No, I’m not talking about my sci-fi bundle The Chaos Chronicles Trilogy Collection this time, although that bundle is definitely a bargain for all sci-fi readers.

Instead I’m describing Intolerance, Book Seven in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series. Like Book Six, Defanging the Red Dragon, it’s another novel that’s a fee PDF download (see the list of free fiction on my “Free Stuff & Contests” web page at this website). Why? Here’s the summary:

Esther Brookstone, ex-MI6 spy and ex-Scotland Yard Inspector in the Art and Antiques Division, becomes involved in solving a cold case, a murder committed in Ireland years earlier; in thwarting a plot to kill immigrants and refugees; and in a murder case involving a famous Irish author. Her husband, Bastiann van Coevorden, an ex-Interpol agent and now a consultant for MI5, and various others help her in these cases. As one character proclaims, “God help me. She turns up everywhere.” Life after Brexit has become very dangerous in the British Isles!

So you have three cases then in one novel. Esther and hubby Bastiann are very busy. That in itself is unusual because most novels aren’t three-part stories. I’ll often include back story or a flashback to revisit Esther’s prior adventures, as you’ve seen by reading some of the previous novels, but that’s more to show she’s been obsessed with solving crimes perpetrated against innocents for a long time, even as an MI6 spy during the Cold War. I’ve experimented a bit here, though, giving Esther and Bastiann only secondary roles.

Esther’s not in danger in this one either. She’s involved in these cases because, at this stage in her life, she has a lot of friends who carry on her campaigning against injustice. Of course, she’s the common denominator for the cases. The first reflects her opinion that both bigotry and hatred are despicable, the second involves two newlyweds whose wedding led to the first, and the third involves one of those newlyweds more directly. So they are intertwined.

A question readers sometimes ask is why, with my love of Ireland, I don’t use that Emerald Isle as a setting for a mystery/thriller novel. This novel comes fairly close with two of the cases mentioned above. The first is about an Irish sculptor and the second about an Irish writer (two if you also count the murder victim). The amateur detective Declan O’Hara appeared in my novella “Poetic Justice” (now available as one of eight novellas found in Sleuthing, British-Style, Volume Three, also a free PDF download), and he and his new wife DI Margaret “Maggie” Bent received an encore in this novel. (These are independent stories, though.) Maggie has her hands full chasing the right-wing scrotes who are murdering migrants and refugees, while Declan tries to find his old author friend’s murderer.

Do you find all this too complex? Sorry, I don’t write fluff. All my stories are complex, even the short fiction. And this novel is free, so you don’t have any right to complain (chortle, chortle).

***

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“Clones and Mutants.” This series starts with my very first novel, Full Medical, as it paints a dystopian picture of what our healthcare system can become as greedy people get rich off innocent people’s health problems and unscrupulous politicians try to preserve their power. The clones here are also abused innocents. In Evil Agenda, the villain behind the conspiracy of the first novel, tries to give himself even more power; and, in No Amber Waves of Grain, he almost redeems himself by helping to thwart an even more insidious villain. These are “evergreen books,” as current and troubling sci-fi thrillers as the day I wrote them, and all three books in this trilogy are available wherever quality ebooks are sold.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

A quick Google search told me how many have been made for the big silver screen: the ones starring Peter Ustinov (1978) and now Kenneth Branagh (2022) are the only ones. Murder on the Orient Express has fared better. Like all Hollywood remakes, one might ask: Why is another version needed?

At least one can say that Dame Agatha’s Egyptian tale has staying power. I read the original under the covers with a flashlight as a kid, my SOP for reading many books I shouldn’t have been reading at my age. I was a bit precocious, I suppose, but Christie’s novels are fairly tame in comparison  to many of today’s mystery and thrillers (including my own!).

Murder on the Orient Express is like Death on the Nile in the sense that private detective Hercule Poirot is trapped, on a train in the first book and on a steamship in the second, so he’s lucky enough to have only a handful of suspects. Of course, he applies his investigative brainpower in both.

I also read many Miss Marple originals. While Christie teamed each one of her sleuths up with a few inspectors, she never made Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot into a team to solve a murder case, something I always wondered about because it was an obvious thing to do. That was one inspiration for the entire “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series; but Death on the Nile and Murder on the Orient Express, to a lesser extent, were direct inspirations for my Death on the Danube, which unites Miss Marple (Brookstone) with Mr. Poirot (van Coevorden), the steamboat setting changed to a riverboat (which didn’t exist in Christie’s day) as the couple try to enjoy their honeymoon.

Esther Brookstone is a sprier, younger, and feistier Miss Marple; and Bastiann van Coevorden, while a brainy investigator like Poirot, only looks like David Suchet (famous for the BBC’s Poirot series). Together they make an accomplished crime-fighting duo, something I believe Christie’s Marple and Poirot would have become as well if they had ever joined forces.

The “Esther Brookstone” series, now seven novels strong, has modern themes that Christie couldn’t have ever imagined in her day. That doesn’t detract from her oeuvre, but it makes the “Esther Brookstone” series about a twenty-first century Marple-Poirot crime-fighting team an original and hopefully entertaining number of novels for my readers.

So…go ahead and see the movie, but let me just say that no movie can ever capture the subtleties in Christie’s mysteries…or mine!

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More than a trilogy! Someone thought the first three books in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series, Rembrandt’s Angel, Son of Thunder, and Death on the Danube, should finish the series as a trilogy. Surprise! They don’t. There are seven novels in the series now, but those first three have print versions, so readers can call them Esther’s “print trilogy.” The first five are also available in ebook versions. #6 and #7 are free downloads. That particular someone might have wanted to stop at a trilogy, but he couldn’t stop a good woman like Esther from seeking justice for those whom criminals, spies, and terrorists abuse and attack!

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

Midnight in Washington: How We Almost Lost Our Democracy and Still Could. Adam Schiff, author. (Random House, 2021). This important book (and a few others like it) does a great service. Here we learn the details about how some people—not just Mr. Schiff and his colleagues who ran the first impeachment trial prosecuting a psychotic sociopath who still poses a great danger to American democracy (he’ll forever be impeached—the only US president to have the stain of being impeached twice!)—but also others who have the courage to speak truth to power. We all should be so brave; otherwise, we’ll lose our precious republic to the dark forces of fascism. (I do my small part by blasting my representatives in Congress with emails, telling them to act, as well as by writing my political blog at http://pubprogressive.com. We should all do what we can. Democracy is worth saving!)

While this is mostly the story of the first impeachment trial and briefly the second, it’s a book that shows how Trump aka Il Duce has completely destroyed American conservatism, turning the GOP into his acolytes and morphing them into the fascist Good Ole Piranhas. This orange-skinned devil in four short years (which seemed like an eternity!) also decreased our stature in the world, much to the delight of autocrats like Putin and Xi and other two-bit fascist leaders who would tell you that representative democracies can’t get anything done and that a strong man, a president-for-life like those two servants of evil, are necessary. Perhaps many in the world are sad to see that America, that shining beacon for democracy and freedom, is all but extinguished as the US now looks more and more like 1930s Germany, but what’s sadder is that many Americans don’t see that and are hastening our slide down into the cesspool of fascism.

This book validates all my fears I’ve had since Trump walked down those stairs in Trump-the-Chump’s Tower to launch his presidential campaign by calling immigrants murders and rapists, a standard tactic used by the worst dictators, including Hitler: Create a minority all the disgruntled morons can blame for their problems! (Those problems often caused by fascists and the plutocrats who control them.) Many readers will find the details in this story as scary as I did. What I find even scarier, though, is that we’re still letting the fascist Good Ole Piranhas spew this vitriol and hatred.

Mr. Schiff takes us through all the events that too many of us paid no attention to; others purposely tried to forget; and still others, most of the Good Ole Piranhas, celebrated. It’s required reading for every respectable US citizen who might be wondering what can be done to save our democracy in the sense that it’s a list of things we shouldn’t allow to happen. The most obvious now: Never trust a Republican! Mr. Schiff’s subtitle is a reminder of the danger that’s still with us.

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[Note from Steve: A bit shorter than the other novellas, but still a British-style mystery. Enjoy.]

What’s in a Game?

Copyright, Steven M. Moore

Chapter Two

Ellie pulled photos of Peterson, the three victims, and ones of about a dozen bodyguards out of her large purse. Dotty pointed at the first.

“That’s Joel, of course.” She then pointed at another, one of the victims. “Saw that one once. He was with these two.” She’s pointed to two of the known bodyguards. “I don’t recognize anyone else. Sorry.”

“Hear any names?” Steve said.

“The first feller, the ugly bastard, was called Artie. Joel was more respectful towards him than the other two. Does that help?”

“Maybe,” Ellie said. “When did you see those three?”

Dotty thought a moment. “I guess Joel had a meeting with them. He called them business associates. That was obviously before I broke up with Joel, maybe two or three weeks ago? The whole experience annoyed me because Joel had asked me to meet him at his place at that time.”

“Did you know he entertained some of these blokes? Set up poker nights and played with them from time to time, to be precise.”

She grimaced. “No. I would have kicked his arse out earlier if I’d known that. My old man was a drunk and had a gambling addiction. Horses mostly. He’d lose a week’s wages and then come home and beat the crap out of my mum. I can’t stand that type of behavior.”

“Do you have any idea where Joel is now?” Steve said.

“Probably shagging some other gullible woman if he’s not at home! He’s a good-looking bloke as you can see in your photo, so women are attracted to him. Biggest error in my life, I dare say.”

“Did you know that Joel Peterson is an alias?” Ellie said.

Dotty blanched. “I really am a damn fool! What’s his real name?”

“I wish we knew. We’ll ask him when we catch him. Anywhere you can think he might be hiding?”

“He was always a bit circumspect, and now I know why. I don’t want to know why you want him, though. And he’d better not be hiding in my summer cottage either. We want there once. I inherited it from my father. Only good thing he did after driving my mum to her grave. Surprised the hell out of me. I think he purchased it for his mistresses. I’m thinking about selling it because it’s mostly a tax drain.”

“Could we have the address?”

Dotty wrote something on a notepad, ripped off the sheet, and handed it to Ellie. She studied it.

“It’s near Penrith. Quite a little journey.”

Ellie nodded. She’d put it in her report, thinking it might be worth visiting sometime as the case progressed…or stalled.

***

Back in the unmarked squad car, Ellie said to Steve, “What did you think about that?”

“Brutally honest, I dare say. She mightn’t like coppers, but she despises Joel Peterson. Probably more so now. Can’t say I blame her.”

“That’s my take as well. At least we learned we’ll be looking for Harry Stone and Ozzie Holly.”

“Think they were two of the three bodyguards present?”

“No. I don’t know which one Artie had there, but the other two were probably bodyguards of the other victims. But we can look for Harry and Ozzie to start. Let’s go back to the station and try to locate one of them, now that we have some names.”

“We might find them here in Newcastle,” Steve said. “I have a friend in CID here, DS Barry Waters. We can borrow his computer. Same databases, including HOLMES.”

“Lawrence mightn’t like us to do that,” Ellie said. She was new enough to want to avoid her DI’s disapproval.

“Um. He’d probably do the same and approve of our initiative.”

“Okay. Give me directions.” She knew there were three Newcastle police stations, and she didn’t know the way to any of them. Meeting with Steve’s friend would at least show her where one was for future reference.

***

Barry was a big black block as large as Steve; his parents came from Nigeria, and the two giants talked sports for five minutes.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but we’re on a mission,” she reminded them.

“Um, yes, so we are,” Steve said, a bit embarrassed. “Barry and I usually have a chinwag like this over a few pints.”

Barry eyed Ellie. “Too much London in the lass, Steve.” He now smiled at her. “In the Yard, I used to be as serious as you are, Ellie. We’re a bit more laid back here in Northumbria. But okay, what’s the gig?”

She explained their mission.

“Um, yes, we can use my computer to see if at least one of those two yobs has a local address. Drugs are sold all over the northeast now, but the VIPs like to congregate here in Newcastle.”

“These bodyguards aren’t exactly VIPs,” Ellie said.

“They’re right up there in rank, Luv, because they have other tasks to perform. The chief says to kill someone, for example, and the bodyguard, really the big man’s aide, arranges it. They’re not the grunts in the drugs armies; they’re the colonels obeying the generals’ orders.”

“You’re just full of metaphors, aren’t you?”

“I do my best.”

After another fifteen minutes, they had an address for Harry Stone, a house on the way back to Morpeth. They stopped there.

***

“How do you want to play this?” Ellie said to Steve, still rankled by all the sports talk.

“Ring the doorbell and show our warrant cards?”

“And maybe get shot? You wouldn’t last long in London.”

“Okay, big city copper. How do you want to play it?”

“‘Twas I asking you. Barry sent us here, after wasting our time discussing football and rugby.”

He laughed, but she was now peering through a dirty window.

“I don’t think we have to worry about how to proceed,” she said. “There are three bodies on the floor.”

He looked in over her shoulder. “Three plus three makes six!”

“My, my, the sports fan just graduated from nursery school.” She went to another window nearer the door, broke a pane, and reached in to open the door. She turned and smiled at Steve. “In London, we call that probable cause. Now we can debate whom to call, Morpeth or Newcastle?”

“It’s Morpeth’s case, our case.” He hesitated at the open door. “Think they’re the three bodyguards?”

“You were the one who said three plus three. Call DI Lawrence. Whether this is good or bad for our case, he’ll want to know.”

***

“I’m not sure this is progress,” Lawrence said.

The three were standing outside the open door watching Doc and SOCOs doing their dance again.

“At least we know Joel Peterson, or whoever he is,” Ellie said, “is our prime suspect now. This looks like a hit to eliminate witnesses.”

“Maybe,” Steve said. “But why didn’t these three just shoot Peterson when he shot their bosses?”

“Good question, lad,” Lawrence said, “and I’ll offer up two possible answers: One, these three were in it and killed after the fact; or two, none of the four were, and someone was hiding somewhere and popped the three mob bosses, and Peterson and these three did a runner before the killer could shoot them. I’m guessing all four not left in that loft knew how to take care of themselves, including Peterson, unless he’s also dead somewhere else. Ah, here’s Max.”

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You hear and see that phrase a lot now because there a lot of jobs available in this pandemic economy. Employers are desperate for employees; and employees are taking advantage, moving up and looking for their dream job. I landed mine long before Covid, though. I always wanted to be a storyteller, and that’s what I started doing even before I left a completely different day-job. True, I couldn’t have fed a family with the royalties I’ve earned, but it is my dream job.

What few readers I have—I have no way of counting all of them because I know some are reading borrowed or pirated books, hopefully the former and not the latter—all my readers make my storytelling worthwhile because the real motivation for writers of fiction should be that their stories entertain, thrill, and educate those readers who want quality entertainment, huge thrills, and interesting and universal themes in their fiction reading. To me, that’s worth a lot more than a huge royalties check.

Of course, it would be better if more writers doing their dream job could have the benefits of a real job, i.e. make a decent living with good benefits while doing it. Nowadays, that’s nearly impossible. While that doesn’t bother me—I write a lot of fiction that I just give away now—it’s not a dream job many people can afford to pursue. And readers will suffer from that situation.

One can make money writing, of course. There’s journalism and investigative reporting, for example. Writers can create ad copy and verses for greeting cards. They can write and edit all sorts of manuals for today’s high tech devices. But none of that is storytelling.

In my new novel Intolerance, Declan O’Hara reprises his role of writer that he had in the novella “Poetic Justice.” He’s an Irish writer who makes most of his money with investigative journalism, creating his poetry and mystery novels on the side. Something like that is what most writers have to do if they want to make enough money to live on. That fate in itself is sad enough, but Declan lives with it and keeps his cool, as does his new wife, Detective Inspector Margaret Bent.

I suppose this situation is a turn-off for many would-be authors who see fiction writing as their dream job. They and many others might call me a masochist. It’s true that now our love for storytelling has to be so strong that we’ll stick with it no matter what occurs. I plan to do just that, and I hope others can manage to do the same. After all, it’s my dream job, even though it’s not really a well-paying one; and I’m an avid reader too, so I need other authors’ stories.

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The Golden Years of Virginia Morgan. This novel forms a bridge between the “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco” and “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series and the “Clones and Mutants” series. DHS agent Ashley Scott is looking towards retirement but finds danger instead as she discovers a vast conspiracy. She also finds romance with an investigative journalist. The conspiracy, which involves a plan to assassinate a presidential candidate, sends them both running for their lives. Available wherever quality ebooks are sold.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

[Note from Steve: A bit shorter than the other novellas, but still a British-style mystery. Enjoy.]

What’s in a Game?

Copyright, Steven M. Moore

Chapter One

DI Matthew Lawrence stood with DS Ellie Jones, looking into the loft. He called it that because he could imagine that some artist might have leased the space, although it did have some furniture: A large table was surrounded by seven chairs. Three bodies slumped in three of the chairs. The other four looked like they were pushed back in a hurry.

“Messy,” Lawrence said. Pathologist Littleton and SOCO Heath were trying to keep out of each other’s way as they circled the table. “Card game for seven. Think the other four killed the three victims and scarpered?”

“Kind of violent for a friendly card game,” Ellie said. “All the wagers are still in the center of the table. Four hands are face down as if those four had to run to the loo. We should talk to the building’s owner.”

“Steve’s talking to him. I want to first take a look around as soon as Doc and the SOCOs let us.”

Steve was DS Kirkland, Ellie’s counterpart on Lawrence’s team. She was the new member, but she already had one murder investigation under her belt with the Morpeth Police Department. She was hoping this one wouldn’t be so strange, although three bodies versus one didn’t bode well.

“I’ll sort the constables and organize a neighborhood canvass.”

Lawrence nodded, although he seemed preoccupied with other thoughts. She guessed a canvass would be a waste of time in the old neighborhood. She’d seen worse as a DC in London, but the residents in this one wouldn’t have much use for coppers either.

***

Lawrence stopped the pathologist on his way out. He knew that Andrew Littleton barely tolerated him and would take his time, no matter how much the DI would try to speed things up.

“Execution style, right?”

“You guess correctly, Inspector.” Doc flashed a wry smile. “And I’m guessing the card game was rudely interrupted by it considering the money and chips still on the table. But that’s all you have for now. And you’ll be waiting a bit longer for anything more from me. I usually don’t get three bodies at once.”

“Give me a drugs report when you get around to it, but what we have is all we need to get started. I think these yobs were gangsters. Hardly makes sense to call them victims.”

“Like ‘live by the sword, die by the sword’?”

“Something like that. I know who can identify them and confirm my theory.”

“Paul won’t like that you invade his patch.”

“That’s too bad. The stench is still in the air. They smoked weed here. That alone suggests the drugs business might be involved.”

“No ash trays, Matt.”

“Maybe from earlier then. Artificial courage for a killer.”

“Could be. Have a ball, Inspector.”

After Doc left and the SOCOs finished, Lawrence didn’t look around very much; there wasn’t much to see. He watched Doc’s aides carry out the body bags to the meat wagon and shook his head. My peaceful Morpeth isn’t immune to violence.

He went downstairs to talk to the landlord.

***

Mr. Patel, the building’s owner, didn’t look all that troubled. Lawrence thought he might be Hindu, not Sikh, because there was no headdress. Both were ubiquitous throughout the UK because of the historical connections with India, but to Lawrence they all chattered on in a special sing-song dialect that would suggest to most people they were nervous individuals. Patel wasn’t; he seemed resigned instead.

He approached the two; Steve had been having a chinwag with Patel, but Lawrence wanted to get his own read on the bloke.

“Mr. Patel doesn’t know too much about his renter, Guv,” Steve said.

“Kept himself to himself,” Patel said before Steve could continue, “as I was explaining to your sergeant. Didn’t see him except when rent was due. He’s lived here for only two months.”

“Did you collect any information about him, more than what’s on the lease? Employment and employers, references, previous leases, that sort of thing?”

The owner waved his hand to indicate the neighborhood. “This is my worst property because the neighborhood is a tip. Isn’t that obvious? I’ve had many renters skip out on me.”

“Do you report that?” Steve said.

Patel shrugged. “Nothing comes of it.” He smiled at Lawrence. “Maybe you plods will pay more attention to three murders?”

“We’ll do our best,” Lawrence said with a wink at Steve. “I don’t suppose you were around last night?”

“Like I told your sergeant, I was at my daughter’s birthday party.”

“Wish her my best. Could you provide us a copy of the lease? We need the full name. At the very least, we can charge your renter with hosting an illegal card game.”

“That’s illegal?” Patel said with a smile.

“We usually don’t crack down on that, but it’s using a private residence as a casino without a proper license.”

“Because there was cash on the table?”

“That’s the evidence, sir.”

Patel shook his head. “I don’t think Joel Peterson knew about that casino law. He certainly didn’t care when neighbors complained about the comings and goings for the games. Some might have called you plods.”

Lawrence only shrugged.

***

“Joel Peterson doesn’t have form,” Ellie said as she and Steve found chairs in front of Lawrence in his office. “In fact, he didn’t exist at all six months ago.”

“We think the name’s an alias,” Steve said.

“Most likely, considering. We need a photo. Anyone got one?” Lawrence looked from Steve to Ellie.

“He paid two months rent with a check,” Steve said, “so we have a bank account.” He crossed his fingers. “Bank’s CCTV?”

“Worth a try.”

“I’ll get on it.” Steve scraped the remaining biscuits off the plate and dropped them into his coat pocket. “Quick lunch, maybe.” He dashed out.

Lawrence shook his head. “Lad’s too intense. What else do you have for me?”

“Pathologist report: One kill shot for each victim. No drugs in their systems. We’ve also identified them: Troy Higgins, Richard Jackson aka Dicky, and Arthur Richardson aka Artie, three mobsters Williamson identified. They’re gang leaders known to him for their drugs businesses, according to him. He thinks there might be a gang war going on, a turf battle.”

“Paul’s probably wrong,” Lawrence said, glad he’d avoided the confrontation with the pugnacious narcotics officer.

“Guv?”

“Think about it, Ellie. Those clowns were playing poker together, all like friendly business associates. They’ve divided up the area and staked out their own patches long ago if Williamson knows about them. If there’s a turf war, it’s because there’s a new yob around who took the opportunity to eliminate all three so he can move in. That’s my theory. Let’s ask Paul if there are any new drugs being sold.”

***

Paul Williamson and Matthew Lawrence had some history. Lawrence thought Williamson played a bit loose with the rules too often—scrotes beat up, evidence lost, and so forth, but nothing so egregious to make Lawrence go to the super. And he just didn’t like the little weasel.

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The evil Bezos’s bots have struck again! Because my older books are “evergreen,” meaning that they’re as current, relevant, and hopefully entertaining as the day I wrote them, I decided recently to check to see if there were any new reviews written by recent readers. (I now only read and use reviews to extract material for marketing purposes, but readers should keep writing them to help other readers.) Not only were there no new reviews, but the bots had removed the old ones!

If you peruse the reviews on my “Books & Short Stories” web page or in the “My Reviews” archive of this blog, almost of those have been removed on Amazon…and for no reason! Or maybe the evil Bezos and his minions, those evil bots, think I’ve died? Or did these satanic creatures decide that any review written before some date should be discarded (reviews can and should be evergreen too!)? I should check that latter theory—I wouldn’t put it past Amazon—but I won’t waste anymore of my time worrying about that sham of an online bookstore. I’ll just up my boycott of them. And please help me with that. B&N is a far better online bookstore for all my books, and you can find all my novels there!

Some Prime readers can read books for free or “borrow” them to see if they want to read them (I guess the “peek inside,” which is enough for me, isn’t enough for them). That’s another way Amazon shafts authors. Sure, authors get 70% royalties for ebooks priced above $2.99, but most small presses provide a lot more TLC for the 15% they take than Amazon has ever done for that 30%, which is zilch!

I’ll also boycott any marketing person who dares to tell me Amazon offers the best way to become a successful, bestselling author. (That includes Penny Sansevieri and her AME minions, Laurence O’Bryan and BooksGoSocial, and many others.) That’s a load of BS! Amazon does nothing for writers except scam them! They can’t even display books properly, so they fail at something that any local bookstore can do much better with their eyes closed! (See that same web page for an explanation of what they egregiously did to me with “The Last Humans” series—it’s all in red type! I checked that too. No change!)

And an author has no recourse. You can never talk to a real person at Amazon. Customer service is also handled by bots and doesn’t even begin to deserve that name.

If I ever publish more fiction (I’ve been giving it away recently), you can be sure it won’t appear on Amazon! (#4 and #5 of the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series began that boycott after the fiasco with “The Last Humans” series.) I’ve wasted too much of my writing life attempting to work with Amazon!

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Rogue Planet. On a faraway planet, a kingdom is overthrown and a young prince fights back against the usurpers who establish an evil theocracy. Although this gives this novel a Star Wars or Game of Thrones flavor, it’s not fantasy—it’s hard sci-fi. Set in the same sci-fi universe as the “Chaos Chronicles Trilogy,” the action and suspense goes far beyond any space opera. Available wherever quality ebooks are sold, and it has a print version as well—ask for it at your local bookstore or order it from B&N.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

I certainly wasn’t the first sci-fi writer to portray a viral pandemic, but my More than Human: The Mensa Contagion follows the progression of a contagion in human populations that was a preview of what we’re experiencing with Covid: Deadly at first and not so transmissible but then mutating to a more benign version that has “learned” not to kill so efficiently so the virus can survive.

Of course, this is no accident. Before I started that novel, I studied many aspects of viral pandemics, basically how viruses do their thing. I was super-specialized as a scientist; as a sci-fi writer, I’ve had to become more of a generalist because sci-fi themes cover most of science (assuming they’re not fantasies or space operas). Some topics I’ve had to study are: cloning, dirty bombs, possibilities for FTL travel, AI, and robotics. (You can have some fun trying to matching these up with fifteen years of works.) Becoming an amateur and armchair scientist in this self-educational enterprise, I suppose I’ve made some mistakes. (For the experts reading this, assuming they also read sci-fi, are always welcome to correct me.)

In a similar novel (similar only in its pandemic theme), The Last Humans, a virus was bioengineered and weaponized to have killer characteristics like the original Covid and speed of transmission of the new Omicron mutation. That usually doesn’t happen in nature because natural viruses tend to evolve from one extreme to the other,. But I imagined that a bioengineered virus could do both and be carried around the world on prevailing winds, no matter where the original target happened to be.

These books were warnings, of course, at least from the viral point of view. I will never claim to be prescient, but I can always say, “I told you so,” because I did. I studied the science!

And that brings me to an important question: Do people who diss science, don’t believe it, and believe the many falsehoods about our natural world and universe instead, do these people read sci-fi? Do they ever read anything beyond the lies and conspiracy theories propagated on social media and outlets like Fox News? I suspect not., At the most, they think Marvel Comics characters and Harry Potter tell us how the real world works! Their take on the real world is pure fantasy. Maybe these people could benefit by reading hard sci-fi, not fantastic tales from Hollywood, TV, or social media that just amplify and pander to their ignorance?

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You’ll find the ebook versions of the novels mentioned above at most online retailers that sell quality ebooks. A print version of The Last Humans is also available.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

Consider this article a follow-up to the one titled “My Lost Novels.” While #6 in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series is a free PDF download and #7 will be, I’ll preview both books here. The previews follow the summaries for each novel.

Defanging the Red Dragon. Esther Brookstone, ex-MI6 spy and ex-Scotland Yard Inspector in the Art and Antiques Division, and her husband, Bastiann van Coevorden, ex-Interpol agent, along with NYPD homicide detective Rolando Castilblanco and his wife, TV reporter Pam Stuart, become embroiled in geopolitical intrigue as the West tries to thwart a plan China has for stealing its nuclear submarine secrets. Taking place mostly in the US and UK, this suspenseful story has multiple twists and turns and is also the tale of two cities, New York and London, and the bustling life found in both, from the rich and powerful to the most scurrilous criminal elements. Here’s the preview:

The waiting ended. Esther was the first to see the twinkling light on the ocean’s horizon, but she didn’t tell the other two.

When Crosby saw it, he brandished the knife again.

“Out, old woman! They’ve come for us.” He seemed relieved. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it quick. We have to go through a thorough basic training after enlisting.”

She exited the car and stood by the door. He came around the front, the Chinese man following him. When they passed dead center in front, she hit the alarm button on her key fob. The headlights and taillights started flashing, and the horn blared and alternated with a siren moving up and down through several octaves. The two were momentarily blinded, and Esther dashed off into the brush and tall seagrass at the side of the car park. She didn’t get far, though.

In the dark, she could only make out the dark form, a shadowy threat, and part of that shadow corresponded to a rifle. Military-style automatic, she thought. She weighed her chances against this new foe. One on one, but he has a gun.

The alarm stopped, so she could hear what he said. “Quiet, Mrs. Brookstone!” came the hissed whisper. “We’re getting into position. Come with me.”

They moved closer to the boundary between beach and vegetation determined by a tall berm about half her height. She felt much better now, and even more so when she heard the whump-whump-whump from a helicopter that reminded her of that first extraction in East Germany. A loud megaphone warned the two from the car and any scrotes on the beach to freeze and put up their hands. That warning was answered by gunfire.

“SCO19 from the Met?” she said to the stranger.

“MI5, madam. Can you shoot a gun?”

“Damn right I can!”

Intolerance. Esther Brookstone, ex-MI6 spy and ex-Scotland Yard Inspector in the Art and Antiques Division, becomes involved in solving a cold case, a murder committed in Ireland years earlier; in thwarting a plot to kill immigrants and refugees; and in a murder case involving a famous Irish author. Her husband, Bastiann van Coevorden, an ex-Interpol agent and now a consultant for MI5, and various others help her in these cases. As one character proclaims, “God help me. She turns up everywhere.” Life after Brexit has become very dangerous in the British Isles! Here’s the preview:

Seamus, swinging the chain like a wild man with a whip, met Ben as he put foot on the landing. He didn’t even have time to shoot. Ben fell backwards, taking his colleague with him. Nate saw Seamus moving down the stairs toward him. He picked up that second man’s gun and emptied the whole cartridge. Yet Seamus kept coming, blood pouring from his huge chest.

Nate ducked under the chain and punched Seamus in the chest. That enraged the man, who tossed the chain over the stair rail and grabbed Nate. The DI felt his ribs crack and his breath leaving his lungs, but he managed to pull unbalance his foe. They tumbled down the stairs. Nate landed on top of Seamus.

“You okay, Guv?” Ben called down to Nate, who was slow to get up.

“Cracked ribs, I think. You?”

“Could be better. I think that damn chain broke my jaw. Thank God for the helmet.”

“And thank God this bastard is dead. And here we were only going to interrogate him.”

Of course, they were going to do that with caution. After hearing Kat’s tale, Nate had been sure that Seamus was their man.

Nate looked at the body. Would they ever have the full story? What had gone through this crazy man’s mind?

Nate sat on the first riser and called for EMTs, SOCOs, and the pathologist. They would take a while to sort things, but for him the case was closed. He then remembered someone else he needed to call, someone he felt very close to.

“Hello? Sara? We have Tommy’s killer.”

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Comments are always welcome. (Please follow the instructions on my “Join the Conversation” web page.)

To get these two novels…. It’s easy: Go to the list of free fiction you’ll find on the “Free Stuff & Contests” web page, click on the title you want, and start reading…or click on the PDF download button to get your own personal copy. Tell your relatives and friends about the novels. They can either do the same thing, or you can copy your PDF and give them a copy. I only ask you to please respect the copyright and not sell any copies you make for profit.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas! 

I’ve written a few novels you might not know exist, so I’m calling them the “lost novels.” How did they get lost? The primary reason was Covid. I’m always writing new fiction, more so during the pandemic—short stories, novellas, and novels—and the manuscripts of the novels started piling up, forming a log jam I had to undo. Consequently, they’re all self-published (the most efficient way to publish!), so I’d like to remind all readers of this blog that they exist.

First, there is The Last Humans: A New Dawn. Not only was the publication of that novel delayed, Amazon’s bots lost it (see the explanation on the “Books & Short Stories” web page—I’ve also discussed the problem in other blog posts). It’s the sequel to The Last Humans, of course. I used Draft2Digital (D2D) to publish it, and it’s available (ebook format only) at all that aggregator’s affiliated retailers, including Amazon (although it’s hard to find there (again see the aforementioned web page).

The next two lost novels were also published using D2D, but, after the previously described attack of the Amazon bots, I didn’t trust Amazon (authors can pick the D2D affiliates they want to use). The ebooks Palettes, Patriots, and Prats and Leonardo and the Quantum Code, #4 and #5 in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series, can be purchased online most everywhere else, but not from Amazon. (You might have missed Death on the Danube, #3 in the series, as well. That does have a print version, and it’s available on Amazon and at most online retailers.)

Now we come to the interesting part: The next two “Esther Brookstone” novels will be really lost if you aren’t paying attention. In the middle of December, 2021, I offered Defanging the Red Dragon, #6 in the series (technically, it’s also #8 in the “Detectives Chen & Castilblanco” series) as a free PDF download, a holiday gift for my readers. The subtitle is “A Brookstone-Castilblanco Holiday Adventure” because it takes place during the holidays. Otherwise, it’s yet another crime novel in the series.

“Esther Brookstone” #7 is so lost that it isn’t even available yet! When the manuscript for Intolerance is ready, I’ll also turn it into a free PDF download. Watch for it!

Neither #6 nor #7 have spiffy covers, by the way. The Last Humans: A New Dawn and #4 and #5 in the “Esther Brookstone” series do. The reason to skimp on the covers for #6 and #7 is simple: If they had spiffy covers, I’d have to charge something! (That’s the major reason I charge $0.99 for the collection Sleuthing, British Style. I started giving away short fiction a while ago, but that collection was a test run for D2D.) I believe covers on PDFs are like those cover pages for faxes—they’re something you might as well skip when you print the document. (You don’t know what a fax is? Lucky you, missing all that screeching when you mistakenly dial a fax number! Faxes were quite useful before cellphones, though.)

You can get your copy of Defanging the Red Dragon easily enough. Just go to my “Free Stuff & Contests” web page, peruse the list of free downloads, and click on the title. Voila! That’s what you’ll have to do for Intolerance too. Keep checking that list. (Okay, I can’t claim that these two novels are completely free. You’ll have to expend some energy to make that click!)

I think I’ll update this article and repost it every January. I don’t want my novels to ever feel lost again!

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Comments are always welcome. (Please follow the rules on the “Join the Conversation” web page.)

Defanging the Red Dragon. The sleuths Chen, Brookstone, Cadstilblanco, and van Coevorden are all together in one novel! In this sixth book in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series, they have to try to stop a Chinese spy ring that’s out to steal military secrets, but a few other cases become a distraction for the quartet: Finding the gang member who attacked Castilblanco’s daughter in NYC and combatting Asian hate in England, for example. You can download this novel for free—see the end of the article above. Intolerance, #7 in the “Esther Brookstone” series, will be available soon!

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!