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October 20, 2015
Chapter 10 – Missing Pieces by Anna Zhigareva
©
Written by: Anna Zhigareva
“Because Stevenson knows us like the palm of his hand, and he’s used that.” Max tapped his finger on the rim of the chipped mug, tongue bitter from the coffee. “He’s fabricated some good evidence.”
“And he’s used these to taunt us.” Okada stared at the photographs.
Max found his gaze travel to the earlier ones. They didn’t correlate; just flimsy bits of paper. His heart skipped a beat. “And they will be his undoing.”
***
Sean licked the envelope with his tongue, enjoying the familiar taste of paper and glue feed into his taste buds. Envelope sealed, Sean removed the gloves and turned towards his desktop in excited agitation. He’d check the address just once more.
Okada might have guessed at something, and now that he had Mia and Max, the three of them would have surely come up with a plausible truth, but they’d be too late to do anything. USA Homeland Security couldn’t do anything if it tried. Tiger’s Gold was simply too big.
Sean felt his mouth curve in the beginnings of a smile. Tomorrow night, he’d be on the plane to Hawaii, the case closed over Max and Mia’s heads (Okada might yet escape punishment – who could’ve known he’d become an agent?) and Sean would have another nod of approval from the boss. The day after, the ship would leave Hawaii with him on board. Who was it this time? Sean consulted his files. Ah, a Mr. and Mrs. Lake.
How many years – twenty? – that he’d given to Tiger’s Gold? And not a mission gone wrong. They were all so stupid, so gullible. All it took was a bit of whiskey and charisma, and they were his, eyes and ears. Max had even been in on what he thought was a deal. It had been fun. The key, the deposit box – child’s play compared to what Sean had in store. His longest mission yet. Others had come and gone but with this one he had worked for years to make sure it all came to perfect fruition.
“You couldn’t help the photographs, could you?” A voice behind made Sean start and whip around, only to be met by a gun barrel pointed at his forehead. Familiar angry eyes stared at him. “Add in a bit of spice. Have Max play a game you’d created only to realise too late you’d had him guessing wrong. Should’ve thought about the fingerprints, Sean. Not on the last photo, but on all of them. Get him.”
As reinforcements pulled in, guns at the ready, masks hiding the true identity of all in the room but Sean and the agent, Okada’s face betrayed no emotion. “We outplayed you, Sean. And here’s something that has been waiting for you for twenty odd years.” As the handcuffs locked into place, an audible gulp sounded in Sean’s throat and his eyes edged towards the desk where the sealed
envelope rested, unsent, address correct. Inside, the original superimposed photograph, no piece missing this time.
Read the entire serial here – http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/missing-pieces
October 12, 2015
Crate of Lies – Early Reviews – Ray Stone
A crate that conceals everything 5 Stars
By Anthony Smits on October 1, 2015
Format: Kindle Edition
Ray Stone’s latest thriller is the multi-layered tale we’ve come to expect from this still-improving author. Start with a smuggling pipeline designed by a general from World War II, add some priceless – and legendary – missing Russian art, and an American trawler in the Bering Strait. Mix in the theft of some American missiles, the efficiency of German rail networks, and some covert spy operations. You’ll be dragged across Europe in a frenetic chase, with a body count that rivals an online first-person shooter game.
Naturally, the outcome isn’t clear until the end, and people are still dying in the last scene. Absorbing.
An Engrossing Read 5 Stars
By Jen – Reviewer at Webb Weaver on October 12, 2015
Format: Kindle Edition
Ray Stone has written another exciting, complex thriller filled with great characters, an involving plot and many twists and turns that will keep you on the edge of your seat.
A desperately needed Middle Eastern peace deal is dependent on a group of people keeping a very big secret. Unfortunately, one of the players can’t be trusted.
Harry Cohen, is involved in one of the biggest deals of the century but before they he can get the job done he and his right hand man, Raithe Ravelle, need to iron out a few little situations, namely finding the Amber Room, thought to have been hidden during the Second World War, and now being desperately sought by some of the players. With the clues leading them on a wild chase across Europe by rail and then onto the United States, the men have to ensure they stay ahead of the very real danger just one step behind them and quickly catching up or it will surely end in death for both of them and the peace deal.
A very entertaining and involving story which will keep readers engrossed.
Chapter 7 – Changing Places by Ray Stone
Marty grabbed my wrist and yanked me along in the semi-darkness. Droplets of water fell from the lichen-covered red brick roof. Some landed on our heads and shoulders while others splattered and ran down the walls or made little plopping sounds as they fell into puddles that littered the floor. The odour of dampness and decaying vegetation filled the narrow passage. Up ahead I could make out the faint light of the tunnel entrance.
It felt like an eternity but eventually we stumbled out and into the coppice. My hair and shoulders were soaked through. Steam from our hot bodies, caused by the exertion, drifted up and around us into the clear air spiced with the scent of pine and cedar.
Marty doubled over with hands on knees, coughing and gasping for breath. I leant against him as he stood up and looked into his dark eyes. Despite the immediate danger we were in, the magical magnetism between us flowed once more. His fingers gently raised my chin as he pressed his lips to mine with gentle passion. In that moment I knew we loved each other and could make things work out.
“We must run,” he said, pulling away from me. “If he catches us I want you to promise you will keep running while I hold him back.” He held my arm. “No matter what, promise me Sarah.”
“Yes, I promise.”
We turned and started to run past the coppice and into the forest preserve. After several minutes we stopped again. The distinct sound of a diesel engine was approaching.
“Over here,” shouted Marty, pulling me sideways.
Two fallen large pines lay across an old track. We dropped behind them as a Land Rover appeared. Mario was driving. I pulled Marty’s shirt sleeve anxiously and pointed to Mario as he wrestled with the steering wheel while bumping over a line of potholes. Propped next to him was the barrel of a rifle.
“We need to get to the main highway and flag someone down. That’s the quickest way back to town and the cops.” Marty looked around him as the diesel suddenly stopped. “He’s ahead of us and he knows we are back here somewhere. He’ll sweep in an arc. We have to move back the way we came. Come on!”
As we stood a shot rang out.
“Stay right where you are! You move and you’re full of lead!”
Too late, we realised Mario had an accomplice bringing up the rear.
It took Mario seconds to reach us, a sly frightening grimace across his face. Panting, he growled, “Now, you bitch, I want the Osmosis program. If I don’t get it Mr. Goody-be-good here is gonna’ get one in the knee – and then another in the other knee.” He raised the rifle and aimed.
The program was on a memory stick at home. I couldn’t give it up. My heart was pounding.
“I’m sorry, darling.” I turned to Marty. “I love you but…”
http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/changing-places – Read the serial so far
October 11, 2015
CHANGING PLACES – Chapter 6 – Kalli Deschamps
Written by: Kalli Deschamps
Marty kicked shut the hatchway door as he grabbed my sweaty hand and dragged my quivering body along the dark, damp passageway.
“Hurry up,” he whispered. “You are in grave danger.”
“You- you were the voice on the phone?” I managed to stutter as I staggered behind him. “Where were you and where did you come from?”
He rapidly switched a small pen light on and off before pushing my quaking body ahead of him as he reached back to close and bolt a second, thick, aging, wooden door.
“I have been watching you for a long time.”
“Why?”
“I guess because I was a stupid fool and didn’t realise how much I loved you until I lost you.”
“Why didn’t you try to contact me? We could have talked.”
“I thought about it, but then you met this guy and as I watched you—“
“You spied on me?”
Marty was quiet for a moment.
“I guess you could call it that. I was just worried about you.”
The blood seemed to have stopped its slow, oozing trail down my stinging face. My thudding heart still pounded in my ears but my knees had quit knocking. “Since you were the voice on the phone and you tried to disguise it, why did you call me to that awful place and put me in such danger in the first place?”
“I’ve been watching you ever since you went to work for him. I knew what he was after. Then I found out what he had planned for you. This way I could control the situation.”
“Why didn’t you just warn me?”
“Would you have listened?”
“Probably not.”
“I managed to call you first.”
“So you could rescue me?”
He grinned that little boy grin I had never been able to resist. I fell into his arms as he drew my quieting body against his powerful chest and rubbed his stubbled chin against my hair. My heart was thudding for a different reason.
“So what happens now?” I whispered.
“We can’t stay here. If we take the right hand path we end up on the shore of the lake. If we go left we head under the freeway and end in a copse of trees that mark the beginning of the forest preserve.”
“What is this place?”
“This passage has been here since the smuggling days of the past century. My friends and I found it when we were kids and used to hide out down here just for fun. Mario won’t rest until he has found you and tortured your unbelievable secret from you. I opt for the left hand route.”
I didn’t want to leave. I just wanted to stay there in Marty’s powerful arms forever.
“C’mon, babe. We gotta get out of here.”
As Marty grabbed my hand and we turned left through the dripping passage we heard a heavy pounding on the thick, wooden, bolted door. I screamed and we started to run!
READ THE SERIAL SO FAR –
October 10, 2015
Chapter 5 – Changing Places – by Roseyn
I sat on the shaky squab, my arms wrapped around my legs and hungrily searched for freedom. The wooden door on my left was old, splintery but it sported an incongruously shiny new knob.
“It’s locked, Sarah.” Mario’s voice was smooth, disciplined, as was his manner, his eyes soulless, his smirk rabid. It eluded me how I ever thought he was attractive. Cold sweat glued my shirt to my back, a river of chills swept through me and I silently cursed myself for agreeing to the man on the phone in the first place.
My eyes next slid to the window.
“Too little,” Mario said as he crouched in front of me. A small, slim switchblade met my face. “There’s nowhere to go.”
I instantly thought of the hatchway with its two large bolts. It screamed somewhere not ‘nowhere’.
I refrained from looking at it.
“Tell me about this fool proof anti-hacking system. The one you call Osmosis.”
I automatically stiffened. How did Mario know that? Unless…. My shivers were tremors now. Mario whipped out his hand and clamped his long fingers around my throat. My eyes flew open and I gasped. He began circling my bloody wound with his switchblade, its cold tip sizzling against my burning skin. I braced myself expecting the worse.
“You have such a pretty face,” he whispered in a bone-chilling tone. I knew without doubt that he was warning me. “Osmosis. Yes or no?”
‘Osmosis’, my own personal project, did exist. But, in the wrong hands? Disastrous. Like worldwide disastrous. And as an employee of the Intelligence Bureau, I couldn’t allow that. However, I also knew that Mario wouldeventually break me.
And I couldn’t allow that either.
Despair hung heavily on me as I realised there was only one way out. The white, tiny pill stored in my wristwatch. The ‘kill pill’ as the more brash agents of the IB called it. Tears pricked my eyes as I pictured a brightly lit Christmas tree, surrounded with colourfully wrapped gifts, young squealing children and their loving dad … my future children, my future husband. The ones I would now never have. Rage, hot and wild, suddenly swept through me, along with a solid dose of determination. I wasn’t dying… damn it. Not like this. And not now.
“Yes,” I spluttered.
Mario bore the triumphant expression of the victor as he released me.
His first mistake.
I gulped quick, short breaths and rubbed the tender skin on my throat.
And planned.
I then began some moral gibberish about computer hacking, all the while leaning back on my hands. Mario leant forward. I had him hooked.
Mistake number two.
I bent my knees slightly and beckoned Mario closer. He did.
His third and final mistake.
I then rammed my feet directly into his groin. He buckled. I darted. Straight to the hatchway. I unlocked the bolts and jumped into a dark, foreign world.
“Sarah, thank god.”
It was the man on the phone. My ex. Marty.
http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/changing-places Read the serial so far and while you are about it, read some other wonderful works by our other writers.
October 6, 2015
Chapter 9 – Missing Pieces
Even in the middle of the night, in a dingy interrogation room, Mr Okada is immaculate. His suit looks freshly pressed, his shirt snow-white. He drops his head, characteristically steepled fingers in front of his forehead. Only the deep frown lines betray his inner torment. Finally, he sucks in a loud gulp of air and looks up. His face is devoid of expression.
“You’re looking at me! In the picture. I’m who’s missing. And that, my unreliable, alcoholic friend, is why I must reluctantly place my trust in you.” Abruptly Okada gets to his feet and begins pacing the shabby room as he speaks rapidly into his phone.
Max doesn’t understand Japanese, but understands enough to know that whatever the agent is discussing is serious. He tries to lick his lips to moisten them, but his tongue is dry and rough inside his mouth. He needs a drink.
“Any chance of a drink around here?” He sounds pathetic, but doesn’t care. A drink will restore his pride.
“Shut up! “ Okada’s eyes are flinty. “Pull yourself together. We have work to do and I need you sober!” He opens the graffiti covered door to their room and calls “Burakkukōhī.”
Thirty seconds later, a light tap announces the arrival of two black coffees in badly chipped and stained mugs. Then, leaning his elbows on the back of a chair, Okada faces Max across the table.
“Drink your coffee my friend. I am about to disclose one of my country’s best kept secrets.” He pauses for a moment, then continues in a deceptively conversational tone. “Under normal circumstances, what I am about to divulge would be an offence punishable by death so pay careful attention because your life depends on what happens next. Have you ever heard the name General Yamashita?”
Max shakes his head in denial.
“Have you ever heard anyone – Stephenson perhaps, mention Tiger’s Gold?”
Again Max shakes his head. “What’s this got to do with the key and a ripped up photo? …and tiger’s treasure?”
“Gold.” Okada corrects absently. “Tiger’s Gold. If we’re not very careful, I believe we three have been carefully set up to be disposable scapegoats for an international ring of criminal treasure hunters. Japan has had them under loose surveillance for many years.” He strides about the room “Initially my government didn’t take them seriously, but recently their activities have been increasingly more sinister, with the result that Japanese and now USA Homeland Security have increased their risk category to ‘RED’. It all fits; the picture fragments, the boat shed, the silver key, the funds – and the three of us, Mia, you and I. What we need to know now is, why us?”
As Okada’s meaning sank in it was like a punch in his unprotected guts – and suddenly Max was the nearest to cold sober he’d been for the last ten years. In fact, ever since Sean had run off with the love of his life.
Read the serial http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/missing-pieces
Sirias 3 – by Ray Stone
Masterson selected two of the twenty-four nitrogen thrusters and gently dabbed the Man Maneuvering Unit retro button on the left armrest. He immediately floated slowly to port. Below him the Luna shuttle’s white livery stood out starkly against the blackness of space. “Well at least it isn’t raining,” he quipped.
Bret floated through the hatch into the cargo hold on a life line and rotated so Masterson could see him. “Funny man. You missed your calling,”
“I know, I should be on the stage.”
Bret laughed. “Yeah, sweeping it.”
It was three hours since the collision and despite repeated attempts the shuttles main engines were dead. Masterson had finally decided, as commander, to put the MMU on and go see the damage, if any, that the huge piece of space junk had done.
As the thrusters carried him under the shuttle and toward the engines his worst fears were realized.
“Fuel cells ruptured, Bret. Looks like we’re out of fuel. Guess we’ll have to get out and push.”
They both laughed but it was a nervous laugh. Communication with moon base was good and an emergency call logged within seconds of the accident. The problem was moon base could not launch a rescue mission for eight hours. The shuttle, meanwhile, had drifted off course despite constant corrections using the ship’s small retro thrusters. They also ran out of fuel. In eight hours they were going to be out of range. No rescue shuttle could reach them and return to base. There was not enough fuel.
***
“Moon base, this is Galileo. We are dangerously close to the no return sector. What’s going on?”
“Galileo, we know you have a little fuel left in one of the two cells supplying the retro thrusters. If you can use the cell pump to even each tank we think we have come up with a solution.”
Bret looked across at Masterson who was busy flicking switches and peering at the computer readings.
“Moon base this is Bret, where are we heading?”
“Bret, you are closing on Sirias 3.”
“You’re kidding!”
Both men looked at each other. Sirias 3 was abandoned some ten years previously when a malfunctioning computer had caused a serious fire and sent the huge communications centre off course. The two hundred plus employees had managed to escape except a few crew.
“Bret, Sirias is still alive. She lost fuel and almost half the structure has gone. However, she can function as a lifeboat. If you can dock with her we can send a ship to you and a probe carrying fuel for the return journey. It depends on you though. Get the fuel pumped and then we’ll give you the co-ordinates so you can use the retro thrusters to find and dock with her.”
“What about oxygen and water? asked Bret.”
“We estimate two full tanks of oxygen and there should be water.”
“Okay moon base, we’re on it.”
“Something else, Bret. There is a possibility that some of the crew might still be alive.”
October 4, 2015
CRATE OF LIES
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Sunday Sampler: Crate of Lies by Ray Stone
OCTOBER 4, 2015
LINDA PIRTLE
In our mission to connect readers, writers, and books, Venture Galleries has launched a new series featuring writing samples from some of the best authors in the marketplace today. Sunday’s Sampler is an excerpt from Crate of Lies, a thriller from Ray Stone.
As one reviewer said: Start with a smuggling pipeline designed by a general from World War II, add some priceless – and legendary – missing Russian art, and an American trawler in the Bering Strait. Mix in the theft of some American missiles, the efficiency of German rail networks, and some covert spy operations. You’ll be dragged across Europe in a frenetic chase, with a body count that rivals an online first-person shooter game.
The Story
The Amber Room, stolen by Nazi looters and then lost at the end of WWII is hidden somewhere. A small note found inside a box containing a rare Russian icon has given up a clue as to the location of the room. The icon, stored in Washington D.C. for years is going back to Moscow as a condition for Russia’s help in persuading Arabs to negotiate peace with their neighbours in the Middle East.
Harry Cohen is London Desk for the Mossad. He should be happy that a Middle East peace deal is in place that will see Arab states and Israelis benefiting from a political territorial solution and US and European financial aid. The Russians are also benefitting from economic rewards. One condition within the deal is that the US will eventually man a network of early warning satellite posts on the Golan Heights, a secret that must remain in place for two years during construction. In the meantime the public will learn that the posts are observatories manned by an international team of scientists and astrologers. Out to upset the delicate peace is a terrorist group, the Palestinian Freedom Fighters. The US government are losing arms, stolen by a large international smuggling ring supplying the PFF. Unable to discover how the arms are being smuggled, the government are further shocked to find some of their latest miniature lightweight neutron rockets, launched by soldiers in the field, are missing. Harry is wary of the Russians finding out, knowing they would blackmail the US into giving them more aid for keeping quiet.
Harry has the small note found with the icon and together with his assistant, Raithe Ravelle and Michael Garret the US Ambassador to London he devises a plan to find the room and let Moscow know they can have the room back – in two years. Unfortunately, a Serbian agent posing as a representative of one of the charities involved in the work for the Middle East is using Garret’s press secretary, Marsh, to gather gossip. A conversation regarding the arms and the Amber Room is picked up on a small micro recorder Marsh has secreted in Garret’s office. Prazina the Serb agent realizes the significance of the information for two reasons. Belgrade is buying arms from the smugglers who are funnelling the arms across their country and the rest of Europe by means of railway freight systems and both Belgrade and the smugglers must be contacted. The Amber Room information is just what he needs to collect a million for information that will help war criminal president Mikulic of Bosnia find sanctuary in Russia before his arrest. Prazina silences Marsh and arranges to hand over the tape in Berlin to a Bosnian agent.
Mikulic cannot wait to tell Moscow about the room and within hours a Colonel Mankovic is talking to an old colleague, ex Stasi agent Hienrich Lieberman. Lieberman is an arch enemy of Harry and both men have sworn to kill each other. Mankovic tells Lieberman about the room that Russia will pay anything for it if it is found before Harry gets his hands on it. What Mankovic and Harry are unaware of is that Lieberman is working for the smuggling organization and they too want the room but more importantly, to make the last delivery of the rockets before closing their ‘pipeline’ down.
Raithe discovers that the secret code and message found in the boxed icon refers to a network of railway routes and special numbering on crates devised by SS General Rienecke. After a visit to an old colleague of Harry’s working for the German railway freight dept. he finds that the same strange numbering is still being used. Harry is sure they have found a smuggling route that operates in both directions and decides they must find the crates and follow them. He hopes they will not only find the rockets but the whereabouts of the Amber Room. Close on Raithe’s heels is Lieberman, disposing of the opposition and lose tongues. With orders to kill Harry and Raithe, the chase is on through Russia, Poland, Germany and Prague. After the rockets are recovered and the smugglers caught, Raithe follows Lieberman to Idaho.
Lieberman is after finding a Neo Nazi called Wesley, a board member of the smuggling organization whose father recovered the room from its hiding place in 1952. Harry is sure Rienecke shipped the room to North America on his release from Spandau. In a final confrontation Harry and Raithe face Lieberman and Wesley in a mountain hideout battle to save the room.
The Sampler
Ray Stone
Darting into the shadows and running down the road, he heard the automatic firing, and stopped. He stood in disbelief, looking back. The car was not moving. Nina was out of it, facing the BMW. Pulling the Beretta from his pocket, he ran back, firing as he rounded the corner. One man sat inside the BMW, obviously wounded. The other was crouched behind an open door, firing at Nina. She saw Raithe approach and so did the Arab. Raithe saw them both look at him and Abdul’s gun move in his direction.
Raithe watched helplessly as Nina dived in front of him, knocking him to the ground. Momentarily stunned, he was relieved to hear the BMW roar away.
“That was another close call. You really have got to learn to do as you’re told,” he said, grinning.
She lay on top of him, unmoving.
“Nina…Nina.” He pushed her from him and sat up, holding her head in his hands. A patch of blood was spreading quickly across her chest from a large wound. Her eyes glazed over.
“Raithe,” she whispered. “You love me…yes?”
“Yes.” He cradled her in his arms and rocked back and forth as grief and anger rolled over him. “Yes, I love you, Nina.” He kissed her as she drew her last breath, her lips soft and warm on his.
He sat there, holding her for a minute before gently putting her back in the car. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m so sorry.”
He walked away quickly without looking back.
At the end of the road he turned into the alley where the Norton lay propped against the wall. Moments later, he rode out into the street. After reaching the station, he found the phone box and dialled.
“Dobraya utra.”
Raithe cuffed tears from his face. “Angliyski, da?”
There was a moment of silence. “You speak only English?”
“Yes, I’d like to report the death of one of your nationals.” He looked up at a dawn sky, fighting back emotion.
After giving details he slammed the receiver back and stood shaking uncontrollably. He cuffed his face and slipped cautiously out of the kiosk and into the night.
October 3, 2015
Bal Maid a-Knocking (cont)
It was four months to the day that Pumblewood, now free of the wish to secret a small bottl
e about his person, announced with much pleasure that all necessary repairs and structural additions to the mine were complete and inspected by Edwin Malby, chairman of the Amalgamated Tin Mine Association.
I was happy too but my money was all but gone on new timbers and mortar. A seam of copper had produced a steady income that paid the bills but that was all. I hoped that with increased efficiency I might please Mr. Crumley, my solicitor, with a trickle of income expanding my bank account. Indeed, truth to tell, all who worked the mine did so with a smile and little bad word among them.
It was therefore with much joy and a glad heart that on a particular summer morning I received two letters, one from Mr. Crumley who wrote on the first day of each month – and another unmarked envelope from Edwin Malby who sent me a credit note for the sale of my copper each month.
Putting Mr. Malby’s letter to one side I opened the letter from London. Apart from reminding me of the balance of my account he would also write a short note, keeping me up to date on all manner of news from the capital.
I read the opening line and immediately pushed my breakfast to one side for the message started with news concerning my aunt. Mr. Crumley required my presence at his offices two mornings hence. His clerk, a master Benjamin Ponsenby, on clearing the last of my mother’s papers had come across a letter written to my aunt by a Mr. J. Ruskin. The letter was marked South Africa.
Crumley was most insistent I attend him and indeed hinted that I might make arrangements for Edwin Malby to oversee my mining operation; Pumblewood not being quite intelligent enough on some of the more important issues such as counting out the workers’ wages. The suggestion implied I might be away from the mine for several days and in that respect I felt obliged to make travel arrangements for the following day.
I summoned Mary Trelogan, my housekeeper and nurse to my aunt. A handsome young fair-headed woman I did think on whenever I had time. I was determined that before the year was out I would walk with her and take the liberty to enjoy a kiss.
She appeared before me in her blue dress fronted by a long white apron.
“I’ll pack your travel bag, Sir. Will you be gone more than seven days?”
“I have not one idea,” I replied. “I think you should pack as much as possible for I may even be traveling to distant parts.”
With a quick bob rather than courtesy, Mary left me to ponder why Mr. Crumley was in such an urgent mood. I decided to visit the mine and talk to Pumblewood and then visit Malby at evening dinner. With breakfast finished, I pulled my coat and scarf from the rack in the hall and wrapped myself against the strong wind that had rattled the shutters all night. Despite the inclement weather I left the house and strode along the path to the cliff top with a somewhat excited state of mind.
October 2, 2015
The first review – Crate of Lies
By Anthony Smits on October 1, 2015
Ray Stone’s latest thriller is the multi-layered tale we’ve come to expect from this still-improving author. Start with a smuggling pipeline designed by a general from World War II, add some priceless – and legendary – missing Russian art, and an American trawler in the Bering Strait. Mix in the theft of some American missiles, the efficiency of German rail networks, and some covert spy operations. You’ll be dragged across Europe in a frenetic chase, with a body count that rivals an online first-person shooter game.
Naturally, the outcome isn’t clear until the end, and people are still dying in the last scene. Absorbing
Anthony gives this a 5 Star rating
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