. You know, see if it would be
worth your country’s time to sink a few boreholes and uncover economically
viable mineral resources.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“All
without seeking permission…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I know,
I’m sorry, I…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Do not
interrupt me again!” Even the Colonel’s snobbish airs failed to hide the venom
in the voice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seconds
passed as though some divine figure had pressed the pause button. No one moved.
No one spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Now,
as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, even if your motives are,
shall we say, altruistic, this isn’t your country where you can travel anywhere
without restriction and dig holes in the earth to satisfy your curiosity. We
own this land, not you. There is no Public access by default here.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I am
sorry. It wasn’t my intention…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What
have you found?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Your
sample. What do you think it is?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I
don’t know for sure. I need more tests as I mentioned.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“But a
man of your experience…” Smiling to punctuate his phrase, a toothy reminder of
the crocodile below the scree.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I
really don’t know, Colonel…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Don’t
vacillate me. I am a man of learning, not one of these rag-tag blacks. You
would do well to remember that.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Sir,
that was not my intention…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Enough!
You are to consider yourself detained.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
geologist stepped forward, extending an imploring hand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
soldier behind also advanced, bringing the butt of his assault rifle down hard
on the man’s neck. As he slumped to the ground, fighting the blackness that
rushed to engulf him, he heard the Colonel shout at the soldier.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You
fool! You might have killed him. I need him alive…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Colonel
Dembo pulled out his pistol, levelled it at the soldier’s head, and pulled the
trigger.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Sergeant
Okeke, put him in the jeep.” He indicated the crumpled form of the geologist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What
about…?” The sergeant’s bulging eyes were focused on the other body.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
Colonel, holstering his own weapon, stooped over and retrieved the dead
soldier’s Galil. He turned and stepped into the nearest vehicle. His eyes
caught movement down by the river.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Throw
it to the crocodile.”</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">* * *</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRmr3YsJNVN8eVrDGAUHOe8s0RSjDXk9D18wnuPIHvwNEycBnLcSmE0TsO2htSLJINxroAuBsj-03H03mQG68HRYqP67YLoVpPJ160D2hMcuEKWWhmceFE2NcJ4HIQDxQr4zwkJz3-vI0/s1600/2+Chasing+Shadows.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRmr3YsJNVN8eVrDGAUHOe8s0RSjDXk9D18wnuPIHvwNEycBnLcSmE0TsO2htSLJINxroAuBsj-03H03mQG68HRYqP67YLoVpPJ160D2hMcuEKWWhmceFE2NcJ4HIQDxQr4zwkJz3-vI0/s320/2+Chasing+Shadows.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A suicide mission no one wants to take on!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">An international criminal as an ally!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Could this be the end of CACS<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">…and the death of its operatives?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">CHASING SHADOWS</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">available soon - special pre-order offer for Newsletter readers.</span></b></div>
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Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-54248482504419827932018-07-14T16:04:00.000+02:002018-07-14T16:04:40.640+02:00WINNERS of the MEME competitionHello everyone.<br />
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As you may know, I ran a competition with an audiobook edition of my</div>
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'the CULL - Bloodline' novel as the prize:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbA2WXy09aj036UEebk6glx1hJq1v8RfioAzirU92ulM47eolxOtIqUS3k8Al4Dr-MuVU6IoWdHjjP3BsAm51OtgavYyrOVxobpfLkrhVzbggh_DINNy7pxDoFQwAQqEI3sY-MpT93P7g/s1600/Bloodline+-+Audio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbA2WXy09aj036UEebk6glx1hJq1v8RfioAzirU92ulM47eolxOtIqUS3k8Al4Dr-MuVU6IoWdHjjP3BsAm51OtgavYyrOVxobpfLkrhVzbggh_DINNy7pxDoFQwAQqEI3sY-MpT93P7g/s400/Bloodline+-+Audio.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://authl.it/B00AGZ27FA?d" target="_blank"><b><i><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Your Amazon link for the audiobook & books</span></i></b></a></td></tr>
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It was an easy competition; all you had to do was come up with either a meme or thought bubble text for a photo of my furry footwarmer.</div>
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We were<b><span style="color: blue;"> inundated with entries</span></b>.</div>
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After much head scratching, we chose 14 who should have received an email from me by now with instructions of how to download their prize.</div>
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(<b><span style="color: #660000;">If you haven't and see your entry below</span></b>, contact me immediately via my website). </div>
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(<b><span style="color: #990000;">If you have and haven't downloaded the audiobook yet</span></b>, remember there's a time limit.)</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Here are the winning entries:</span></b></div>
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from <b><span style="font-size: large;">Jennifer</span></b>:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaeNzw8vvX3zOR-yeNdJYn2U92srT3wwJvH1cjBalwTWNX2BAQTmPdrOCUJ2wFSDQiPth1quqivaoAXlMLApLW7SJPGwe68mEw4CBgd18mFl6NWp4A25IRp9_sGZZ_sztaBnZbd7maiJQ/s1600/K1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="226" data-original-width="304" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaeNzw8vvX3zOR-yeNdJYn2U92srT3wwJvH1cjBalwTWNX2BAQTmPdrOCUJ2wFSDQiPth1quqivaoAXlMLApLW7SJPGwe68mEw4CBgd18mFl6NWp4A25IRp9_sGZZ_sztaBnZbd7maiJQ/s400/K1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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from <b><span style="font-size: large;">Angie</span></b>:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0lo9VmSfCmMo5bacDIFiYwwg4JL5wNN-ps3tOqaFx9miW23B9v_zj7vfvJyT5M485dX3j9_pCbRMbZequ6TiXmo1N097F9qiT90tTBeof_l6DZRJ2T4WcaQgt5VruMsAgul8IUjh0OPU/s1600/K2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="226" data-original-width="304" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0lo9VmSfCmMo5bacDIFiYwwg4JL5wNN-ps3tOqaFx9miW23B9v_zj7vfvJyT5M485dX3j9_pCbRMbZequ6TiXmo1N097F9qiT90tTBeof_l6DZRJ2T4WcaQgt5VruMsAgul8IUjh0OPU/s400/K2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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from <b><span style="font-size: large;">Bonnie</span></b>:</div>
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(I actually grimaced when I read this! Worst nightmare EVER!)</div>
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from <b><span style="font-size: large;">Bob</span></b>:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE2FPJ4V-EM-cgdxyj40GhNvk7cIl9ghlHycyUifFBQxpSKrffhVtlygOvT-TDVo5Dz6gPkyCbvIMUjgOAzypgcjd8ovX0eDq2lI6YaauaaSTV_TB5tX6hthD3-qoOlxW4a2otmD0MKqo/s1600/K4g.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="481" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE2FPJ4V-EM-cgdxyj40GhNvk7cIl9ghlHycyUifFBQxpSKrffhVtlygOvT-TDVo5Dz6gPkyCbvIMUjgOAzypgcjd8ovX0eDq2lI6YaauaaSTV_TB5tX6hthD3-qoOlxW4a2otmD0MKqo/s400/K4g.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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from <b><span style="font-size: large;">Elizabeth</span></b>:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYCuDGqY1S1NXjE3b_2rnlO8zQ-6WkSX2kznX2OhYYL3_f9hElgOBKY7TeIpObsX46p7Gm0ILNrUMAWhufpHksoF0nqIHd8pmvEmH9c_cx_rKORz8KHCv1y1Twj1xYOSpnF2Wh74yulqE/s1600/K5g.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="481" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYCuDGqY1S1NXjE3b_2rnlO8zQ-6WkSX2kznX2OhYYL3_f9hElgOBKY7TeIpObsX46p7Gm0ILNrUMAWhufpHksoF0nqIHd8pmvEmH9c_cx_rKORz8KHCv1y1Twj1xYOSpnF2Wh74yulqE/s400/K5g.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">(scrappy - yeah! ...and the werewolf bit explains a lot)</span></td></tr>
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from <b><span style="font-size: large;">LaClau</span></b>:</div>
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(who sent in the complete image! kudos!)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUqTIegpNIFljlqxSmLh8Fw0Imj0ImUePdhGEcDENqjJVrDLa5vw7RloBJzMMuuortHlq7pDudHf64Oa1M0h52_nfsZnDs187g2NLfWxV6YyYGP-rCVB6LzpcFKxfgtOsxs9IzrZpL0eY/s1600/K6good.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1113" data-original-width="1499" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUqTIegpNIFljlqxSmLh8Fw0Imj0ImUePdhGEcDENqjJVrDLa5vw7RloBJzMMuuortHlq7pDudHf64Oa1M0h52_nfsZnDs187g2NLfWxV6YyYGP-rCVB6LzpcFKxfgtOsxs9IzrZpL0eY/s400/K6good.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRkNSiQY8paxdbbgzwnzIGjoPFJd7nen4hNPI7S6eCqwQb_LohHvEiqCCptsE7FvPJ1rQQ5WWhJPBgJTvUtWYu7OrN9f9F2dqJh8qmdpZ4ykc5uNH2zxgc08SAYyd4L0ce054V1Yw409I/s1600/K7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="226" data-original-width="304" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRkNSiQY8paxdbbgzwnzIGjoPFJd7nen4hNPI7S6eCqwQb_LohHvEiqCCptsE7FvPJ1rQQ5WWhJPBgJTvUtWYu7OrN9f9F2dqJh8qmdpZ4ykc5uNH2zxgc08SAYyd4L0ce054V1Yw409I/s400/K7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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(Kata was Scottish and drank tea... usually mine when I wasn't looking)</div>
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from <b><span style="font-size: large;">Cheryl</span></b>:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilFMRsP7sl2Qm2yhUcQxdUr1pJFl5A3SEx148lUnw4vgJ4OKbKQBmy-mwWP_2bHYv17w_ancFpPgd6sE-LjPdv2lAlcHofF_r6hpXwaek25I0NfJN-2SkcOMpjKIJ9AROg6C57eWwaZME/s1600/K8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="226" data-original-width="304" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilFMRsP7sl2Qm2yhUcQxdUr1pJFl5A3SEx148lUnw4vgJ4OKbKQBmy-mwWP_2bHYv17w_ancFpPgd6sE-LjPdv2lAlcHofF_r6hpXwaek25I0NfJN-2SkcOMpjKIJ9AROg6C57eWwaZME/s400/K8.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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(I'm sure that if Kata was still here, she would be writing this)</div>
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from <b><span style="font-size: large;">Jeanine</span></b>:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">(I'm not THAT mean... I'd take her after finishing one page)</span></td></tr>
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from <b><span style="font-size: large;">Paula</span></b>:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5mkd6GHxSh80QQqeOW_JVrOQMFrCFoyLAAWENH5N5VxLQXvoAAdVe4t6dafMN4rMpQXpwO23O5eIr9yNqSa-Yy6hhZP5LleI799O2OKJEv8qaIAbgAl2ZD6lqgiQZk8Wck7P_1GayOHY/s1600/K10g.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="481" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5mkd6GHxSh80QQqeOW_JVrOQMFrCFoyLAAWENH5N5VxLQXvoAAdVe4t6dafMN4rMpQXpwO23O5eIr9yNqSa-Yy6hhZP5LleI799O2OKJEv8qaIAbgAl2ZD6lqgiQZk8Wck7P_1GayOHY/s400/K10g.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">(You have to be politically correct, so they say?)</span></td></tr>
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from <b><span style="font-size: large;">Dianne</span></b>:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">(Ouch! Too close to home!)</span></td></tr>
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from <b><span style="font-size: large;">Ian</span></b>:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">(I confess, this one brought a tear to my eye.)</span></td></tr>
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from <b><span style="font-size: large;">Judith</span></b>:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">(My secrets revealed!!!)</span></td></tr>
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from <b><span style="font-size: large;">Kim</span></b>:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPpmooqIJjRCRXeHb_9-IXA1T0n8x-FNqV_Yv6SKFU58bcK6Eck6gPs0-2qgVzDiCpGx932RHqnYO3ks2m0X8Mvl-rXHX_4n09LMK2AaKaVSVbEnxbhWdHZjSL2J5qfg9i21-WrRgMwE4/s1600/K14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="226" data-original-width="304" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPpmooqIJjRCRXeHb_9-IXA1T0n8x-FNqV_Yv6SKFU58bcK6Eck6gPs0-2qgVzDiCpGx932RHqnYO3ks2m0X8Mvl-rXHX_4n09LMK2AaKaVSVbEnxbhWdHZjSL2J5qfg9i21-WrRgMwE4/s400/K14.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I thank you all for your entries, there were so many great ones.</div>
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Watch out for more competitions <span style="color: blue;"><b>only </b></span>for my newsletter friends soon.</div>
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<span style="color: red;"><b>Not a newsletter friend yet?</b></span></div>
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Visit my website and wait 5 seconds... 4... 3...</div>
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Eric @ <b><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank">www.ericjgates.com</a></span></b></div>
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Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-32306395396949556552018-06-24T14:31:00.000+02:002018-06-24T14:31:42.620+02:00The unthinkable! An Author interviewed... by readers!<div style="text-align: justify;">
As an author of thriller novels, I have been interviewed many times. However, this is usually a process undertaken by bloggers or journalists, sometimes fellow writers.<br />
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<b><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Until now, that is!</span></b></div>
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In my newsletter, I recently ran a competition where my readers could interview me. A large number of fun questions were received and the following fifteen were chosen by a small panel of three. If you entered the competition and your question doesn't appear here, I'm sorry; there were just far too many to include them all.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIyxTlFC66pfpwNQSFsBmKpIfOqolpX6ThyphenhyphenbgGu0FAUdAHpfHUF7Nu8Jw0ujaOHN3rYEhXC-WZRhi3kmeetlZFUwDdCSPp7xXhh3qO8JHN3TJYVT9HKUPXva_0gfmNOncy2elDkgL-Axg/s1600/EJG2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1531" data-original-width="1230" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIyxTlFC66pfpwNQSFsBmKpIfOqolpX6ThyphenhyphenbgGu0FAUdAHpfHUF7Nu8Jw0ujaOHN3rYEhXC-WZRhi3kmeetlZFUwDdCSPp7xXhh3qO8JHN3TJYVT9HKUPXva_0gfmNOncy2elDkgL-Axg/s200/EJG2014.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>
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<b style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">If you could collaborate with any author of the thriller genre, no longer alive, who would you select and why?</span></b></div>
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<i>That’s actually quite an easy question. You see, when you collaborate with an author, you have to completely coincide on the way the novel storyline will develop, how the characters are going to develop, etc and discussions are almost inevitable. That’s one of the reasons why successful co-authoring isn’t that common. However, if my co-author, is ‘no longer alive’, problem solved!</i></div>
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<i>Seriously though, without a doubt I’d choose the late British author John Gardner. I was fortunate to correspond, then meet, him when I was starting out as a writer many, many years ago and he was exceedingly generous in providing me with some of the basic skills you need to write thrillers. I used to devour his books, starting to read them as I was leaving the bookshop. I consider him to be one of the most underated authors of the late 20th Century, perhaps because he wrote popular fiction. He actually wrote more James Bond novels than Ian Fleming, and three novels about Sherlock Holmes arch enemy, Professor Moriarty amongst the fifty-five books he penned during his career.</i></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Do you ever get to the point where you wonder if all of the years of work that you do on your books is worth it? </span></b></div>
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<i>Yes. I confess that, like most authors, especially Indies like myself, facing the obstacles thrown into our paths daily is often like pushing a snowball uphill in July using just your nose. What gives me the motivation to continue? People: the many readers who express their enjoyment of my tales and the author friends who altruistically support and share their skills and talent with others. Now where did I leave that snowball? </i></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Have you ever written yourself into a corner and had to come up with a major plot twist to get out of it? </span></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b><u><a href="http://authl.it/B00NNNCA7M?d" target="_blank">Your Amazon link</a></u></b></span></td></tr>
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<i>It wouldn’t be fun if writing a story was straightforward. I’m a natural problem solver with some of the skills I created for my character Amy Bree in ‘the CULL’ books, and the challenge to find a creative solution to a problem, without cheating (or using this special pen I have) is one of the aspects of writing I find so satisfying. So much so, I often create seemingly impossible odds for my protagonists just so they can overcome them. I say no cheating though because creating a plot twist, without it being amply justified by preceding events in the tale (something like the hero about to be eaten alive by sharks who escapes because they happen to carry shark repellent with them every day, for example), no; that’s not acceptable. Dropping a single short clue to something ten or fifteen chapters earlier, seemingly inconsequential and unimportant at the time, then using this to resolve a tight situation; that is most definitely in my wheelhouse. </i></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Imagine the book fairy comes to visit and rewards you with the gift that you going to be transported into one of your own books and have to live through it. Which book and character would you choose to be and why? </span></b></div>
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<i>[There's a book fairy!!! Do you mean Jeff Bezos???]</i></div>
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<i><i>‘Outsourced’, and possibly Phil Beasley. He’s got that crazy tilt on Life which appeals to me. Besides, I’ve been ‘in’ most of my other books IRL, and what’s the fun in repeating that? I do have this pen someone sent me in the mail, though… I wonder what it does. </i></i></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">If you were told you couldn't be an author, what would your choice of occupation be? </span></b></div>
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<i>Strangely enough, although I started writing at an early age, I intended to become a geologist using my languages to work internationally. Through no fault of my own, t</i><i>hat </i><i>didn’t work out, so, logically, I dropped into computers, then into… well that’s another story; one I can’t tell. Finally, it’s back to writing again. However if I woke up tomorrow and books had been obliterated universally and being a writer is not available, I’d probably go with science of some sort. I’ve always had an interest in Quantum Mechanics so, if I could find a way to do that, it’s something I would enjoy.</i></div>
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<b>Many people asked the next question or variations of it, but we went with this one:</b> <br />
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<b><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Are you related to Bill Gates and is that where you got all your ideas for your books? </span></b></div>
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<i>Well, you didn’t think I co-wrote with Bill Clinton, did you? He wasn’t available at the time so I found another Bill… </i><br />
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<i>The truth is, many years ago he and I came to an arrangement: he would keep all the fame and fortune, and I would write thriller novels...</i></div>
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<i>Seriously, no, we are not related… as far as I know… but… over twenty years ago I obtained his personal email from a contact in Microsoft and wrote to him about Elizabeth Gates, the first Gates in the colonies, and a very distant relative. She was a passenger on the Mayflower, it turns out. This gem was brought to my attention by someone who did some digging into my ancestral roots. Mr. Gates (not me, the other one) found this rather interesting and wrote back saying we should meet when he was next in Madrid (Spain, not New York, Iowa or New Mexico). Shortly thereafter he sent me an invitation to an event he was attending in Spain’s capital a couple of months hence. I was looking forward to meeting him there. My work intervened and while Mr. Gates (him) was indulging in Tapas, Mr. Gates (me) was far, far away in another country doing what I did back them. When I got back I wrote to apologize and we rescheduled, with the most amazing coincidence that again he (Mr. Gates) was watching flamenco dancing while I (Mr. Gates) was in yet another far flung country. In the end, we decided to leave it up to Destiny. We have a couple of topics of conversation pending for when we eventually meet. </i></div>
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<i>Having ruled out Mr. Gates as the source of book ideas, so how does Mr. Gates come up with the stories? Well, many spring from exactly what I was doing when I was eluding my namesake. There’s a wonderful Chinese curse which goes ‘may you live in interesting times’ (please excuse the accent; my Mandarin is rusty). I did! You remember when you’re sitting on a plane, waiting for the crew to close the door so you can finally depart after a half-hour or more delay, then some guy come hurtling into the aircraft, collapsing in a seat all hot and sweaty after a high-speed car trip through the city and a mad dash to the gate? Then you start to wonder who he is and what he does for a living that they hold planes for him? That was me! Behind that scene is a very ‘unique’ ‘job’ that had me spending more time in International airports than in my own home. These days I call it ‘research’ for the books. Things I’ve seen, things I’ve done, stories I’ve heard from others, all stew together in the melting pot of my mind and some emerge on the pages of my novels. What! You thought they were fiction? </i></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">What keeps you going to get these books done… I guess what I am asking what motivates you to keep writing?</span></b> </div>
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<i>Three things: the desire to tell an entertaining tale; the reactions of you, my readers, through your emails and reviews; and the knowledge there are many more pushing at the ‘little grey cells’ waiting to emerge onto my computer screen. Plus, it’s much cheaper than a psychiatrist. </i></div>
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<b style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">In your travels around the world what is the most amazing/mind-boggling thing/situation you encountered?</span></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://authl.it/B0163DAKT8?d" target="_blank">Your Amazon link</a></b></span></td></tr>
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<i>I could cheat here and just refer you to the first story in ‘Facets’. That did happen to me; I was the Titus of the tale in the scene where he got his nickname of ‘The Lion Man’. However, that’s just one of the many things I’ve experienced.</i><br />
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<i>Almost being on a plane that crashed into a mountain killing all on board still ranks as my most important near-miss, with getting shot at coming a close second. Though you did say amazing/mind boggling so perhaps herding elephants using a light aircraft in Amboseli, southern Kenya has to be an experience I will never forget. Or touching the talons of an eagle as it soared overhead while standing on the edge of a river gorge. Or fighting two Rottweilers who were attacking someone. Or avoiding a sword cut delivered to the back of my head by a Grandmaster and which I couldn’t see coming, to pass a 5th Dan exam in one of my martial arts… or…</i><br />
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<i>Yes, Interesting Times, indeed. </i></div>
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<b style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">What do you find most exciting about being an author? </span></b></div>
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<i>You know that feeling of inner satisfaction you get when finishing a book you liked? It’s a heady mixture of fulfilment and sadness that it’s all over. Well, multiply that by a hundred and that’s what it feels like when an author finishes a new novel. Maybe that’s why we keep writing new books; we are somehow hooked on that sensation. I’ve discovered recently that we can relive that when we encounter our own books in a different medium. After so many years, I didn’t think ‘the CULL – Bloodline’ could hold any surprises for me, but I was wrong. Narrator, and all-round superwoman, Marnye Young gave me goosebumps when listening to my own book in audiobook format. Her amazing skills added accents and voices to my characters, dragging them from the recesses of my mind into the real world. What a rush! </i></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>At what point in your life did you KNOW you wanted to write books and what was your first pick of genre?</b></span> </div>
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<i>The week after the dinosaurs died out I found myself reading a western novel written by two of my schoolteachers and designed to help us 11-year olds learn Spanish. Well, objective complete! What that book and its sequel also did was have me wonder, a few years later when learning French, if such an approach could be applied in that language. I talked my teacher into working with me on the idea of a spy novel featuring a French Intelligence agent, and very much in the Ian Fleming Bond books style, for 4th year French students. The project started well but the teacher dropped out because of other commitments. I couldn’t continue on my own, so I took the basic story and turned it into my first full-length novel (now, thankfully living in a box under my desk). I’d written some two hundred or so short stories (a mixture of Scifi, thrillers, and humorous) at that time, but this was the first book I had attempted. Once polished, I sent it off to an agent who read it and responded ‘not bad for a first attempt; keep on writing!’ So I did, until Life intervened and stole all the time I had available until a decade or so ago. So, Spanish teachers Brian Mitchell and N. J. Margetts, you’ve got a lot to answer for! </i></div>
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<b style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Have you ever lost sleep over the way you treated a character in one of your books? </span></b></div>
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<i>Any author will tell you they lose sleep over their Work-In-Progress. When your exhausted body drops into the horizontal position at the end of a long day clamoring for rest to recharge the batteries, the subconscious mind kicks itself into gear and bombards the inside of your eyelids with unwritten scenes from the WIP or, if you are really unlucky, future novels (that’s why most of us sleep with a notebook on our bedside table – it’s not for jotting down dreams).</i><br />
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<i>Sometimes we do dastardly things to our characters too, and these can come back to haunt us. Take ‘the CULL’ series as an example. Early on in book 2 I had decided the fate of one of the characters. He’d done some nasty, unforgivable stuff in book 1 and I felt he had to be punished. That didn’t happen until the next book though, and when it did, I felt that the character’s ‘cycle’ had been completed – he had served his purpose in the overall story. I’ve never received a single email from readers complaining about his fate either. Then came book 5, where I had decided another character was going to meet his end. Here though, and despite his nature, he was almost an anti-hero figure, and I found myself questioning my decision constantly. In the end, I went with my gut feeling and… was inundated with emails complaining I’d killed off one of the readers’ favorites. That caused me to lose sleep. Did I get it wrong? Looking back, seeing the whole story arcs from book 1 through to book 5, I don’t think I did. His dramatic end was the consequence of the changes the character experienced throughout the tale and I think it was fitting. [I’ve tried to keep the spoilers to a minimum, but I think you’ll find that when you get dragged into Katie and Amy’s world, you will quickly forget these words.] </i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;">As an aspiring writer myself, I find that when I attempt any writing session I have certain routines I go through. Certain chair, ambient noise, lucky socks, snacks. Do you have any pre- writing necessities?</span></b> </span></div>
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<i>Regarding the ergonomics of writing books, many would be amazed that writers these days often take measures to avoid the injuries that could keep us away from our profession of choice. Just about everyone knows about carpal tunnel syndrome, which can result from an incorrect angle of the wrist when typing over an extended period of time. Getting chair height right and having an ergonomically designed keyboard and mouse are a serious measure to take in this respect. I used to get through about two keyboards a year (no, I don’t hit the keys with my fists. I do have exceedingly strong hands though through all my martial arts sword practice), but as the years have progressed I’ve been buying progressively more solid (and expensive) keyboards and my turn-around rate is now about 18 months for a keyboard. The chair itself is well ventilated and articulated so I can press back into it which helps with the additional lumbar support I affixed, thus taking the strain off the lower back. I also have a device which I use to apply up to 10 kilos of traction on my neck (not when I’m writing though) which I use, in conjunction with a portable electric massager I run through my phone to get rid of the kinks after a long session on a project. Every two hours or less I get up for a while and walk around and do something else for fifteen minutes or so. Exercising is also essential as they say ‘sitting is the new smoking’ and writers are very prone to this (no standing desks for me). </i></div>
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<i>When I sit down for a writing session, I have usually gone through all my email accounts and replied to any that need my attention, as well as dealt with anything else that could distract me once I’m ‘in the zone’. I can usually tell if things are going well as the cup of tea I make at the start, or during the breaks, will still be full and stone cold when I realize it is sitting less than 20 cms from my right hand. </i></div>
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<i><i>I also have a large screen on my PC, currently 23”, which allows me to open slightly more than half with the book I’m working on, and also have several more open windows sitting in the space alongside with notes, images, a thesaurus and dictionary and any other stuff I might need to use. I used to have music playing in the background when writing, but now prefer to work in silence, letting 'the voices' tell me what to do! Told you it was cheaper than a psychiatrist. </i></i></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Would you rather write one mega bestseller and then give up writing for the rest of your life or write many midlist books or series for the rest of your life and be comfortable but never rich or wildly famous?</span> </b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://authl.it/B007XIR5Z0?d" target="_blank"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Your Amazon link</span></b></a></td></tr>
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<i>Great question that had me thinking for a while. The answer is simple though. I have never been a materialistic sort of person, though would like to achieve success with my writing as a sign that what I write provides enjoyment for others. Thus, the one mega bestseller then no writing option is ruled out. I do get recognized every day though, so I must be reasonably famous… my wife calls me by my name. </i></div>
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<i><i>I don’t know about morphing myself into anything, but the power of invisibility would be interesting. Just thinking of all the places I could visit that are off-limits… and then write about them… </i></i></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Of all the countries you have traveled to, which is your favorite, and, why? </span></b></div>
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<i>Before answering this one, I'd like to urge people to travel internationally as much as their circumstances permit. But please, travel with a light heart. What do I mean by this? I've seen so many visiting, even living, in what are foreign countries to them, who impose their values, language, food preferences, way of life in general, on that country and its people, judging them by their acceptance or not of this yardstick, and then brag about their 'wonderful' experience of other cultures. Sorry, in my book that's xenophobia. Seeking refuge in the stuff of life in your own country whilst living, albeit temporarily, in another is nothing but fear. Fear of being exposed to things that will make you question your core beliefs. Only by challenging what you accept as being 'the best' can you evolve and become a better person. Every single culture in this world has something to teach us if only we don't allow our biased behaviour to filter out what they have to offer. I'm proud to say I have friends all around the world. When I think of them, talk to them, listen to them, I'm not conditioned by their nationalities, skin pigmentation, or beliefs. They are fellow souls on this global journey of discovery, and all, without exception, have something to teach me, if I'll only listen. </i><i>The key to getting the most out of visiting a foreign country is twofold: learn the language (even a small smattering will make all the difference; when you try to speak someone else's tongue, their smiles bridge the cultural gap instantly; soon you will be smiling too) and respect (never assume you know better). </i><i>Challenge yourself by travelling; evolve as a person.</i><br />
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<i>That said, it's difficult to pick out one place I've been that stands out as a favourite. I try to immerse myself in the places I've visited, and will visit in the future, keep an open mind and endeavour to see the lessons I can take from how they live their lives. Remember, travelling is not about seeing a new culture from behind the windows of a bus or train, or from the deck of a cruise ship ('If it's Tuesday, this must be Belgium', to quote the title of a 1969 comedy movie). It's about people; individuals like yourself. It's about crossing barriers. It's about giving your treasured Swiss Army knife to a young boatman off the East African coast; it's about sharing a meal with a friend from Hong Kong, discovering new flavours; it's about listening to the experiences of someone who lives in a place that doesn't have the freedoms you take for granted. It's about enrichment of your soul. </i></div>
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<i>I'd like to thank everyone who participated in this interrogation, even if your specific questions were not included. I hope you had as much fun reading the questions selected as I did answering them. And to the reader who wanted to know my inside leg measurement (to judge how tall I am), there is no direct correlation between that piece of data and a person's height. As Monsignor Cancelli says, I assure you, when I'm walking, my feet reach the ground. Thank you all.</i></div>
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Eric @<b> <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">www.ericjgates.com</span></a> </span>- </b>if you would like to receive my newsletter, just go to my website and wait 5 seconds. The newsletter goes out every three weeks or so and contains lots of fun stuff, freebies, special offers, insider information, book reviews and recommendations... and some very bad jokes!</div>
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<br />Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-77581595303793388212017-11-24T15:43:00.002+01:002017-11-24T15:43:54.846+01:00World's TOUGHEST Author Interview: John Dolan<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Some of the toughest questions anyone could ask of a novelist allow you, the reader, a chance to get to know your favourite authors even more. Not for the faint-hearted!</b></span></div>
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My victim this week is:<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">John Dolan</span></b></div>
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<b>John's Bio:</b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">"<i>Makes a living by travelling, talking a lot and sometimes writing
stuff down. Galericulate author, polymath and occasional smarty-pants.</i>"<br />
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John Dolan hails from a small town in the North-East of England. Before turning
to writing, his career encompassed law and finance. He has run businesses in
Europe, South and Central America, Africa and Asia. He and his wife Fiona
currently divide their time between Thailand and the UK.<br /><br />
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<b><u>Links:<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
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Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JohnDolanAuthor" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><i><b>@JohnDolanAuthor</b></i></span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Facebook <a href="https://www.facebook.com/JohnDolanAuthor?ref=hl" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><i><b>https://www.facebook.com/JohnDolanAuthor</b></i></span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Website <a href="http://johndaviddolan.wix.com/johndolanauthor" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><i><b>http://johndaviddolan.wix.com/johndolanauthor</b></i></span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Goodreads <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6550683.John_Dolan" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;"><i>https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6550683.John_Dolan</i></span></b></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="text-indent: 0cm;">Amazon </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/John-Dolan/e/B008IIERF0/" style="text-indent: 0cm;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b><i>http://www.amazon.com/John-Dolan/e/B008IIERF0/</i></b></span></a><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b style="text-align: justify;"><i>and now the hard bit:</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">1. Describe any strange writing habits or a sequence of things you always do before clicking away at the keyboard. </span></b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I guess I need to keep this clean, right? OK. The first thing I do
before clicking away at my keyboard is to put my laptop in a bag and go and
find a nearby coffee shop. It is usually a <i>Starbucks</i>:
not because I like the coffee, but because there are so many of them locally.
They seem to breed like rabbits. I have no idea why, but the sound of bored,
disgruntled baristas, and the sight of inedible processed food sets my creative
juices flowing. Or maybe, like a serial killer, I work most efficiently when I
am among strangers. In fact, my probation officer expressed the view that this
method of working was likely linked to some uncontrollable violent urges on my
part, and he wants to discuss this idea further once he is out of hospital.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">2. What was an early experience where
you learned that language had power?</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I suppose it was listening to jokes when I was a kid. In the
working-class area of North-East England where I come from, everyone told
jokes. I think it was – and still is – a coping mechanism for the
disenfranchised. (Gosh, am I getting political here?) Funny stories have a
strange power, and sometimes they can make you cry, as well as laugh. An
example? Sure. “I’ve j</span><span lang="EN">ust
been to see an art exhibition on depression. The pictures had hung themselves.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B008I6GXM2?d" target="_blank">Your Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">3. What is the toughest criticism you
have received as an author and what did you learn from it?</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">When I gave the manuscript of my first novel <i>Everyone Burns</i> to my wife Fiona she told me the first forty pages
were ponderous and needed a fundamental re-write. It taught me never to give
her a copy of one of my manuscripts again. But she was entirely correct,
dammit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">4. If you could have written any book
in the world (old or new) what would it have been and why?</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I guess, <i>the Bible</i>, because
technically that would make me God. But seriously, and setting all pretentions
of divinity aside, it would have to be <i>The
Remains of the Day</i> by Kazuo Ishiguro – a beautiful, faultless masterpiece
of restrained emotion. It reduced me to tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B00K0CRX8A?d" target="_blank">Your Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span lang="EN-GB">5. </span></b><b style="text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB">What is your least favourite part of
the publishing / writing process and why?</span></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Most Indie writers I have encountered hate marketing their books – and I
can understand why that would be the case, since selling yourself/your works
can be a dispiriting and perhaps at times demeaning experience. It doesn’t feel
like something we signed up for when we wanted to be <i>writers</i>. However, for me, <i>editing</i>
is the worst part of the whole deal. It is necessary to ensure you end up with
some kind of quality product, but I still find it awful. Hence, I invest a lot
of time in planning out my novels beforehand to try to reduce the amount of
editing required. Writing mysteries (as I do) makes this a bit of a
prerequisite anyway if I don’t want to discover plot holes the size of the <i>Titanic</i> at a later stage. Even so, by
the time the editing is done, I am heartily sick of the sight of my latest book
and cannot wait to get it published and off my desk. Inevitably, it will be at
least six months after publication before I can even bear the thought of
opening that book again. So, the biggest emotion I feel on publication is <i>relief</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><u><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://authl.it/B0093NPM0I?d" target="_blank">Your Amazon Link</a></span></u></i></b></td></tr>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">6. What attracted you to writing crime
novels?</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Is that what I write? Certainly, that’s the genre you’d find my books
filed under, but at the time I started out I had no intention to write anything
that would fit into a ‘genre’. I recently heard a talk by the Scottish crime
fiction writer Ian Rankin, and he said pretty much the same thing. Apparently,
in his early years he would sneak into bookshops and move his novels to the <i>Literary Fiction</i> section, since he
considered himself a ‘serious’ writer (or so he said, chuckling). The other
strange thing is, that I don’t usually read crime fiction (in fact, I prefer
non-fiction to fiction, but that’s another story). So, why I write what I
write, I really have no idea. Some little guy in my head comes up with the
ideas, and I’m just the typist really.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">7. How would you describe your writing
style, and why?</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B01B3DIJFK?d" target="_blank">Your Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB">First off, I would not have the temerity to compare myself to the
writing greats I most admire, e.g. Graham Greene, Evelyn Waugh, George Orwell,
Kazuo Ishiguro, William Boyd, Haruki Murakami, Natsuo Kirino, and Eric J.
Gates. My books contain either philosophical musings or self-indulgent mental
masturbation, depending on your point of view. So, there is a reflective
element to the action going on in my novels – a kind of broader commentary on
life issues, if you will. I try to layer my writing, so that different themes
poke through the plot, and hopefully help to tie everything together in a
coherent manner. I endeavour – probably not always successfully – to give the
reader something to think about, as well as just a story and a collection of
characters. I don’t follow a ‘good guys always win’ formula, because I don’t
think that’s how the world actually works, and if people want more rosy,
predictable tales of Good Triumphant … well, that’s what <i>Disney</i>’s for, right? So, I guess to summarise, my writing style is
one that relies heavily on plots laced with moral ambiguity, damaged
characters, and probably too many long words. But that’s just the smarty-pants
in me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B00ENZAURQ?d" target="_blank">Your Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">8. Of all the different aspects of
writing, which do you think is the one you concentrate most on and why?</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Planning. The thought of looking at a blank screen with a blinking
cursor, is terrifying to me. Hence, before I embark on writing a book, there
will be at the very least a detailed spreadsheet showing all the key events etc
by chapter, and a Word document describing the main characters and their
development trajectory. Some writers can write with little more than a vague
outline, but not me. I’m much too anal for that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">9. What are your future writing plans?</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">My first priority is to complete the <i>Karma’s
Children</i> series – which requires me to write another two books: the first
of which, <i>Two Rivers, One Stream</i>, I
am aiming to publish in 2018. I also have a collection of poetry and two
unpublished plays, which I am musing on what to do with at present. I have
ideas for two completely new trilogies, one stand-alone novel, and a
non-fiction book. In what order I will tackle these, I don’t know. Once <i>Karma’s Children</i> is done and dusted, I
can take a deep breath and decide where to plunge in next, assuming my creative
well-spring hasn’t dried up by then!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b><span style="font-size: large;">NOTE</span></b>: To celebrate the launch of <i><b>Restless Earth</b></i>, from <b>24-28 November</b>, <i>A Poison Tree</i> will be <b><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">FREE</span></b>
to download on Amazon Kindle, <i>Everyone
Burns</i> will be available at the heavily-discounted price of 99cents (99p in
UK), and the short story <i>Jim Fosse’s
Expense Claim</i> is also <span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>FREE</b></span>. So, this is your chance to get lots more
background stories and information on the characters in <i>Restless Earth</i> while this offer lasts! (Available on all Amazon
sites worldwide.)<u><o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /><span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0cm;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0cm;">Thank you, John, for your interesting answers. I have to take exception to be mentioned in the same sentence as one of my own writer heroes though... Richard Greene, Lorne Greene</span><span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0cm;">, maybe - both author luminaries as we know ;-) but Grahame Greene!!! OTT! </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0cm;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0cm;">I must point out that John's latest '</span><i style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0cm;">Restless Earth'</i><span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0cm;"> be out soon. I've been waiting for this one for a while and already have mine on pre-order for its Nov 24th release date! You can pre-order now too!</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Eric @ <b><i><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank">www.ericjgates.com</a></span></i></b></span><br />
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Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-73918470341931053662017-08-31T17:03:00.000+02:002017-08-31T17:29:16.918+02:00the CULL - Blood Kill ............. BOOK LAUNCH<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvGTH-y7FrvotHK2eOZPv6c57O7MBoZ7hnOJCEZLMje2DBxtqtfHrjdwvxVYhDrBzd7qDemqefEmtxwVdKqbBBK82V8ucFS08Ln_6fDZhducvFwfT1gpTa6iW8P1E74_jb9DaTyJQAcBY/s1600/the+CULL+5+books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="732" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvGTH-y7FrvotHK2eOZPv6c57O7MBoZ7hnOJCEZLMje2DBxtqtfHrjdwvxVYhDrBzd7qDemqefEmtxwVdKqbBBK82V8ucFS08Ln_6fDZhducvFwfT1gpTa6iW8P1E74_jb9DaTyJQAcBY/s400/the+CULL+5+books.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Today presents both a happy and a sad moment.</div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b><i>Happy</i></b></span> because years of effort have come to fruition and fans of the adventures of Katie Lindon and Amy Bree will be able to read the final installment in 'the CULL' series.</div>
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<b><span style="color: #999999; font-size: large;"><i>Sad</i></span></b> because it's time to say goodbye not just to two characters who have accompanied me since 2012, but the whole cast of '<b><span style="color: blue;">the CULL</span></b>' novels - Miach, Enrique, Tadhg Griffin, Jennifer Craven, Monsignor Santiago Cancelli; not to forget Interpol's Irene Laker and the FBI's Alan Marshall, among many others. It's almost like a family has moved from their cozy house next door to some far-off country.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Yes, the final book in this outstanding 5 STAR series is now available.</span></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><a href="http://authl.it/B07572WWZM?d" target="_blank">YOUR AMAZON LINK FOR THE WHOLE SERIES</a></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><u><a href="http://authl.it/B0756KX431?d" target="_blank">or just for book 5</a></u></span></i></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg__E8hvzbQcFlc2F3A8Z4rTyS8_TGTB01dI3FI0sGT52foykMtdA9d8ZQyHpTV-yzsUa1lh_YCarXJdhyphenhyphen-wfrlVDjXDX7LoM7s26uMtSoyXwP3xSkfMGOQl_wUaOkEmnmEQnrBgKhMEw8/s1600/the+CULL+bk+5+-+Blood+Kill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg__E8hvzbQcFlc2F3A8Z4rTyS8_TGTB01dI3FI0sGT52foykMtdA9d8ZQyHpTV-yzsUa1lh_YCarXJdhyphenhyphen-wfrlVDjXDX7LoM7s26uMtSoyXwP3xSkfMGOQl_wUaOkEmnmEQnrBgKhMEw8/s640/the+CULL+bk+5+-+Blood+Kill.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Let's give the series a fitting farewell.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Leave a review for each of the books on Amazon, please.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Your
Amazon link for Book 1</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">: </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><a href="http://authl.it/B00AGZ27FA?d"><b><u><span style="color: blue;">HERE</span></u></b></a></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><u><span style="color: #4f81bd; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></u></span></div>
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<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>Book 2:</b> </span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><a href="http://authl.it/B00HDGEHVC?d"><u><b><span style="color: blue;">HERE</span></b></u></a></span></u></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
<b>Book 3:</b> </span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><a href="http://authl.it/B00K5VD85S?d"><u><b><span style="color: blue;">HERE</span></b></u></a></span></u></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
<b>Book 4: </b></span><b><u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><a href="http://authl.it/B00XNRTX5K?d"><u><span style="color: blue;">HERE</span></u></a></span></u></b><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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3 books in the series are also available in a single download: </span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><u><a href="http://authl.it/B00KFN3HK2?d"><b><span style="color: blue;">HERE</span></b></a></u></span></u></span><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br />Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-3695025870712377042017-06-26T17:22:00.000+02:002017-06-26T17:22:04.418+02:00World's TOUGHEST Author Interview: Judith Lucci<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Some of the toughest questions anyone could ask of a novelist allow you, the reader, a chance to get to know your favourite authors even more. Not for the faint-hearted!</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnYHR8D3986_ioCaUakIs6OFLCe3ZakbETp0ppAA2_P40yxh94SMiB4fB2bMCbCbu3vwL8cHB8x7AIPkSTsNY2uAmBVa-8s41CLLB5hyphenhyphenrd5SpftzRQ_7RfqcdWv0sOmkIrWjveC-NThhw/s1600/JudithTR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1556" data-original-width="1264" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnYHR8D3986_ioCaUakIs6OFLCe3ZakbETp0ppAA2_P40yxh94SMiB4fB2bMCbCbu3vwL8cHB8x7AIPkSTsNY2uAmBVa-8s41CLLB5hyphenhyphenrd5SpftzRQ_7RfqcdWv0sOmkIrWjveC-NThhw/s200/JudithTR.jpg" width="161" /></a>My victim this week is:<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Judith Lucci</span></b></div>
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<b>Judith's Bio:</b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Hi
Everyone, I’m Judith Lucci and I write medical thrillers and crime. I’m a nurse
with a doctoral degree and I have seen hundreds of patients, saved lots of
lives, taught thousands of nurses and written and researched a bunch of stuff.
I live in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. I love my family, painting,
writing and all things canine. I think my greatest strength as an author is using
my medical knowledge to create unique ways to kill people. Anyway, thanks Eric,
for inviting me to do the World's Toughest Author Interview.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Website: <a href="http://www.judithlucci.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b><i>www.judithlucci.com</i></b></span></a><br />
Email: <b><i><u><a href="mailto:judithlucciwrites@gmail.com" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">judithlucciwrites@gmail.com</span></a></u></i></b><br />
Facebook: <b><i><u><a href="https://www.facebook.com/judith.lucci" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.facebook.com/judith.lucci</span></a></u></i></b><br />
Twitter: <b><i><a href="https://twitter.com/JudithLucci" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">https://twitter.com/JudithLucci</span></a></i></b><br />
Bookbub: <b><i><u><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/judith-lucci" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.bookbub.com/authors/judith-lucci</span></a></u></i></b><br />
Amazon Author Page: <b><i><u><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Judith-Lucci/e/B00AUVN0GK" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.amazon.com/Judith-Lucci/e/B00AUVN0GK</span></a></u></i></b><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><b>Join Judith's mailing list and receive Chaos at Crescent Center Medical for Free: </b><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0;">(</span></span><a href="https://instafreebie.com/free/mKw5Q" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b><i>https://instafreebie.com/free/mKw5Q</i></b></span></a><u><span style="color: blue;">)</span></u></span><br />
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<span style="text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">1. Describe any strange writing habits or a sequence of
things you always do before clicking away at the keyboard. </span></b></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://books2read.com/CCC" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>ALL e-Readers Link </i></b></span></a></td></tr>
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Wow, I don’t know if I have any truly weird habits. I do, however, have a few compulsions that must occur each day before I start to write. I complete my morning chores (tidy up, feed the dogs, wash dishes, water plants), have at least two cups of coffee, and complete my book marketing for the first part of the day. All in all, I don’t want any interruptions when I write and I want nothing hanging over my head. I generally write from nine in the morning to noon and paint in the afternoon.</div>
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<b style="text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">2. What was an early experience where you learned that
language had power?</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I learned the power of language (and discipline) when I was a little girl. My sister and I, even thought we’d been told not to do so, raided the deep freezer in a storage house outside. We wanted popsicles (well, it was hot outside, what can I say?). Of course, my father had expressly told us not to open the freezer without a parent but we didn’t listen. We left the freezer door open and most of the frozen food spoiled. I can still remember my dad saying, “I told you to get permission,” just before he spanked us. That’s when I learned to listen, that’s when I figured out that language… voice, and tone… had lots of power.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4zW9xyRFSF_UTuJxqjqje-vth-32dMujBe3qdpqSjs9Uogz7H3zV0d337yq7ob8xBF6itgllXj1NtXDcIoGSaM07d-Wa4XqUo7b2uB61inZEG56pUX4fW76Bdymt90F_kVtSU3CDL2ko/s1600/Evil...medalmove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4zW9xyRFSF_UTuJxqjqje-vth-32dMujBe3qdpqSjs9Uogz7H3zV0d337yq7ob8xBF6itgllXj1NtXDcIoGSaM07d-Wa4XqUo7b2uB61inZEG56pUX4fW76Bdymt90F_kVtSU3CDL2ko/s400/Evil...medalmove.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="https://books2read.com/EVIL" target="_blank">All eReaders Pre-order Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-indent: 0cm;">My measure of literary success means I've
written several series of good books and have a bunch of loyal followers who
anxiously wait for the next book. I think I've achieved this with my Alexandra
Destephano medical thriller series and am on my way to being successful with my
Michaela McPherson crime thrillers. Writing is a pleasure and I'm not writing
for the money. I would, however, like to make the USA Today Best Sellers list just
once - because consumers consider placement of that list a testament to
successful writing. I hope my boxed set of my first three medical thrillers, </span><span style="color: #222222; text-indent: 0cm;">Crescent City Chronicles, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-indent: 0cm;">will help me
get there in a few weeks. Of course, those of us who write books know better.</span></span></div>
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My least favorite part of the writing process is editing, actually proofreading. Editing is hard for me because I don't see my own mistakes. Since I read my manuscript so many times, I no longer see errors. And, I’ve found that when I correct errors, I often make more errors. It’s a vicious cycle. My books are reviewed by five or six people and several professional editors before they are published. And, there are still mistakes… it’s a fact of life. But, I must say, I see many errors in books published by traditional publishers!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaLIOA1XztfJkZgZn_nj4GwKvRJpYJL_6cSvhke6ZH7KJM95HLmqCoyZEyvRHDIz9u69YEUD_kgqFXyvuAtKWiSa0DZQW_mnuyIBTWUG9VWn7-ujWKFUyrVJ4DiJxiXTdEtXVtmC7YJLs/s1600/dudemedalcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaLIOA1XztfJkZgZn_nj4GwKvRJpYJL_6cSvhke6ZH7KJM95HLmqCoyZEyvRHDIz9u69YEUD_kgqFXyvuAtKWiSa0DZQW_mnuyIBTWUG9VWn7-ujWKFUyrVJ4DiJxiXTdEtXVtmC7YJLs/s320/dudemedalcover.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B01BJ4V6AS?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">5. If you could time travel, what would you do
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wow…
time travel. If I could time travel and do something differently I probably
would've entered more writing contests and written short stories instead of
presenting with a full-length novel. I’ve spent most of my life writing
academic papers. Of course, that was my life’s work and my scholarly contributions
to my profession are significant. I’ve
published several textbooks and numerous scholarly articles. As a result, I
want to write as much fiction as I can as a “senior citizen” (I personally like
the term “older person”) I think I'm typical of many Indie writers who never
had the time to write earlier in life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If I could time travel, I would definitely live in the Southern U.S. before the Civil War. I deeply embrace the southern culture and am a typical Southern woman. ("<i>Hi Y’all. Want some grits?</i>") I would be like Scarlett O'Hara – or the other heroic women of that time - who managed farms and plantations without ‘menfolk’. I’d probably start a Confederate Hospital in the ballroom of my plantation, or I would be part of the underground group that smuggled slaves up North. I’ve always taken risks in my life and have done what people said I could never do. Just tell me I can’t do something and trust me, I’m on it.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B01LVVZE2H?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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antagonist, whose story you would like to rewrite, and why?</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I regret killing Mitch Landry in book one of
the medical thrillers. People have suggested that he ‘reappear’ or have a twin
brother, the stuff of which soap operas are made, but, unfortunately, Mitch
will remain forever dead. I never wanted to kill Mitch but I had an agent in
those days and he told me too… and unfortunately, I listened. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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style, and why?</span></b></span></div>
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I write rather informally. My books are filled with dialogue and my plots are character-driven. When I wrote my first book, Chaos at Crescent City Medical Center, I was constantly getting turned down by publishing houses because my dialogue was considered 'robotic' and my characters were considering 'stiff and stilted'. Of course, back then I was an academic writer and researcher and had only written for the academic press. The transition to writing for the popular press was significant and it’s taken years. I'm always getting emails about whether or not Alex is going to remarry Robert or whether Alex and Jack Françoise, the New Orleans Police Commander, could be a couple. It's pretty funny when I think about it but honestly, I feel like my characters are parts of my family. I don’t like it when they’re hurt or upset.</div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Judith-Lucci/e/B00AUVN0GK" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="828" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioCvr3-XB6tSldIe1d7h_pJO2K0HwQNaA6bAb0Y5HXSfpPAd30FMt-9WudFU1izeprpQ6Ob02ucU0bD7HTfl2sHcpfg-OIt-omUGJFs_owcCCJvK6ENqrMLoy8YufyUcGQcCMvKnV9tVg/s400/fb+cover+lucci.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">8. What one thing would you give up to become a better
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I'm not sure what I would give up to become a better writer. In fact, I'm not sure what I would give up to become a better anything. At this point in my life, I’m satisfied with my life, self-actualized in most things, and happy that each book I write is a little bit better than the one before. What I do need to do is figure out how to reward and motivate my street team and how to market more effectively. Writing, editing and marketing my books is the hardest thing I’ve ever done… and I’ve done a bunch of stuff.</div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="background: white;"><i>Eric has given me permission to add two
questions to this <b>World's</b> <b>Toughest Author Interview</b>,
so here goes:</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">9. Why in the world, in
the waning years of my life, am I spending 8 to 10 hours a day writing fiction?
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The simple answer is I don’t know. I never planned to write novels when I retired. I'm not sure when the desire to write began. But, one day, I simply decided I was going to write a book. I wrote my first book, <b><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://instafreebie.com/free/mKw5Q" target="_blank"><i>CHAOS at CRESCENT CITY MEDICAL CENTER</i></a></span></b> during the Blizzard of 1995 when I was snowed in at my farm for three weeks. I sent my novel out to dozens and dozens of agents and it was always rejected. Then, my personal life changed rather dramatically and I moved to New Orleans to assume a full professorship at LSU in New Orleans. I didn't write for 10 years. Five years ago I was cleaning out my basement and I found a hard copy of <b><span style="color: blue;"><i><u><a href="https://instafreebie.com/free/mKw5Q" target="_blank">Chaos at Crescent City Medical Center</a></u></i>,</span></b> in a drawer. I read it and decided it was pretty good. So I rewrote it, changed beepers to cell phones, Clinton Care to Obamacare, and published it. Seven novels later I'm still writing and I love it. I suspect I'll continue to write until I die. When I'm not writing, I paint, teach art classes and hang out with my family and five dogs.</div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">10. How has writing changed me?</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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The worst part of writing for me is that I have become reclusive. This is a huge change for me because I've always been gregarious and surrounded by people. In January of 2016, my friends ‘staged an intervention’ about my reclusiveness. The truth is I am reclusive. Anyway, to get them off my back, I meet friends for lunch at least three days a week and participate in several organizations. Truth is, I've never been lonely since I retired. I've got my family, my dogs and my characters. I understand why authors become reclusive. We have our characters in our heads all day long and we talk with them. Consequently, I’m never lonely; Besides, I can manage my characters control them - what they say, what they do and how they feel. I certainly have never been able to do that with my friends or family!</div>
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Well, that's about all I've got for the World's Toughest Author Interview. Thank you, Eric, for reviewing the rantings of this half-crazy, reclusive dog lady.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Connect with me!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Thank you, Judith, for your awesome and heartfelt answers. For readers of superb Medical and Crime Thrillers, the boxset of Judith's first three books in her Alex Destefano series has been released <b>June 26th</b> (<b><i><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://books2read.com/CCC" target="_blank">CRESENT CITY CHRONICLES</a></span></u></i></b>). Don't miss it! And there's more. Book Five in the series, <b><i><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://books2read.com/EVIL" target="_blank">EVIL</a></span></u></i></b>, where the serial killer St. Germaine's identity will be revealed, will be out soon. I've been waiting for this one for a while! You can pre-order now too!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Eric @ <b><i><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank">www.ericjgates.com</a></span></i></b></span><br />
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Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-67310365342440006202017-05-07T15:40:00.004+02:002017-05-07T15:43:41.601+02:00World's TOUGHEST Author Interview: Keith DixonAnnouncing a <b>new feature</b> on the Thriller-Writer blog: <b>an Author Interview like no other</b>.<br />
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Some of the toughest questions anyone could ask of a novelist allow you, the reader, a chance to get to know your favourite authors even more. Not for the faint-hearted!<br />
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My victim this week is:<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Keith Dixon</span></b></div>
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<b>Keith's Bio:</b></div>
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Born in Yorkshire, UK, and grew up in the Midlands. He’s been writing since he was thirteen years old in a number of different genres: thriller, espionage, science fiction, literary. He’s the author of seven novels in the Sam Dyke Investigations series, two novels in a new crime series featuring ex-cop Paul <a href="http://authl.it/B01LZ5MKVP?d" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b><i>Storey</i></b></span></a>, and two other non-crime works, as well as two collections of blog posts on the craft of writing. </div>
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When he’s not writing he enjoys reading, learning the guitar, watching movies and binge-inhaling great TV series. He’s currently spending more time in France than is probably good for him.</div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: blue; line-height: 17.12px;">Website: </span><i style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.keithdixonnovels.com/" rel="" shape="rect" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank"><b>http://www.keithdixonnovels.com</b></a></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">Twitter:</span><a href="https://twitter.com/keithyd6" rel="" shape="rect" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: blue; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #196ad4;"> </span><i><span style="color: blue;"><b>http://twitter.com/keithyd6</b></span></i></a><br clear="none" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">Facebook: </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/SamDykeInvestigations/" rel="" shape="rect" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: blue; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank"><span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><b><i><span style="color: blue;">http://www.facebook.com/SamDykeInvestigations/</span></i></b></span></a><br clear="none" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">Blog: </span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;"><b><i><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.cwconfidential.blogspot.com/" rel="" shape="rect" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: start;" target="_blank">http://www.cwconfidential.blogspot.com</a></span></i></b></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3X8Abq1x25ieA856xVdhD2Wh9atKgSz8YtUG6K1X3H1dE3xV2u29Mguk3JCR8hoHXPFXneS8PAwJ-ABh5r_b7IUskCAGnAAr8bUE6r6YwcHgCXn30JuRzA205gkvxxX4KEEScvmR-LSg/s1600/One+Punch+Final+March+2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3X8Abq1x25ieA856xVdhD2Wh9atKgSz8YtUG6K1X3H1dE3xV2u29Mguk3JCR8hoHXPFXneS8PAwJ-ABh5r_b7IUskCAGnAAr8bUE6r6YwcHgCXn30JuRzA205gkvxxX4KEEScvmR-LSg/s400/One+Punch+Final+March+2017.jpg" width="277" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B06Y1S5PSC?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;"><b><i>and now the hard bit:</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB">1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Describe any strange writing habits or
a sequence of things you always do before clicking away at the keyboard.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">These
days I find I need a really quiet mind before I can write. This means I have to
have read the newspapers, looked at Facebook, looked at Twitter, done all my
email … if there are things that I know are ‘still to be read’ then I feel I’m
not prepared, even though the reading has no bearing on what I might be about
to write. This has had bad consequences for my latest book, much of which was
written after 11.00 o’clock at night! I can do other things like brain-storming
and planning earlier, but the writing now demands peace and quiet and a quiet
mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB">2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><b>If you could have written any book
in the world (old or new) what would it have been and why?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I would
like to have written The Great Gatsby. To me, it’s a near-perfect book. It
describes a time and a place with wit and brevity, and has strong characters
that have contemporary resonance. You recognise the people immediately – Tom
and Daisy Buchanan, Myrtle Wilson and the rest – and the language in the book
is both poetic and commonplace, not at all airy-fairy or ‘literary’. Plus, it
has a thriller plot!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46ad5L5tpIr05pxCkLfEJ0xms7KrhqrMNleV5Y924r2WLr5hVvtm6_GDW_RBVRXvn54Fj9sXuWNrncPLyqY_AlnoYD3zgKWSyYrx5Or5VJB770PjLJ2UnUDsfG7fQpiVOeZMmJkgRX3I/s1600/Storey+Final+March+2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46ad5L5tpIr05pxCkLfEJ0xms7KrhqrMNleV5Y924r2WLr5hVvtm6_GDW_RBVRXvn54Fj9sXuWNrncPLyqY_AlnoYD3zgKWSyYrx5Or5VJB770PjLJ2UnUDsfG7fQpiVOeZMmJkgRX3I/s400/Storey+Final+March+2017.jpg" width="277" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><u><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://authl.it/B01LZ5MKVP?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></span></u></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 32.2pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB"> 3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB"><b>What is your least favourite part of
the publishing / writing process and why?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">For me,
the hardest part is organising my marketing and publicity efforts. Many writers
complain about *having* to do this work and actually I don’t mind it so much.
The problem for me is having too many plates spinning – organising a launch
team, keeping my website and blog up to date, trying to get book bloggers to
review the book, and so on. I don’t really plan my timetable very effectively
and the worst problem is just wanting to see the book published, not having the
patience to wait and organise all of the pre-launch efforts first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB"> 4.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Do you hide any secrets in your books
that only a few people will find, and why?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Most of
my books are based on real incidents or facts, and sometimes veiled versions of
real people. My first book, Altered Life, was based largely on a management
consultancy in which I was working and although I changed the name of the town
and the descriptions – physical and psychological – of some of the main
characters, those in the know would have been able to identify them. Apart from
that I tend not to hide ‘secrets’ as such, though people who know me might
recognise my own traits or behaviour in the occasional character, or recognise
an incident in which I may have been involved. None of the murders, though, as
yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB">5.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><b>If you could time travel, what would
you do differently as a child or teenager to become a better writer as an adult?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I would
have travelled more. I always wanted to travel but financial circumstances
prevented that for a long time. Then, when I became an independent consultant,
it was harder to take time off because time was money. Having said that, I
spent much of my childhood and teenage years reading, which is always good
preparation for a writer, and I wouldn’t have wanted to change any of that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EzwJtyjV21jqvgVjf2MG-RDEi_2G7lDv3IrmWkgkX-r7MCg5zq28fJyLm-IFyeFUDAmc7miyXcZGA4uge-QzOYlNOfTuFFvOy3fDL8RJyhHFPlMaYZr0tGaOGHgs-mEWENzhdZCi9fg/s1600/TID+new+cover+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EzwJtyjV21jqvgVjf2MG-RDEi_2G7lDv3IrmWkgkX-r7MCg5zq28fJyLm-IFyeFUDAmc7miyXcZGA4uge-QzOYlNOfTuFFvOy3fDL8RJyhHFPlMaYZr0tGaOGHgs-mEWENzhdZCi9fg/s400/TID+new+cover+1.jpg" width="277" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B0161IZA8G?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB">6.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB"><b>How would you describe your writing
style, and why?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I’ve
been heavily influenced by American writers, both in general literature and in
crime writing. So I tend to write in a direct style without too many
flourishes, though I think some still exist in my first Sam Dyke book. I’ve
also taken to heart something that Elmore Leonard wrote, to the effect that if
anything in his work sounds like writing, he takes it out. I now find myself
looking for simpler words and phrases rather than more elaborate ones, and if a
metaphor or simile arises naturally – and isn’t a cliché – then I use it,
instead of going through the work trying to sprinkle imagery like confetti over
the text. When I first started I was very conscious of ‘style’ and worked hard
on rhythm and imagery, but now I try to focus on direct, clear language so that
it doesn’t get in the way of ‘seeing’ the characters in action.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB">7.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Of all the different aspects of
writing, which do you think is the one you concentrate most on and why?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I found that I like writing dialogue and people
seem to like the way I write it. Partly it’s because I type really quickly and
can type the dialogue out almost as quickly as people can speak it, so it flows
quite naturally. Also, I did drama as part of my first degree and read a lot of
plays, so I’m aware of what good dialogue looks and sounds like. The other
aspect of writing dialogue is that readers are interested in characters so I
try to get into the dialogue really quickly, in any scene, and try to find where
the conflicts between the characters are. This adds tension and more dimensions
to the characters. I love it when a bad guy character starts speaking and I
suddenly discover who this person really is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkwTCntz3RY3dSwBw-SmxP9HYpMk0YfeRuLScVsihw9TA1BWoQNrHbFoZF47PlyR4x82LuJORRHwZf1lr9cOWqHgpuJT7E3vN7rzZhUnvJB8JEYrU0dAPYJ_r7RZK_HT_dnXScoBTLDaU/s1600/The+Bleak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkwTCntz3RY3dSwBw-SmxP9HYpMk0YfeRuLScVsihw9TA1BWoQNrHbFoZF47PlyR4x82LuJORRHwZf1lr9cOWqHgpuJT7E3vN7rzZhUnvJB8JEYrU0dAPYJ_r7RZK_HT_dnXScoBTLDaU/s400/The+Bleak.jpg" width="277" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B00K5Y8UG2?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">8</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">. </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="text-indent: -18pt;"><b>Why do you write?</b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I started writing when I was about 13,
beginning with scripts for TV shows that I liked. Of course they were terrible
but I got the taste for putting words on paper and making stuff up. I took it
more seriously when I was 19 and dropped out of Law College because I couldn’t
stand the law – okay, lawyers … I wrote 7 novels in 2 years before I had to
give it up to find gainful employment. I didn’t return to it until many years
later, but I realised that many of the jobs I’d had involved writing – I was a
copywriter for a while, and I wrote online courses for management development,
among other things. But all the time, in the back of my head, was the idea that
I’d get back to writing fiction again, which I did eventually. The best way I
can describe why I write is to say that I can’t help it. It’s good to finish a
book and see it published, and then have a rest. But after a reasonably short
period of time, not writing seems like a waste of time … the pressure builds to
start writing again, and so I do. They often say that writers have to write
because they can’t *not* write. I think that’s true for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">9. </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Why do you write crime fiction?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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</span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB">In my teens I read a lot of Agatha Christie
(buying that hardback set of 3 AC novels in one volume every month, delivered
to your door!) and then I moved on to reading thrillers. Then, when I was
teaching serious literature, I learned that my boss returned from his annual US
holiday with a suitcase full of American crime novels, and he started to lend
them to me. I was knocked over by people like K.C. Constantine, Howard Engel,
Arthur Lyons, Jonathan Viner … really interesting protagonists, well-plotted
stories and often some kind of social commentary in there as well. So when it
came to return to writing myself, I had in mind what it would be like to write
a detective story in the very mundane world of suburban Cheshire – rather like
Philip Marlowe dealing with clients who lived in a completely different
environment to him. So I thought it would be interesting to see what kind of stories
a man from a working-class background in Yorkshire would get involved in while
working in a much posher environment – and what he would think of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Thank you, Keith, for some amazing answers. For readers of fine Crime Thrillers, Keith Dixon's new Paul Storey novel '<b><i><u><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><a href="http://authl.it/B06Y1S5PSC?d" target="_blank">One Punch</a></span></u></i></b>' is out <b>May 8th</b>. My pre-ordered copy was delivered to my Kindle this morning and I'm already hooked! Best wishes for the new book.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Eric @ <a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank"><b><i><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">www.ericjgates.com</span></i></b></a></span></div>
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Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-5960072376655197672017-02-02T14:07:00.001+01:002017-02-02T14:07:32.646+01:00FREE READ: the CULL - Bloodline (part 2)<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The second extra long extract from the first book in '<b>the CULL</b>' series: '<span style="font-size: large;"><b>the CULL - Bloodline</b></span>'. Did you know the eBook is <b><span style="font-size: large;">FREE</span></b> on all platforms? Part 1 can be <a href="http://my-thrillers.blogspot.com.es/2017/01/free-read-cull-bloodline-part-1.html" target="_blank"><b><i><span style="color: blue;">read here</span></i></b></a>.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf283A72-qtbLACeB1D0FZzZlcjizf00t-3LHWCncbSCiH4p9UKnH_geTOvPH1VQaAvGwRoBwA6tFD_ycssKtQoLLxKLEi8e9dQsceivtgWVs6uZA4gjc2VQpFW_Z4xb8kWtEwTUluXuc/s1600/the+CULL+bk+1+-+Bloodline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf283A72-qtbLACeB1D0FZzZlcjizf00t-3LHWCncbSCiH4p9UKnH_geTOvPH1VQaAvGwRoBwA6tFD_ycssKtQoLLxKLEi8e9dQsceivtgWVs6uZA4gjc2VQpFW_Z4xb8kWtEwTUluXuc/s400/the+CULL+bk+1+-+Bloodline.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><i><b><a href="http://authl.it/B00AGZ27FA?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></b></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Short Summary:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<i>Disgraced FBI agent Amy Bree is approached by a mysterious Vatican Priest, Santiago Cancelli, and offered a return to Federal Law Enforcement as part of a small elite team within Homeland Security. She is partnered with another woman, Katie Lindon, an ex-NSA computer expert in her early sixties, and they are tasked with tracking down and eliminating a serial killer baptised ‘the Blood Sucker’ by the Press. </i></div>
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<i>Using Katie’s state-of-the-art software and Amy’s innate problem-solving skills and eidetic memory, they rapidly find themselves chasing leads first in Houston, then Chicago where they encounter a doctor studying terminal patients. Amy’s previous run-in with the Blood Sucker, which resulted in the death of her FBI partner, leads her to suspect he is the killer. </i></div>
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<i>Together Katie and Amy develop a plan to investigate the doctor, unaware the Blood Sucker is tracking them.</i></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b><b><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b><b><span style="background: white; color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><u>NOTE: PG-18 (graphic violence)</u></span></b><br />
<b><span style="background: white; color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><u><br /></u></span></b>
<b><span style="background: white; color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><u><br /></u></span></b>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><u><br /></u></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>15.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Doctor
Neumann, Doctor Neumann.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Despite
the elevated background noise, his acute hearing clearly picked out the call.
He continued walking down the hallway, however, playing to the role he had
created. Behind him, wooden clogs clapped their tattoo on the shiny plastic
floor, nearing rapidly. The name was called again, this time much closer. He
placed a broad smile on his face and turned slowly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Ah,
Nurse Syzmanski. How can I help you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Anka
Syzmanski craned her neck to stare up at the tall man silhouetted against the
strong sunlight streaming through the hallway windows. She shuddered
involuntarily, the movement not lost on the doctor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Anka,
are you coming down with a cold? You have been spending too much time under the
air-conditioning outlet.” He spoke quietly in Polish, smiling all the while.
She shivered again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I, er,
Doctor…” She knew he spoke several languages fluently, yet his easy use of a
tongue she had not heard outside her parents’ home since coming to the States
thirty years ago, unnerved her even more. “Mrs Moorcroft, room 359…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes. I
was on my way there now. How is she? I hope nothing… untoward has happened
whilst I have been away?” He had reverted to English.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes, er,
no. The patient is still…” On this floor, patient deaths were almost daily
occurrences, and the many euphemisms used by both nurses and doctors alike
served as a verbal smoke screen in case they were in earshot of either a
patient or visiting relative. Syzmanski cleared her throat, took a step forward
and spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, the
patient, Mrs Moorcroft,” remembering Neumann’s insistence on using patient
names rather than generic references, “well, she says she is feeling better
today. Her voice sounds stronger, and her B.P. is up. If I didn’t know any
better…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Never
assume the worst, Anka. Even with extreme terminal patients such as Mrs
Moorcroft, spontaneous remission has been known to occur.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She fell
into step with the large man, easily keeping up, as he plodded along the
hallway toward room 359.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That’s
what your study is about, isn’t it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes and
no. The analysis myself and my colleagues perform,” he hefted the large
suitcase he carried seemingly without effort, “is trying to isolate genetic
anomalies. All we do is shine lasers of different frequencies at a minute
sample of blood and take our measurements. Maybe, one day, we will make a
discovery leading to something that will help save lives, instead of merely
documenting their passing.” He sighed. “Death comes to us all. That is what
they say, is it not? Death… oh, and taxes?”
He smiled again, as he held the door to room 359, allowing her to pass
through first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* *
* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Anka
preceded Doctor Neumann into room 359, a small deference most of the other doctors
would not have allowed even though she was the Head Nurse on this floor. She
glanced back at Neumann. His huge form and lumbering walk had made him the
object of several unkind comments when he had first come to the hospital, two
months ago, but his gentle manner and ready smile, combined with a willingness
to listen to the nurses, unlike many of his colleagues, had won out. Still, in
her innermost thoughts, Anka felt a tremor of unjustifiable fear when she was
around the giant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Her mind
flashed, only for an instant but that was enough, to the tales her Grandmother
used to relate to her when she was just a small girl, over forty years ago, in
the Poland that had seen her birth. Tales handed down from her
Great-Grandmother, as the twentieth century marked its first tentative days.
Tales populated by demons who preyed upon those who dwelt in isolated villages.
Tales designed to instil dread of the dark into the minds of rebellious
ten-year-olds, like herself, who wouldn’t obey their elders and wanted to stay
up late.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Yet she
was sure this mild-mannered Austrian doctor was not one of her childhood
demons; this was America, not rural Poland, and the twenty-first century’s
technology swept before it all traces of her Baba’s terrifying stories. However
she could not help her instinctive reaction to him every time they met. Even
that first day when the Hospital Dean, her best friend Mari Angeles López, had
introduced Neumann, describing him as a researcher from ForschungsNova in
Europe, here to do a study of the terminal patients under her charge, something
had made her recall her youthful nightmares.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She had
Googled the name of the research institute as soon as she could. They seemed to
be singularly reluctant to promote themselves on the Internet, their website
being a paltry affair. She had found a few references elsewhere to papers
published by doctors and investigators financed by them, although Neumann’s
name was not amongst them. Her next step, albeit she admitted she was letting
her Baba´s tales get the better of her, was to call a couple of the hospitals
in the States where Neumann had worked before; one in Florida and another in
Texas, where she had friends on the nursing staff. They had confirmed who he
was, how well he got on with the nurses, how he kept to himself most of the
time, sitting in his small office with the door firmly closed, some even said
locked, as he worked upon his machine’s data and made long video-calls to
Austria. He appeared to check out, yet…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Anka
looked over at the man as he gently lifted Mrs Moorcroft’s eyelids and shone a
small pencil light’s beam into the pupil. He glanced up at the monitors,
checking blood pressure and pulse, nodding to himself almost imperceptibly.
When he spoke, it was not to her, but to the patient.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I do not
want to pre-empt anything, my dear Mrs Moorcroft, but your vitals are
improving. It would seem your body is fighting back. I would like to hook you
up to my little machine, if you allow me, and do round of analysis. Is that
okay with you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Mrs
Moorcroft, a shadow of her former overweight self, cracked a smile, showing
yellowed teeth, a legacy from the chemotherapy, abandoned two weeks ago. She
nodded, croaking a sibilant ‘yes, that’s okay’. Neumann took hold of a sliver
of ice from the paper cup on her nightstand and held it patiently as the
weakened fifty-year-old sucked slowly, alleviating the dryness in her mouth and
throat. Neumann then took a waiver form from his pocket and helped the patient
sign it. He took another small piece of ice and again waited as the patient
drew the melting water into her mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">When Mrs
Moorcroft had finished the sliver, he turned his attention to his suitcase,
placing it on one of the bedside chairs before undoing the securing clasps. He
lifted the lid and placed it on the couch near the room’s only window. Neumann
extracted a large rectangular wooden box, replete with cables and tubes, and a
laptop. As he plugged his machine into the mains, he spoke gently to his
patient.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is your
husband coming in later today, Mrs Moorcroft?” She nodded. “Good, do you know
when? I would like to speak to him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The frail
woman tried to respond, but her dry mouth failed her. She held up four fingers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“At four
this afternoon?” Again a nod. Neumann glanced at his wristwatch. “Good. That is
an hour and a half; just enough time to finish the testing. Anka, will you
inject this into her central catheter, please. It is the usual cocktail to help
blood flow and reduce the nausea she might feel. We do not want Mrs Moorcroft
to feel any worse because of us, right? ” He smiled, showing strong white
teeth, as he handed Anka a small, prefilled syringe. Anka passed over the
patient’s chart and he dutifully made a notation about the drugs he was
administering and the analysis to come. Anka waited for the chart to be
returned, before attaching the syringe to the central catheter in the patient’s
groin and slowly depressing the plunger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Anka
watched as the doctor turned his attention to his laptop computer, which he
proceeded to boot up. While he waited, he handed Anka a couple of transparent
plastic tubes which snaked out of the wooden box’s innards. These were clearly
marked ‘In’ and ‘Return’. Whilst Anka connected these to the central catheter,
Neumann tapped away on the laptop’s keyboard. A rhythmic hum from the doctor’s
equipment permeated the air near the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Can I do
anything else, Doctor?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No,
thank you Anka. I need to be here all the time the machine is connected.” He
turned his head such that the patient could not see his face, and lowered his
voice. “Even though Mrs Moorcroft’s blood just passes through the sensors and a
minute amount is vaporized by the lasers, we need to run at least a pint and
there is a remote possibility of inducing a reaction in her weakened state.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“A
stroke?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes. But
the cocktail will help combat that possibility, and I will not leave her side.
I do need to monitor the machine also; after all it is experimental. I will
call you if anything unexpected occurs. Trust me that I will never endanger one
of your charges.” His personalization of her patients, and the comforting
smile, did little to assuage the sensations that subjected her subconscious to
childhood reminiscences of evil, bygone doings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She took
a step back toward the door, watching.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Neumann
flipped half a dozen switches on the side of the box and a barrage of coloured
lights flashed red. After a few seconds, these changed to orange, then steadied
on green. The doctor tapped away at the keyboard and a moving, graph-like image
scrolled from left to right. He depressed a large square button on the main box
and nodded as it lit up. The pitch of the hum increased.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Neumann
glanced up at Anka, as she watched one of the tubes from the central catheter
suck red blood into the machine. After a minimal pause, a rouge train ran the
route down the adjacent tube back into the patient’s body. Neumann nodded
again, looking over at Anka, then turned his attention to the feeble woman on
the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Did I
ever tell you about the time, when I was your age I think, I went skydiving
with some younger colleagues in Austria? It all started out as a dare…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Anka
could have listened to the doctor’s humorous anecdotes, designed to distract
the patient as the machine did its work, as she had done on several other
occasions during the last couple of months. Today, however, she felt an
uncontrollable need to phone her Mother and talk to her about Baba’s tales.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She took
three slow steps backward, turned, closing the door softly on her way out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>16.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It took
Katie and Amy almost two hours to return to Office 312. They had come upon the
three bodies and, guns drawn, immediately searched the area, but the Blood Sucker,
if this was indeed his work, had left. Amy had been amazed at her own
conflicting emotions. On the one hand, she wanted to avenge Ralph’s death, and
a chance to put a bullet into the man that killed him had made adrenalin course
through her body, resulting in her being uncharacteristically aggressive with
the Cops who had eventually turned up. On the other hand, the flashbacks she
had experienced in the alleyway, of the huge creature with glowing eyes and a
strength that defied belief, produced cold shivers and caused her hands to
tremble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They had
debated turning the case over to the FBI’s BAU but, as Amy had pointed out,
only the phone call from Cancelli connected the three corpses with the serial
killer, and they might not want to explain that to the Feds. There was enough
mystery about the deaths of the three men as it was: all mid-thirties, very
fit, wearing body armour, carrying night-vision goggles, armed with suppressed
pistols and long combat knives, pockets revealing fairly large cash amounts and
Italian passports showing they had entered the country over two months ago.
They had also found three burner phones. In two of these, the logs had shown
only calls between the burners. The third, found on the man with the broken
neck, had other numbers in its memory. Katie thought she recognized them and
pocketed the three cell phones before the Cops showed up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They
handed the crime scene over to the Homicide detectives, stating that they had
been passing nearby on their way to grabbing a coffee when passers-by had
alerted them to muffled gunshots in the alley. Katie had left their numbers and
asked for a copy of the autopsy findings to be e-mailed to her at the FBI
building. Then they had left, each lost in their thoughts as they walked slowly
back to Office 312.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">When the
red wooden door had closed behind them, Amy flopped onto the couch and Katie
made her way to her desk. Amy glanced over at her partner. Katie seemed pale,
unconsciously rubbing her temples as she examined the call logs on the phones.
Maybe it was the exertion; Katie must be at least sixty and Amy had had to run
hard to keep up with her pace as they made their way to the alley.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Are you
alright, Katie? You look bushed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What?
I’m okay. Just another damn migraine. I seem to have been getting a few these
last couple of months. Probably the stress of leaving the NSA and starting
here.” She slid the horn-rimmed glasses with their tinted lenses off her nose,
allowing them to fall onto her chest. “That’s why I’ve taken to wearing these.
I found they help when I’m in bright light. Fortunately my eyesight is still
twenty-twenty, but I get throbbing migraines if I’m in strong sunlight for too
long.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Have you
seen a doctor or an ophthalmologist? Maybe it’s eyestrain from too much working
with the computer monitors?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Maybe. I
should ask for an appointment with one. Thanks, dearie, for being so kind.”
Katie gave her temples a final brief massage and picked up one of the phones.
“There are several calls on this one to Cancelli’s number; that’s why I didn’t
want to leave it in the alley for the Cops to find.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Do you
mean these guys worked for him?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I don’t
know. Let’s have that belated cup of tea and think about this a little more
before calling him though. I’m not sure what’s going on here and I don’t like
being kept in the dark. Cancelli is definitely feeding us only a small portion
of the information he has on the Blood Sucker. Maybe we should rethink our
position here.” She sighed. “So much for a simpler life. I’ll put the kettle
on.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy rose
and walked toward her office.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“While
you’re doing that, I want to check something that’s bugging me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
kettle boiled and Katie busied herself making her only vice; a good strong cup
of tea. Before taking a cup through to Amy’s office, she opened a lower drawer
on her desk and took out a white plastic bottle of Advil Migraine tablets. She
grimaced at the fluorescent red and yellow label; whoever designed that didn’t
suffer from migraines, she thought. She popped the lid and took two tablets
with a swig of her piping hot tea. For a brief instant she contemplated taking
a third pill; of late that had been necessary. Shaking her head, she clicked
the lid into place and dropped the bottle into the drawer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
picked up both tea mugs and walked into Amy’s room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I put
milk and sugar, I hope that’s ok?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is that
in my file as well?” responded Amy. The aggressive tone resulting from the
adrenalin was waning, yet still noticeable. “Sorry, that came out badly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Actually
it isn’t, but I’ve found that a hot, sweet cup of tea is a great remedy after
being in stressful situations.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m
sorry, Katie, I’m a little wound up. All this Field Agent stuff is new to me; I
was a backroom geek mostly, when I was in the FBI. I only ever drew my weapon
on the range, until that day in Texas, that is, and that didn’t turn out too
well.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
tidied a stack of open file folders on the couch, placed them on the floor, and
sat down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Do you
want to talk about it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I don’t
know.” Amy’s voice was hardly above a whisper. “I just feel I’ve been
railroaded into something I don’t really want.” She paused collecting her
thoughts, taking a tentative sip of tea. “Before Cancelli’s call, you said
something about a deal; why you were here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Noting
the change of subject but deciding not to press, Katie put a smile on her face
and spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I was in
the NSA for a long time. With the Internet reducing the need to go out into the
field to break into peoples’ computers, I seemed to do nothing but sit in an
office in front of a stack of monitors and type away on a keyboard all day.
Don’t get me wrong; I have a love-hate relationship with computers – I love to
hate them.” She chuckled to herself. “And as retirement loomed, I started
reflecting on what I was going to do with myself. I’ve always wanted to travel,
not for business which I did, at least in the early days, but to really get to
know places and people with different cultures.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well,
with retirement you’d certainly have the time to do that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes.
Time, yes; money, no. I’ve been on a government salary all my life, and
although the NSA’s geeks are some of the best, they don’t get paid anywhere
near what they could earn in the private sector. My savings, plus my pension,
just won’t cut it. Sure, I could live in some quiet haven in Florida or
somewhere, but that’s not what I want to do. Cancelli found out I was about to
retire and he made me an offer. I had been developing a forerunner of SANTA in
my own time for several years with the idea of perhaps selling a finished
version to the CIA or NSA, but finishing meant spending big bucks on
state-of-the-art servers and other equipment and my income just wouldn’t allow
that.” She took a long sip of tea. “You know what the saddest thing in the
World is? Spending your whole life in the service of your country, and then
finding yourself frustrated that you’ve never done anything for yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“So
Cancelli offered you the money?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Cash,
plus a platform to field test SANTA,” she waived her hand around the room, “and
the promise of using his contacts to get me top dollar for the software when it
was finished. In return, I get to chase the Blood Sucker. Good deal, huh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I think
it sucks. I mean the serial killer bit. You know Cancelli doesn’t want us to
arrest the Blood Sucker?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes,
dearie, and I can tell you that I’m not happy about that. However, I decided to
let things play out and see where we end up. One thing I’m sure about; if, no, <i>when</i> we track him down, if he
surrenders, I’m going to hand him over to the FBI. But if he tries to kill me
or you, that bugger’s going to see that this old lady has fire in her belly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well, I
think I might be on to something that could help us.” Amy walked over to the
whiteboard. On the left hand side she had listed all the victims, assigning
each a sequential number. In the centre she had drawn a number of overlapping
circles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is that
a Venn Diagram? We used them a lot in filtering datasets when I first started
in the NSA.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes, and
no. I’m just using the basics, but I’m more interested in what doesn’t fit, and
I keep getting the same answer; the first two killings. But with what happened
today, in the alleyway… if it was the Blood Sucker, then maybe I was looking at
this in the wrong way. Look, in this first circle, all the numbers are those
victims who were exsanguinated; fourteen people. Then in this overlap, the four
family members who were killed in the last case.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I see
you’ve got some letters in that circle as well.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“‘R’ is
Ralph, and ‘V’, one through three, are today’s victims. You see, these people
were not the Blood Sucker’s targets. They just happened to be there at the
wrong time. All were killed quickly and cleanly. The teenager’s family had
their necks broken like one of the Italians… and Ralph.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Okay,
I’m with you so far.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Ralph
and I spotted that all of the victims who had their arteries cut had also been
treated for terminal illnesses some years before, and their illness had gone
into remission. So we checked the hospital records and found that all had been
treated at the same Houston hospital within five months of each other. Within
that time period there was one other patient who had also gone into remission;
that was the last victim.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Just a
minute, my dear. You said ‘all’. I thought the BAU discarded that theory
because the first two victims had not been hospitalized.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yeah,
that’s true, but Ralph and I thought that maybe they had gone somewhere else,
maybe out of State, or something. We couldn’t track down any hospital records
for those two. One was a six-year-old female child, and the other a forty-seven
year old trucker. The baby’s parents didn’t want to talk to us, the FBI,
anymore; they were too distraught, it must have been horrific finding your
child like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“And the
trucker?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No
family to speak of. Pretty much a loner. Spent his life crossing the country in
his rig; all long haul stuff.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Okay.”
Katie stretched the word to three full syllables. “So what you’re saying is
that our Perp is targeting people whose Cancer or whatever is going into
remission. Maybe someone who thinks he has to finish the job? That the
remission was some sort of medical mistake.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That’s
the weird bit. Ralph rang the hospital in Texas and spoke to the Dean. All the
patients were in their last few weeks or days. The doctors couldn’t do anything
more. They were all going to die soon. Most were only on pain medication. Two
were in comas. The remissions were all spontaneous!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
thought for a minute. “We need to examine the trucker’s route. Then we’ll do
some hacking. I have an idea.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She
stood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“But
first, I’m going to call Cancelli. I have a few questions I want answered. Want
to listen in?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Wouldn’t
miss it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>17.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie hit
a few keys on one of her keyboards and the familiar ‘available line’ tone,
followed by the racing beeps of a number being speed-dialled, came from the
monitor’s speaker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Monsignor
Cancelli, it’s Lindon and Bree here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Ah, yes.
Did your… <i>assignment</i> go well?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie and
Amy exchanged looks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Assignment?
The Blood Sucker took out three heavily-armed people and escaped before we got
there. He had only a few minutes lead on us, but here, in central Washington,
he could have hopped a cab and be quite some distance away in that time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Pity.”
They waited for more, but Cancelli limited himself to the single pronouncement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“The
three Italians he killed; were they your agents?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That
would be correct.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“How did
they get onto him?” Amy chipped in a thought that had been bothering her for
the last couple of hours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“The
details are not important at this juncture. We can discuss that later.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Again Amy
and Katie glanced at each other, frowns mirrored on their foreheads.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“But if
you have some way of identifying…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, that
won’t be necessary. Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Monsignor
Cancelli, when can we meet in person?” Katie allowed a harsh edge to creep into
her voice; the message clear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m in
New York at the moment but I’ll try to fly there tomorrow. I will let you
know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“We have
a number of questions we’d…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Goodbye
for now, it was nice to hear from you.” The line went dead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The two
women looked at each other, then at the monitor’s speakers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That was
one weird phone call.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes, my
dear, I agree. I’m also sure that Cancelli has some explaining to do. I’m now
convinced there’s much more to this than we’ve been told.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>18.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Monsignor
Santiago Cancelli spun in his chair and replaced the cell phone on his desk. He
cleared his throat and looked up at the inquisitive expression on his visitor’s
face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“A
private matter. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
visitor did not respond, yet a slightly raised eyebrow said clearly that he knew
Cancelli was not telling the truth. The visitor chose not to press the matter;
this meeting was not going well as it was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“May we
return to the subject of my visit?” The mellow voice, speaking in English
tinged with undertones of his native France, usually created the impression in
unwary listeners of someone destined to be seen in the back row of any group
photograph, someone you wouldn’t look at twice in a crowd, a human makeweight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Cancelli
was not amongst the unwary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He had
met Hugo DiConte once before, during a meeting with the Holy Father in the
Vatican. He knew the Jesuit priest sitting before him was not a mere messenger
from Rome. He needed to be extremely cautious around this man; cautious and
very careful of what he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Shall I
order some refreshments before we continue? You must be tired from your flight;
are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to rest for a while and meet later?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No,
Cancelli. I will rest after I have your assurance that you understand your new
orders. They come directly from Cardinal Moretti and the Congregation.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Cancelli
nodded slowly. Moretti and the Congregation. The Congregation for the Doctrine
of the Faith, once known popularly as the Inquisition, held much power in
Vatican City. Indeed, the Pope had presided over its activities before being
exalted to his current status.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I see.”
He lifted the two pages of text from his desk, allowing his eyes to flick
between the encoded original and the cleartext translation, as though by
staring at the words, somehow the message would change. He looked up at the
priest. That a Jesuit, this Jesuit, had been given the task of personally
transporting the message from the Dominican-controlled Congregation, in itself
was another message: this radical change came with the Pope’s approval.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Does
that mean I can convey your understanding and acceptance of the change in your
assignment back to the Congregation?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Cancelli
needed time. He was unsure what to do about this whole issue, particularly the modification
in the directives that had ruled his life for so many years. It may just be yet
another act of the on-going internecine war raging behind closed doors back in
Rome. He needed to talk to people in the Vatican urgently. Yet, a refusal to
respond to this priest now might have serious consequences for him on a
personal level.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Please
tell the Congregation I will devise a plan to put into effect these new
directives, and submit it for their approval before taking any further action.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That
will not be necessary. I will be staying here in America until this matter is
resolved. You will submit your planning to me and together we will conclude
this mission once and for all. Do I make myself clear, Cancelli?” The priest
turned and walked toward the office door. “We will meet at ten tomorrow
morning. Here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I have
to fly to Washington tomorrow…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Cancel
it.” The Jesuit opened the door and was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Monsignor
Santiago Cancelli smashed his balled fist onto the leather inlay of the antique
desk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>19.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie had
been pecking at her keyboards for over an hour, her head bent in concentration.
Behind her right shoulder, the server rack looked like an electronic Christmas
tree as red, green and orange LEDs danced to an unheard rhythm. Amy left her to
her musings and returned to her new office. She dumped her jacket on the desk
chair and stood before the whiteboard wall, now covered with documents from the
case files. After a few minutes she started pacing. Four steps; spin; four
steps; spin…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">There was
something here she was not seeing, and it was annoying her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Abruptly
her spin changed direction. She flopped down on the couch, her eyes never
leaving the whiteboard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She
focused on her Venn diagram. If the Bloodsucker is targeting recovered terminal
patients, assuming they can link-in the first two cases with the rest, what do
these cases have in common other than the remission? She stood and strode over
to the board, grabbing a marker from the metal rack. Quickly she wrote in large
capitals: HOSPITAL, DOCTORS, NURSES, TREATMENT, MEDICATION, DATES. Alongside
she drew a series of arrows and started to fill in data from the case files.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">After a
frenzied quarter hour, the board had more arrows than Custer’s Last Stand. Some
names had repeated, especially doctors and nursing staff, but that was to be
expected. However no single name was common to all, except for the hospital.
Perhaps someone is trying to cover up a defective drug by killing off the
patients to whom it had been administered; that had been a theory at the back
of her mind, sparked by reading too many medical thrillers probably, she
thought. Yet it was not borne out by the facts. The treatment and medication
data also refused to show any clear repetitions. The dates were over a
five-month period, yet her quirky brain could not detect any pattern there
either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She took
a literal, and metaphorical, step back from the whiteboard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Next
stage: when you can’t see the hidden pattern, yet your gut says it’s there,
suspect the data.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">HOSPITAL:
there was only one, so that didn’t look likely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">MEDICAL
STAFF: The hospital Dean of Medicine had supplied the information, yet… wait,
it was a huge teaching hospital. Could that mean there were outside researchers
and teaching physicians not on the lists provided for each patient? Amy stepped forward and scribbled a note
alongside a huge interrogation sign.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Step back
again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">TREATMENT
and MEDICATION: her previous thought had sparked another idea; was any
experimental technique or medication used? Shouldn’t that be on the patients’
charts? Again she launched herself at the whiteboard; another large question
mark appeared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">That left
DATES. Five months. Where did the first two patients fit into these dates, if
they did at all? The dates did not evidence any sort of grouping, at least none
that was obvious now. Maybe if the first two victims had been treated at the
hospital, their dates would reveal a pattern. Had anyone checked in detail?
Surely the baby could be investigated from the day of her birth. Again patient
chart records.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
Amy’s cerebral light bulb glowed fearlessly. The parents! Did anyone check out
a possible relationship with the hospital?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She bound
over to her desk, rummaging in her jacket for her cell phone. Then back over to
the files. Pages flicked, scanned, discarded. At last! Her fingers transposed
the numbers from the page onto the tactile surface of her phone. She pressed
call and raised the device to her ear. No signal! What? She stared at the
phone’s screen; the signal strength bars were nowhere to be seen. Dammit! Wait,
Katie had said something about shielding from electronic eavesdropping; that
worked both ways.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Gripping
her handset, she strode purposefully toward the door that connected with
Katie’s office. As she walked through, the older woman gave a small jump in her
seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Gotcha!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“SANTA
has found the trucker’s route data.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“How do I
make a phone call inside here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I knew
if I sent a Helper hidden in an e-mail, they would let it loose on their
network.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I need
to call the hospital in Texas. How…?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Now I
have the guy’s routing data for the last eight years. Let’s see if there’s a
pattern…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“KATIE!”
Amy had raised her voice a little more than intended.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
looked up from her monitors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What?
I…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I need
to call out but my cell can’t get a signal.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Oh.
Right. I should have routed the signal through the servers; it’s the only way
in or out.” She started typing rapidly, her eyes never leaving the keys. “You
should get a message asking to accept SANTA Interface. Reply OK and your phone
will work in the office. Sorry about that. I should have done it before. I must
be getting forgetful in my dotage. Have you discovered something?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy hit
the OK button that had appeared below the Interface request, mentally reminding
herself to ask Katie what else SANTA’s presence on her phone would suppose. The
green OK rectangle folded in on itself and, as if by magic, four signal
strength bars appeared at the top of the screen. Rather than reply to Katie,
she hit redial and raised the phone to her ear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
number was the Dean’s own mobile. It rang once, then…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hello?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Doctor
McKinley? This is Senior Special Agent Amy Bree with the Task Force
investigating the Blood Sucker murders. I’ve just been going over the files you
sent my colleagues in the FBI BAU unit, and I need to know if we have all the
data we need.” Amy proceeded to detail her requirements. The conversation
continued for a couple of minutes, then Amy looked up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Just a
second, Doctor…” She hit the Mute button on the call and turned to Katie. “I
need an e-mail address.” Katie opened a drawer in her desk, extracted a pad and
pen, then scribbled an e-mail address. Amy hit the Mute again and relayed the
address to the Dean of Medicine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes,
Doctor, Homeland Security. The FBI was leading the investigation, but we are
now involved. We’re bringing a… new perspective to their enquiries. I’ll copy
them on the data you send, don’t worry about that.” After extracting a promise
from the Dean to expedite her request, Amy said her goodbyes and hung up. She
turned to Katie who was looking at her expectantly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s a
teaching hospital, so there’ll be Visiting Doctors, Investigators, Researchers
and who knows what else. Maybe our missing link is there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“And why
did you ask for the baby’s parents’ medical histories?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s a
hunch. If the baby was treated very early on in her life, perhaps the hospital
linked her medical history with the parents. Or maybe the baby’s was lost or
misfiled, but there should be some reference in the parents’ histories. How did
your search on the trucker go?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“SANTA is
processing the route data now. There’s rather a lot of data, so it’s going to
take a few minutes. I’d better set up your Homeland e-mail account, just in
case the good doctor decides to ask you to make your request in writing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>20.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They
waited for just over fifteen minutes before coming to the realization that it
was now mid-afternoon and they hadn’t eaten lunch. Amy agreed to go for some
sandwiches while Katie waited on SANTA’s results. When asked what she wanted,
Katie replied:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Oh, I
eat anything, my dear, just as long as there’s no garlic. Can’t stand it. Just
thinking about it makes my stomach heave.” She chuckled. “Maybe I’m a vampire.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yeah,
sure, and I’m E.T.” responded Amy as she left Office 312.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Twenty
minutes later, Amy was back with a large Mocha coffee and several varied sandwiches.
She had assumed, correctly, as it turned out, that Katie would prefer her own
brew of tea rather than the store-bought variety or even coffee. They chatted
whilst eating, mainly about Amy’s upbringing in Maine. As Katie rose to put on
the kettle for a post-sandwich cup of tea, SANTA pinged. Katie immediately spun
around and dropped into her chair. She studied the monitors before her, started
typing on one of the keyboards and watched the left-hand screen as a map of the
US appeared, overlaid with thin red, green and blue lines.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">From the
displayed route data, it was obvious that William Dobbs, their trucker, had
done some serious mileage. The lines stretched from coast-to-coast on the
east-west axis and from the Gulf up into Canada.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Let’s
see,” began Katie, speaking more to clarify her thoughts than to Amy, “Dobbs
lived alone in New Mexico. But he was killed outside Houston. He was the second
victim.” She zoomed in on New Mexico on the map and the multiple lines
simplified into three routes, all with a common end-point. She clicked on the
point and a small box opened up with an address. It was far from where the
Blood Sucker had sliced Dobbs’ throat then taken his blood and daubed it on the
walls of the truck’s cab just over a year ago. The mental image made Katie
shudder, not lost on Amy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Are you
alright, Katie?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes,
yes, dearie. Just had a vivid picture of the crime scene pop into my head. All
that blood. It must have been gruesome.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well
that’s that settled anyway.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You’re
no vampire if the sight of blood makes you react that way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes, I
guess living in a computer world of nice, clean zeroes and ones can make you
forget the atrocities that man inflects on his fellows. But you were there, in
Houston. It must have been horrible.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“To tell
the truth, Katie, I can’t recall much of what happened with any clarity. The
FBI shrink who interviewed me after…” An image of Ralph’s inert form flashed
into her mind. “… <i>the incident</i> told
me that this was common. It’s a PTSD thing. Your brain tries to protect you
from the experience by denying you access to clear recollections. Then, after a
while, days, maybe months, or even years, it filters stuff back into the
conscious mind so you can process it and come to terms with what happened.
After the Blood Sucker grabbed me and threw me against the wall, I was stunned;
I’d had the wind knocked out of me. I couldn’t find my weapon. Then the bastard
tried to strangle me. It’s…” She stopped, her eyes vacant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Amy,
dear, are you…?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What?
Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that I lived, while Ralph died. I…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That’s
just Survivor’s Guilt, my dear. Even I know that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, I
wasn’t thinking… Why didn’t he kill me? Ralph died very quickly. His neck was
snapped like a twig, according to the autopsy. The Blood Sucker was very
strong. Yet, he had me pinned on the floor and was choking me, but he let me
live. He could easily have broken my neck too, but he didn’t. I don’t
understand it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“In your
deposition you said that Ralph called out, interrupted the killer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes.
Ralph identified himself, twice I think. But, it wouldn’t have taken but a
second to kill me, then go after him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Survivor’s
Guilt, my dear. You feel bad that you didn’t die yet your friend did. That’s
normal, and healthy. It shows you are recovering a little.” Katie reached out,
resting one of her hands lightly on Amy’s forearm. “In your deposition you said
you couldn’t remember much about the man’s face?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It was
dark. I was choking; scrambling around trying to find my backup gun and help
Ralph. When I fired at that bastard in the lounge, he was outlined against the
doorframe on the far side. All I remember was his eyes; they sort of glowed,
yellowish-red, dull yet I could clearly see the two points of light.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Like a
cat’s eyes when you catch it in the car’s headlights?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yeah, a
bit like that, but not the whitish colour you get with a cat, though. Yellow,
with a tinge of red. Spooky.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Not all
creatures’ eyes glow the same colour at night. I remember when I was in Africa,
on a mission some years back, we were traversing cross-country at night. As we
neared a river, we had to watch out for crocodiles. I had night vision goggles
on and I saw a huge croc on the riverbank about forty feet away. Through the
goggles, its eyes were brighter. I slipped them off, to see if I could see it
with normal vision and a flashlight, but all I saw were two points of red
light. You see, dearie, many nocturnal animals have what’s called the ‘</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">tapetum lucidum’. It’s a sort of reflector at the
back of the eye that sends more light to the rods and allows them to see in
low-light conditions. It makes them better predators at night. That’s what
shines when you hit them with a light source. But, Amy, my dear, human don’t
have the reflector, only some nocturnal animals.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“All the Blood Sucker’s attacks were at night,
Katie. Do you think we might have some sort of mutation here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Katie was about to reply, but thought better of it.
Instead she turned to her keyboards, called up a search engine and typed in
‘tapetum lucidum</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
humans’. She hit the enter button and Google quickly responded. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well
I’ll be damned!” She pointed at the right-most monitor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy leant
over and saw the search engine had responded with over sixty-six thousand
entries. The first extract clearly stated that humans don’t have the reflector.
The second spoke of a Chinese child capable of reading in the dark. Katie
clicked on the link and together they watched a short video about the child,
where it said his eyes glowed blue-grey when illuminated. The article that
accompanied the video also referred to a US Navy experiment, done in the
sixties, where servicemen were dosed with modified vitamin A in a bid to
enhance their eyes’ sensitivity to longer wavelengths. The experiment ended
with the Navy going for night-vision goggles, so it wasn’t that successful.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Do you
think that if there’s already a documented mutation like that,” Amy pointed at
the screen, “maybe the Blood Sucker has something similar? If he has a very
rare eye condition, we could run a search on ophthalmologists to see if there
are any cases here in the US. It might turn up some new leads.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie had
already started typing on the other keyboard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That’s
what I call thinking out of the box.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Katie,
did the surveillance footage from the murders this morning turn up anything?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, not
really. It was the first thing I did after starting SANTA’s search for the
routing data. The whole thing took place in an alley and there were no
cameras. I expanded the search and
looked at images from nearby streets but I couldn’t spot anything unusual.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What I
was thinking, in that video, the kid had problems seeing in normal daylight,
the light was too bright for him and he saw stuff unfocused. Just suppose for a
moment that our Perp has this mutation; would that mean he could also have problems
seeing in normal light?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What are
you saying? If he does, he might need special glasses or something?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Special?
I don’t know. But if he has the same problem as the Chinese kid, maybe he needs
to wear shades all the time in daylight ‘cause his eyes are too sensitive to
normal sunlight. Did anyone in the surveillance footage have sunglasses?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
laughed briefly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Amy,
dear, this is Washington. It is a sunny day today and many people, even me, had
sunglasses on. Plus, it’s also a fashion thing. Then there’s all the Cops and
Feds who wear them to help them do their jobs…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes, but
if we looked for someone wearing shades who was also tall and bulky and not
dressed in a uniform? That should narrow the search down a little.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Again
Katie was about to reply, caught herself, and typed on the SANTA keyboard.
SANTA responded almost as quickly as Google this time because all the footage
had already been processed. One of the two central monitors now showed a mosaic
of still images sampled from the surveillance footage. Over a hundred
multi-coloured thumbnail pictures crowded the screen. Katie typed and, as
images disappeared, the remaining boxes rearranged themselves and grew. Finally
only seven remained.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“There!”
Amy pointed at a still showing a half profile of a large man wearing shades
stepping into a cab. “Where was that taken?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That’s
from… F Street, ten minutes or so after we got to the alley.” She hit more keys
and the still image filled the screen. “I’m going to track him back in time.”
Katie typed, SANTA analyzed. Then…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s
almost as if he was avoiding the cameras. He only appears on that one just
before hailing the cab, and he’s got his back to the camera except for the
instant he steps aboard. Even then we can only see half of his face.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Can you
track the cab?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’ll
try, but following a cab in DC is not easy. In Manhattan they’re all yellow so
they stand out. Here we have all the colours of the rainbow and then some. That
cab’s white and we don’t get a decent image of its number or registration plate.
It will just blend in with all the other white cars in the District. Still…”
She hit SANTA’s keyboard Enter button. Rapid motion on the monitor: SANTA
grabbing images from surveillance cameras it had already catalogued. The image
changes slowed down, as SANTA went further afield to untapped resources. Both
Amy and Katie watched mesmerized as SANTA wound the surveillance footage back
and forward, trying to predict where the white sedan would appear then confirm
the angles in other images for matches. After a half hour, SANTA had lost the
cab after several blocks. Still they had a general direction and SANTA did more
predictive searching, each time with less precision, until…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">GENERAL DIRECTION - SOUTH WEST<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">TRACKING LOST - INDEPENDENCE AVENUE<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">SANTA’s statement
of defeat caused both Katie and Amy to slump visibly, such had been the tension
created by the virtual chase.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Independence
Avenue. South West. That’s where the Memorials are, and the Mall.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes,
dearie, and thousands of tourist, which means hundreds of cabs, many of which
will be white. And he could have got out anywhere on route. If SANTA’s
predictive motion routines haven’t been able to find him, then that’s it. I
borrowed that bit of software from the stuff I’d developed for the NSA and it’s
as good as it gets, even though I say so myself. There’re just too many
variables for SANTA to chase down. I could force it to track every possible
outcome, search all available footage from the surveillance cameras. That would
take considerable time and SANTA has a time-driven data validity algorithm that
throws in the towel if the effort doesn’t produce a tangible result in a
reasonable amount of time. In the end, even if we tracked him, the information
is now several hours old. And, unless he took the cab directly to his house or
hotel or whatever, the result would be inconclusive. I think he knows what he’s
doing. The fact he did manage to avoid almost all the cameras shows he has
Counter-surveillance training, and he’s pretty good at it. I think he probably
took the cab to somewhere where he knew there would be crowds, and changed cabs
again, maybe even two or three more times, to throw off any potential pursuers.
This guy is good!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Don’t
admire him. Katie, please.” Amy spoke almost with a little girl voice, devoid
of any strength.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
looked up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Don’t
worry, my dear. It’s not admiration. I just like a challenge, and with every
minute, I’m more determined to track down and nail this bugger.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>21.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Cancelli
was furious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He had
risen early, not out of any need to impress his visitor with his frugal ways,
rather to try to give him the slip and fly to Washington. He had descended the
stairs, with discreet footsteps, to the lower floor of the Bishop’s Residence
where he had set up his New York headquarters, only to find DiConte sitting in
his office, in his chair, reading his correspondence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What do
you think you are doing?” he demanded of the intruder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“This is
church business, thus my business. I’m doing what I think appropriate for
someone sent here to oversee you. Don’t forget your place, Monsignor. Remember
who I represent, and the consequences of not collaborating.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Cancelli
puffed out his cheeks, squeezing his lips tightly closed lest an undiplomatic,
un-Christian word slip forth. He saw his opportunity to meet with Lindon and
Bree vanish like the morning mist. He sucked in air through distended nostrils.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What had
you in mind that I do this morning?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Have you
contacted your people, told them about their new directives?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Not
yet.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">DiConte
picked up the receiver from the desk telephone and held it out to Cancelli
without saying a word. Cancelli approached the desk, resisting a childish urge
to yank the phone from the man’s outstretched hand. He leant over the desk, his
desk, and punched the speed dial button for Lindon’s number.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Speaker,
if you please.” Cancelli responded to DiConte’s command with an ill-concealed
sneer. He hit the speaker button with far more force than was necessary,
causing the phone base to bounce slightly against the leather insert.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Cancelli
stared at DiConte as they listened to the rapid call tones. A small smile
caressed the corner of his lips as the ‘number unobtainable’ pre-recorded
message was mechanically recited. He hung up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Why are
your agents not answering? It’s seven-thirty. Try their cell phones.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That was
the cell number. I have no idea where they are, nor what they are doing. We’ll
just have to wait. Maybe try to call again, say in three or four hours?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No. We
will take a flight to where they are. Get your coat. We are leaving for the
airport in five minutes.” DiConte raised his hand, half-waving it in Cancelli’s
direction; an offhand dismissal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Cancelli
spun on his heels and headed for the door. No way was this bastard going to
mess with his resources! No way! His mind worked furiously, trying to come up
with a strategy. Yesterday evening he had called people in the Vatican, yet he
was still waiting for return calls with instructions about what to do about
DiConte. His mind also played out several scenarios of a more drastic nature,
including orchestrating an encounter between DiConte and the monster they
called the Blood Sucker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>22.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Tuesday
morning saw Amy and Katie in Houston. Amy felt strange. She had only been in
the city once before; the night Ralph died. She found herself experiencing
flashbacks at every turn. Some were almost pleasant memories: of her friend
snoozing in the van, of him flashing his ID to commandeer the vehicle from the
Police pound, of his unbound enthusiasm, his sureness in that they would put an
end to the Blood Sucker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It had
been the other way around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
remainder of the previous day had been frustrating. The hospital Dean had not
responded to Amy’s request for more complete information on the staff as well
as the patient records for the baby’s family. At the airport this morning, she
had called the Dean at home, fully aware of the time zone difference, waking
McKinley at five a.m. with brusque insistence the data needed to be ready that
morning without fail. They would be calling in later in the day to collect it
in person.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">That was
not their reason to fly to Houston, however. Katie had spent the afternoon
tracking down the GPS data that Dobbs’ truck had supplied automatically to the
route tracking software at the firm where he worked. SANTA had identified many
nodes, places where Dobbs had returned time and time again. Each of these
needed to be tracked down. On one monitor Katie had SANTA’s results; alongside
she had pulled up Google Earth. Whenever there was a node, she typed the
address into the search box on the latter then Streetviewed the location.
Usually these were clearly warehouses; pick-up or drop-off points for Dobbs’
loads. Occasionally there was an office complex. Finally, after a couple of
hours of tracking down the nodes, one stood out. It corresponded to a private
house on Indiana Street, Houston, in a predominantly residential area. More
SANTA searches showed the house belonged to a forty-three year old, single
woman, Lorraine Jeffries. She had lived there for over twelve years.
Interestingly, she was a doctor, although they could not find information about
her speciality. Her Social Security records showed her working for the last ten
years at a small private hospital on the outskirts of the city. The hospital’s
web page revealed the full range of high-end medical care specialities, so that
proved to be of little help. Rather than call the hospital, they decided to fly
there early the next day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They had
taken the United flight from Ronald Reagan that left just before eight and it
had arrived early at George Bush Intercontinental just after ten. A rental car
was waiting and eleven-thirty found them driving into the tree-laden car park
at the private hospital. They left their cases in the trunk of the car; Amy’s
small holdall and the metallic carry-on that Katie described as ‘SANTA on
Wheels’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
building formed a rough inverted U, with the uprights forced open. The slightly
tinted, large-pane windows on the upper floors of the five-storey edifice all
overlooked trees, hiding the forecourt from the patients behind coniferous
abundance. The U’s uprights channelled the visitors toward the main entrance.
No ambulances or Cop cars parked in front of this steel and glass hospital,
though. The entrance was designed to impress; to speak of money well spent.
Double Palladian columns held up a stone arch that rose to the fourth floor,
flanked by a couple of vaguely Greek statues, contorted into unnatural, armless
postures as though belying this was a place of health care. They were meant to
suggest solid, traditional, trustworthy values to the future patients rather
than the gaudy mismatch that made Katie smile to herself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They
passed underneath the arch, double glass doors hissing open to admit them into
a spacious and almost deserted reception area. No cryptic Tannoy chatter
either, just the occasional note from background music turned so low, its
presence was sensed as an occasional vibration in the air. The double slaps
from Amy and Katie’s footwear signalled their presence as they neared a
solitary figure behind a desk set almost as far back as possible without being
outside the building.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
held up her ID badge, light flashing off the gold shield into the eyes of the
small, white-coated man who had stood as they approached.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Doctor
Lorraine Jeffries. Where can we find her?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Doctor
Jeffries is…” he looked down, consulting a tablet lying on the otherwise empty
desktop, “she is finishing her rounds at the moment.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Can you
page her? Tell her Homeland Security wants to speak with her now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I can
message her on her mobile. We don’t page here.” He tapped the tablet’s surface.
“There. As soon as she finishes her rounds, she will come to Reception.” He
pointed at a cluster of overstuffed armchairs and couches behind them, to the
left of the entrance. “If you would be so kind as to wait there, she won’t be
long.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They had
been seated for less than a minute when a tall, dark-suited man approached
them. He identified himself as the hospital’s Chief Administrator, and enquired
if everything was alright with Doctor Jeffries. Amy sensed that he was more
concerned with any fallout from a visit by Federal Agents than the welfare of
one of his medical staff. Once assured the doctor was not involved in any
nefarious dealings, the Administrator walked over to the Reception desk, where
he opted to hover, trying to look busy, yet neither speaking with the
receptionist nor doing more than glancing periodically at the man’s tablet. His
eyes constantly returned to the two female agents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">After
another ten minutes, a medium height, chubby woman, dressed in a spotless,
doctor`s white coat approached the chairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hello.
I’m Lorraine Jeffries. I understand you wish to speak with me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy and
Katie stood, identified themselves and asked to speak somewhere more private.
Doctor Jeffries suggested her office and they followed her across the foyer.
Amy glanced back, seeing the Administrator about to follow. She looked him
directly in the eye and he faltered, almost stumbling forward. She mouthed a
‘thank you’ at him, and followed Katie and the doctor through a wide wooden
door into the left-hand wing of the hospital.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
doctor’s office was far more homely and casual than they had expected. It had
the feeling of a small informal lounge rather than an office. Maybe it had been
planned that way to placate patient nerves but Amy felt it had too many
personal touches to have been the work solely of some high-end hospital
designer. They settled on an overstuffed couch, a close relative of the one in
the reception area, yet the colourful Native American shawl thrown over its
back, made it seem unique.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Firstly,
you’re not in any trouble, Doctor Jeffries. We are part of the Task Force
investigating the death of William Dobbs…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Billy,”
interrupted the doctor, “he preferred people call him Billy. He hated William.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Was he a
patient of yours?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes and
no. He is my… <i>was</i> my boyfriend. We
were going to get married next year.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“How did
you meet?” asked Amy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“He’s,
was a trucker. We met at a burger place downtown. He was sitting at a table
alongside mine. He had one of those smiles you don’t forget easily and we just
started talking while we waited for our food. He even paid for my meal and
asked me out there and then. We went for a stroll. It was my day off and he was
just passing through, going to somewhere on the West Coast, I seem to remember.
We just clicked, I guess. Every time he came to Houston we would meet and
pretty soon he was staying at my place.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You said
‘Yes and No’ when I asked you whether he was a patient.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes. He
complained about abdominal pains from time to time. I wanted him to come here
so I could do some tests. At first he put it down to all the hours he sat
behind the wheel of his truck, but eventually he realized that something wasn’t
right. I brought him here, off the books; this place is very expensive; all
private patients. I did some analytics and consulted with colleagues here and
in another hospital where we have use of specialized diagnostics. Billy had
Stomach Cancer. It was too far advanced to do anything.” She stopped talking,
momentarily lost in her recollections. They waited patiently for the doctor to
resume. After a few seconds, Jeffries cleared her throat and continued. “He had
three or four months, no more. I was heartbroken. I loved him more than anyone
I’ve known.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What
happened?” asked Katie. “He recovered, didn’t he?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
doctor nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It was a
miracle. I’m not a very religious person, but when Billy called me from his
house in New Mexico that day, his voice was so full of joy, I cried during the
whole time we talked. Then I went to the chapel here and knelt and thanked
God.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Was he
receiving treatment?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Only
palliative; painkillers mostly. He decided to go to New Mexico rather than be a
burden on me. It was our first argument. I wanted him to stay here, so I could
look after him, but he wanted to be alone.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Are you
an Oncologist, Doctor?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What?
No, I’m a Cardiologist. Why do you ask?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“So who
treated William… Billy?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No one,
really. Me, I guess. There was nothing that could be done. The Cancer had
spread and it was terminal. All I could do was control the pain.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“So how
did he recover?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“We don’t
know. It’s as simple as that. When Billy called me, he said he woke up, in the
early afternoon and felt something had changed. A couple of days later he was
feeling much better. Then two weeks later he called again. He was here in
Houston. He’d driven over. He said he felt great, like new. I insisted on more
tests and the results showed no sign of the Cancer. It was amazing. He kept
saying he’d dodged a bullet somehow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What
happened then?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“He went
back to work, what else? He spent more time here, though, with me. At first we
didn’t know what to do. We were afraid the Cancer would come back, that maybe
it wasn’t gone, just sort of hiding, you know? I know that’s stupid, I’m a
doctor and all; but this was something else. After a year, I smuggled him back
in here and did a complete analytic. I sent the results to my colleagues again
and they all concluded that the Cancer appeared to have gone for good. In fact,
Billy’s analysis was showing the best values he had ever had: his cholesterol
levels were down; so was his blood pressure. He felt like an eighteen-year old
again, he used to say. We started making plans for a life together. He wanted
to take on more work, with his truck, and save as much as he could. Then he was
going to sell his house in New Mexico and move here, start up a small business
in truck repair or something. Then we would get married…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Doctor
Jeffries started sobbing quietly. Katie stood and sat on the arm of the
doctor’s chair, holding her shoulders as the sobs waned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m
sorry,” said Jeffries, grabbing a handful of tissues from a box on the low
table separating the couch from her chair. “It’s just not fair. Billy gets well
from the Cancer then that <i>monster</i> has
to take him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Do you
have any idea why he was chosen as a victim? Did he have any enemies?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No. We
were happy here. He was on his way to see me when…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“The FBI
report says he was killed in his truck, on the outskirts of Houston.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes. The
police told me he had been found near the river, off Interstate 10, this side
of Sealy. Why he’d leave the Interstate I don’t understand. His truck was in
the middle of a field. The trailer was still coupled with a full load of fruit
and other stuff he’d picked up. He hardly ever picked up hikers. He was always
careful, like that. I just don’t understand why.” She started sobbing again.
Katie waited, exchanging glances with Amy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You said
you consulted with another hospital here in Houston?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Doctor
Jeffries suppressed her tears and named the hospital and the people she had
consulted, both there and in the building where she worked. Amy noted the names
in her book, although her memory was already matching them with all the names
that had come up so far in the investigation. Only one match: that of the
hospital Doctor Jeffries had consulted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Thank
you, Doctor. You have been very helpful. More so than you think.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“One last
question, Doctor,” Amy interjected. “Was there anyone here or at the hospital
who was particularly involved with Billy’s case?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Involved?
How do you mean? We didn’t even go to the hospital, and here I had to keep him
off the books. The Administrator is…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes, I
understand. I was just trying to see if there was any unusual interest in him,
that’s all.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Unusual?
No, not really. The only unusual thing was the Black Giant.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy and
Katie swapped rapid glances.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“The
Black Giant?” prompted Amy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s
nothing, really. Billy and I used to laugh about it. When he was ill, he had a
vivid dream about some huge man, dressed in black, who came into his bedroom in
the middle of the night and spoke to him. He can’t remember much else, not even
what the man said. He told me the dream happened again a couple of weeks
later.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Did he
keep having the dream?” asked Katie, her brow furrowed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, just
those two times. But it was so vivid, he said, although he couldn’t remember
what happened.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“When did
the first dream happen?” Amy was playing a hunch, driven by her mind, seeking
patterns even where none might be found.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
doctor thought hard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I think
it was a couple of days before that call. You know, the one I told you about,
when he said he was feeling so much better.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>23.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He
crouched down in the front seat of the dark green hire car, watching the two
Federal Agents exit the private hospital. He saw them smiling, obviously happy
about something. The older one took out a cell phone, glancing briefly at its
screen. Her voice floated over the tarmac to his open window.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Another
lost call from Cancelli. And a text message. ‘Where are you? Get out of
Washington now’. What do you think is going on?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“He
sounds panicky. I’ve only had a couple of meetings with him, but he doesn’t
strike me as someone who gets stressed-out easily.” The light tones of the
younger agent, the one he had almost killed, carried in the gentle breeze,
easily audible from twenty feet away, although he was also listening to the
audio feed, so as not to miss anything important.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, he
doesn’t get rattled that easily. Still. For now, he can wait. We have a good
lead here, so let’s chase this down then worry about the Monsignor.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">In the
car, his bulk pressed low behind the steering wheel, he smiled. They made a
great team these two. He particularly liked the older one; she had fibre.
That’s what his Ol’ Man used to call it, so very long ago yet remembered as
though it were this morning; inner strength, innate toughness, despite her
frail appearance. The young one…, well, it could go either way. He might still
have to take her life. For now they were useful. They were leading him to his
target, he felt it; sensed, somehow, that he was closer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As the
Feds climbed into their car and drove away, he threw himself sideways, so he
couldn’t be seen as they passed. They left the car park, heading south, driving
with purpose, obviously with a destination in mind. He lifted himself upright
again and glanced down to his right, at the tablet on the passenger seat. The
two pulses were so close, they formed a flashing red figure eight. He placed
two fingers on the screen and performed a pinching movement. The image zoomed
out; the dots became one, the streets clearly visible as they sped away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He
watched them travel four blocks before pressing the Start button and shifting
into gear. No need to get too close: technology was his best ally.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>24.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Once in
the vehicle, they had not spoken. Katie was at the wheel, mentally multi-tasking
her driving skills with processing the two important pieces of data revealed in
their interview with Jeffries: Dobbs had been terminally ill and recovered,
just like the other victims, and there was an indirect connection with the same
hospital that had treated the other victims. Then there was the matter of the
‘Black Giant’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy was
lost in her thoughts also. She had managed to suppress a shudder when the
Doctor had told them about Dobbs’ recurring nightmare. The ‘Black Giant’
description immediately dragged images from her subconscious; images of huge
creatures with glowing eyes, silhouetted in darkened rooms. She had emptied two
magazines at that apparition, yet…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Katie.”
Amy’s voice had a slight tremor as she broke the silence. “Can we swing by the
last crime scene before we go to the hospital? I need to check something out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
glanced over at her partner. She didn’t like what she saw.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Amy, my
dear, are you sure you want to go back there? I don’t think…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, no,
it’s okay. Please. I really need to go back. There’s something I don’t
understand.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
didn’t reply. She pulled the car over to the side of the road and reprogrammed
the Satnav. The unconcerned tones of the female voice quietly spoke new
directions. Katie started up the car again and drove in silence. From time to
time she looked over at Amy. The latter sat, breathing deeply, eyes fixed on a
point some ten feet in front of the car, seeing only in her mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As Katie
drew up in front of the house, Amy’s body shook violently. She turned and
forced a smile. Opening her door, she spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“This’ll
do me good, I think. I’ve not been back since… that night. Time to face the
demons.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Together
they crossed the road, toward the yellow tape forming a perimeter around the
metal railings. Before entering, Amy paused, letting her gaze sweep the
single-storey dwelling from side to side. She forced her right foot forward,
toward the gate. Katie followed close behind, intent upon her partner’s
reactions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As Amy
pushed open the gate, her right hand went unconsciously to the Glock 22
holstered on her hip. She caught herself; her fingers brushing the gun’s hard
surfaces, not grasping it as she had done on that night. Katie held the gate,
stopping it from crashing closed. She remembered Amy citing the noise in her
report; how her stealth approach had been destroyed by the clash of metal as
the gate slammed shut. She had also seen Amy’s hand make its way to the gun.
Katie was worried that Amy was too wound up to act rationally.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Amy,
dear. I’ve not been here before. I’ve only read the reports. Could you talk me
through what happened that night, please?” Katie figured that if Amy could vocalize
the events, it would help her overcome the anguish she must be going through
now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy
looked around at her partner. She nodded, once.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“By now,
I had my gun drawn. I was just going to take a look, see if the house had been
entered, then leave and join… go back to the van. That damn gate. I should have
closed it. I felt the spring when I pushed it open; should have realized it
would slam. Second big mistake.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Second?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yeah.
The first was coming here thinking we could handle this ourselves. We are geeks,
backroom support staff not Field Agents.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well
you’re not a geek now, Senior Special Agent Bree, so get with the program.”
Katie let a gentle harshness creep into her voice, enough for Amy to snap out
of her self-recrimination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She
expected her partner to move forward, toward the house, as the report had
stated. Instead, Amy suddenly stepped past her, moving rapidly back to the
gate, looking out at the street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What…?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“There’s
someone out there, Katie, I can feel them watching us.” Amy had her gun drawn,
pointed down parallel to her leg. Katie reached for her own weapon, her eyes
alternately watching Amy and scanning the street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Are you
sure? I don’t see anyone.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’ve had
this feeling since we arrived at Houston this morning. I don’t know… I can’t see
anyone on the street either. Nobody sitting in cars. It’s quiet, yet…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well,
truth be told, my dear, I had the feeling we were being followed on our way to
see the Doctor. I did Counter-surveillance, but couldn’t pick up a tail.
T.Y.I., though.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“T.Y.I.?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Back in
the office. Another of my samplers. Trust Your Instincts. T.Y.I.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They
opened the gate quickly, stepping out into the road, guns levelled. Amy went
right, Katie left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>25.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Ten long
minutes later they met up again at the metal gate. They had searched both sides
of the street, peering in every car, looking in every window. Most of the
houses were empty, their owners away at work or shopping. Only one neighbour
appeared, startled as Amy thrust her weapon in his direction. She had
identified herself, barked an order for him to return inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
noticed that Amy’s hands were trembling as they reunited by the fluorescent
yellow Police Line tape.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I
couldn’t see anyone, dear.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I still
can’t shake that feeling though.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Let’s
check out the inside of the house.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They
moved through the gate, allowing it to slam behind them. No sense going
stealthy now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
reached the front door first. It was locked, as expected. They moved along the
grey brick of the front wall, Amy in the lead, until they reached the large
picture window. Furtive peeks inside detected no movement. The morning sunlight
now illuminated the couch and lounge chair, reflecting dully off the black TV
screen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy
picked up the pace, reaching the corner of the house, poking her weapon around
and quickly following. Katie followed, occasionally twisting around, covering
their backs, just in case. Ahead, on the left, the dark leaves of the six-foot
tall hedge, still shiny with last night’s dew. On the right, the kitchen door.
More yellow police tape.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Without
stopping, they moved past the door. Halting at the rear corner, they examined
the back of the house. A large expanse of lawn, brown patches predominating
through lack of watering. An awning over a stone flag porch. A large
brick-built barbeque. A dense stack of wood logs, fuel for the fire in the
lounge. Amy darted forward, her gun trained on the logs. She sidestepped the
barbeque and checked out the area behind the log pile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Clear.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie was
close, following her with her weapon aimed behind them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Don’t
yell ‘clear’ when it’s only the two of us, dearie. I know that’s what they
taught you in Quantico, but it only works if we are a large team. Otherwise it
just gives your position away.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Uh, I…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Let’s
check the far side then go in.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Three minutes
later they framed the kitchen doorway. The Houston Cops had put a large metal
clasp on the rear door and fitted it with a sturdy police lock. Katie examined
it. It looked untampered with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Front
door,” she said, rapidly making her way along the side of the house. As they
neared the main entrance to the house, Katie holstered her weapon and extracted
her ID wallet. Using a fingernail, she pried apart the leather stitching near
the bottom of the spine, extracting two thin metal rods. One she inserted into
the lock near the top of the orifice; the other, broader, piece went in below
it. She twisted the latter, creating torsion on the mechanism, and started
moving the top piece in and out briskly. Amy watched fascinated at Katie’s
familiarity with lock picking. Less than ten seconds; the torsion bar turned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m
getting rusty. That was slow. It’s a cheap lock; should have been easier.”
Katie pocketed the picks, drew her pistol and pushed the door wide.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
hallway where Ralph had died lay ahead. To their left, the opening that gave
onto the lounge. In front, a series of doors, four on the right, one at the
back, on the left. Katie looked over at Amy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Check
out the lounge and kitchen. I’ll stay here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy moved
off to the left, taking a step toward the opening into the lounge. She
faltered. She had emptied a clip at the monster, Ralph’s killer, as it stood
here. Her mind deluded her into smelling the cordite, seeing the smoke and
fire, watching the glowing eyes watching her. Her body shook, hard, rustling her
clothes. Katie glanced back, worried.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy
stepped forward, her Glock thrust out, finger already on the trigger. Screw
Quantico; screw firearm safety procedures. The barrel traversed the lounge
quickly. No targets. Stepping rapidly, Amy focused the weapon on the far
doorway. Advancing, faster than she should according to Quantico’s instructors;
turning into the hallway, now the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">No knife
on the worktop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">No dark
figures with glowing eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Breath
short, violent. Amy retraced her steps. Katie had not moved. They checked out
the bathroom next. Empty. Three steps brought them to the bedroom door. A bunch
of yellow tape had been tied to the knob. Amy signalled to skip this room;
check the rest first. Two more bedrooms, one done out with bunk beds and kids’
stuff awaiting grandchildren that would not return. The last room, an office. A
big screen desktop computer, a large Brother inkjet printer and a stack of
paper. Amy picked up the top sheet. ‘I fought Big C… and won!’ followed by the
victim’s name; bold type, bold statements. She placed the page back on the
pile, glancing over at Katie by the door, her weapon trained on the hallway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Only one
door to open; one room to check.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
moved first, taking up a position to the right of the bedroom door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy approached,
her gun pointing at the floor, each step leaden. Her left hand rose under
unconscious command, turning the doorknob, pushing inward.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She had
been prepared for the red nightmare of her dreams, the unspeakable events
playing out without remorse every night since it had happened. She forced her
eyes to open wide, made herself breath, expecting the coppery, bloody odour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The walls
were cream. Pale cream. The floor, fake redwood. A faint wisp assailed her
nostrils; solvents with a metallic edge. A Crime Scene clean-up crew had been
here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She
stepped into the room, crossing quickly to draw the drapes wide. Sunlight
flooded the room, pursuing her fears, pushing them from her mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The bed
had been stripped; only the base remained. Two side tables flanked it. No
lamps, books, alarm clock, or the other usual night-time stuff. Everything now
in the evidence locker at Houston P.D., or maybe at the BAU labs in Quantico.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy
looked up. The light fitting, centred in the ceiling, had anchored the body
upside down as its arteries and veins had been severed. Blood had poured into a
plastic kitchen bowl, then was thrown onto the walls. That’s what the report
had said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Breathe
deeply and slowly, dearie. You’re hyperventilating. There’s no one here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>26.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy
stepped back out into the hallway, turned to face the bedroom and slumped
against the wall, her body deflating as she slid down to the floor. Katie
followed her out, stepping over her sprawled legs as she made her way to the
lounge, her gun still raised, checking no one had entered behind them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">When
Katie returned from her recce, she found Amy sitting against the wall, her legs
still straggling the hallway, her gun abandoned on the floor alongside. Amy had
her face buried in her hands. She was quietly sobbing, her body rocking gently.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
holstered her weapon and crouched down, laying a comforting arm across her
partner’s shoulders. The older woman chose not to speak. She had experienced
the loss of a colleague more than once on assignments in the early days and remembered
that tears helped wash the soul of grief at times like these.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Several
minutes passed; the silence of the house broken only by intermittent sniffs
from Amy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Katie, I
just realized, here, where I’m sitting, it’s where Ralph died. I’m sorry…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Nothing
to be sorry about, my dear. It’s best that you grieve when you can. You’ll need
a cool head if we are going to track down the bastard who killed your friend.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I don’t
understand. I fired a whole clip, nine rounds…” She reached down, extracting
her Glock 27 backup gun from its ankle holster.
“I was less than eight feet away… it’s a .40 Cal… should have…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
scooped up Amy’s gun from the floor and stood, holding out her free hand to
help her partner to her feet. Amy leaned over, returning the smaller Glock to
its holster, before retrieving her main weapon from Katie and placing it back
on her hip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She took
a step toward the bedroom and turned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I was
about here. He was…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
moved back, positioning herself in the doorway to the lounge. “About here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yeah.
Look how close. How could I miss?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie
looked around. Several bullet impact holes were evident in the frame and wall
just to the right of the door. They were clustered together about mid-chest
height. Centre-mass hits if they had been on target. Knife marks gouged the
area where the bullets had been removed by the Crime Scene Investigators.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is that
a Glock 27 you use?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Okay.
You said nine shots, so you don’t use the Pearce extension magazine.” It was a
statement more than a question.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No. It’s
a BUG weapon. I wanted it small and easy to conceal carry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“The
problem is, my dear, the basic 27 is very uncomfortable to fire repeatedly. You
probably got a good skin graze on your thumb knuckle. The Pearce makes it
firmer to grip, and gives you an extra round.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I still
don’t understand how I could miss?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You were
in shock, emotional, half-choked, dizzy maybe. If you grabbed the gun quickly,
jerked the trigger, not lined it up and squeezed, you would be pulling it to
the right slightly, with every shot.” Katie pointed to the holes. “Nine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Fuck!”
Amy spat out the word. “I came so close to nailing that bastard.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Five
inches to the left and you would have wounded him. We would have had his DNA,
at least. Still, better luck next time. It was your first time shooting at a
person too. It’s not the same as on the range, my dear.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You ever
shot someone?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes.”
Katie responded with quiet finality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy chose
not to pursue her question. She brushed herself off, removing a light coating
of dust, and her dour mood, with every swipe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That’s
what I couldn’t see; how I could miss at that distance.” Said more to herself
than as an explanation for their visit. “I guess I missed the same way, when I
fired across the lounge.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Let’s go
over to the hospital and see if the Dean has the files you requested.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They
walked to the front door, Amy glancing back over her shoulder at the place
where she had been sitting, the spot where Ralph had died.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She
nodded once; an inner promise for vengeance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>27.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">From his
perch, spread-eagled on the back-sloping roof of the house opposite, he watched
them leave the house. They pulled the door shut after them, crossed to the gate
and walked into the street. The metallic slam of the gate punctuated their
withdrawal as they crossed to their car, climbed in and drove off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He stayed
where he was for a couple more minutes, not wanting any spurious backward
glance to detect movement. They had been spooked when they arrived, somehow
detecting his presence. He would have understood it, if it had been the older
one. But it was the one he hadn’t killed. She was far more dangerous than he
had supposed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">While he
waited for them to drive down the street and turn left, he ran through his
decision to allow the Fed to live. It had been a gamble, a rationalized
afterthought, a pawn moving just one square. A long-term strategic positioning;
in a way, a tempting morsel for Cancelli to gobble up and exploit. And it had
worked. He was aware, thanks to the audio channelling to the tablet he had
recovered from the dead strike team member, that Cancelli was now involved,
that these two were working directly for him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Time to
step up the stakes.” He spoke softly, a smile caressing his lips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Blood
Sucker relaxed his body and slipped silently down the shingles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">-- ooo --</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">There are FOUR novels in 'the CULL' series curently available. The fifth and final, '<b>the CULL - Blood Kill</b>', will be published later this year.</span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">Some of the things they are saying about </span></span></b><br />
<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">‘</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">the CULL - Bloodline</span><span style="font-size: large;">’</span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 14.4pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">"</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0cm;">Gates has done his homework (or lived it), the attention to detail is top notch and the pacing is incredible. Couple that with a high-impact, adrenaline fueled story, and you've got an instant hit with readers. Gates has a knack for directing his reader's emotional response throughout, ratcheting the adrenaline up with quick, concise, impacting dialog and action. Then seamlessly transitioning to bring us back down through nearly hypnotic melodious syntax. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0cm;">I highly recommend the CULL - Bloodline to fans of Paranormal, Crime, Mystery, Suspense and Espionage novels. Those of you who just have to have a dose of romance are strongly cautioned. There's no room for it in this title, because it's already <b>brimming with too much awesome</b>.</span><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-indent: 0cm;">"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 14.4pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 14.4pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>"</i></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0cm;">I must admit that when I first picked up this book I didn't know what to expect. It looked intriguing so I decided to give it a go. I was pleasantly surprised, enjoying every word that I read. I was captivated throughout the novel by all of the suspense and mystery hidden behind the words. This book is <b>James Patterson meets Dan Brown, while remaining entirely unique</b>.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;">Gates' writing style dictates your mood towards the story. At times he uses short, choppy sentences, making the action seem even more intense. Other times his writing is soothing. Yet again, the way that his sentences are put together brings out further compassion for the characters involved. Each section of the novel is written in a way to maximize impact, while still flowing seamlessly together. The novel also remains <b>gripping throughout</b>. Even the parts that are simply background information or descriptive narrative are never boring.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;" /><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0cm;">This was by far <b>one of the best suspense novels that I have read in a long time</b>."</span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 14.4pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">"</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0cm;">This is one of those books that is <b>so engrossing</b> you just want it to keep going, so I was very happy to see it’s a series of four books – and I plan to read them all. “The CULL - Bloodline,” by Eric J. Gates, is full of exciting action and drama</span><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-indent: 0cm;">"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>"</i></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0cm;">This is a <b>wonderful and thrilling story</b>. I am a fairly fast reader so it didn't take a very long time to read. That is also because once I started I couldn't put it down. This book is <b>one of the best books I have read in a while</b>."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<b style="text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">All this… and you’ve still not read it?</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Make that right today:</span> </b><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><a href="http://authl.it/B00AGZ27FA?d" target="_blank"><i>Amazon Link</i></a></span></b></div>
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<b>Eric @ <span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank">www.ericjgates.com</a></i></span></b></div>
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Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-42398732641938092742017-01-20T19:36:00.000+01:002017-01-20T19:36:21.004+01:00FREE READ: the CULL - Bloodline (part 1)<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">An extra long extract from the first book in '<b>the CULL</b>' series: '<span style="font-size: large;"><b>the CULL - Bloodline</b></span>'. Did you know the eBook is <b><span style="font-size: large;">FREE</span></b> on all platforms?</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf283A72-qtbLACeB1D0FZzZlcjizf00t-3LHWCncbSCiH4p9UKnH_geTOvPH1VQaAvGwRoBwA6tFD_ycssKtQoLLxKLEi8e9dQsceivtgWVs6uZA4gjc2VQpFW_Z4xb8kWtEwTUluXuc/s1600/the+CULL+bk+1+-+Bloodline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf283A72-qtbLACeB1D0FZzZlcjizf00t-3LHWCncbSCiH4p9UKnH_geTOvPH1VQaAvGwRoBwA6tFD_ycssKtQoLLxKLEi8e9dQsceivtgWVs6uZA4gjc2VQpFW_Z4xb8kWtEwTUluXuc/s400/the+CULL+bk+1+-+Bloodline.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><i><b><a href="http://authl.it/B00AGZ27FA?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></b></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Short Summary:</b></span></div>
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<i>Disgraced FBI agent Amy Bree is approached by a mysterious Vatican Priest, Santiago Cancelli, and offered a return to Federal Law Enforcement as part of a small elite team within Homeland Security. She is partnered with another woman, Katie Lindon, an ex-NSA computer expert in her early sixties, and they are tasked with tracking down and eliminating a serial killer baptised ‘the Blood Sucker’ by the Press. </i></div>
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<i>Using Katie’s state-of-the-art software and Amy’s innate problem-solving skills and eidetic memory, they rapidly find themselves chasing leads first in Houston, then Chicago where they encounter a doctor studying terminal patients. Amy’s previous run-in with the Blood Sucker, which resulted in the death of her FBI partner, leads her to suspect he is the killer. </i></div>
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<i>Together Katie and Amy develop a plan to investigate the doctor, unaware the Blood Sucker is tracking them.</i></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b><b><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b><b><span style="background: white; color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><u>NOTE: PG-18 (graphic violence)</u></span></b><br />
<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b><b><span style="background: white; color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">WARNING: Read Chapter 4 with the lights on!</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>1.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Black thunderheads obscured by the oppressive night air. Closer they move; drawn into explosive detonation. The first thunderclap announced a prodigious tempest. The strengthened glass wall shuddered as the sound waves tried to penetrate the quiet interior with their full force. Anka Syzmanski’s step hung suspended for a fraction of a second; the hallway lit with jagged electric blue. She completed the step; started another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The lights went out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Another celestial drumroll; quicker now, the storm approaching fast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Seconds passed; she waited. Fighting against the darkness, the emergency lighting sputtered into action.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Plick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Plick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Plick, plick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Plick, plick, plick, plick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Spattering against the glass separating wet from dry, the rain began. A heavenly tap opened; grime swabbed down the transparent wall by sluicing torrents; lightning filtered through cascading wash forming eccentric shadows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Syzmanski’s shoes picked up their clipping rhythm; pounding heels a counterpoint to the drubbing rain, announcing to all nocturnal dwellers: Beware! The night Nurse cometh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She fell into her routine: step close, depress handle, open door, insert torso, listen, watch, decide; alive or gone? Gone meant a retreat to the Nurses’ station and a quick phone call. Alive meant close the door, move to the next room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Syzmanski eased the door to room 359.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Listen: the shallow, laboured breathing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Watch: no perceptible movement from the woman in the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Alive… for now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Windows rattling; another cracking roar as the storm ramped up. Close the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nurse Syzmanski’s fleeting interruption done, a shadowy shape lowered itself from its hiding place under the metal-framed bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>2.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Ralph Graham and Amy Bree were cold. Toes no longer felt; lower legs going the same way. If they had to exit quickly from the panel truck now, they hoped adrenalin would overcome the lethargy they felt. Amy raised the binoculars for what seemed the millionth time that night, sweeping her magnified gaze over the single-story detached house on the outskirts of Houston. Although it was late, her wristwatch showed past two a.m., a fine tendril of smoke drifted lazily from the chimney, evidence of a cozy fire allowed to burn out after all had turned in for the night. Amy’s mind went to the soft couches in the large lounge; the warmth radiating from the stone fireplace; the comfortable beds with down to fight off the damp chill… She shook her head. No. She had never been in that house; hoped she never would.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She looked over at Ralph, sitting bored alongside. Two peas in a pod; cut from the same cloth. That’s what people said about them. Behind their backs, and often to their faces, they were just geeks. No mind they had both passed the physical and mental testing all Field Agents had to take; only just for Ralph in the case of the physical stuff, but a pass nevertheless. The commentaries were correct, however.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Both had excelled as students, gaining top honours. Both had IQs north of 150. Both had special abilities. Both were extremely competitive and ambitious, nurtured in a society that reduced everything to winning or losing. They were winners, yes; just not in the race they wished to run.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They both harboured secret desires. Once, some months ago at the party for Ralph’s retiring department head, with tongues loosened by liquid, they had confessed these wishes. Astounded to discover coincidence, as well as frustration, they had vouched to help each other win the prizes <i>they</i> wanted; not those imposed by others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">After University, Ralph could have gone to any of the Seattle or Silicon Valley computer software conglomerates; with some business experience thrown in, could have been another guru of Information Technology in ten years. But not him; he wanted to carry a gun. He applied to, and was recruited by, the FBI.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">After an equally outstanding stint studying at MIT, Amy could have taken her talent for puzzle solving to NASA or any number of high-flying University or research outfits. Perhaps she would end up, one day in the not too distant future, working in the huge, secret National Security Agency data centre in Utah. Not what she wanted though; she needed to use her special talent in the field. She had also applied to the FBI.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Both had spent a little over seven years as junior Field Agents in small FBI offices, making up the numbers on raids, pushing paper around desks, fetching coffee for the Senior Special Agents; generally gestating disappointment. This was not their goal. It was, unfortunately in the rigid structure of the Bureau, a necessary rite of passage. Then, their talents had been noted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Again, matters did not quite work out as planned. They were both now in the Behavioural Science Unit at the FBI’s training facility in Quantico. There they had met for the first time: Ralph developing software to provide Artificial Intelligence Support for various Field Units; Amy assigned to problem-solving methodologies and Crisis Intervention. Neither was where they wanted to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">That changed today…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">…just not officially.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Any coffee left?” Ralph’s southern drawl made the sentence seem longer than three words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“We drank the last an hour ago. I could go and find somewhere.” It was not really a question; Amy had no intention of leaving their stakeout.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Forget it.” He yawned. “Any movement?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Nothing. It’s been over three hours since she turned in.” For the first time since they had discussed the night’s venture, an element of doubt rose in Amy’s mind. “What if we’re wrong?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Ralph pondered this for a while; breaking the question down, exploring multiple logical paths, finally reaching a conclusion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“If we are, then nothing’s lost. If we aren’t…” Left hanging in the frigid air of the panel truck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Let’s give it another hour.” Amy stretched, willing warmth to her toes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>3.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It had been Ralph’s idea, although convincing Amy was the work of seconds. He had been loaned temporarily to the prestigious Behavioural Analysis Unit Team 2, the serial-killer catchers, to write some bespoke software for their latest investigation. The Blood Sucker, the uninspiring name by which this particular Unknown Subject was christened by the Media, had the BAU team stumped. Over sixteen months and thirteen gruesome murders; the victim’s blood, all of it, painted on the walls of their homes. Four States; children, adults and the elderly; males and females; college students, bankers, even one police officer. No clues. No connections between the victims. No suspects. No end in sight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Ralph suggested they should take on, and of course, solve, the mystery. Combine Amy, and her uncanny ability to find clarity in confusion, with his knack of creating complex decision-tree designs he could rapidly convert to the zeroes and ones of the computers. That would get them noticed. That would get them where they wanted to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He tried to approach the BAU Supervisory Special Agent, but geeks had no credibility for this seasoned law enforcement professional. So one evening, when the BAU team were off looking at the fourteenth murder scene, Ralph used his temporary key card to allow Amy into the BAU Team 2 office.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The corkboard walls were covered with full-colour photographs of the preceding crime scenes. They had a predominantly red tint. Amy tried to relax, forcing down the bile the bloody images threatened to expel from her stomach. Ralph was less successful and made abundant use of a plastic wastebasket. Neither she nor Ralph had any experience of this sort of crime scene gore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">On a desk they found a folder containing reports and images of the latest killing. This was different. Five victims, a complete family, yet only one had been singled out for exsanguination and wall-painting. What was so special about this teenager?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy sat at an empty desk and started to turn the pages of the latest report. Victimology, investigating what connected the objects of such violence, is a technique often used by the BAU’s profilers to try to identify where, when, who had been the common factor. Amy turned a page in the profiler’s notes about the family’s history. When the mental light bulb lit, she smiled and called Ralph over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Look, five years ago.” She pointed to a brief annotation. “I’ve seen this also in the other three case histories you showed me, and all about the same time. Let’s check all the victim reports.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Another half hour; all but two of the reports showed the same detail. The two that didn’t were the first cases. Ralph said he would make some phone calls and scuttled off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 17.85pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">4.</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The cold in the panel truck had become almost unbearable for Amy. Amazingly, it did not seem to bother Thin Ralph as much. He was proud of having used his FBI credentials to obtain this vehicle from the Police impound lot when they had flown into Houston earlier that day. This small victory empowered him in his eyes and he was determined to enjoy it to the full. He had tilted the driver’s seat back several degrees, to observe the house better he had said, and was now semi-reclining with his head tilted away, resting on the doorframe. It would have been a sell, if it were not for the gentle snoring coming from his obstructed sinuses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Over at the house, nothing had changed; or had it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy wasn’t sure; it could have been a trick of the light. For a fleeting second, her own eyes not entirely focused on their target, something, someone had moved past one of the front windows. This in itself would not be unusual. On many occasions she had risen from a warm bed to visit the bathroom, or the kitchen for a glass of water, even some ice cream, in the middle of the night. Yet, in all those instances, she had switched on the room lights.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The house was still in darkness. If they had tried to have their vigilance sanctioned, maybe, perhaps, they could have brought some night-vision scopes. Instead she had her own binoculars, which she now raised to straining eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The slight humidity in the air made the grey bricks of the dwelling shine in the moonlight. Could it have been the shadow of a branch from the trees in their target’s yard, caught in the moonbeams as some nocturnal bird made it move? Everything was possible; more so from the safety of Ralph’s sequestered panel truck. She dug Ralph in the ribs, eliciting a cacophony of grunts and gripes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I think I saw something. I’m going to take a look.” Her right hand went to the holster on her hip. Simultaneously, she tapped her left inside ankle with her right foot. Amy pulled back on the door handle. The roof-mounted courtesy light flickered on. She pulled the door closed; the light went off. Reaching up, she sought the plastic switch that killed the light, prepared to break the fixture if it became necessary. Her fingers felt the rough edges of the switch and pushed it to a position as far from opposite to where it had been. The door pull did not illuminate the panel truck’s cabin this time. She slid from her seat and stood outside. Ralph was now awake, watching her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m going to take a walk round the house; check if all the doors are locked. If I’m not back in a couple of minutes…” She left the phrase hanging. She had no idea what she expected Ralph to do, alone, if she did not return. Amy shook her head and took a tentative step toward the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As she crossed the street, she drew the standard issue Glock 22 from her hip. Despite the Firearms Instructor’s insistence that the gun’s three separate safety mechanisms meant she could, and should, have a round in the chamber at all times, Amy did not trust the weapon not to go off and injure someone. She remembered now to work the slide, forcing a round from the magazine into the chamber. She had never had to shoot in anger. Even on the four raids in which she had participated, she had been in the last contingent of agents, armed with repeating shotguns. By the time she had reached the fray, it had always been well and truly over. Now she was leading; her backup, <i>pray he hasn’t snoozed off again</i>, at an ever-increasing distance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She could almost feel the adrenalin course through her veins. Her fingers and toes tingled. Her hands were shaking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She reached the low wall and black-painted railings at the front of the property. Reaching out, she unlatched the metal gate that gave onto the path to the front door. The hinges squealed as she pushed it inward, just enough to slip through. Four steps. Five. Behind her the gate crashed shut. She spun round, her gun levelled as they had taught her in Quantico. Should have closed it herself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">All pretence of stealth was now a thing of the past.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She ran to the front door and pushed with her left palm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It was firmly locked. Moving along the grey brick wall to her left, she reached the large window, showing the lounge beyond. The moon’s rays illuminated enough for her to make out the fireplace, with its dull red embers, and a large screen TV. To their right, a couch and a single cloth-covered lounge chair. All empty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy kept moving reaching the end of the wall, peering around. Nothing. No one. She moved down the side of the house, passing a tall hedge. A few feet from the rear, a door with a single, broad, stone step. She peeked through a vertical glass slit set at head height. The kitchen. She could not see anyone inside. A big kitchen knife was lying on the central island. Its blade and handle shining in the light filtering through lace curtains.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy placed her hand on the doorknob and turned. She expected resistance; a locked door. The knob turned smoothly; the door swung toward her. She was tempted to go back to the panel truck; fetch Ralph. A sense of urgency filled her. If they were right; if it was here, now, the house occupant could be in deadly danger. Amy realized just how much Ralph and her had screwed things up. No one knew they were here. They had not even left a note for their bosses, or anyone in the BAU. That meant she was on her own… with Ralph.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy pulled the door wide and entered. She sniffed. Something in the air. A faint tinge. A slightly metallic odour. She stepped forward; her pistol held straight-armed before her; the smell stronger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She traversed the kitchen, emerging on a short hallway that led to the lounge. Amy poked her gun around the corner and swept her arms from left to right. No targets presented themselves. Apart from the stench, now much more pervasive, all seemed in order. She crossed the lounge, stopping briefly to peer behind the couch, before leaving it behind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">At the far side, another hallway ran toward the back. She could make out four doors on the right, and one on the left at the end. Bathroom and bedrooms, she supposed. The occupier lived alone, so several of the bedrooms would be empty, she thought. Amy stepped across the hallway to the first door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A doorknob; a quick turn; an explosive push: a bathroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy suppressed a cough. She had been holding her breath; since when, she did not know. She inhaled deeply, almost gagging on the aroma impregnating the air. What was that smell?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She forced herself to step down the hallway, nearing the second door. If this were my house, where would I sleep? Which would be my bedroom? Probably the closest to the bathroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy reached the door. She could hear her own blood booming in her ears, creating a hypnotic drumbeat inside her head. Her hands felt sweaty; her feet were ice cold. She held her breath again. The door was partially open; a few inches. She placed her left hand against the wood and pushed gently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The door imploded. Something grabbed her extended arm and pulled. The force propelled her across the room, up against the far wall, a couple of feet off the ground. It was too dark to see who had attacked her. It might be the house owner. She raised her gun-hand. Shocked, she realized the impact with the bedroom wall had shaken her grip on the Glock. She tried to crouch, her right hand reaching for her BUG, the backup gun strapped to her left ankle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Someone grabbed her throat. Pressure from immensely powerful fingers pressed on her trachea. Tears jumped into her eyes. She felt numb; could sense life sliding away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Summoning her will to survive; she lashed out, scoring a solid kick against a well-muscled body. She felt herself lifted; her feet leaving the ground. More kicking. The attacker absorbed the blows without as much as a grunt. Amy tried punching ribs, just as Quantico’s Instructors had insisted. There, your opponent would release their hold and go down; here…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy felt herself thrown against the floor of the bedroom. Her hands scrabbled about, looking for something to use as a weapon. The attacker was on top of her. She could not reach her backup gun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The attacker now used both hands on her throat. The pressure increased exponentially. Amy felt her neck would snap at any moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A yell. Far, far away. Receding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“FBI.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Repeated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Suddenly the hands were gone. She sensed movement. Fast, flowing; like a big cat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She could hear the sounds of struggle from the hallway. A gunshot, loud in the narrow space. Something small thrown, clattering down the corridor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy struggled upright, snatching the backup Glock 27 from its nest on her ankle. She commanded her trembling fingers to pull back on the slide. Stumbling. The bedroom door. More light. A crumpled figure, limbs strewn against the wall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Outlined against the lounge doorway, a large shape paused, looking back, eyes seeming to glow. She raised her pistol and emptied the magazine; panic, fear, pulling the trigger until no rounds remained.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She peered through the smoky haze. The figure had gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She looked down. Ralph lay still. She saw his gun on the floor near the lounge doorway. Amy powered herself forward, scooping up the weapon, feeling Ralph’s warmth still on the butt, rushing into the lounge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">On the far side, the moonlight showed a huge figure. Her mind, assailed by unfamiliar sensations, multiplied its height and girth. It filled the passageway leading toward the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She started pulling the trigger again; her training forgotten, her eyes closed; primeval hate for hurting Ralph drowning all rational thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy opened her eyes when the detonations stopped. There was no corpse on the floor, brought down by her reckless gunfire. The figure had left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She reached to her left hip, extracting one of the two spare magazines in their belt support. Reloading was a series of clicks, familiar from the range, yet alien in this suburban home. She rushed across the space and emerged into the hallway. Running now. The kitchen empty. Its door hanging lopsided, hit with tremendous impetus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Care to the wind, Amy charged outside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Left. Right. Gun barrel seeking a target. God help anyone who came to see what the shooting was about. Amy was primed. She wanted blood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A distant siren moaned. Then another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy retreated inside, still gripping Ralph’s weapon. She hit the lights in the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Spotless. Except for the blood-stained kitchen knife on the central island.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She entered the lounge. Lights on. Crimson footprints, two sets, traversed the cream-coloured rug before the fireplace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She stepped into the hallway. Lights. Ralph’s body lay unmoving. Amy knelt alongside, feeling for a pulse. He was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She stood, wearily. A couple of steps brought her to the bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The hallway light illuminated blood-soaked walls, smeared where her body had collided.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She stepped gingerly inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The smell hit her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy spun, directing the vomit into the hallway, careful, as her stomach heaved uncontrollably, not to defile Ralph’s body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page;" /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>5.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy Bree had scared her parents when she was six years old. The fright, and its consequences, marked her father and dictated his attitude towards her for the rest of his life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She was always a curious little girl, and far brighter for her short years than other children. She had been sitting alongside her mother in the family kitchen, in Bar Harbor, Maine. Her father worked in a local hotel and was absent for almost all of Amy’s waking hours. Her mother occupied her time by working her way obsessively through puzzle books. Alphabet Soup word problems were her favourite and it was one of these that caused her brow to furrow with concentration now. This was a particularly difficult challenge, requiring the location of over forty medical terms in a hundred by hundred letters square. She needed coffee. Dropping the book containing the puzzle on her chair, she rose to replenish her cup.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy had been observing her mother for over half an hour, at first not comprehending the nature of the page’s contents. Amy had learned to read three and a half years ago, although her reading choice was limited to Dr Seuss. She picked up the puzzle, looked at the list of words that needed to be found in the character chaos, and picked up her mother’s pencil.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Her mother returned to her seat, taking a long sip from the steaming mug, then, carefully placing this in the centre of the coffee table, picked up her puzzle book. Every single word was ringed in the red pencil, not neatly, as she did, but in the unsteady hand of her six-year-old. She looked at her daughter for a full two minutes without speaking. Amy limited herself to gazing through the kitchen window, her attention drawn to the huge white sailboat leaving the harbour. Her mother turned the pages in the book, seeking a similar Alphabet Soup conundrum. She passed the book, without a word, to little Amy, watching as her daughter polished off the problem in less than a minute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Her mother screamed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">That night the parents spoke. Over the next five months, Amy was subjected to CT and MRI scans, looking for tumour, aneurysms, or anything else that could offer a palatable explanation. Nothing. Then came the turn of the paediatric psychologists. They just reported back that Amy liked doing puzzles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Then one day, while waiting for yet another session with a child shrink, the doctor’s assistant, who had been trying to get into Mensa, the high-IQ club, left a practice entry test on the table where Amy had been drawing sailboats with coloured crayons. He’d gone to take a phone call. When he returned, twenty-five minutes later, the test was completed. Amy was still drawing sailboats, so at first he thought it was a joke played by one of his colleagues, aware of his frustration at falling short. He checked the answers against the published results on the web page, and calculated the score. 154! Impossible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">For Amy’s father, though, this was not good news.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">No, he wouldn’t agree to a special school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">No, he wouldn’t agree to private tuition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">No, he wouldn’t agree to more tests.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy’s younger brother, Barry, had shown no signs of precocious behaviour, so his daughter’s ability was not normal. From that moment onward, he treated Amy as a freak; something to be distrusted, even feared. Her mother had no choice but to shield her from her father’s displeasure as little Amy progressed through school and on to MIT. For Amy, her father’s attitude left her with an obsession of her own; the need to prove herself at every turn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">That was why she had embarked on the series of decisions that had ultimately led to Ralph’s death; why she found it almost impossible to explain her actions, let alone defend them. She knew this had ended badly for Ralph; and she knew it would abort any future she could have dreamt for herself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>6.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The FBI’s Office of Professional Responsibility raked Amy Bree over the coals. She was charged with gross misconduct leading to the death of an agent. There was even talk of criminal negligence charges, as they had not protected the house occupier. Had the surveillance been sanctioned, the first step would have been to remove the potential target to a safe house, under guard and far removed from the consequences if something went wrong. Ralph and Amy had not contacted the hapless victim before setting up their vigilance on the house, thus converting her into unsuspecting bait. Fortunately, politics intervened and this suggestion was quietly dropped. Politics did not help, in fact just the opposite, when Amy tried to defend herself by insisting they had spoken to the BAU team leader beforehand and had their suggestions summarily rejected. The BAU went on the defensive, and they carried far more clout than a geek from a Behavioural Science support unit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy was suspended, told to attend an FBI shrink, and not to leave town pending the pleasure of the OPR investigators. She felt the suspension justified; the shrink, given her considerable experience of psychiatrists as a child, a walk in the park; the attitude of the OPR, on the other hand, worrying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">What made everything worse: the killings had stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy recounted to the investigators the details of her ‘assessment’ and how they had deduced the last victim’s identity, but to no avail. The BAU was tasked to follow-up this theory. With politics in full flight, they lost no time in pointing out that, of the nineteen victims, only thirteen complied with Amy’s assertions; unfortunately, no data in this respect was available for the first two. So the BAU team-leader chalked it up to faulty analysis and dismissed the matter as quickly as humanly possible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy was left high and dry, out on a limb, up a creek paddle-less, and with a future looking distinctly glum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">After four weeks, the OPR concluded a criminal prosecution was uncalled for, but Amy Bree would be immediately terminated as an FBI agent. Her own Supervisory Agent mentioned to her, as he said his goodbyes, never to try to join any branch of Federal Law Enforcement because she had been blackballed from On High.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy collected her personal stuff, left her apartment, and drove back to Bar Harbor to ponder her next step.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She had been home for six weeks, taking her daily four-hour stroll, aimlessly, along the waterfront, allowing her mind to freewheel, when matters changed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">For the last week she had been plagued by the sensation someone was following her. At first she thought it was the FBI doing some sort of follow up. Then it crossed her mind it could be the serial killer, tracking her down, seeking retribution for pre-empting the enjoyment of the last kill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She had started to carry a handgun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Then, after one of her walks, sitting in a seafront cafeteria sipping on weak coffee, she spotted her tail. He looked to be in his late forties; dressed smartly in a dark suit, white shirt and dark blue tie, not the sort of clothes people wore out of season here in Bar Harbor. He stood, in plain sight, across from the cafeteria. Amy watched him, watching her, through the large panoramic window, as her coffee went cold. Finally she stood, left the coffee behind, and crossed directly to where he was standing. Her right hand held the butt of the pistol in her battered shoulder bag. As she approached, the watcher made no move to leave or avert his gaze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Can I help you?” He took the initiative.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You are following me. Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m sure you must be mistaken. I only arrived here a couple of hours ago. Today is the first time I have seen you in person. So I’m not following you, Miss Bree; my colleagues were.” The man’s perfect English was betrayed by an accent Amy could not place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Who are you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“My name is Cancelli, Monsignor Santiago Cancelli. I’m from the Vatican.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Which part did you not understand?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Vatican? As in the Pope? Rome? That Vatican?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I am unaware of any other.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What do you want with me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“First, although the reports I have read about you have been thorough, I would like to talk to you personally. Then, if the answers you provide to the questions I bring are satisfactory, I may choose to offer you employment.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy’s mouth opened; no sound escaped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The priest took her left hand, threaded it through the crook of his right elbow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Please walk with me.” He took a tentative step. Amy stumbled alongside. “Oh and yes, I would feel more comfortable if you release your grip on that gun in your bag.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>7.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Five hours later, Cancelli left Amy at the door to her parent’s house. A dark blue SUV waited for him across the street. He boarded and the vehicle drove away. Amy was in a state of confusion. Cancelli had not only offered her a job, at a vastly increased salary from her stipend at the FBI, but had promised to reinstate her in Federal Law Enforcement. She could not see how he could possibly perform that miracle. He was not even American.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Two weeks dragged past. Cancelli had told her to take the time to read as much as possible, from public sources, about the Blood Sucker, promising to augment what she discovered with official files, once he set certain wheels in motion. One morning a messenger service delivered a bulky package for her. Her curiosity was roused when she signed for the box, noting it had been sent from the Directorate of Intelligence at the FBI headquarters in Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington. Amy took the package to her room. She dumped the box on her bed and used a pair of scissors to cut her way in. She discovered it contained a copy of all the FBI files relating to the Blood Sucker case; not just the stuff she had already seen when Ralph smuggled her into the BAU, but more recent material.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy was impressed. Her degree of amazement rose several points when she read the Compliments slip folded into the topmost file. It was addressed to ‘Senior Special Agent A. Bree.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She was about to tuck into the paper feast when the front door bell sounded. Her mother answered and called up the stairs to tell her she had a visitor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy was surprised to see Cancelli chatting amicably with her mother as she descended. She waited in silence as the priest bade farewell to her mother, then following his indications, grabbed her coat and joined him outside. He pointed to the SUV, and without another word, they boarded the vehicle. In the driver’s seat sat a muscular man with short-cropped hair and ever-moving eyes. A bodyguard, thought Amy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As soon as they were seated, the driver put the car into gear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Where are we going?” Amy asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well I thought we might have lunch together. Can you recommend somewhere? I am a man of simple tastes, but I do like good seafood.” Amy responded by giving directions to the driver, who limited his response to nodding once.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Now to other matters.” Cancelli extended his hand and the driver passed back a briefcase. Cancelli turned to Amy. “Did you receive the material from the FBI?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It just arrived. How...?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You will receive whatever they compile as a matter of course, but I would suggest you return to Washington. I have arranged an office for you, with a secretary, at the FBI’s Headquarters building. They will be expecting you next Monday morning. But you must be clear on one thing: you neither work for, nor answer to, anyone at the FBI. I will request status reports as and when I require them. Maintain your secretary appraised of your whereabouts at all times. You have one assignment: locate the abomination they call the Blood Sucker. Should you require additional help, or support in the field, this should enable you to commandeer anything you need.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Cancelli extracted an official ID wallet from the briefcase and passed it to Amy. She flipped it open. ‘Homeland Security, Investigations’ read the gold and blue badge, and underneath ‘Senior Special Agent’. The wallet contained a Personnel Credential ID, showing her old FBI photograph, and a matching Department Access Card.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That card will allow you electronic access to all federal computer systems and installations. Use it carefully.” He rummaged in the briefcase extracting a bundle of dark objects. “You will also need these.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy took the heavy pile from his hands. There was a holstered gun, a Glock 22; two full magazines in a belt support; and a BUG, also a Glock, with its own ankle holster. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn these were the ones she carried while at the FBI. She clipped the bigger Glock’s holster on her jeans’ belt, checking the magazine’s full load before racking a round into the chamber and holstering the weapon. For now she placed the remaining items in her coat pockets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m glad to see you have learned your lesson.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What? Oh, you mean the bullet in the chamber.” Amy bowed her head slightly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It is good you can learn from your mistakes. Next time you meet with the Blood Sucker, shoot first; head shots; three or four should be sufficient.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Don’t you want me to arrest him?” She had noticed the absence of handcuffs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No. We cannot allow it to live. Even in the prison system, it will continue to kill. Furthermore, I am convinced there is no prison cell that could hold it for more than a short while. Allowing it to continue amongst us is a risk we should not take. Head shots; three or four at least.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You say ‘It’…?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Someone who commits crimes of that magnitude and brutality cannot be considered a member of the human race, Miss Bree.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What happens when he… <i>it</i> is dead? What do I do then? Will all this,” her hand waved the ID wallet, “be over?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Unfortunately not. The Blood Sucker is not the only concern we have.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’ve never killed…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I know. Yet you showed no hesitation in pulling the trigger in Houston.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“He… It had murdered my partner.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Then think of this as sanctioned revenge, if that helps. I can assure you, if you cross paths with it again… when you cross paths, it will not hesitate to kill you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Silenced reigned in the SUV for the remainder of the short journey. As they pulled up across from the restaurant, Cancelli spoke again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Do not underestimate this mission, Miss Bree. That is the undoing of your ex-colleagues. Use them, use whomever you have to, but stop this abomination, at whatever the cost.” He sighed, then smiled, disclosing small, perfectly white teeth. “Now, is the lobster good here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>8.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Monday. Amy had driven down from Maine the weekend before. During the long journey she could not stop her mind bombarding her with unanswered questions about her new role. Just who was Cancelli? How did a Vatican priest come to have so much influence in Washington? Was she really expected to kill the Blood Sucker, not arrest him? Did she want to do this?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">When Cancelli had said his goodbyes in Maine, he had given her a thick, padded envelope. Just some expense money, he said. Did not need to be justified. Spend as she saw fit. For personal use. Back at her parent’s house, she had opened the package; fifty thousand dollars in hundreds. She had used a little of that money in booking herself into a decent hotel in Washington.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy took a cab to the FBI’s headquarters on Pennsylvania Avenue. She had been told by Cancelli to use a small entrance on Ninth Street; more discreet, he had said. She walked up to the smoked-glass door, carrying the box of case files she had received. An agent, leaving at that moment, held the door for her and she passed inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The lobby area was unassuming. To her left, a security desk enclosed in a bulletproof glass cubicle. To her right, an X-ray machine and the ubiquitous metal detector arc. She approached the cubicle. There was no ledge to rest the file box, so she placed it on the floor. Amy took out her new ID wallet and slid it through the metal tray opening in the glass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Good Morning. I’m Amy Bree, Homeland Security. I’m supposed to ask for Office 312.” At the mention of the office, the guard’s attention spiked. He flipped open the wallet and checked her picture on the credentials with an image on his computer monitor. Then he extracted her Department Access Card, inserted it into a reader, then returned it to the wallet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’ll need to call up, Ma’am. Please pass through the arc and wait on the other side.” He slipped her wallet back through the tray, and picked up the telephone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy pocketed her ID, picked up the file box and approached the X-ray machine. She nodded to the guard standing by the machine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m a Federal Agent and I’m carrying.” She placed the box on the black rubber conveyor belt, lifted the right side of her jacket to display her weapon, and pointed to her left ankle. The guard looked over at the Security cubicle, receiving a nod from the man there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Insert your DAC into the slot on the right side of the arc, and step through, Ma’am.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She complied. The arc did not emit the expected beep. The guard retrieved and returned her Department Access Card. The conveyor belt jerked into motion, shipping her files box into the beige-painted X-ray machine. As the box emerged on the far side, the guard made to lift the cardboard lid and examine the interior. A thin hand, speckled with liver spots, came down firmly on the top.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Need to know, Joseph. Sorry.” The hand belonged to a short, frail woman dressed in a knee-length skirt, colourful blouse and a blue long-sleeved cardigan sweater. Her short, spiky hair was grey, the same shade as her eyes. She ported a pair of dark-tinted, horn-rimmed glasses on a chain around her neck. The lower part of her face radiated a beaming smile, showing teeth slightly stained by too much caffeine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hello, my dear, I thought you would arrive early. May I introduce you,” she turned to the Security Guard, “Senior Special Agent Amy Bree, meet Security Officer Joseph Doherty. Joseph is the man who knows anyone important in this building. He’s also the person to go to if you want tickets for any Nationals’ games.” Amy extended her hand and it was vigorously shaken by the man. “Now, let’s get upstairs.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhYW0StTWMGytMjMBlVR1ElbuX8uA9CwKh87Zx1hSwDTbY9_TrzGq2DQHghP8b06PryrrufBoc4spAcO6DaROUGGuGwIcRV8VXR1C6qE9BZPw8tY37FGa4Z4B1rRfwIiG5bfk0OLehU5E/s1600/Office+312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhYW0StTWMGytMjMBlVR1ElbuX8uA9CwKh87Zx1hSwDTbY9_TrzGq2DQHghP8b06PryrrufBoc4spAcO6DaROUGGuGwIcRV8VXR1C6qE9BZPw8tY37FGa4Z4B1rRfwIiG5bfk0OLehU5E/s400/Office+312.jpg" width="221" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy followed the elderly woman as she scooped up the box, turned and headed for the elevators. They rode in silence to the third floor. There they exited the cabin and turned right, walking some fifty yards before reaching the back corner of the building. The windows looking onto Ninth Street gave way to a solid wall painted light grey. A single, sturdy wooden door was set in the wall. Alongside its jamb, at a height perfectly matching the level of the older woman’s eyes, was a metal box with a keypad and a blue, silver dollar-sized lens set above. Amy’s companion moved her face close to the box. A faint blue light radiated from the lens, and an audible click came from the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“We’ll get you registered on the retinal scanner in a while, my dear. For now, let’s have a cup of tea and get to know one another.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The woman pushed open the door and entered. Amy stood on the threshold for a few seconds, looking into the room. What she could see was totally not what she expected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>9.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">At the very same moment Amy stood before the door to Office 312, the man the FBI knew as the Blood Sucker glanced through the Cafe’s window toward the FBI building, suppressing a smile. He sat alone in a window seat, his bulk and serious demeanour, a barrier to table-sharing. The warmth from a coffee cup permeated the fingers of his right hand, although the cup itself could not easily be seen through his muscular fingers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He was a patient man, marking time as the waitress brought him his full breakfast; the second that morning, though not eaten in the same place. That would attract the attention he eschewed; his size alone made him the focus of any room he entered; anything else was unwelcome. It didn’t do for the prey to be aware of the predator.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He took a large bite out of a slice of toast dripping with butter and honey, chewing slowly as he debated whether to continue this line of action, started weeks ago, or write it off and follow up other leads. The killing of her partner had sown the seeds of obsession and revenge, of that he was sure. When the tracker he had placed on her car in the small Boston town had finally begun its journey towards Washington, he had been relieved. It appeared she was getting back in the game. He had broken off his fruitless surveillance of the BAU team and quickly travelled to Washington to intercept her and follow her to the J. Edgar Hoover building. Seems she had somehow recovered her old job. That must be good; for her, and for him. With the FBI’s resources, she stood a better chance of locating his objective than he did. The United States was too extensive to find his target without assistance; assistance she would unwillingly supply. When it was time, and she was no longer of any use to him, she would die like her partner. She had seen him, he knew; she was therefore a loose end, and he never left loose ends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He took another huge bite from the slice of toast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He was a patient man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Fate loves a good joke, although many often go completely unnoticed by those involved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">In the same Cafe, huddled together in corner table at the back of the room, three dour figures sat munching their way through frugal breakfasts. They did not speak more than was absolutely necessary. Occasionally, their leader glanced down at a tablet placed on the bench seat at his side. Its screen showed a street map of Washington. The red dot that had been pulsating near its centre, had just gone out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He glanced upward, across the large room packed with office workers and not a few FBI agents. Through the far windows, he could make out the brown stones of the building which their assignment had entered scant minutes before. He raised his hand, touching his left ear; just a quiet hiss. Audio had gone a few seconds ago also. She must have entered a secure room. He nodded at his companions; no words were necessary. They would wait. He turned his attention back to the food.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>10.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy rocked back on her heels, swivelling her gaze to the left. Only light grey walls and similar-toned office furniture; the design brainchild of some low-echelon bureaucrat who thought this stark environment would be conducive to solving the FBI’s caseload. Before her, albeit set in an identical grey-painted wall, was an over-large, wooden door. Its deep red colour clamoured for attention, yelling its specialness to the Four Winds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Now the elderly woman had entered and moved off to the right, Amy could see inside. The view was strange, to say the least. Staring back at her from a seamless floor-to-ceiling mirrored wall, her own image reflected her puzzlement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She took a step inside. The outside wall seemed unusually thick and inside the passageway only allowed movement to the right. She could see it ended after about fifteen feet; a two-foot gap on the left beckoned. She tentatively walked down the passageway. Amy found herself blinking rapidly; her stomach felt queasy. Her reflection in the abutting wall at the end of the short passageway did not look right. Behind her, the large redwood door hissed closed. She forced herself to reach the gap, and stepped through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Immediately to her right, a large leather couch paralleled the inner wall. She flopped down on it, forcing herself to take deep breaths.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m sorry about that, dearie, but you’ll get used to it. After a couple of days you’ll hardly notice it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What…?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Smoke and mirrors, my dear. This office is rather special. The mirrors slightly distort your image, and none of the walls or the floor are completely straight; they’re meant to disorient you. That wall is also one-way glass so we can see what’s coming, and with a quick keystroke, I can trap them in there and gas them.” Amy’s gaze flicked up to the older woman’s face, to be met only by a broad smile and twinkling eyes. She wasn’t sure if the grey-haired woman was joking or not. The woman approached Amy and held out her hand. “Let me show you around.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy let herself be aided from the couch. She gazed around the room. It was rectangular, with two large windows on the back wall. Set between them was a large metal filing cabinet, painted bright blue with a prominent combination lock centred on the top drawer. Off to the right, sharing a wall with the couch, an oblong table held a coffeemaker and water kettle as well as all the necessary bits and pieces for continual liquid refreshment. Below the table sat a small refrigerator, more at home in a five-star hotel than in this strange room. Next along the wall, another door, wooden, red like its counterpart, but more subdued. It was closed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That’s your office. This is mine.” The woman walked over to a large L-shaped desk that dominated the other wall, its top festooned with large computer screens and a couple of keyboards. Just behind the desk, two large metal racks held an assortment of electronics and blinking red and green lights.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Are you my assistant?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The woman’s laughter was light and genuine. “No secretaries here, dearie. I’m your partner. Let me introduce myself. My name’s Mrs Lindon, but you can call me Katie. I’ll call you Amy, if that’s alright.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy’s queasiness was passing. “Your accent; you’re not American.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes I am, my dear, at least sufficiently to be allowed to work at Fort Meade for the last thirty years.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Fort Meade. The National Security Agency?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“My father was the head of the CIA station in London for many years. My mother was English. When he was posted back to Langley, we all came over. I was thirteen then, but the accent stuck. It’s come in handy once or twice over the years.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What do you do…?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Computers are my thing. Hate the buggers, but I have a way with them. I can hack into anything with a chip. Cuts down on the paperwork quite a bit, believe me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“So you’ll be providing backup from here?” Amy glanced towards the desks and its array of monitors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Oh no. I’ll be out in the field with you.” She pointed to a large, metallic grey carry-on bag sitting next to the desk. “With that I can be anywhere in the World and use the power of this kit,” she nodded toward the metal racks, “to do whatever we need. I’m also handy with a gun, just in case.” She smiled disarmingly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes, my dear, I understand. That misogynist Cancelli thinks of me as a secretary. I just ignore him.” She smiled again and Amy found herself grinning as well. “Let’s have a look at your room. It’s still a bit spartan because I did not know what you like.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie crossed to the door and opened it inwards. She waited until Amy entered the room and then followed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">This room was identical in size to Katie’s, but occupied the corner of the building. Amy had four windows, instead of two. A wooden desk, with three computer monitors, occupied the space to her left. On the far side of the room, a large couch, identical with the one in Katie’s office, ran along the wall. Taking up a quarter of the right-hand inner wall was a metal emergency door with a push-bar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I know what you’re going to say. You didn’t see that outside, yes?” Amy nodded. “It’s camouflaged. Only for use in emergencies, if we are attacked in here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Attacked?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I know we are on the third floor, but Office 312 is a bunker. Our foes are more than capable of trying to stop us if we get too close, so we need to be careful. This office was built to keep our investigations, and us, both secret and protected. The external walls are five inches thick with a steel plate and Kevlar core. The main door also has a steel and Kevlar layer inside. The whole setup is also a Faraday cage. Even the glass in the windows is the same we use at Fort Meade. It’s clear from inside, but opaque when viewed from outside, not just visually either. We can’t be monitored electronically or otherwise in here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Has this always been here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Good Heavens no. I’ve been running around like a headless chicken for the last four weeks setting all this up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Four weeks? I didn’t know I was coming here until last week.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes, dearie. There was some discussion about that, but in the end, your motivation to track the Blood Sucker down won out. I knew someone would be coming, and, to be honest, I’m glad it is you. I think we are going to get on just fine.” Katie waved her hand at the remaining wall space. “I wasn’t sure how you worked, how you analyze your data, so I left the walls ‘old-school’; magnetic whiteboards and lots of them. There’s a filing cabinet in the corner, between the windows. And,” her eyes twinkled, “that couch is very comfortable; I’ve slept on mine for three nights so far while I was building our computer. It’s almost as comfy as my bed back home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You built the computer? Couldn’t you just buy one?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“There’s no fun in that, my dear, and SANTA is not just any old computer. You couldn’t buy him anywhere.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“SANTA? You’ve given it a name?” Amy looked at Katie, trying to gauge if the older women was joking, or maybe even a sandwich short of a picnic, but her gaze was returned by steady grey eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“SANTA is based upon work I did for the NSA. It stands for Secure Autonomous Networked Tracing Analyzer. SANTA. And, like the old guy in red, he has a huge number of Little Helpers to get the job done. You need to learn how to use him; he’s probably our greatest asset. And it certainly isn’t Windows!” Katie seemed a little miffed at Amy’s reaction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“See that?” She pointed toward one of the walls in her part of the office.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy looked through the open doorway. She had noticed a few embroidery samplers framed and hung on the walls of Katie’s office. They were exquisitely done, yet consisted of short collections of letters, instead of the usual full alphabets. She followed Katie’s pointing finger and saw “D.A.A.” outlined in burgundy red with yellow and blue highlights, against a dazzling white background.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Don’t Assume Anything. D.A.A.,” supplied Katie, observing Amy’s bemused expression.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy walked into Katie’s office and glanced around the room. There were eight other ‘samplers’, cryptically vying for her attention now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Don’t worry, dearie. I’ll let you know what they all mean, in time. Now about your office…?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I guess I could use a plant or two in there; maybe a poster.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Whatever you want, my dear. Just give me a list and I’ll make it happen. Let’s have a cup of tea and get to know one another a bit more.” She started to walk toward the table with the coffeemaker. “Tell me, how did you know where the Blood Sucker was going to strike? It wasn’t in your reports…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page;" /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>11.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They had hardly sat down to await the kettle boiling, when a sharp buzz sounded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“We have visitors” announced Katie. She stood and walked to her desk. Touching a key on an overly complex keyboard, one of the monitors flicked on, offering an image of a young man sporting an FBI ID.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes?” said Katie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A reedy voice replied from speakers hidden in the frame of the monitor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Mrs Lindon. Director Marshall wants to see Senior Special Agent Bree. Now. In his office.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“We’ll be right up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No. Just Agent Bree, he said...”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Thank you.” Katie hit another key, and they both watched in silence as the agent paused, spoke silently, realized the intercom had been cut off, then shook his head and left. Katie chuckled. “Ah, the game’s afoot, as old Sherlock would say.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy wasn’t sure what was going on, and it showed in her face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“First tip on how we operate. Washington is all about Perceived Power and Influence.” She pointed to another of the samplers; P.P.I. in grey and yellow against a dark red background. “The Director is going to try to bully you, one of his ex-agents and a lowly one at that, into telling him what we are doing here on his territory. Now you’re not a number on his payroll sheet; you’re an untamed force to be reckoned with.” She beckoned Amy and moved towards the door. “Let’s go have some fun.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy was well aware of the Director’s reputation as a women-hating dictator who would voice his opinions against female occupancy of any position of authority at every opportunity. She felt her stomach flip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They left Office 312. Amy glanced back, trying to spot the camera. Katie spoke, reading her mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s hidden in the keypad. The keypad itself’s just for show.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">D.A.A., thought Amy; smoke and mirrors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They took the elevator to the top floor of the FBI building. Katie seemed pensive to Amy as they rode upward. Shortly before the metal doors slid open, Katie spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Help me distract the secretary for a few seconds.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy was still puzzling over this phrase as she watched Katie take something from her cardigan and palm it in her left hand. They exited the elevator and turned left, Katie in the lead, obviously knowing exactly where she was going. Amy looked around: deep dark blue carpeting, polished wood walls and soft leather couches adorned the Executive Floor. Obviously the low-echelon bureaucrat had spent the decorating budget here first, leaving scraps for the grey-painted walls of the rest of the building. Inverse Pyramid Theory, she thought: spend the most on the least productive area of the FBI; really creates a good impression for visiting dignitaries; any real law-enforcement people would not ascend to these lofty heights, so who is bothered about creating the right image for them? Only Politics here, Sir, Ma’am, move along please.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Their arrival at an unmarked door caused Amy to cut short her mental tirade. Without knocking, Katie flung the door wide and entered; a startled assistant was half out of her chair, when Katie spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Homeland Security, Office 312. Here to see Director Marshall.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The secretary lowered herself slowly back into her chair. “He’ll be with you in a few minutes. Take a seat, if you will.” Amy automatically gravitated toward the large leather couch, stopping when she saw Katie still standing near the assistant’s desk. She spun slowly and strolled over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie was talking to the assistant using a barely audible tone, causing the other woman to lean forward to hear what she was saying. As Amy neared, a subtle push from Katie’s right foot moved her to the far end of the assistant’s desk. The effect was a crude pincer movement, dividing the assistant’s attention between the two. Out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw Katie do something with the contents of her left hand at the USB sockets of the assistant’s desktop computer, all the time moving her right hand repeatedly toward Amy. The assistant’s eyes followed the right hand gestures and looked at Amy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Can you tell me if there is a rest room nearby; it’s that time of the month…” Amy babbled the first thing that came into her head. She didn’t listen to the other woman’s reply, just nodded as she watched Katie withdraw her hand from the back of the computer and pocket whatever she held there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie made a show of looking at the clock on the assistant’s desk. “Tell Director Marshall we are in a hurry, so if he is tied up with something else, we’ll re-schedule for a more convenient time.” The brusqueness of the phrase was tempered by one of her big smiles. The assistant blushed and grabbed for the intercom handset. She spoke, then listened, raising her eyes to Katie on several occasions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You may go…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie was already moving toward the interconnecting door; Amy had to quickstep to catch up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Director’s office was lavishly decorated with an overall theme of self-aggrandizing bad taste. The walls were strewn with plaques and framed medals; ostentatious reminders of the work of others. Where another colourful medal or shiny plaque would strain the mores of refinement, a framed photo imposed, naturally of the Director clasping the hand of someone important on the Hill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Director Marshall sat behind a huge wooden desk, bereft of any papers or computers. At one end, a large glass ashtray crouched beside a burnished wood humidor; a statement if ever there was one. At the desk’s opposite extreme, a single silver-framed photograph of the President shaking hands with the Director in the Oval Office; what else?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I see we’ve caught you at a busy time, Director Marshall.” Katie charged in. “Too busy even to stand when two ladies enter the room. I suppose we’ll have to put good manner aside, for now. We are very busy and don’t have time for political nonsense, so if you’ll get to the point, we’d appreciate it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Director’s mouth slowly sagged open. Katie waited.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I…er…you…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Director, you asked to have a meeting with us. We assume it’s important; otherwise you wouldn’t have interrupted our work. So what is it?” Katie’s smile followed, disarming the barb.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Director of the FBI shuffled his overweight form around in his chair, composing himself. Amy, standing a little behind Katie, had a hard time keeping a straight face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I wanted to… ask… for an update on your investigation…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That’s not going to happen, Director,” interrupted Katie. “We don’t report to you. If you want to be copied on our work, you’ll need to talk to your superiors. Our work, and how we do it, is highly classified.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Director’s cheeks turned noticeably red.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’ll have you know I have held Top Secret security clearances for many years…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Access to our… <i>domain</i>, is far above that. It’s compartmentalized; need to know, and, last time I checked, you are not on the list.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Director was certainly not used to being spoken to in this way, and by a woman who could be his Mother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What if I issued an order to suspend collaboration with your… unit?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Less than half an hour after you utter the word, your personal cell-phone will ring and someone, whose photo you have nearby, will be on the other end of the line. You’ll be lucky to keep your job if you choose to mess with us.” Katie paused, allowing the message to seep through the Neanderthal brain. “Now, if that’s all…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I don’t take too kindly to threats, Lindon…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Director stopped speaking, and sat back, as Katie leaned on the edge of the desk, claiming its expanse for the women.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s Mrs Lindon, and should you have the balls to speak to me again, you will keep a civil and educated tongue in your head. You have no idea who you are talking to, and I, unlike the other women you terrorize in this building, will not take any of your crap. One phone call is all it will take to have someone more competent sit in that chair. Don’t mess with us, Director; it’s not in your own interest.” She paused and resumed with a more gentle tone. “If that’s all you’ve got, we’re busy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie smiled and turned to leave. Amy followed. The assistant watched them with a gaping mouth as they exited the Director’s office. Amy now realized that Katie had deliberately left the interconnecting door wide open so the assistant could hear everything. They walked to the elevator in silence. Once inside…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What the f...!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Just a bit of acting, my dear. We need to draw the line to stop him and the politicos on the Hill interfering. Their messing about could get us killed, remember. Apart from that, I rather enjoyed that meeting.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“But it’ll be all over the building tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Exactly… payback’s a bitch!” Remember P.P.I.?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy paused before replying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Would he really get a call from the President?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I couldn’t make that happen, but I’m sure Monsignor Cancelli could. The President is a devout Catholic, after all, …and that’s the sort of bluff that cowardly S.O.B. won’t ever think of calling.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I have another question…” Amy said timidly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Come on, dearie, out with it. I don’t bite, really; well, not much these days.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy was not sure whether the question would be welcome, but…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Mrs Lindon? Is there a Mr. Lindon?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie chuckled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No. That’s a long story. Married to my work most of the time, but using Mrs is far more imposing than Miss or Ms, don’t you think?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“P.P.I.” said Amy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You’re catching on.” said Katie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What did you do to the assistant’s computer…?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie raised a finger to her lips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Not here, my dear. Let’s get that cup of tea and I’ll let you into a little secret.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page;" /></span>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>12.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Blood Sucker took a final swig of his coffee, dabbed a paper serviette across his full lips, and sat back. He stood, throwing a couple of bills onto the table, and fished out a pair of wrap-around sunglasses from the top pocket of his dark suit. Repeating a movement he had been doing for many years, he deftly opened the frames with one abrupt flick of his wrist. The shades firmly in place, he made his way to the street door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A movement; a sense of focused attention behind him in the depths of the cafeteria.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He continued moving forward, toward the door; his senses, however, were searching out the source of the disturbance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The leader of the three-man team raised his eyes from the tablet. The pulsating red dot had reappeared some fifteen minutes ago, but had just blinked out again. He had listened, a wry smile on his lips, to the exchange between the women and the FBI’s Director. Worthy of one of the American reality shows, he thought. Expectantly, he noted the reference to something which was about to be divulged. Then, teasingly, the signal, and the audio, vanished again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s him!” The hushed whisper, delivered urgently by the man at his side, punctuated by a sharp elbow to his side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What?” The leader looked up at his teammate, following his gaze to the front of the cafeteria. Outlined against the strong morning light, a hulking figure moved near the entrance. He was big, yes, over two metres; bulky with muscle. The light, steaming in from outside, impeded a clear look at the face. He watched the figure take three steps toward the exit; the manner of movement flowing, feline almost, out of sync with such a broad, tall man; more like an athlete at the top of his game.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s him, I tell you.” The phrase insistent, spoken in rapid Italian.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You’re sure?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I caught a glimpse of his face when he stood up. I’m sure.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Five years of working together, building trust, was enough. The leader scooped up the tablet and dropped it into a messenger bag, flipping its strap over his right shoulder. He grabbed a handful of notes from his billfold and threw them on the table. His left hand found and extracted his cell phone from an overcoat pocket as he stood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He was aware of people standing quickly; movement, with him as the focus. He resisted the temptation to flick his dark lenses down and use his unprotected eyes to see into the darkness at the back of the cafeteria. His hearing, confused by intermittent kitchen sounds, by patrons’ conversations, by orders shouted, did little to help. Yet he knew, instinctively, to trust the feeling. He stepped through the door onto 9th Street and turned right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The harsh morning sun tried its best to take away his visual advantage. He was walking east. At the corner he stopped for a few seconds, concentrating. Behind him a door banged shut; not a sound anyone else paid attention to; yet he had memorized the sound as he had passed through the same door only seconds before. He strained: footfalls, quick, hard. Two sets; no, three. Walking fast so as not to draw too much attention to themselves. Closer; ten feet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He hopped off the pavement and trotted across to the FBI’s side of the street then turned right again, heading further down 9th Street, searching for a killing ground; somewhere more private to take care of the threat. He crossed F Street, still heading east, checking buildings; mostly storefronts and offices; not good for what he needed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Behind, the footsteps of his pursuers dropped back slightly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Ahead, a grey slate façade and a downward-sloping ramp, announcing a car park. Possible. At least out of the public eye. As he came level, he saw the length of the ramp would not give him enough time to reach its end before the attackers could start shooting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The next building: more office space, with a Travel Agent on the ground floor. Between it and the car park, an alleyway, in deep shadow thanks to the morning sun. He turned instantly, his speed increasing exponentially. Halfway down, he passed a large dumpster. With a deft flick of his hand as he ran past, he launched it into the centre of the alley to spoil a clear shot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The alley jinked left, opening up behind some shops, the back of another office building on the other side. Right again, narrower. The taller offices blocking even more sunlight. He pocketed his shades as he ran; his brain processing the grey-tinted images received from eyes capable of seeing in complete darkness. He did not bother looking back; the sound of the dumpster being pushed out of their way told him all he needed to know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They advanced more cautiously now, fanning out as much as the alleyway allowed. Their hands held large calibre pistols; their long suppressors probing the darkness ahead. Their leader knew the danger, knew the capabilities of their foe. He signalled for a halt, and all three donned compact night-vision goggles. Their world was now an array of green-washed hues that showed the alley branching left. A harsh light from the right, indicating another street-bound intersecting alleyway. Once they reached that corner, the light from the alley on the right would make the night-vision gear useless; a great place for an ambush. He hand-signalled his team; they removed their headgear and advanced slowly, guns extended in two-handed grips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The leader held back momentarily, speaking urgently into his cell phone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Blood Sucker waited, his breathing shallow; a deadly game of human chess playing out in the shadows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>13.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Katie opened their office door and entered. Amy was so intrigued with the events that morning, her mind overflowing with unanswered questions, she was almost unaware of the psychedelic disorientation of the inner passageway. She flopped down on the couch, looking over at Katie as she flicked the switch on the kettle again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I would die for a cup of tea just now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Katie. The…?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“SANTA’s Little Helpers, yes. Although I call them my Subordinate Clauses,” she laughed lightly. “SANTA processes data it receives from out there,” her hand waved vaguely at the space beyond the windows, “stuff its bots supply it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Bots?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes, like netbots, or spy bots. We use them all the time at the NSA now. They can get at places human agents can’t, and usually much quicker and with far less risk.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“So that’s what you did to the Director’s assistant’s computer…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Not just to her machine. Oh no, wouldn’t be worth the trouble. I needed access to his. It was on a credenza at the side of his… throne. Did you see it? A laptop, connected through Wi-Fi to his secretary’s machine, and maybe to a few others. Great setup. Even now my bot is working its way into its secrets.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“But I don’t understand why we need to spy on him. He’s a bastard, yes, but he’s on the side of the good guys, isn’t he.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes and no. We operate outside his bailiwick and that irks him. That was my third run-in in as many weeks with him. He tried his overpowering bully crap on me the first day I arrived, when I went to see him to try to facilitate our installation here. I wasn’t having any of it, so I put him in his place. Two days later he cornered me in an office and tried again. He was with two of his bodyguards and I had to leave all three in some pain. Coincidentally, that’s when I decided on the bunker approach to our office.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Wait. You took on the Director of the FBI and two of his bodyguards? He must outweigh you by at least four times. And the bodyguards would be armed. How did you do that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Oh, didn’t I mention it? I used to work in the Operations Directorate at the NSA. I started in Field Ops, because in those days we didn’t have the Internet to use as a means to attack our enemies’ computers. We had to go to wherever they were and break in to steal or copy what we wanted.” Katie waved a hand in front of her slight form. “I’m not exactly Rambo, so they found a way to provide me with some basic defence skills – firearms and Kyusho-jutsu; that’s vital points and how to attack them. I can look after myself quite well, even if I do say so myself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“So why do we need to spy on his assistant’s computer?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well, her machine is just the entry-point. My bots have four basic functions: Seek, Hide, Tunnel and Send. When I send a query to them via SANTA, they search out everything in their particular domain that may be related to what I’m looking for. Then they package and encrypt the data and send it to SANTA. Tunnel is basically domain growing. I load the bot into the secretary’s machine and, at the first opportunity, it creeps undetected over to the Director’s computer. His is a laptop and probably not connected to the main FBI network; but it will be connected to his secretary’s computer. Also, did you see that his smartphone was plugged into the laptop? That means he probably syncs the two.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I don’t get it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“He may or may not take the laptop home. If he does, and if he connects it to the Internet to check his emails, watch porn or whatever, the Send part of the bot piggybacks on that connection and SANTA receives the info. However, supposing he doesn’t let the laptop leave the office – I either have to break in and steal the data, old school, or allow the bot to use the sync link to pass what I want to the phone’s memory and then either generate a call to SANTA or use the Internet connection to get the data to us. Tunnel is the bit of the code that grabs any and all data processors and uses them to create an area of influence. People can be very security-minded about a laptop, but will use a cell phone at the drop of a hat without giving a single thought to protecting their data. That’s what I, and SANTA, exploit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“And Hide is a sort of stealth mode, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You’re catching on. Hide does two things: it installs the bots without giving away any traces they are there, and, if push comes to shove, it destroys the bot leaving no trace of its activities.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“And you invented all of that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes, it’s part of my deal with Cancelli; why I’m here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A low, insistent buzzing came from one of Katie’s monitors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is that SANTA?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, it’s a phone call.” She picked up a wireless headset from the desk and, placing it in her right ear, hit a key on one of the keyboards. “Yes?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy watched as Katie listened for a few minutes, typing furiously. One of the monitors lit up showing a street map. Katie gazed at it for a couple of second, then:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That’s two blocks away! We’re on our way.” She dropped the earpiece on her desk, hit a key on the keyboard, flipped open a desk draw, withdrew a holstered pistol, then turned to Amy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You’re not going to believe this. That was Cancelli. The Blood Sucker’s been seen two blocks from here, a couple of minutes ago. Let’s go. Got your gun?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>14.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Blood Sucker waited. He could hear the breathing of his pursuers, even their heartbeats, if he strained his senses to their limits. There were three; one slightly ahead of the others, advancing in a triangular pattern designed to prevent all three being eliminated in the first onslaught. He had contemplated using his powerful legs to scale the wall of this narrower part of the alleyway; set an ambush from high above. However, his plan would allow him to take out only one of the attackers at best before the other two opened fire. So Plan B was the only option left. He lay absolutely still, wrapped in his dark overcoat, on top of a thick pipe running horizontally along the left hand wall at just above head height, his bulk pressed against the wall, his back to the alley. He could not see the men in this position, but neither could they detect his breathing or the lightness of his face and hands in the dark shadows. He relied on hearing and smell to provide information about their movements.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Footsteps, carefully placed; quiet, but not silent to his ears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The first pursuer was directly below.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Blood Sucker flexed his hands and pressed them against the wall to gain maximum leverage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Less than ten seconds; another man was now below.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Blood Sucker pushed against the wall. His strength, twice that of a fit human male, flipped him through the air. He landed catlike next to the third attacker. His right hand, fingers clawed open, clamped around the man’s trachea, pressing. He twisted his wrist violently to the right, feeling the snap as he crushed the attacker’s windpipe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Despite his light landing and the speed of his attack, his presence had not gone unnoticed. The other two men had sensed movement through the air and had turned in his direction, their pistols seeking a target as they peered through the darkness. The Blood Sucker reached down, taking hold of the dying man’s weapon. He twisted around, grabbing the man’s arm, spinning the choking form toward the lead attacker. He dropped low and fired two quick shots at the other attacker; centre mass hits. The man staggered back against the far wall, but did not fall: Body Armour! The Blood Sucker raised the pistol and aimed higher. A single shot. His enhanced vision showing a spurt of liquid dark-grey ejected from the attacker’s head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The leader had tried to sidestep his blood-spewing companion, but flailing, grabbing hands had impeded his intent. He shook off the man’s demands for help, pushing the dying form to his left as he levelled the barrel of his pistol. He fired two, three, four shots at the shadows, unclear about his target’s position. He sensed, rather than saw, movement off to his left and flicked the barrel in that direction, firing through fear more than training. The gun jammed open; desperation made for fumbling hands as he pulled back the slide and tried to retrieve and reload a fresh magazine from his coat pocket. Before the clip found the quick-load guide in the pistol’s butt, the leader was hit solidly from behind. The blow pushed his chest forward; inertia flinging arms out to the sides. Years of training finally kicked in; the leader dropped the pistol and grabbed the handle of a large knife hidden under his right shoulder, pulling down to free the razor-sharp blade from its tether.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As soon as the foot-long blade was free he wielded it repeatedly in a figure of eight pattern in front of his body, trying to create a shield against his foe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A low chuckle filtered from the darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I think you’ve seen too many films, me darlin’. What’ya going to do? Lop off my head?” The voice threateningly close, its menace hidden by the gentle lilt of Irish brogue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The leader flicked the blade in the direction of the voice, aiming blind, hoping for fortuitous contact.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He felt solid finger close around his forearm, trapping his hand in the air. Less than a second later a stinging blow to the back of his fist caused the extensors in his hand to contract. His finger flew open, launching the knife off into the black shadows at his left. He heard his last line of defence clatter against something metallic in the distance. His forearm was released.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The leader dropped to his knees, staring into the gloom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ansi-language: ES; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Padre nostro, che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome, venga il tuo regno, sia fatta la tua volont…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Not His will; mine!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The leader closed his eyes as he felt the contact of two powerful hands on his head and left shoulder. He thought he saw a brief flash; then he felt nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Blood Sucker allowed the limp body to crumple at his feet. He stood, allowing his senses to open; seeking signs the events of the last few minutes, the shots, despite being suppressed, were bringing more people to the alleyway. He could hear the slapping of multiple feet against the pavement, closing on his position.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He glanced down at the corpse and started to turn away, then stopped. He reached down, taking hold of a dark plastic rectangle poking from the dead man’s messenger bag. The Blood Sucker touched the tablet’s surface and was rewarded with a street map; two red circles blinked, overlapped, blinked again, in rapid movement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What do we have here?” he muttered to himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Turning he trotted further down the alley, deeper into the shadows of a tall wall. With a last glance behind, he sped up his pace, using forward momentum to keep his body upright as he ran up the wall and vaulted over into the grounds at the back of Saint Patrick’s Catholic Church. A minute later he emerged at the Tenth Street Northwest façade of the church. Only a grey-painted wire gate and three short flights of stairs separated him from the street. Thirty seconds, and he climbed into a cab in front of the Zara store on F Street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Lincoln Memorial, please,” he said to the driver, as he looked down at the tablet’s screen. The two dots were now in the alleyway, flashing their insistent rouge as they closed on the carnage he had left behind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNah2X897NWNNiIx-4Q6NOLZK_54WYCBIq9O2LeAIJYPK7Hyc0TaWbGx1XwJS9TaCgDCflnhmYHb3omDUveTe9EIDhz5oPtcQp1jo7cKVTOyh3QDkEKrrdcAAKJ7GEFozJtkzMxVT-ds8/s1600/D1sWWcynavS._SL250_FMpng_.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNah2X897NWNNiIx-4Q6NOLZK_54WYCBIq9O2LeAIJYPK7Hyc0TaWbGx1XwJS9TaCgDCflnhmYHb3omDUveTe9EIDhz5oPtcQp1jo7cKVTOyh3QDkEKrrdcAAKJ7GEFozJtkzMxVT-ds8/s1600/D1sWWcynavS._SL250_FMpng_.png" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">There are FOUR novels in 'the CULL' series curently available. The fifth and final, '<b>the CULL - Blood Kill</b>', will be published later this year.</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">Some of the things they are saying about </span></span></b><br />
<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">‘</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">the CULL - Bloodline</span><span style="font-size: large;">’</span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">"<i>...</i></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0cm;"><i>once I started I couldn't put it down. This book is one of the best books I have read in a while</i></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-indent: 0cm;">"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>"</i></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0cm;">Confident, tough as nails and action packed! the CULL - Bloodline weaves an incredibly fast paced and detailed plot that reads like an action movie Jason Bourne would be envious of.</span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-indent: 0cm;">"</i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">"</span></span><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0cm;">The author weaves a refreshing tale of two strong women (yes - women!) agents pursuing a dangerous quarry, while themselves being pursued. Throw in murky government agencies, the Vatican, lots of IT wizardry, and any number of other players with their own violent agendas, and you have the recipe for a great page-turner. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0cm;">This is a gripping action book, fast-paced and addictive. You're going to have a problem putting it down. Remember to breathe.</span></i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-indent: 0cm;">"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>"</i></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0cm;">Got the boxed set, so I read all 3 books start to finish. And I did it in a hurry! And when I was done, I was impatient for the next one. A unique and interesting take on the old vampire stories. It's fun and unpredictable. I love that the good guys aren't saints and the bad guys aren't demons. Lots of gray areas in there, give the story more depth</span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-indent: 0cm;">"</i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">"</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0cm;"><i>one of those books that is so engrossing you just want it to keep going, so I was very happy to see it’s a series of four books – and I plan to read them all.</i></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-indent: 0cm;">"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>"</i></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0cm;">I really enjoyed how the author's research into his theory about how the vampires came to be. Although I know this is a work of fiction, it makes you think. There's a lot of action in this book, and it can move pretty fast at times. There's also a lot of danger and thrills in the plot. Hard to put down</span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-indent: 0cm;">"</i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">"</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; text-indent: 0cm;">Near the end I found myself shouting aloud at [</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0cm;">character</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; text-indent: 0cm;">] saying not to [</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0cm;">deleted to avoid spoilers</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0cm;"><i>], I was so involved in the story.</i></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-indent: 0cm;">"</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">All this… and you’ve still not read it?</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Make that right today:</span> </b><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><a href="http://authl.it/B00AGZ27FA?d" target="_blank"><i>Amazon Link</i></a></span></b></div>
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<b>Eric @ <span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank">www.ericjgates.com</a></i></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-17088485939679704202016-12-31T16:50:00.000+01:002016-12-31T17:21:11.638+01:00A Happy Kindle New Year to all my Readers & Friends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-U93Y__b1eaBik2ObSxhJrwRLHapywF6HRRXtS8M75Q9o1E7A4oaLy6AnWhYi7R8xMmiu3UZrcphzNcgAlMPJjZtFLxh7OGa1tkISdscPTJs2PXocUpNSUXPk9vahuFHGTTOE0CepiUU/s1600/Happy+New+Year.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-U93Y__b1eaBik2ObSxhJrwRLHapywF6HRRXtS8M75Q9o1E7A4oaLy6AnWhYi7R8xMmiu3UZrcphzNcgAlMPJjZtFLxh7OGa1tkISdscPTJs2PXocUpNSUXPk9vahuFHGTTOE0CepiUU/s400/Happy+New+Year.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's odd, you might say, that I should start 2017 with a </span><b><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">WARNING</span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></b></span>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b>Very odd!</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b>Yet I've been advised that I should...</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>You may have seen adverts on Social Media like this...</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRzJYpB0Karx31tlEYJ2CHATynHQQBzm9DZLp2UnZ7Epxs23YgjtAhVwZ6D8y9ldTR7L1Ih1pDmJiU22H8yt430Dgq4UDUu37ahKfTFPAZKYJ_iKLPmdbhq13ad_9W6MMOf_cVtAmN44s/s1600/the+CULL+promo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRzJYpB0Karx31tlEYJ2CHATynHQQBzm9DZLp2UnZ7Epxs23YgjtAhVwZ6D8y9ldTR7L1Ih1pDmJiU22H8yt430Dgq4UDUu37ahKfTFPAZKYJ_iKLPmdbhq13ad_9W6MMOf_cVtAmN44s/s1600/the+CULL+promo.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">well, you should know, the series is</span></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-large;">ADDICTIVE</span><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: x-large;">!</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">its characters, both heroes and villains; its fast-paced narrative; its blurring of good and bad...</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i>will insinuate themselves into your waking hours,</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i>will populate your dreams,</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i>will have you begging for more...</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i>...and what's worse...</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i>there will be a fifth book this year...</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYdAMZHbFOgtuqOXkPFm7lhfMS-owMZ2AFnSHzwD1-QljYlJPfR9_oadF7LeOJQMi2pSgb7MQTzEKSxZ7by7iY_a4N6TfgvCp2dB6LToJbKEpygnRUKhBGtREYO8fK3QH0uFuvF3JMX18/s1600/the+CULL+bk+5+-+Blood+Kill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYdAMZHbFOgtuqOXkPFm7lhfMS-owMZ2AFnSHzwD1-QljYlJPfR9_oadF7LeOJQMi2pSgb7MQTzEKSxZ7by7iY_a4N6TfgvCp2dB6LToJbKEpygnRUKhBGtREYO8fK3QH0uFuvF3JMX18/s400/the+CULL+bk+5+-+Blood+Kill.jpg" width="250" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i>...and that one will outdo all the others!</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i>Read book 1 today... while its still FREE</i></b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B00AGZ27FA?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i>Oh, and don't forget... I did WARN you!</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i>"</i></b></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Remember to breathe</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">"</span></i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><i>Happy New Year.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Eric @ </span><a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">www.ericjgates.com</span></a></i></b></span></div>
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Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-79679718427265008342016-12-23T17:09:00.004+01:002016-12-23T17:09:59.206+01:00A Merry Kindle Kristmas to All<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFN9mhTGGRFhdu0RzXBpsI0vcKbYVNi2GsmvTXJxhayEk3mGRRFCi-uBi2fgnvLW36iAFYu6-PnnazabSeQPuOGTYmM6vREhpOr_7EnKv75zHwsRftOlCgwITMZwF6RZ-EXolkSzyzyy8/s1600/Team+effort.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFN9mhTGGRFhdu0RzXBpsI0vcKbYVNi2GsmvTXJxhayEk3mGRRFCi-uBi2fgnvLW36iAFYu6-PnnazabSeQPuOGTYmM6vREhpOr_7EnKv75zHwsRftOlCgwITMZwF6RZ-EXolkSzyzyy8/s640/Team+effort.jpg" width="512" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">On the one hand there's been me, the author, writing away, producing my fast-paced suspense thrillers...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">On the other, there's been <b><span style="color: blue;">YOU</span></b>, the readers, the friends, who have provided encouragement, feedback, motivation to continue against the obstacles that lay between the idea and the finished novel.</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b>Thank you. Thank you all.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8oFZH4k6QzT4ArXuQim-yoJSL4RXDEeA6Am-_bMeOquMc41YV_0ELn7Ep9WLaGny7iiZzqPO0pvbqTeNsFinoL4qPHbRgRsA74ES0elk9MHDBwfdrwM9QB5phe56Di6gg3VGtzIeFVxo/s1600/Gift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8oFZH4k6QzT4ArXuQim-yoJSL4RXDEeA6Am-_bMeOquMc41YV_0ELn7Ep9WLaGny7iiZzqPO0pvbqTeNsFinoL4qPHbRgRsA74ES0elk9MHDBwfdrwM9QB5phe56Di6gg3VGtzIeFVxo/s320/Gift.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #990000;">My </span><b style="color: #990000;">gift</b><span style="color: #990000;"> for you: click on the fountain pen at the bottom of the first page of my website </span><b><i><u><a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">www.ericjgates.com</span></a></u></i></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSba9gHnXKeENh4FPh0vheZkBoX1rmXKhOQ6pVwAmRILXCPCt6H9bw5H97fpmNL2AqVfFMgcidezStB2sbeuzyCYIrDqLKBXQ48UJJM4slZNMNQmTYNR2PgqSOjhm5bkeff5nJdRrckdM/s1600/Merry+Christmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSba9gHnXKeENh4FPh0vheZkBoX1rmXKhOQ6pVwAmRILXCPCt6H9bw5H97fpmNL2AqVfFMgcidezStB2sbeuzyCYIrDqLKBXQ48UJJM4slZNMNQmTYNR2PgqSOjhm5bkeff5nJdRrckdM/s400/Merry+Christmas.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-59317602996293683742016-12-07T16:50:00.000+01:002016-12-07T16:50:40.004+01:00My Guest: Lawrence Block<div style="text-align: justify;">
My Guest this week is here indirectly. I have the honour to host an interview previous published in <b><i>The Big Thrill</i></b> Magazine conducted of one GIANT in the Thriller writing business by another. Ladies and Gentlemen...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQYcFoRb6Bi5PpXWYL1HsW6Mg4IkXDgYLu_HNbHrBdvB7VrKjszc37LB7ASp3c4EtQiylxGEczAYYdTiG2VmJq3jrrI1E1JAUwNygfvrOZxolq9VMJBLVdwj9foZ0fyFHbZ4R1NzFvGi0/s1600/Getting+Off+author+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQYcFoRb6Bi5PpXWYL1HsW6Mg4IkXDgYLu_HNbHrBdvB7VrKjszc37LB7ASp3c4EtQiylxGEczAYYdTiG2VmJq3jrrI1E1JAUwNygfvrOZxolq9VMJBLVdwj9foZ0fyFHbZ4R1NzFvGi0/s320/Getting+Off+author+photo.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Lawrence Block</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A Master of Crime Fiction</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Tells All</b></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Interview By <b>David Morrell</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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There are few contemporary authors I respect as much as Lawrence Block,
and I’m not the only one who feels that way, as his list of honors indicates:
Grand Master Award from Mystery Writers of America, four Edgars and four
Shamuses, Lifetime Achievement Award from the Private Eye Writers of America,
Diamond Dagger for Lifetime Achievement Award from the Crime Writers
Association ... and I’m just getting started.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFmJ5S19jCPE5RKiwOFc3ixGc61X8i0Cr1tYf_m3mRz9VuU98ofxQTVeZyP_2eu_Hb1dEbNG6cDDSLIaKfGRfQD-XVvBTXGqsdXkIYjOZvjgJBQkGawsKvV4x3Ueq8J2VhSPvIh3lhYZk/s1600/Mostly+Murder+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFmJ5S19jCPE5RKiwOFc3ixGc61X8i0Cr1tYf_m3mRz9VuU98ofxQTVeZyP_2eu_Hb1dEbNG6cDDSLIaKfGRfQD-XVvBTXGqsdXkIYjOZvjgJBQkGawsKvV4x3Ueq8J2VhSPvIh3lhYZk/s400/Mostly+Murder+cover.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><u><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://authl.it/B01N48H0FN?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></span></u></i></b></td></tr>
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The length of Larry’s career is equally impressive — more than five
decades. Read that again. More than five decades. Longevity isn’t as important
as quality, though, and he just keeps getting better, never disappointing in
the four (count them, four) splendid series that demonstrate the depth of his
talent, featuring cop-turned-detective Matthew Scudder, globetrotting insomniac
Evan Tanner, introspective assassin Keller, and hilarious bookselling burglar
Bernie Rhodenbarr (my personal favorite).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Among Larry’s more than 100 books, there are two non-fiction volumes
that ITW members should consider required reading: his collection of essays
about his friendships with such crime-writing legends as Donald E. Westlake and
Evan Hunter/Ed McBain (The Crime of Our Lives) and his writing book (Write for
Your Life).<o:p></o:p></div>
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But it’s Larry’s latest, <b><i><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://amzn.to/2gkxwBL" target="_blank">THE GIRL WITH THE DEEP BLUE EYES</a></span></u></i></b>, that we’re
here to talk about—an amazing update on the scorchers that James M. Cain
pioneered with The Postman Always Rings Twice and Double Indemnity...<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><u><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://amzn.to/2fP17jN" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></span></u></i></b></td></tr>
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<b><i>Hard Case Crime published <u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://amzn.to/2gkxwBL" target="_blank">THE GIRL WITH THE DEEP BLUE EYES</a></span></u>, giving it
one of their fabulous covers that re-create the classic look of crime novels in
the 1950s and 1960s. The cover is hot, but your novel is even hotter. What
inspired you to take a new look at this powerful sex-and-murder subgenre?<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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Hard Case reissued an early pseudonymous book of mine, Borderline, and
damned if it didn’t get far better reviews than I felt it deserved. And I was
telling my wife that it might be fun to write something similar—fast-paced,
pulpy, with the narrative drive more important than the plot. “It might,” she
said, and 15 seconds later—no joke—I sat up and said, “I’ve got an idea.” Now
most ideas wither on the vine, and that’s probably just as well, but this one
stayed with me and grew, and less than two months later I was writing it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>Borderline was published in the 1950s when you were learning your craft,
writing pulps under your many pseudonyms (ten that I know of). Damned good
pulps. Invaluable training. Booklist described the reissue of Borderline as a
gleeful mix of “soft-core pornography with a thriller plot.” <u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://amzn.to/2gkxwBL" target="_blank">THE GIRL WITH THE DEEP BLUE EYES</a></span></u> fits that description also, except that its sex scenes are more
than soft-core. What made you decide to push the “borderline,” so to speak?<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><u><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://amzn.to/2eZ4gP6" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></span></u></i></b></td></tr>
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Changing times, I suppose. Back in the old Nightstand/Midwood days,
which we’re now calling Midcentury Erotica, the sex scenes were as graphic as
they were allowed to be, and were specifically intended to arouse the reader
once a chapter. Well, the world has changed, and censorship has disappeared, so
it was natural for me to make the book as candid as possible—and at the same time
I was no longer aiming for an erotic effect per se, just trying to write
frankly and honestly. I’d gone there before—in my post 9/11 novel, Small Town,
in 2003, and more recently in Getting Off. (I received a surprising amount of
flak over Small Town from readers who were used to the more circumspect Bernie
Rhodenbarr; they felt they’d been ambushed. Happily, the cover of Getting Off
let everybody know what to expect.) I’m interested in people’s sex lives, and I
have to assume readers are, too. Faubion Bowers observed that sex is the one
interesting thing even boring people do. I’d hope my characters aren’t boring,
but in any event their sex lives are interesting.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>In some examples of this sex-and-murder subgenre, the reader is only
told that the sex is powerful whereas you show it vividly and make the killer’s
motivation convincing. The set pieces are amazing narrative accomplishments.
Over the years, I wrote very few sex scenes because I always felt I was
censoring myself. How do you manage to avoid the trap of self-censorship? Was
there ever a moment when you thought you’d gone too far?<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtC4m6vwlUq-ORla9jLjHAwRW4zhlBzXFaP8dyML3EVmP1d79ndubSPuWhFEPAYWaqAq2qq3lkGvik1iYcAvpL3JoCfUDO1UKdD_EbfMJr9X-IMdmxw9b0YzaprJT63bYA1TQHFo2ZJE/s1600/sinner_man_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtC4m6vwlUq-ORla9jLjHAwRW4zhlBzXFaP8dyML3EVmP1d79ndubSPuWhFEPAYWaqAq2qq3lkGvik1iYcAvpL3JoCfUDO1UKdD_EbfMJr9X-IMdmxw9b0YzaprJT63bYA1TQHFo2ZJE/s400/sinner_man_cover.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><u><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://amzn.to/2eZ5kCl" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></span></u></i></b></td></tr>
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No, never. For some reason it all rang true for me, and I just let it
happen. You know, I grew up reading John O’Hara, and he did more in sex scenes
with pure dialogue than most people could manage with an entire film crew. And,
while I wrote <b><i><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://amzn.to/2gkxwBL" target="_blank">THE GIRL WITH THE DEEP BLUE EYES</a></span></u></i></b> entirely on spec, I figured
Charles Ardai at Hard Case was the most likely publisher for it. And I knew I
didn’t have to worry about holding back as far as Charles was concerned. He’d
proved that with Getting Off, where he actually suggested a wicked addition to
one scene that put it way way over the top. (And I , who ordinarily welcome
suggestions as enthusiastically as Trump welcomes immigrants, promptly embraced
it wholeheartedly.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>Lest we give readers the impression that this is erotica and not a
thriller, I need to emphasize the game of wits that the killer plays with the
police and the rocket pace of the story, with shockers I could never have
predicted. The leanness of the prose is a master class in thriller writing. One
technique I particularly admired is a scene that you describe twice, making me
(and the police) believe the first version, then revealing what actually
happened. Did you ever have a sense that you were finding new ways to tell this
kind of story?<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://amzn.to/2gkxwBL" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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I know the scene you’re referring to, and it seems to me I knew almost
from the moment I had the idea for the book that I would structure it that way.
By the time I sat down to begin the book, I’d had the scene in mind long enough
to know how to write it. And yet other things weren’t planned at all. The
realtor, who’s surely a significant presence in the very first chapter, just
turned up out of nowhere. She shows him a house, his offer’s accepted, and he
asks how they should celebrate. And she takes off her wedding ring and drops it
in her purse. Now where the hell did that come from? And where did she come
from? Writing’s a mystery, isn’t it? The more I do it, the less I understand
the whole business.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>One final question and a change of topic. Recently one of your Matthew
Scudder novels, <u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://amzn.to/2gkuc9R" target="_blank">A Walk among the Tombstones</a></span></u>, was released as a feature film,
starring Liam Neeson. I liked the movie a lot. What was your own reaction?<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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The film was ten years in development. After all that time, I didn’t
know what to expect, but I’m happy to say I loved it, thought Liam Neeson was
the perfect choice, and can’t say enough about the job Scott Frank did as
writer and director. The color/noir depiction of New York City is stunning.
Meanwhile, a television producer has optioned <b><i><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://amzn.to/2gkxwBL" target="_blank">The Girl With the Deep Blue Eyes</a></span></u></i></b>
and is shopping it for a one-season series, probably on cable. Dunno if
anything will happen, but I’m hopeful. And no, I have no idea who they might
cast; aside from the female lead’s eye color, I’d say it’s wide open.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i><span lang="EN-GB">I speak for a
lot of people when I say that my fingers are crossed. Thanks for visiting The
Big Thrill. This was a fun conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">When Lawrence isn't writing gritty crime thrillers or gathering awards for his work, he can be found here:</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b><a href="http://lawrenceblock.com/" id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1479315348582_138250" rel="" shape="rect" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, "Lucida Grande", sans-serif; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: start;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">LB's Blog and Website</span></a><br clear="none" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, "Lucida Grande", sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/lawrence.block" id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1479315348582_138201" rel="" shape="rect" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, "Lucida Grande", sans-serif; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: start;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">LB's Facebook Fan Page</span></a><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; outline-color: initial; outline-width: initial;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/LawrenceBlockOfficialFanPage" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #196ad4; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, "Lucida Grande", sans-serif; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: start;" target="_blank"></a></span><br clear="none" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, "Lucida Grande", sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , sans-serif;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/LawrenceBlock" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">@LawrenceBlock</span></a></span></b></span></div>
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Thank you Lawrence for giving your permission for this interview to be reproduced here.<br />
<br />
I confess to being in the throes of hero worship at the moment, first for being able to count on Lawrence for his collaboration on my blog and second for having had the opportunity to participate in the <b><i><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://authl.it/B01N48H0FN?d" target="_blank">MOSTLY MURDER - TILL DEATH</a></span></u></i></b> mystery anthology project together with him. Yes, this has been a good year!<br />
<br />
Eric @ <b><i><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank">www.ericjgates.com</a></span></u></i></b></div>
Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-69480766553847702822016-11-23T19:51:00.000+01:002016-12-01T17:36:16.186+01:00My Guest: Judith Lucci<div style="text-align: justify;">
My Guest this week is not alone. She has brought a friend of the four-footed kind with her. It's not often an author brings one of their characters to a spot on this blog. Now, where did I put those treats? Ladies and Gentlemen...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT9tnfbMlSbOWXX4AkKhdjAFiH8FmuChb2doSwrBlLw8NkhPwfpYthZPOXViG8xEvfBgo9x-KIeYY1ia7l9OADLJBg2SHDZO0TZpGtZQf7wNEmmfiU8Td0WS5unVF6xdXeixpYQfElo48/s1600/judith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT9tnfbMlSbOWXX4AkKhdjAFiH8FmuChb2doSwrBlLw8NkhPwfpYthZPOXViG8xEvfBgo9x-KIeYY1ia7l9OADLJBg2SHDZO0TZpGtZQf7wNEmmfiU8Td0WS5unVF6xdXeixpYQfElo48/s400/judith.jpg" width="246" /></a><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Judith Lucci</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Inspiration for Angel</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I LOVE DOGS! I have five of my own, and would have more if
I could manage it. If I had my life to do over again, I’d be a veterinarian,
and after I paid for groceries, I’d be a free vet so I could offer care for
millions of animals whose owner can’t afford expensive vet care. There, I bet
you can see it, I’m a bona fide animal lover who oftentimes love animals more
than people. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B01LVVZE2H?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For me, there’s nothing in this world more wonderful than dogs. </span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">They love us unconditionally. They
don’t need college funds or designer labels. Their adolescence is short-lived
and if they get mad at you, they poo in the kitchen. So what… A simple pick-up…
not a trip to the local jail or a $1,500.00 retainer for legal
representation. Dogs don’t have traffic
accidents, need cars or prom gowns. They need you, your love and attention. Of
course my dogs aren’t working dogs. They’re companion dogs. In my family, I
work for the dogs but it doesn’t matter because they bring me love, laughter
and pleasure. There’s no wonder I have a hero dog, </span><b style="line-height: 107%;">Angel</b><span style="line-height: 107%;">, in the </span><b style="line-height: 107%;"><i>Michaela McPherson crime series </i></b><i style="line-height: 107%;">who is a major character<b>. </b></i><span style="line-height: 107%;"> Also of mention is
that </span><b style="line-height: 107%;">Alex Destephano</b><span style="line-height: 107%;">, the
protagonist, in </span><b style="line-height: 107%;"><i>my medical thriller series</i></b><span style="line-height: 107%;"> was recently gifted </span><b style="line-height: 107%;">Shogun</b><span style="line-height: 107%;">, a retired military working dog,
by her law-and-order Congressman Grandfather. I’m not exactly sure what Shogun
will do in the fifth book of the series because I haven’t finished it. Of
course, if you’ve read any of the </span><b style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00XM1FYB4/ref=series_rw_dp_sw" target="_blank"><i>Alex Destephano Medical Thrillers</i></a></b><span style="line-height: 107%;">, you know Alex has had lots of escapes from
madmen and flirtations with death. The fifth book, currently titled </span><b style="line-height: 107%;">Malicious Maleficence</b><span style="line-height: 107%;"> is scheduled for
release in the spring of 2017).</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3l-GcywwaRVuIcpEqwFwv993_qaxB0gYs2nMZ1kxda6XIXTiTgBOa3_AbwzXHf_jw-9E10ULxptiU2p9m58OZUJAPGc8IhoOrGh4nUFClcN6C2ayk-9GZjarS42S80H5cCtDXidO5q94/s1600/15151497_10207019124589265_464182721_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3l-GcywwaRVuIcpEqwFwv993_qaxB0gYs2nMZ1kxda6XIXTiTgBOa3_AbwzXHf_jw-9E10ULxptiU2p9m58OZUJAPGc8IhoOrGh4nUFClcN6C2ayk-9GZjarS42S80H5cCtDXidO5q94/s200/15151497_10207019124589265_464182721_n.jpg" width="160" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dogs are our best friends, but it’s
even bigger than that. Dogs save lives. Police, military and medical dogs are
major contributors to society. <span style="color: #252525;">Contemporary dogs in
military roles in the United States and United Kingdom are referred to as
police dogs, military working dogs (MWD), or K-9s. As of 2011, there were over six hundred U.S.
Military dogs actively participating in the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan
and in war zones across the world. I suspect that number has gone up based on
the efficacy, efficiency and research on canines in war.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLxAXJ-VczYTYzO3KgXg_6RqJFgAS_nCwMprKlbhL1kd-hZIBOnF_12bPX-iIlBy6-1pSQISJ9Ya7cH1Zeal5wFbsgvPNoTNGy0oPCiIx9oMkPrg_b5hfdZ9_5UXNFFe7K0qAdkD4WOo/s1600/policedogtrngrich.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLxAXJ-VczYTYzO3KgXg_6RqJFgAS_nCwMprKlbhL1kd-hZIBOnF_12bPX-iIlBy6-1pSQISJ9Ya7cH1Zeal5wFbsgvPNoTNGy0oPCiIx9oMkPrg_b5hfdZ9_5UXNFFe7K0qAdkD4WOo/s200/policedogtrngrich.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #050505; line-height: 107%;">Dogs have
been used by law enforcement agencies for over a hundred
years. The English used bloodhounds while searching for Jack
the Ripper in 1888, and allowed canines to accompany Bobbies
on patrol. In 1899, in Ghent, Belgium, police started
formally training dogs for police work. This enhanced the
popularity of dogs for police work. By 1910, Germany had police
dogs in over 600 of their largest cities. In 1938, South London
introduced two specially trained Labrador Retrievers to
the Metropolitan Police Force to accompany Bobbies
on patrol.<br />
<br />
In the 1970’s dogs in law enforcement took a foothold in the United
States. Canines’ are considered an integral part of the police
force, and often have their own badges. From the hundreds of dog
breeds, there are some that are widely known for their presence in law enforcement.
The most widely trained dog for regular patrol work is the German
Shepherd. Other exemplary breeds include the Labrador Retriever,
Belgian Malinois, and the Dutch Shepherd. Certain breeds have been used
for special purposes, such as detecting illegal drugs or explosives, and
tracking fugitives or missing persons. </span><span style="color: #050505; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="http://www.dogsforlawenforcement.org/police-canines-in-history.html" target="_blank">http://www.dogsforlawenforcement.org/police-canines-in-history.html</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #050505; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46k6oIYv8PPtOh_iTuCE3YcgpWcNudssAvbC_XBZlOceM5-b17KKNIozKNxoD-xPK_E_KtxEOYuT7cpukxn11L7DhoWR7jFYnVgfeJBJhuKj_FGVKoqVEZNNlxljHop2tiWNqoc7Ot0g/s1600/drug+sniffing.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46k6oIYv8PPtOh_iTuCE3YcgpWcNudssAvbC_XBZlOceM5-b17KKNIozKNxoD-xPK_E_KtxEOYuT7cpukxn11L7DhoWR7jFYnVgfeJBJhuKj_FGVKoqVEZNNlxljHop2tiWNqoc7Ot0g/s320/drug+sniffing.jpeg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #050505; line-height: 107%;">Dogs are
also critical partners in the military as well. </span><span style="color: #252525; line-height: 107%;"> All MWDs in use today are paired with a single
individual after their training. This person is called a handler. While a
handler usually won't stay with one dog for the length of either's career,
usually a handler will stay partnered with a dog for at least a year, and
sometimes much longer. The latest canine tactical vests are outfitted with
cameras and durable microphones that allow dogs to relay audio and visual
information to their handlers.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifgBoM-iSaIYfrN_jXnybIz2nbL8GVtsxijw4trCIcDOYuZ6zjS_C6gEsnoQJS7M58Rii9EMk8xZTPGvf8kfVlAC60acBH4a2-NjWaHcYHjDoBUwLaPHp1ClUbSJLU2sffdrC1eQyLiCU/s1600/angelmad.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifgBoM-iSaIYfrN_jXnybIz2nbL8GVtsxijw4trCIcDOYuZ6zjS_C6gEsnoQJS7M58Rii9EMk8xZTPGvf8kfVlAC60acBH4a2-NjWaHcYHjDoBUwLaPHp1ClUbSJLU2sffdrC1eQyLiCU/s1600/angelmad.jpeg" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #050505;">Dogs have
played key roles in military operations since the beginning recorded history.
Early dogs functioned as trackers and sentries, but now dogs are full members
of the military team. </span><span style="color: #252525;">Contemporary dogs in
military roles are also often referred to as<span class="apple-converted-space">
police dogs</span>, K-9, or Military Working Dogs or in the United States
(MWD). A military working dog worked
with Seal Team 6 on the capture of bin Laden. These dogs are unsung heroes with
their ability to find missing persons, sniff out explosives (IEDs) and uncover
illegal drugs. As of 2011, 600 U.S.
Military dogs were actively participating in the conflicts in Iraq and
Afghanistan.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;">Medical Response Service
Dogs.</span> </b><span style="line-height: 107%;">While not all service
dogs <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<a href="http://authl.it/B01BJ4V6AS?d" style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: xx-large; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.8px;"> </span></div>
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possess the ability to detect a medical crisis before it happens and alert
to it, that does not mean they cannot have jobs that are crucial to their
handlers' safety! There are innumerable things service dogs can do to assist
their disabled handlers in response to medical crises. A service dog can be
trained to respond in what is often a life-saving manner, once the handler
begins to experience a medical crisis. These types of service dogs are referred
to as "Medical Response Dogs."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some skills that medical
response dogs can be trained to perform include, but are not limited to,
seeking out another individual when their handlers are experiencing a medical
crisis and need help, positioning their handlers in a manner that will keep
them safe during a seizure, retrieving emergency medication, dialing 911 on
phones equipped for use by service dogs and a wide variety of unique skills
that not only give the gift of independence, but can also mean the difference
between life and death for their handlers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #050505; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the
Michaela McPherson crime series, Angel is a highly trained, experienced police
canine. Angel is Mic’s retired police canine partner. The pair served together
for several years before Angel was retired - with honors - from the Richmond
Police department after he took a bullet and saved Michaela’s life. What’s
important to note, is Angel’s heroic behavior didn’t change after his
retirement. He remains a hero even in his retirement which you can read about
in <b>The Case of Dr. Dude</b> and <b>The Case of the Dead Dowager</b>. Some
might argue Angel is the best character… I’m not sure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #050505; line-height: 107%;">Reviews about Angel from </span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B01BJ4V6AS?d" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">The Case of Dr. Dude</span></a></u></i><span style="color: #050505;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #050505; line-height: 107%;">“</span><span style="background: white; color: #111111; line-height: 107%;">The combination of Michaela, the Countess and
the police (oh, and the retired police dog, Angel) is a wonderfully satisfying
mix where they all come at the problem from their own distinct individual
angles. I look forward to the next one.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Dottie is quite the gutsy character! Love her!!! Dr. Dude is a weird
dude for sure. Angel, what can you say about a sweet, protective doggie?</i><span class="apple-converted-space"><i> He just made the story that much better!”</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #111111; line-height: 107%;">Early Reviews about Angel from </span><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B01LVVZE2H?d" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">The Case of theDead Dowager</span></a></u></i><span style="color: #111111;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #111111; line-height: 107%;">“</span></span><span style="background: white; color: #111111; line-height: 107%;">I love Michaela and Dottie… they are both such
original and real characters and Angel, well, retired police dog Angel is just
the bomb and the star of the show.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Loved it. Reminds me a bit of Miss Marple, but boy, I just love Angel…”</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="background: white; color: blue; line-height: 107%;"><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B01LVVZE2H?d" target="_blank">The Case of the Dead Dowager</a></u></i></span></b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; line-height: 107%;"> comes out on Kindle December 2<sup> </sup>and
can be preordered for .99 </span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="http://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fbit.ly%2FGetCaseofDowager&h=MAQFfxiL-" target="_blank"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: blue;"><b><i>http://bit.ly/GetCaseofDowager</i></b></span></span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="background: rgb(246 , 247 , 249); color: #365899;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #111111; line-height: 107%;">The print edition is
currently available at </span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Case-Dead-Dowager-McPherson-Thrillers-ebook/dp/B01LVVZE2H" target="_blank"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="color: blue;"><b><i>https://www.amazon.com/Case-Dead-Dowager-McPherson-Thrillers-ebook/dp/B01LVVZE2H</i></b></span></span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="background: rgb(246 , 247 , 249); color: #365899;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Many thanks for reading
and have a great Holiday Season and Happy Reading<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Judith</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigmrLaETqb22I2FNSUq4dOjoayRkl5UNE9PZ8PphGzR45sLacibdb8NL4vqFQTdZAuGqofHqqqPVgbb06IT3C0ohxgvRJBDK82J8xRLZdqpTFYOdUMWxtf7_EZNybJx8qZF63wSfP0Ofc/s1600/angel+christmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigmrLaETqb22I2FNSUq4dOjoayRkl5UNE9PZ8PphGzR45sLacibdb8NL4vqFQTdZAuGqofHqqqPVgbb06IT3C0ohxgvRJBDK82J8xRLZdqpTFYOdUMWxtf7_EZNybJx8qZF63wSfP0Ofc/s400/angel+christmas.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bio:</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dr. Judith Lucci is an Amazon bestselling author who writes what she knows. She is the author of the Alex Destephano Medical Thriller Series and the soon to be released Michaela McPherson, Private Eye, a series centered on a retired homicide detective from Richmond, Virginia who really can’t retire.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="text-align: justify;"></span><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Before I wrote fiction, I was an academic writer who published research, theoretical works, text books and just about anything a clinician or college professor needed to publish to survive in the ivory tower. The differences in academic writing and writing fiction are dramatic. Writing what I know propels me to pull from my clinical experiences, some good, some not and use popular fiction as a means to teach and advocate for others. My books have three purposes, to engage the reader, to entertain them and to educate about healthcare and perhaps, the darker side of hospital life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I am a nurse and hold graduate and doctoral degrees from Virginia Commonwealth University and the University of Virginia. I have always been a reader and a writer and I love it. I am a member of the Virginia Writers Club, The Gulf Coast Writers Association, The Shenandoah Valley Writers and Sisters in Crime.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"When I’m not writing I’m probably teaching or painting on silk, canvas or watercolor. I am a multi-media artist with five dogs."</span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Books and Author Links:</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="5yl5"><span style="color: #4b4f56; line-height: 107%;">Amazon Author Page: </span></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="OLE_LINK2"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="OLE_LINK1"></a><a href="http://bit.ly/GetMedThrillers" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue; line-height: 107%;"><b><i>http://bit.ly/GetMedThrillers</i></b></span></a><span style="color: #4b4f56; line-height: 107%;"><br />
</span><span class="5yl5"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #4b4f56;">Dr. Dude:</span><b><i><u><span style="color: blue;"> </span></u></i></b></span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="http://bit.ly/ViewDrDude" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b><i>http://bit.ly/ViewDrDude</i></b></span></a><span style="color: #4b4f56;"><br />
<span class="5yl5">Viral: </span></span><a href="http://bit.ly/SeeViralIntent" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b><i>http://bit.ly/SeeViralIntent</i></b></span></a><span style="color: #4b4f56;"><br />
<span class="5yl5">Toxic: </span></span><a href="http://bit.ly/ViewToxic" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b><i>http://bit.ly/ViewToxic</i></b></span></a><span style="color: #4b4f56;"><br />
<span class="5yl5">Imposter: </span></span><a href="http://bit.ly/ViewImposter" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b><i>http://bit.ly/ViewImposter</i></b></span></a><span style="color: #4b4f56;"><br />
<span class="5yl5">Chaos: </span></span><a href="http://bit.ly/ViewChaos" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b><i>http://bit.ly/ViewChaos</i></b></span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: #365899;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fbit.ly%2FGetCaseofDowager&h=MAQFfxiL-" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;"><b><i>http://bit.ly/GetCaseofDowager</i></b></span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #365899;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Facebook:<i style="color: blue;"> </i><a href="https://www.facebook.com/judith.lucci" style="color: blue; font-style: italic;" target="_blank">https://www.facebook.com/judith.lucci</a></b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Twitter:</b> <b><i><u><a href="https://twitter.com/JudithLucci" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">https://twitter.com/JudithLucci</span></a></u></i></b></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Web:</b> <a href="http://www.judithlucci.com/" target="_blank"><b><i><span style="color: blue;">http://www.judithlucci.com</span></i></b></a><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">email: <b><i><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="mailto:judithucciwrites@gmail.com" target="_blank">judithucciwrites@gmail.com</a></span></u></i></b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Thank you, Judith, for a fascinating peek at the world behind one of your characters from your Michaela McPherson series. Readers, I was privileged ro read an advanced reader copy of <a href="http://authl.it/B01LVVZE2H?d" target="_blank"><b><i><span style="color: blue;">The Case of the Dead Dowager</span></i></b></a> and, believe me, you are not going to want to miss this one! Dottie, Mic and Angel face off against one of the most insidious and spine-chilling foes every created in modern fiction. <b>Pre-order your copy today on Amazon</b>.<br />
<br />
Eric @ <b><i><u><a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">www.ericjgates.com</span></a></u></i></b></div>
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Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-31477589022549969512016-11-09T18:12:00.000+01:002016-11-09T18:12:04.986+01:00My Guest: Keith Dixon<div style="text-align: justify;">
My Guest this week is an award-winning author of excellent <b>CRIME THRILLERS</b> who will be talking us through the <b>Dark Art</b> of crafting that one element without which no decent thriller works. This is <b>Secret Sauce</b> indeed! Ladies and Gentlemen...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIG2V2xI3AXoMj8-BOWbeyaIYzPuVoQGBV1c51-gCCU111HOUvwxZ9kQgHImXWDN0VW15opZ1lIhrEQNaQOVGd0iL_IeIgH8u1MD65aD-8NJ6pSoB1E5kPyjjHmMJ2Tax9nzlaivgeAaw/s1600/Keith+new+photo+300dpi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIG2V2xI3AXoMj8-BOWbeyaIYzPuVoQGBV1c51-gCCU111HOUvwxZ9kQgHImXWDN0VW15opZ1lIhrEQNaQOVGd0iL_IeIgH8u1MD65aD-8NJ6pSoB1E5kPyjjHmMJ2Tax9nzlaivgeAaw/s200/Keith+new+photo+300dpi.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Keith Dixon</b></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Criminal Behaviour</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Where
do you get your ideas from?” … is a question that no one has ever asked me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Which
is a shame, because the answer is quite interesting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_TQ41m2bgIJpS7q4ABVW_239gjPLIq86c0Yre0QTeQgKpcqs3WLpi4y-QIlMai_pHzl6MuSeLAYdjEbZkSi2TRylZbCakb7rrZe_yyB1a-UGsEeQUEsgam_aFjGeGDzIi-DwjnMtwg-k/s1600/Storey+Final+4+1875x2500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_TQ41m2bgIJpS7q4ABVW_239gjPLIq86c0Yre0QTeQgKpcqs3WLpi4y-QIlMai_pHzl6MuSeLAYdjEbZkSi2TRylZbCakb7rrZe_yyB1a-UGsEeQUEsgam_aFjGeGDzIi-DwjnMtwg-k/s400/Storey+Final+4+1875x2500.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B01LZ5MKVP?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As
a writer of crime novels I <i>could</i> say
that my stories are ‘torn from the headlines’, and in most ways that has been
true. It’s often been the case, however, that far from being excitingly modern,
the headlines have been several years old. For example, the story of <i><b><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://authl.it/B00K5Y8UG2?d" target="_blank">The Bleak</a></span></u></b></i> is of a group of scientists
working under a criminal mastermind to poison thousands of people. This idea
derived initially from the story of the Japanese cult Aum Shinrikyo, which
released Sarin gas into the Tokyo underground in the mid-nineties. Similarly,
the back-story of Lorenzo Strano in <i><b><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://authl.it/B00N99ERPS?d" target="_blank">The Strange Girl</a></span></u></b></i> was told to me by a former police commander who’d witnessed a
similar situation years ago in her own workplace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">What’s
interesting (well to me, anyway) about the manner in which the ideas then germinate
is that the villain usually arrives very quickly, growing out of the research,
not just my imagination. If you have a series hero, as I did with Sam Dyke, the
fun part is then pitting him and his known qualities against the bad guys or
girls in the narrative.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXzK2I-B8CDsC64jsKb-s_clJeUkwjNzQqbuiDvvgsBBjSqyosIISStUb-J9XEknxvB4DSifCyQ6dHis1eo_xGoqRKm12gHrlGI4PoaewK3J0x-TcbawANRYy-8pzMie9kIBkq-TYpzIY/s1600/The+Bleak+new+cover+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXzK2I-B8CDsC64jsKb-s_clJeUkwjNzQqbuiDvvgsBBjSqyosIISStUb-J9XEknxvB4DSifCyQ6dHis1eo_xGoqRKm12gHrlGI4PoaewK3J0x-TcbawANRYy-8pzMie9kIBkq-TYpzIY/s400/The+Bleak+new+cover+1.jpg" width="277" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B00K5Y8UG2?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">However,
in my latest book, </span><i><span style="color: blue;"><b><u><a href="http://authl.it/B01LZ5MKVP?d" target="_blank">Storey: A Crime Novel</a></u></b></span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">,
I had a new central character to introduce and I’d decided to involve </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">two</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> villains in the unfolding of the
tale. This was in part because I’d decided to write in a different style, one
influenced by the great American crime novelist, Elmore Leonard. Leonard was
famous for his amazing dialogue and also for the fact that sometimes his
‘heroes’ were barely on the side of justice. Often they were petty criminals or
people who were neither particularly good nor bad, but ordinary. So I wanted to
create a hero who was essentially decent but self-sufficient enough </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">not</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> to be worried about mixing with
villains. Thus Storey became an ex-policeman, someone who was honourable and on
the side of the law, but capable of talking to crooks on their own terms,
knowing what they were like.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Starting
my research, I began by reading the local newspapers from Coventry, where the
action was set. What soon struck me was that the bad guys usually worked in
small gangs and their villainy was often mundane, if sometimes cruel: drugs,
robbery of betting shops and the like, selling counterfeit wares. The gangs
usually comprised 4-6 people who weren’t very bright, had known each other a
long time, and had been brought up in tough conditions. Sometimes firearms were
used in their villainy, but often they weren’t – though this was changing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ahmlSrPB_mUX4tRzauiv-aCGF2GZeEV47-6DwieUluthXjzE4HJUY-yJqWtrbwJNHNYZahJpr53c4fDVZsB3JEPt8YCoThyphenhyphenHtC_KPTiunyKIqCBHIDxnD6uSOfG0GRA_70I5Yto21IU/s1600/TSG+new+cover+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ahmlSrPB_mUX4tRzauiv-aCGF2GZeEV47-6DwieUluthXjzE4HJUY-yJqWtrbwJNHNYZahJpr53c4fDVZsB3JEPt8YCoThyphenhyphenHtC_KPTiunyKIqCBHIDxnD6uSOfG0GRA_70I5Yto21IU/s400/TSG+new+cover+1.jpg" width="277" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B00N99ERPS?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I
decided on a gang leader early on—someone with intelligence and forcefulness,
but without high ambition. Later in the book he’d meet someone who was a
world-class villain so my man had to be lowly enough to be impressed or cowed
by the super-crook. As I started to invent him, these were some of the notes I
made:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -18pt;">Need to set him off, show
him in action, so needs a crew</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -18pt;">Then have fun
individualising the crew</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -18pt;">Have had very intelligent
villains in previous books, time for someone perhaps more realistic – someone
trying to just get along, then gets involved in more than he anticipated.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -18pt;">Also want to show him
aware of his role as ‘leader’, needing to discipline gang members but also
nurture them.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -18pt;">Then there are gang
tensions – up-and-coming or ambitious members wanting more than the leader is
providing.</span></li>
</ul>
<!--[if !supportLists]--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So
as I wrote, the character of the leader evolved in relation to the people
around him, as well as in relation to his function in the plot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
leader is called Cliff Elliott and he has three crew members: Dutch, Tarzan and
Gary. Part of the fun of being a writer is watching characters create
themselves as they talk – so while I had their names and general physical
traits, I knew very little about them as people until they began to interact
with one another. Elmore Leonard (whose nickname was ‘Dutch’, incidentally, a
little in-joke) said he used to write ‘in the voice’ of his characters until he
knew who they were and how they’d react. Then he’d start writing the book
proper. I don’t have that discipline, but I know that characters come alive
when they begin to talk, so you need to be alert to how they reveal themselves,
and what their conversation says about their past as well as their current mind-set.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">For
example, I discovered as I wrote that Cliff slept a lot in the afternoon and
did his thinking alone in his room, not with the men. That wasn’t something I
anticipated, it arose out of the interaction between the men as the storyline
took place. This meant he was often detached from his crew and this consequently
fomented antagonism.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbTqjsvY6OiZhhJyFx9xu73nRZjLZZBHF1CcNzcGB44FbjtMF39kyuREqn8N_Dg8r1IJPkD_O9uXo1u-_RHERS8EYFKoP96bF4fyFg-HYgBHY2Btk4dHG_KVioCFiGHXUK6d-oCRfyeY/s1600/CWC-cover-medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbTqjsvY6OiZhhJyFx9xu73nRZjLZZBHF1CcNzcGB44FbjtMF39kyuREqn8N_Dg8r1IJPkD_O9uXo1u-_RHERS8EYFKoP96bF4fyFg-HYgBHY2Btk4dHG_KVioCFiGHXUK6d-oCRfyeY/s400/CWC-cover-medium.jpg" width="277" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B00D0A9NE6?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
other crook is a con-woman who is based on a real character, a Scottish woman
who tricked her so-called fiancé out of many thousands of pounds and led to the
suicide of the man’s mother and sister. I wanted to explore this woman’s
behaviour to see where it came from, so had Storey tangle with her as well as
Cliff Elliott. I wrote frequently from within her point-of-view, and it was
interesting to see the world from the perspective of someone who was relatively
intelligent but bitter. And definitely cunning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
way the book evolved proved to me again that I need to plan, to know what the
characters are going to actually do. But it also showed me that there’s lots of
fun involved in the writing process itself, as characters reveal who they are.
This is what writers mean when they say characters begin to take over … as soon
as they act or speak they reveal something about how their brains work and you,
the author, have a sudden insight into who they are. This then colours <i>their</i> interpretation of what happens to
them as the plot evolves – not necessarily <i>what</i>
happens but how they think about it. Their understanding of their situation is
what interests me as an author. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And
of course the shooting and fighting …<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><b>Bio: </b></span><br clear="none" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; text-align: start;" /><span id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1478459011004_22225" style="background-color: white; display: inline; float: none;"><span style="color: #333333;">Keith Dixon was born in Yorkshire and grew up in the Midlands. He’s been writing since he was thirteen years old in a number of different genres: thriller, espionage, science fiction, literary. He’s the author of seven novels in the Sam Dyke Investigations series, the first in a new crime series, </span><b><i><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://authl.it/B01LZ5MKVP?d" target="_blank">Storey</a></span></u></i></b><span style="color: #333333;">, and two other non-crime works, as well as two collections of blog posts on the craft of writing. </span><br clear="none" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" /><br clear="none" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" /><span style="color: #333333;">When he’s not writing he enjoys reading, learning the guitar, watching movies and binge-inhaling great TV series. He’s currently spending more time in France than is probably good for him. </span></span><br clear="none" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">Website: </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;"><i><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.keithdixonnovels.com/" rel="" shape="rect" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank"><b>http://www.keithdixonnovels.com</b></a></span></i></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">Twitter:</span><a href="https://twitter.com/keithyd6" rel="" shape="rect" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: start;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #196ad4;"> </span><i><span style="color: blue;"><b>http://twitter.com/keithyd6</b></span></i></a><br clear="none" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">Facebook: </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/SamDykeInvestigations/" rel="" shape="rect" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: start;" target="_blank"><span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><b><i><span style="color: blue;">http://www.facebook.com/SamDykeInvestigations/</span></i></b></span></a><br clear="none" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">Blog: </span><a href="http://www.cwconfidential.blogspot.com/" rel="" shape="rect" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: start;" target="_blank"><span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><b><i><span style="color: blue;">http://www.cwconfidential.blogspot.com</span></i></b></span></a><br clear="none" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; text-align: start;" /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><i><br /></i></b></span></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><i><br /></i></b></span></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: start;">Thank you, Keith, for a useful and practical peek behind the curtain at the genesis process for that most essential of crime thriller ingredients, the villain. I wish you well with the new novel. (Readers: as a dedicated Sam Dyke fan, I have already bought and read </span></span></span><a href="http://authl.it/B01LZ5MKVP?d" style="color: blue; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Storey</a> and it more than lives up to its promise. Highly recommended, so don't miss it!).<br />
<br />
Eric @ <b><i><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank">www.ericjgates.com</a></span></u></i></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div>
Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-86211989710456003792016-10-26T15:59:00.001+02:002016-10-26T16:00:47.069+02:00My Guest: Seumas Gallacher<div style="text-align: justify;">
My Guest this week is a familiar visitor to this blog, well, he's got to hang out somewhere I suppose, and he's also a serial... writer, and that's the very subject he's going to broach today. Ladies and Gentlemen, the inimitable...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-R9AxebGY5w6TryHQkXwCmTdqVsSIr_R3ifEv-CTXcDPY-IQZZiO2qsI8Egr7SE1UYjrz7OD3xmBMrrPan19m_qYci_kIoeeNVhVPWQoOyIvfoEtnTnyzSzfGGCiLw5UpxcWXLub3YiA/s1600/aaaa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-R9AxebGY5w6TryHQkXwCmTdqVsSIr_R3ifEv-CTXcDPY-IQZZiO2qsI8Egr7SE1UYjrz7OD3xmBMrrPan19m_qYci_kIoeeNVhVPWQoOyIvfoEtnTnyzSzfGGCiLw5UpxcWXLub3YiA/s320/aaaa.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Seumas Gallacher</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">…this writing gig can be</span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;">a really series business…</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">…eight years or
so ago a bunch of fictional characters decided to become squatters in my head… <b><i>Jack
Calder </i></b>and the team from International Security Partners (ISP) just
simply moved in, set up house, and have remained resolutely unevictable ever
since… there have been times when the noise <b><i>‘upstairs’</i></b> amongst what’s
left of my wee grey cells has caused me serial insomnia… but by and large, I’ve
grown accustomed to their cerebral presence… and I must confess, along the way
over the eight years, through <b><i>Master Calder</i></b> and the troupe, I’ve
learned some stuff… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B01M0U7DR8?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB">…I’ve learned to
stand up tall and call myself a writer… and I tell everybody else who wants to
listen, <b><i>‘If yeez write at all, then yeez are a writer’</i></b>… none of yer <b><i>‘aspiring
writer’</i></b> nonsense…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"> …I’ve learned patience… a hitherto unknown
trait… sequential efforts in producing wee crime fiction masterpieces have instilled
the realisation that a book takes whatever time<b><i> it</i></b> decides to get it
finished… trying to rush to <b><i>‘The End’</i></b> is 99.999999% likely to
detract from the quality of yer <b>WURK</b>…
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">…I’ve learned
that, just as in real life, (whatever that is), characters grow from book to
book when yeez produce a series… development of their <b><i>‘isms’</i></b> is gradual…
blurting their entire life stories into two or three paragraphs is not
conducive to reader enjoyment…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1BAMOa4dQ6z3Cmu1NtAmKOiPu3vinxwQmYCkLOCoa8FjAbuKw6cR1KaJE3wWUNB693g7o_Bx8ZduWvKrAvoSV6Zah5A0if5ruYzYLn7fvEjV5gu1_AhAC3_mxd1r-qQCa9fH8Sd0CQk/s1600/Cover+for+Violin+Man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1BAMOa4dQ6z3Cmu1NtAmKOiPu3vinxwQmYCkLOCoa8FjAbuKw6cR1KaJE3wWUNB693g7o_Bx8ZduWvKrAvoSV6Zah5A0if5ruYzYLn7fvEjV5gu1_AhAC3_mxd1r-qQCa9fH8Sd0CQk/s400/Cover+for+Violin+Man.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B005D7JNCQ?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB">…I’ve learned
that books don’t sell themselves… the present-day scribe is obliged to be a
part of the modern <b>WURLD</b>, including
the <b>SOSYAL NETWURKS</b>… and it’s no use
being active for just a couple of weeks before each launch yeez bring to the
marketplace… building the relationships on <b>Twitter,
Facebook, Google+, LinkedIn</b> and whatever else yeez fancy as yer eChannels
of choice is a constant must… and it begins even before yer first literary baby
sees the light of an <b>Amazon Kindle</b>
day…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">…I’ve learned
that whatever the old adage says that <b><i>‘yeez can’t tell a book by its cover’</i></b>,
unless yeez invest in <b><i>excellent</i></b> (not <b><i>good</i></b>, but <b><i>excellent</i></b>)
artwork for yer books’ covers, yeez are putting yerselves at a disadvantage
versus all the other promotional and advertising din out there…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">…I’ve learned
that sharing with the rest of the global diaspora of authors has unbounded
benefits… an inexhaustible source of real pals exist on the web… they help with
getting the news out about yer novels, and likewise, there’s real joy in
introducing<b><i> their</i></b> books to a broader market…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM4qcRr0m35_OHt8nI2NeNRitldLx8Fwp4hrOG0XYfIUrx673OPr3dAyRUTIew6mPAaxOiHxsIdzJgP5d5EaMCAQytIpOuSkFSv35hLjYD0a5V_duVAxpiAdJlQ7qe2TCvUqs-L4TGSuk/s1600/front+view+SP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM4qcRr0m35_OHt8nI2NeNRitldLx8Fwp4hrOG0XYfIUrx673OPr3dAyRUTIew6mPAaxOiHxsIdzJgP5d5EaMCAQytIpOuSkFSv35hLjYD0a5V_duVAxpiAdJlQ7qe2TCvUqs-L4TGSuk/s400/front+view+SP.jpg" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B00G00GZEO?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCKbu79LPWXn5eykiJBV7bZi7Fd75JO0y6nUDci2GMTxoOjYkYBusfkuPRfzCAadiW8RJ08rS2DJ2LoxaK862JFg3zaKi6gESzpnbNbVWW9lTvwwZFpZgtmHZnFF3BKn_m0BthcrBCp-s/s1600/VWB+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCKbu79LPWXn5eykiJBV7bZi7Fd75JO0y6nUDci2GMTxoOjYkYBusfkuPRfzCAadiW8RJ08rS2DJ2LoxaK862JFg3zaKi6gESzpnbNbVWW9lTvwwZFpZgtmHZnFF3BKn_m0BthcrBCp-s/s400/VWB+cover.jpg" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B008H45KJC?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB">...I’ve learned
that writing a series is not as easy as yeez think… for this scribbler, it’s
important not to fall into the trap of <b><i>‘formula story-writing’</i></b>… readers
demand fresh narratives and thoughtful writing each time they pick up a
different title with your name on it as the author… even the readers’ fondness
for familiar characters will fade quickly if the twists and turns in the plot
become predictable… I’ve learned to surprise myself in that respect, which is
more likely to please my readership… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiopWfRWRVaj6s9_RFjMjmACeHe_RYLibC7_Y22ex8R7dg0B4ShePetlOPeYrYRAVGSFjKEE65uPyCjxYA42RDG5qTwf9wlmsO2BAnljz1FirScmOauwQnyd_cufk6AsbYLySUVth99cF0/s1600/KillerCityWeb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiopWfRWRVaj6s9_RFjMjmACeHe_RYLibC7_Y22ex8R7dg0B4ShePetlOPeYrYRAVGSFjKEE65uPyCjxYA42RDG5qTwf9wlmsO2BAnljz1FirScmOauwQnyd_cufk6AsbYLySUVth99cF0/s400/KillerCityWeb.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B01B7IMYES?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB">…I’ve learned
other important things… to enjoy what I write… no needless deadlines… savouring
the crafting and sculpting of the latest book… to get immersed in a positive
way with the blogging… to make time for my author pals on the web… to support
new writers, especially self-published, by downloading at least one such new
writer each week… to write reviews for these books… these are the life blood of
any author, but even more so for those starting out…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">…and I’ve
learned to say <b><i>‘Thank You’</i></b> to great guys like <b>That Other Man, Eric Gates</b> for hosting me so frequently and for
helping boost my sales through his tireless efforts to help others… thanks
gazillions…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">…see yeez later…
<b>LUV YEEZ!</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Bio:</b></div>
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<span style="color: #131313; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">SEUMAS
GALLACHER escaped from the world of finance eight years ago, after a career
spanning three continents and five decades and started to write crime fiction
as a pastime.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: #131313; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">His
first four crime-thrillers, in what has become the 'Jack Calder' series, <b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B005D7JNCQ?d" target="_blank">THE VIOLIN MAN'S LEGACY</a></u></i></b>, <b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B008H45KJC?d" target="_blank">VENGEANCE WEARS BLACK</a></u></i></b>, <b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B00G00GZEO?d" target="_blank">SAVAGE PAYBACK</a></u></i></b> and <b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B01B7IMYES?d" target="_blank">KILLER CITY</a></u></i></b> have
blown his mind with more than 90,000 e-link downloads to date. The fifth in the
series, <b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B01M0U7DR8?d" target="_blank">DEADLY IMPASSE</a></u></i></b>, was launched in September 2016. When he reaches the
100,000 sales/downloads mark he may indulge an extra Fried Mars Bar to
celebrate.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">When Seumas isn't pounding out heart-stopping crime thrillers, or appearing as a Guest here, he can be found on his entertaining blog</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://seumasgallacher.com/" style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">http://seumasgallacher.com</a><span style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and</span><b style="font-size: 12pt;"> </b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">here:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 13pt;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.4px;">Twitter: </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18.4px;"></span><b style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://twitter.com/seumasgallacher" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">https://twitter.com/seumasgallacher</span></a></b><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.4px;">Facebook: </span></span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/seumasgallacher" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">http://www.facebook.com/seumasgallacher</span></b></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.4px;">Email: <b><a href="mailto:seumasgallacher@yahoo.com" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">seumasgallacher@yahoo.com</span></a></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdPL8JiGuUBTh-cGxCag46H35trUaA2inrlcpJ0VSu2jm2AYH4gCeZSo0BJ_JgjuE2X69qKre6ui8EaXaNgwnyQ4O8QKyM7qkzvYN6lIS_5YmM2c5B6dFX699hBVPlijEixj5_lgsNg0/s1600/all+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdPL8JiGuUBTh-cGxCag46H35trUaA2inrlcpJ0VSu2jm2AYH4gCeZSo0BJ_JgjuE2X69qKre6ui8EaXaNgwnyQ4O8QKyM7qkzvYN6lIS_5YmM2c5B6dFX699hBVPlijEixj5_lgsNg0/s400/all+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Thank you, Seumas, for allowing us to see how all the hard work that goes into providing readers with great, fast-paced novels such as your Jack Calder series (I read the latest recently and it's the best yet - readers, don't miss it!) can also show an old dog like yourself a new trick or two. Best wishes for the new book.</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Eric @ <span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank">www.ericjgates.com</a></u></i></b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-34123637073491746102016-10-12T16:07:00.000+02:002016-10-12T16:07:04.538+02:00My Guest: Fiona Quinn<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My Guest this week is a little <i><b>under the weather</b></i>... in fact, we all are, as are the characters in the novels we read, and she's going to show us some clever ways authors can use this to immerse readers into scenes on the page. Ladies and Gentlemen...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizUy-RPIkVWnfSafTlf6o6Km_l5MZooz_HP1XaKdjNAj_qIaMNZgkzWEXw2dtdl88oTFuhp7envFvWLGEikmlJuNcCDhjcoENPfK6KOV1IHgwykihHCMbabaE3Sf4gpVSgcGMLs1sL4FI/s1600/rsz_img_3889_0066_edited-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizUy-RPIkVWnfSafTlf6o6Km_l5MZooz_HP1XaKdjNAj_qIaMNZgkzWEXw2dtdl88oTFuhp7envFvWLGEikmlJuNcCDhjcoENPfK6KOV1IHgwykihHCMbabaE3Sf4gpVSgcGMLs1sL4FI/s200/rsz_img_3889_0066_edited-1.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Fiona Quinn</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>How’s
the Weather? </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>In Your Novel, </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>It Makes a Difference.</b></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Last weekend, I was out in the woods on an Evacuation Team with Search and Rescue. It was ninety degrees (32º C). Things had cooled down quite a bit from the last time I was out on a manhunt; that day it had been over a hundred (39º C) with a wall of humidity. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B00T9T6U98?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 18pt;">Since I write Romantic Suspense/thrillers, I always try to note my experiences so I can bring my written words to life. In the case of searching for someone in the woods, weather matters. And I want to make the broader point that weather matters in all of our writing scenes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Let’s start with my evac event as an example. In order to go into the woods, rescuers need to dress out; that is, we’re required to wear certain clothing to maintain our safety: boots, wool socks, long pants, long sleeved shirt, eye protection, helmet, heavy leather gloves. I was covered from head to toe except for the three or so inches between my glasses and my shirt collar. On top of that, I carried a rescue pack and equipment like rappelling webbing, a backboard, and a litter, as well as first aid bag, water for the victim and food. Water weighs a lot. Especially the amounts carried in for the heat. Ninety degrees. Remember that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In ninety-degree weather, a rescuer can quickly need rescuing. Rescuers are human beings, too. While often portrayed as heroic and never being aware of things like heat, Mother Nature really isn’t that kind. In ninety-degree heat, with or without the extra equipment, in that clothing, your character will be sopping wet with sweat. The sweat will make the dirt on the skin muddy. It will bring the bugs a-buzzing. It will make the character thirsty, tired, and probably a bit irritable. It will make the clothing cling uncomfortably to the skin, will increase the friction on the feet, forming blisters. Physical exertion in that weather will increase the need for water. Increase the chance of heat stroke. Use the weather to increase the misery of your character (nothing should be going well for them anyway.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Think about all of the wonderful ways you can describe the event once you take into account the weather: heat, cold, rain, drought, wind – it’s all plotting fodder.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The weather gives a writer plenty of ways to add beats into conversations instead of tags. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term 'beat', what I mean is that I would give environmental information or physical activity to the scene. It’s very important to resituate a reader, reminding them what’s going on. “<i>Did you bring enough webbing?</i>” (instead of saying, “she asked.”) <i>Stella shielded her eyes from the sudden glare of sunlight as they moved into the clearing</i>. This last example reminds us she’s in the woods. Here’s an example with orienting to time of day and the weather without saying, “It was four o’clock.”</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><u><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://authl.it/B00XVCWR50?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></span></u></i></b></td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The sun struck
Gloria in the eye as she pushed into the clearing. They’d only have a few more
hours of daylight. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck in the woods
overnight in her sweat saturated clothes and with no fire making equipment. This was
a disaster in the making. With the storm moving in and the temperatures
dropping so fast, how could they possibly keep the victim safe when they hadn’t
prepared to protect themselves from hypothermia?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">See
how I also used the weather to predict a horrible outcome? That’s a hook that
encourages readers to keep reading to see if that is what happened and how the
characters handled the new mini-crisis. Or how they thwarted that crisis from
arising in the first place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>More
ways to use the weather to help your plot:</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">*<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">In
the weather, you must dress your character. Clothing choices tell a lot about a
character’s aesthetics and personality.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">How
they deal with feeling physically uncomfortable tells a great deal about a
character’s personality. Do they grumble in their head? Do they bitch about it
and want someone to solve the problem for them? Do they make themselves
comfortable despite those around them? All very telling.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">In
the weather you have personal preference that gives minor information. For two
of my kids, it can never be hot enough. Hundred degree days, and they feel
nicely warm. One of my kids wants to move to Alaska so she will finally be cold
enough. Weather is a source of conflict. If one character is cranking the
air-conditioning to feel comfort while the other is turning blue and chattering,
you have a dynamic that many people can relate to.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: "symbol";">*</span></span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Weather
adds to the ambiance</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><u><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://authl.it/B015WWVOPK?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></span></u></i></b></td></tr>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">o<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b><i>Maybe
it sets the scene:</i></b> Are your lovers walking through a warm summer rain and stopping
in a </span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0cm;">gazebo to wait it out? They can finally take a moment and discuss how
deeply they’ve fallen in love, now that the rain made them stop in an isolated
place.</span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">o<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><b><i>Mirrors
the emotion:</i></b> Is the countryside bleakly painted in winter greys and browns? Does
it look as devastated as your character feels? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">o<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><b><i>Mocks
the character:</i></b> It’s spring: the flowers are beautiful; couples are falling in
love everywhere, and Joe just got jilted by Sadie – oh the irony of it being
the season of love and your heroes heart got thrown to the ground and trampled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
you’re a writer, I hope you’ll take advantage of the weather to help give your
prose a visceral reality. Use it as the colors for painting your backdrop. Use
it as a way of conveying character details. Use it to make all hell break loose
and put your characters in difficult situations. Use it to best engage your
readers, because we all have experienced how weather affects us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
you’re a reader, I hope you enjoy how subtle things are written into the
storyline to help you immerse yourself into the imaginary world, helping you to
leave reality behind for a short time. Look for the weather next time you’re
reading a book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">As
my pilot friends say, Blue skies!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Fiona</span></span><br />
<b style="text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b style="text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Bio:</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Canadian born, Fiona Quinn is now rooted in the Old Dominion outside of D.C. with her husband and four children. There, she homeschools, pops chocolates, devours books, and taps continuously on her laptop. Fiona is the author of the bestselling <b>Lynx Series</b>, with Book One, '<a href="http://authl.it/B00T9T6U98?d" target="_blank"><b><i><span style="color: blue;">Weakest Lynx</span></i></b></a>', a Kindle Scout book, the author of the Amazon bestseller <a href="http://authl.it/B00R4UAB8K?d" target="_blank">'<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Mine</span></i></b>'</a>, and <a href="http://authl.it/B00OSP0AGW?d">'</a><a href="http://authl.it/B00OSP0AGW?d" target="_blank"><b><i><span style="color: blue;">Chaos Is Come Again</span></i></b></a><a href="http://authl.it/B00OSP0AGW?d">'</a>, and is the creative force behind the popular blog <a href="http://www.thrillwriting.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><b><i><span style="color: blue;">ThrillWriting</span></i></b></a>. She also is a contributor to <b>Virginia Is for Mysteries</b>,</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b><i><u><a href="http://authl.it/B01LFP427U?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Thank you, Fiona. If, like me, you are a die-hard fan of Fiona's <b>Lexi Sobado</b> character, you may want to know there's a little gem of a <b>Lynx</b> tale in a new short story anthology, '<b><a href="http://authl.it/B01LFP427U?d" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><i>Crooked Tales</i></span></a></b>', where Lexi and a a few familiar friends go on a mini-mission - <i>and </i>the <b>weather</b> forms an important part of the tale too!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Eric @ <a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank"><b><i><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">www.ericjgates.com</span></i></b></a></span></div>
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<br />Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-90191203379869744452016-09-28T15:40:00.000+02:002016-09-28T15:40:11.080+02:00My Guest: Robert Wilson<div style="text-align: justify;">
My Guest this week is a bestselling, award-winning author who has even had some of his books picked up for TV series. He's here, however, to talk about something far more provocative... Ladies and Gentlemen...</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Robert Wilson</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Where are we now?</b></span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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The
world is in the process of an extraordinary upheaval. We are living, perhaps,
in a period of greater uncertainty than at any time since the end of WW2 and
the onset of The Cold War. Never was the world economy so precarious as more
and more people question the neoliberalist ideas that have informed the basis
of global economic strategy. Never was the world in such a state of inequality.
Never has politics been so divisive and people so divided. Never have we felt
so threatened by implacable terrorists and the insoluble problem of climate
change. Never were there so many world powers capable of destabilizing global
peace. This should be an era for great crime and thriller literature.</div>
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Great
work comes from digging deep to describe a new world where a different,
pervasive attitude is prevailing. John Le Carré memorably achieved this in ‘The
Spy Who Came in From the Cold’ where he managed to depict not only the protagonist’s
struggle in dire circumstances, but also a new global battle hidden from us
all.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The
publishing industry was different then. Put simply: there was no internet.
Publishers were small companies producing books they wanted readers to read.
They were supported by reviewers who drew readers to new books in the culture
pages of newspapers read by significant numbers. They sold to bookshops that
knew the titles, authors and their readers and could recommend.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Most
of that has disappeared. Publishers are now huge conglomerates with accountants
and shareholders who demand profits. Editorial teams no longer decide on what
books will be published, but rather pitch their titles to sales and marketing
who judge whether they’ll sell in the market place. They have no mid list, just
best sellers and rookies. The few reviewers that remain in the diminishing
culture pages cover the books that follow the trend so that their newspapers
can maintain their dwindling readers. Readers have so many avenues through the
internet to find out about new books that it’s impossible to quantify their
effect. 75% of sales are made through Amazon who hoard all the information
about their buyers, so that publishers can do little but follow trend. Fashions
become imbedded and are much more difficult to break as we’ve seen from the
present wave of ‘psychological thrillers’ prompted by the success of ‘Gone
Girl’. The self-publishers are numerous, have no quality filters and sell their
books at rock bottom prices. Amazon are only concerned by numbers, not caring if
a thousand writers sell three books each or one writer sells three thousand. Bookshops
are heavily demarcated and have little relationship with their customers.
Everybody is following and nobody is leading.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This
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Six
years ago, talking to a friend and her intelligent, 28 year old, high-achieving
daughter, I was recalling times in the 80s, working in London, when all I
wanted to do was read. I would get up early, read on the way to work, read in
breaks and get back home to read. I was reading in order to get to grips with
the strange world in which I was living. Books like ‘Illywhacker’, ‘London
Fields’, ‘Schindler’s List’, ‘The Bonfire of the Vanities’, ‘The Unbearable
Lightness of Being’, ‘The Confederacy of Dunces’ and ‘The Book of Evidence’ had
done that for me. I asked the daughter, a Londoner at the time, whether the
same had happened to her. Her mother said: ‘Am I going to tell him or are you?’
The answer was that it had happened to her and the last book that had done it
was the latest Harry Potter. Puzzled, I asked her why? She told me she’d wanted
to escape from her complicated, stressful life back into the simple pleasures
of her childhood. She wasn’t alone. I was talking to a sophisticated,
intelligent and well-off reader in his fifties who recently told me that he,
too, reads ‘to escape’. Not Harry Potter but crime novels like Craig Johnson’s
series featuring the wryly amusing Walt Longmire in the culturally unfamiliar
surroundings of the wilds of Absaroka County in Wyoming.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’d
always wanted to be a travel writer. I’d travelled a lot, had strong descriptive
powers and thought that this was the road for me until the travel writing
industry collapsed in the late 80s early 90s. I turned to crime as a way of
using the settings and my experiences to describe and understand the countries
in which I was living in the context of a rapidly changing world. As my first
book was published in 1995 the Fantasy wave was on the rise. By the end of the
90s children were into Harry Potter, teenagers were wrestling with vampires and
the world seemed to want to revisit Middle Earth. We are still in the grip of
that colossal trend.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My
point here is that those of you who are thinking that the best way to bring
readers on board is to attempt to explain the complex, uncertain world in which
we are now living, as John Le Carré did back in 1963, then think again. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Unless,
that is, the current change induces such a level of discomfort that readers feel
they’re in need of new tools for this brave new world.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>BIO:</b></div>
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Robert Wilson has written thirteen novels: four West African noir, two WW2 Lisbon, four psychological crime novels set in Seville, and three international thrillers featuring kidnap consultant, Charles Boxer. A Small Death in Lisbon, won the 1999 CWA Gold Dagger. The first two Seville books were filmed by Sky Atlantic in 2012. The first Boxer book, Capital Punishment, was nominated for the 2013 Ian Fleming Steel Dagger.Stealing People is out in paperback now.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif;">Website: </span><a href="http://robert-wilson.eu/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif;"><b>robert-wilson.eu</b></span></a><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif;">Blog: </span><a href="http://robert-wilson.eu/blog/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif;"><b>http://robert-wilson.eu/blog/</b></span></a><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif;">Facebook: </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/robert.wilson.9634" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif;"><b>www.facebook.com/robert.wilson.9634</b></span></a><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif;">Twitter: <span id="goog_1190133343"></span><b><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://www.twitter.com/@RobWilsonwriter" target="_blank">https://www.twitter.com/@RobWilsonwriter</a></span></b><span id="goog_1190133344"></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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Thank you Robert, for an interesting post. As my own fans will already know, one of my own formative influences is Charles Dickens, a master of wrapping stinging social comment in to entertaining tales. They will also know that I strive to do this with my own novels - entertain while taking pot-shots at all kinds of issues. One of my favourites, again as my readers are aware, is the abuse of electronic surveillance in our present society, but everything from money-laundering by Vatican banks, through questioning what information our governments have the right to withhold, to the criminal side of the Internet have all come under my critical pen whilst entertaining with my tales.<br />
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What do you think? Do readers need new tools in our frenetic times? Opinions in the comments below, please. I'll figure out a prize for the best one.<br />
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Eric @ <b><i><u><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank">www.ericjgates.com</a></span></u></i></b><br />
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Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-87163515911907526502016-07-13T18:17:00.000+02:002016-07-13T18:17:09.921+02:0011 Superstars you should be reading<div style="text-align: justify;">
Since the beginning of the year I have been proud to host ELEVEN outstanding writers from a multitude of genres here. This is another chance for you to read their articles and pick up their books. Just click on the title of the article to be taken to their post in a new tab.</div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Brandt Legg</span></b></div>
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<b style="background-color: white; line-height: 25.2px; text-align: start;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><a href="http://my-thrillers.blogspot.com.es/2016/01/my-guest-brandt-legg.html" target="_blank"><i>How I found my first half a million readers</i></a></span></b></div>
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<b style="background-color: white; line-height: 25.2px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Seumas Gallacher</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://my-thrillers.blogspot.com.es/2016/02/my-guest-seumas-gallacher.html" target="_blank"><i>BACK TO SELF-PUBLISHING...</i></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://my-thrillers.blogspot.com.es/2016/02/my-guest-seumas-gallacher.html" target="_blank"><i>NON, JE NE REGRETTE RIEN...</i></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Judith Lucci</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://my-thrillers.blogspot.com.es/2016/02/my-guest-judith-lucci.html" target="_blank"><i>Hidden Meanings for Authors:Why I Write</i></a></b></span><div class="MsoTitle" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-align: left;">
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://my-thrillers.blogspot.com.es/2016/04/my-guest-scott-thompson.html" target="_blank"><i>Creating Believable Characters</i></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://my-thrillers.blogspot.com.es/2016/04/my-guest-scott-thompson.html" target="_blank"><i>for Your Stories and Novels</i></a></b></span></div>
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<b><a href="http://my-thrillers.blogspot.com.es/2016/05/my-guest-barb-taub.html" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Want to write that next Young</span></i></a></b></div>
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<b><a href="http://my-thrillers.blogspot.com.es/2016/05/my-guest-barb-taub.html" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Adult Dystopian Paranormal Urban</span></i></a></b></div>
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<b><a href="http://my-thrillers.blogspot.com.es/2016/05/my-guest-barb-taub.html" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Fantasy Romance blockbuster?</span></i></a></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5lQjQh1y8NyamkI4oUKz1zcizR66RWMTw-aQf-07r8PvYEmRd89GN0Vd-E7l3vFdIc_MXeCPPZqHGkOsvZUIZkJgFoWdaNsR-5NkDTAynpmI6iWobsLF8J1tb8rTcfjo8kMPTROziAy4/s1600/Joe+headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5lQjQh1y8NyamkI4oUKz1zcizR66RWMTw-aQf-07r8PvYEmRd89GN0Vd-E7l3vFdIc_MXeCPPZqHGkOsvZUIZkJgFoWdaNsR-5NkDTAynpmI6iWobsLF8J1tb8rTcfjo8kMPTROziAy4/s200/Joe+headshot.jpg" width="153" /></a><b><br /></b></div>
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<b style="background-color: white; line-height: 20.79px; text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><a href="http://my-thrillers.blogspot.com.es/2016/05/my-guest-joseph-lewis.html" target="_blank"><i>The Importance of Character Building</i></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Sarah Jane Butfield</span></b></div>
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<b style="background-color: white; line-height: 20.79px; text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><a href="http://my-thrillers.blogspot.com.es/2016/06/my-guest-sarah-jane-butfield.html" target="_blank"><i>Everyone has a story</i></a></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Dianne Harman</span></span></div>
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 28.5333px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><a href="http://my-thrillers.blogspot.com.es/2016/06/my-guest-dianne-harman.html" target="_blank"><i>So You Want to Write a Book!</i></a></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMkVJ5Flz4ubY9Vd94wevCWfbnr-tQ9jgV-a75TO3c72bbdynq4KBAmLmHM4RgSZJUvr9d0_Y1_vD6_GGH3JZ4E5OgGD1tGS6FilTdnilo0ZsVfZM-cLvBGzhjiYEb1LUAo7bm2cEu2G4/s1600/EJG2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMkVJ5Flz4ubY9Vd94wevCWfbnr-tQ9jgV-a75TO3c72bbdynq4KBAmLmHM4RgSZJUvr9d0_Y1_vD6_GGH3JZ4E5OgGD1tGS6FilTdnilo0ZsVfZM-cLvBGzhjiYEb1LUAo7bm2cEu2G4/s200/EJG2015.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid22rEQTqkuisqcN9mXsljlg7wGEpS3Z6cHF_dhqkA-_fdY3oGNn_H6itZI9z2q8ezVoebyH0wOm3ntXM6l5LeJkN3hZU66zO7NOhXa98A-JMhVGrQh3LVGRG7cCwUZy42FCh7ok7GkYo/s1600/nervous.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid22rEQTqkuisqcN9mXsljlg7wGEpS3Z6cHF_dhqkA-_fdY3oGNn_H6itZI9z2q8ezVoebyH0wOm3ntXM6l5LeJkN3hZU66zO7NOhXa98A-JMhVGrQh3LVGRG7cCwUZy42FCh7ok7GkYo/s200/nervous.gif" width="110" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 28.5333px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: left;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 28.5333px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><b>Eric J. Gates</b></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://my-thrillers.blogspot.com.es/2016/04/readers-bane-or-bountiful.html" target="_blank"><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Readers – the Bane or the</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Bountiful?</span></i></a></h3>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank you once again to all of the Guests who interrupted their busy schedules to share pearls of writing wisdom with us all. Best wishes to all of you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Eric @ <a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank"><b><span style="font-size: large;">www.ericjgates.com</span></b> </a></span></div>
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Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-25914046676128783112016-06-29T17:23:00.000+02:002016-06-29T17:23:15.518+02:00My Guest: Dianne Harman<div style="text-align: justify;">
My Guest this week is a seasoned writer with some practical tips for the aspiring. Ladies and Gentlemen...</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Dianne Harman</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 20.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>So You Want to Write a Book!</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">People often tell me they want to write a book, but they don’t know what they’d write about. They want to know where I get the ideas for my books. <b>How do I make them happen?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Believe me, the subject matter is all around you. What about that flower that’s growing up between the bricks you just walked on? Fantasy – did a large bird drop the seed while on a special mission from the king of birds to save the mouse from the trap the mean ogre set in his yard? </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="http://authl.it/B01A2IST2U?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What about your crazy great-uncle who still talks about taking notes at a business meeting and then having several of the firm’s partners jump out of the office window when Wall Street crashed on Black Tuesday in 1929? Weave a story around that – maybe the before and after of the families of the partners or even how it affected him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What about the young woman you saw at the supermarket this morning? She had a baby anchored on her hip and a tot in the child seat of the grocery cart. Normal enough, but what was that in her basket? A case of beer? So, who’s she buying it for? Her husband? Her lover? Herself? Seriously? At eight in the morning? Yeah, there’s definitely a story there.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And so it goes. Almost everything in every moment of every day can be woven into a story. Recently a friend came over for a glass of wine after work. She told me how she and her husband were disagreeing over something and he’d made the comment, “You’re a piece of work, but I guess you’re my piece of work.” Although it wasn’t the basis for a book, it could have been, but it’s now in a conversation that takes place in one of my soon-to-be published books.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="http://authl.it/B01EMF4G1M?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My husband and I were recently invited to Cuba by a fishing guide my husband has fished with for years. Since Cuba was getting ready to open up to direct travel from Americans, the guide was anxious to see if he could be one of the Americans allowed to be a fishing guide in Cuba. We went to Cayo Largo, an island off the coast of Cuba. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The first day we were there the guide’s contact invited my husband and several of the guide’s guests to their fishing office on the island. I went with them and saw a door brightly painted with three kinds of fish on it. I asked our guide’s contact what that represented. He told me if a guest caught a tarpon, a bonefish, and a permit, all in the same day, the person was entitled to be member of the Grand Slam Club. That became the basis for '<b><span style="color: blue;"><u><i><a href="http://authl.it/B01A2IST2U?d" target="_blank">Murder in Cuba</a></i></u></span></b>' – egos and money intent on being the number one guide and the power of the Grand Slam Club.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A recent book of mine, <b><i><u><span style="color: blue;">'<a href="http://authl.it/B01EMF4G1M?d" target="_blank">Murdered by Words</a>'</span></u></i></b>, is very loosely based on memories of going to college at a small Midwest school and the people who lived in the small town. The protagonist, Kat Denham, is widowed and makes career choices that lead to her editors’s death and fear for her own life. One thing just led to another, but what really prompted it was remembering how important the country club was to people in that small town. It became a focal point of the book.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="http://authl.it/B01FWDFHB6?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i><u><span style="color: blue;">'<a href="http://authl.it/B01FWDFHB6?d" target="_blank">Murdered by Country Music</a>' </span></u></i></b>came about simply because I was at a physical therapist’s office having a little work done on my lower back. While I was being treated, I overheard a conversation between a couple of the therapists regarding two music festivals that were going to be taking place near Palm Springs, California, in a few months. They were talking about mollies, Fireball whiskey, and just being part of the experience. I’d heard of the festivals, but had no idea what mollies and Fireball whiskey were. Thus began my education into the world of music festivals. We don’t live too far from Palm Springs, so my husband and I went there for the weekend to see if I could get a sense of the music festivals. That was the seed of the book. Although it’s a complete figment of my imagination, it came about because of the conversation I’d overheard.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So what’s the purpose of telling you about these books and things that are noticed? Ideas for books are everywhere. They’re in almost every conversation you hear, everything you experience, and everything you see. It’s up to you to give them life. In the words of the advertiser Nike, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Just Do It! Write that book!</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Bio:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dianne lives in Huntington Beach, California, with her husband, Tom, and her boxer dog, Kelly. When she's not writing, you can find her cooking or playing in the yard with Kelly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">She's the author of four cozy mystery series, Cedar Bay, Liz Lucas, High Desert, and Midwest, as well as the suspense series, Coyote. If you'd like to sample her books, please go to </span><a href="http://www.dianneharman.com/" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">www.dianneharman.com</span></b></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> and get <b>free</b> books.</span></div>
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When not finding interesting ways to murder people, Dianne can be located here:</div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Amazon </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Author page</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">: </span></span></span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dianne-Harman/e/B009PP9DCC/" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>http://www.amazon.com/Dianne-Harman/e/B009PP9DCC/</b></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Website: <b><span style="color: blue;">http://</span></b></span><a href="http://www.dianneharman.com/" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">www.DianneHarman.com</span></b></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Blog: </span><a href="http://dianneharman.com/blog/" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">http://dianneharman.com/blog/</span></b></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/DianneDHarman" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>@DianneDHarman</b></span></a></span></div>
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Thank you, Dianne, for that great advice. Come on people, this practical post is definitely one to bookmark!</div>
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Eric @ <a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">www.ericjgates.com</span></b></a></div>
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Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400500775591766028.post-8839066311557099442016-06-15T19:47:00.002+02:002016-06-16T19:04:59.075+02:00My Guest: Sarah Jane Butfield<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Curiously, I've just realized I have never had a non-fiction author as a Guest since this blog started over four years ago. Well, let's remedy that now, and who better than this week's visitor to give us some practical tips. Ladies and Gentlemen...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjgo-1sQklLTOJfXyMVHsvx4MeNv2XqDDgHdSll6EN0BHs7JXR0WhvXRzsNymHbInGWEFTyXmb7wj_2XrWSJRTDKamiR04K4yxD_YjlwARB8T7ZCvJIml_NVHq_ZkfgiQjPq4ZHC8qqKE/s1600/SJ+headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjgo-1sQklLTOJfXyMVHsvx4MeNv2XqDDgHdSll6EN0BHs7JXR0WhvXRzsNymHbInGWEFTyXmb7wj_2XrWSJRTDKamiR04K4yxD_YjlwARB8T7ZCvJIml_NVHq_ZkfgiQjPq4ZHC8qqKE/s320/SJ+headshot.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Sarah Jane Butfield</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Everyone
has a story</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I am sure I am not alone
in being familiar with the phrase ‘<i><b>Everyone has a story</b></i>’ and I actually used it
as the name of my very first blog which I created long before I even dared to
dream of becoming a published author. I have always compared it to the other
well-known adage, ‘<i>having your 15 minutes of fame</i>’ and as such, at that time, I
thought that writing a story to be published or having 15 minutes of fame was
something that happened to other people, not me. Who did I think these other
people were? Well, people who had interesting stories to tell or a skill that
made them topical or worthy of public acknowledgement. With this in mind I will
give you a little background to my accidental foray into the publishing arena.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijKBJc26kPL-ctejfdKkU4AIQsS3OKsZpiLIv8Q_kFvtbWo03QGvyuGHa-hUD4tMRPGOWKUp42rQj2656r4w4RqZF7oKYN-3KFxR-BduMeFY2adXb9hj-OMgF3A5TSRh7izbMMykRQw3o/s1600/Glass+Half+Full+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijKBJc26kPL-ctejfdKkU4AIQsS3OKsZpiLIv8Q_kFvtbWo03QGvyuGHa-hUD4tMRPGOWKUp42rQj2656r4w4RqZF7oKYN-3KFxR-BduMeFY2adXb9hj-OMgF3A5TSRh7izbMMykRQw3o/s1600/Glass+Half+Full+1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://authl.it/B00GP1T7GQ?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Although I have kept a
journal, on and off since my teenage years, it was after the huge physical and
psychological impact of the Brisbane floods in Australian 2011, when our newly
renovated home in the suburb of Ipswich, Queensland, was totally submerged that
the power of a journal really came into effect. However, at the time I had no
idea that my scruffy notebook style journal would become the catalyst for a
series of travel memoirs and which would later move me into the world of
mentoring other new authors with a story to tell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My personal bucket list
of over the years has included a variety of travel and personal objectives.
Some I have achieved, while others are still regarded as ‘work in progress’ or
‘this could take a small miracle’ type projects. One of my bucket list items
was to write a romance novel, in the Mills and Boon style, although I never
believed I would publish it, but I wanted to achieve the writing aspect of it.
I have enjoyed reading romantic fiction since I was about 18 and many times
whilst reading, I day-dreamed about being the next Jackie Collins. In February
2011 after the floods we had to relocate from Queensland to Tasmania to live
with my father-in-law while we started to try and piece together the remnants
of our life in Australia and start over with a very unsure future ahead of us.
I started studying how to write a romance novel as a way of keeping my bucket
list dream alive and to give me something positive to focus on as the bureaucratic
process of the flood's aftermath started. Alongside this I continued writing in
my trusty journal documenting the personal journey we were undertaking to
regain a degree of normality to our lives. This cathartic form of therapy
helped to distract me from the psychological impact of what we now faced as a
family. I am not a materialistic person and the loss <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhheZHlDZlp_bOSGftjMXbABKcRpMLqB92NAaC7At7L_16Z2ugbmMiSSZZoS8vPJXg24ajmH07dyp2a3I_gLeY6fr05ybjpdbqv2UArXvU2w91htZ3UBAssrKYq6SWBFmIgfU_1polHdJM/s1600/OMRF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhheZHlDZlp_bOSGftjMXbABKcRpMLqB92NAaC7At7L_16Z2ugbmMiSSZZoS8vPJXg24ajmH07dyp2a3I_gLeY6fr05ybjpdbqv2UArXvU2w91htZ3UBAssrKYq6SWBFmIgfU_1polHdJM/s640/OMRF.jpg" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="http://authl.it/B012NI8FFI?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></b></span></td></tr>
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of a house and its
contents was one aspect that could be replaced, resolved or dealt with through
a physical process. However, the loss of very personal items which are
irreplaceable and which carry huge sentimental and emotional attachments, such
as items made by the children during their school years, old birthday and
Christmas cards with funny heart-warming messages from the children at the
various stages of their journey through childhood into adulthood made an
indelible stain on my heart. It was from this pain and sense of loss that the
reflective element of my journal deepened. With little help available to us to
help us deal with the personal aftermath of the floods, as we had relocated
away from the scene of the devastation, it became a very personal journey to
rebuild our lives. Finding a new home to rent, sourcing new jobs, a new school
and a CRPS specialist for Jaime were all essential tasks to start restoring the
basic elements of everyday life. During this transitional period, we needed
more than ever before to remain positive in our outlook especially when in
contact with our friends and family back in the UK, so that they did not worry
more that was necessary and feel even more frustrated that they couldn’t help
us on a practical level.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU863lrxg9n4uo9FwXBvFzgLXk8ONRRI1A8xeMfDf5X5lCDgH74YfM4NtpG6OfsSAMy0pEqmSkM6-uZi03hsDxHQMm7qWfMz2YhNne-VHB9vpgKD9k-3GXZhNGPthmIeCt9VLW9UU6IkE/s1600/ofsc+award.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU863lrxg9n4uo9FwXBvFzgLXk8ONRRI1A8xeMfDf5X5lCDgH74YfM4NtpG6OfsSAMy0pEqmSkM6-uZi03hsDxHQMm7qWfMz2YhNne-VHB9vpgKD9k-3GXZhNGPthmIeCt9VLW9UU6IkE/s400/ofsc+award.jpg" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="http://authl.it/B00P1M71Q8?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When I started my new job
as Injury Management Coordinator for Allianz Insurance Australia I recounted
the story of how we came to be living in Hobart many times, as I met new people
who were naturally curious about why a UK expat couple would firstly move to
Alice Springs and then be left almost destitute in Queensland after the floods
and ultimately end up in Tasmania. As one of the
insurance companies that made
the decision to not pay-out on the Queensland flood claims, at that time, there
was degree of awkwardness initially when senior management visited, even though
we had not been insured with Allianz in Queensland. I think that as they came
to know me and my family, and as it is a very family oriented business, I
became the personal face of an unseen tragedy. Regularly people would say “you
couldn’t make this stuff up” or “it’s like the premise of a good movie or
novel” and looking back it was from these tiny seeds of inspiration or maybe
motivation to share our story that I began writing what would go on to become
my debut travel memoir, ‘<i><b><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://authl.it/B00GP1T7GQ?d" target="_blank">Glass Half Full Our Australian Adventure</a>.</span></b>’</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By the time I was at the
stage of working out what to do with this book I had written we were living in
France, which is another story you can read about in ‘<i><b><a href="http://authl.it/B00KQMBFEM?d" target="_blank">Two Dogs and a suitcase: Clueless in Charente</a></b>’</i> the journal was
filling up again. With a very erratic internet service and whilst sitting in
the building site of a house which was now our home I decided to self-publish
my book expecting my audience to <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4eZqHSvP1JxhkzOaxnqZHE0T2B0TW7Af1DCEXgrBnSG23zl_nt4IrqOlWhHknjOifSaEjR63svPUUmfj8oFf3OSK7jvM4n7llUB_ktJSVJTjU3NGo-XRaWAgxWEsSYT-q5ObNyegBVhE/s1600/final+2+dogs+cover+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4eZqHSvP1JxhkzOaxnqZHE0T2B0TW7Af1DCEXgrBnSG23zl_nt4IrqOlWhHknjOifSaEjR63svPUUmfj8oFf3OSK7jvM4n7llUB_ktJSVJTjU3NGo-XRaWAgxWEsSYT-q5ObNyegBVhE/s1600/final+2+dogs+cover+%25281%2529.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://authl.it/B00KQMBFEM?d" target="_blank">Amazon Link</a></span></b></td></tr>
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be that of friends and family who were curious
about the way our life had been changed by the events of 2011. However, as I
networked with other self-published authors, initially in my genre and later
across all genres, I became hooked on the process and the total control that it
allows you to develop as writer and a book promoter. Emails from readers
started arriving with questions and feedback, all aimed at helping me to develop
as an author and to give the readers who were now developing into fans and
sometimes friends, more of what they wanted. And the rest as they say is
history. I became ‘<b><i><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://authl.it/B00SDI095W?d" target="_blank">The Accidental Author</a></span></i></b>’ of a travel memoir series and later a series
of self-help guides for new authors who are about to embark on the journey I
had experienced and who I could help by sharing my challenges, successes and
ever developing knowledge and skill base.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The lesson from this
rambling blog post is that everything you experience and learn on your personal
journey is your story, and it doesn’t have to be dramatic like a Hollywood
blockbuster movie to capture the hearts and minds of readers who can empathise,
relate or just plainly interested in the places, people and events that you are
writing about. So my question to you is ‘what’s your story?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Please leave a comment
and feel free to get in touch about your story, or your writing journey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I would like to thank
Eric for the opportunity to share my story with you today, it has been a
pleasure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>Bio:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111;">Author Sarah Jane Butfield was born in Ipswich,
Suffolk, UK. Sarah Jane is a wife, mother, retired Registered General Nurse and
is now an international best-selling author of Travel, Nursing and Culinary
memoirs. She has also written a series of self-help guides for new authors based
on her experiences to date. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Her life now as a successful author and inspiring mentor to new authors in her
role as CEO at Rukia Publishing, is in addition to being a modern day mum to
her 'Brady Bunch.' She has four children, three step-children and an 18-month
old grandson. Sarah Jane loves spending time with her large family, their two
Australian Cattle dogs, Dave and Buster, and her French cat called George.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here are her author social media and website links:</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0cm;">Sarah Jane's Author website:</span><b style="text-indent: 0cm;"> </b><b style="text-indent: 0cm;"><a href="http://www.sarahjanebutfield.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #196ad4; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">www.sarahjanebutfield.com</span></a></b></div>
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Sarah Jane’s Writing Blog <b><a href="http://sarahjanebutfield-glass-half-full.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #196ad4; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">http://sarahjanebutfield-glass-half-full.blogspot.co.uk/</span></a></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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Sarah Jane’s Blog at Rukia <b><a href="http://www.rukiapublishing.com/sarah-janes-blog" target="_blank"><span style="color: #196ad4; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">http://www.rukiapublishing.com/sarah-janes-blog</span></a></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: #111111; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Twitter </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><a href="https://twitter.com/SarahJanewrites" target="_blank"><span style="color: #196ad4; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">@SarahJanewrites</span></a></b><b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><a href="https://twitter.com/OohMatronMemoir" target="_blank"><span style="color: #196ad4; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">@SJButfield</span></a></b><b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><a href="https://twitter.com/GlassHalfFullTM" target="_blank"><span style="color: #196ad4; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">@GlassHalfFullTM</span></a></b><b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><a href="https://twitter.com/TwoDogsMemoir" target="_blank"><span style="color: #196ad4; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">@TwoDogsMemoir</span></a></b><b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><a href="https://twitter.com/FrugalSummer" target="_blank"><span style="color: #196ad4; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">@FrugalSummer</span></a></b><b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<span style="color: #111111; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Facebook: </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><a href="http://www.facebook.com/AuthorSarahJaneButfield" target="_blank"><span style="color: #196ad4; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">www.facebook.com/AuthorSarahJaneButfield</span></a></b><b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><a href="http://www.facebook.com/Twodogsandasuitcase" target="_blank"><span style="color: #196ad4; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">www.facebook.com/Twodogsandasuitcase</span></a></b><b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><a href="http://www.facebook.com/OurFrugalSummerinCharente" target="_blank"><span style="color: #196ad4; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">www.facebook.com/OurFrugalSummerinCharente</span></a></b><b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><a href="http://www.facebook.com/Ooh-Matron-1646665865549530/timeline/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #196ad4; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">www.facebook.com/Ooh-Matron-1646665865549530/timeline/</span></a></b><b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Thank you Sarah Jane for your interesting post. If there are any new writers out there, I urge you to check out her book promotional series, details of which can be found on her Amazon Author page: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sarah-Jane-Butfield/e/B00GPLZW2Y/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"> http://www.amazon.com/Sarah-Jane-Butfield/e/B00GPLZW2Y/</span></a></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>Eric @ <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.ericjgates.com/" target="_blank">www.ericjgates.com</a></span></b></span></div>
Eric J. Gateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13673817861972436550noreply@blogger.com0