This is the second excerpt from my new “Devlin” thriller, Shock Warning. In this chapter, Maryam — Devlin’s fellow agent and lover — has smuggled herself back into her native Iran, investigating the miraculous apparitions occurring over the holy city of Qom. Unfortunately for her, she’s just been confronted by two members of the religious police.

Meanwhile, inside a secret nuclear facility, the evil German billionaire, Emanuel Skorzeny is about to make the deal of a lifetime with the Iranians

CHAPTER 44

Qom

“Why are you alone, sister?”

These were not words Maryam wished to hear, especially from a member of the morality police.  The Iranian vice cops – “vice” in this case applying to the very existence of women – were not as notorious as the mutaween of Saudi Arabia, or the Taliban of Afghanistan, but they were plenty dangerous.

She tensed as she answered.  “But I am modestly dressed, worshipping at the sacred mosque.”

They moved closer to her, boxing her in, forcing her into an alley.  Maryam glanced around and saw there was nobody else in sight.  Whatever was going to happen was going to have to happen fast.

“Where is your husband sister?”

“I have… he is away, on state business.  But he will be here soon, that I can assure you.”

“Then where is your father?”

“My father, may Allah bless him, is dead.”

“Your brother?”

“Alas, I have no brothers.”

(more…)

“Devlin,” the anonymous, alienated agent of the Central Security Service who takes on all America’s enemies, both foreign and domestic, is back in my new thriller, Shock Warning, out this week. (The Kindle edition will be released on Oct. 4)

It’s the third in the series that began with Hostile Intent in 2009 and continued with last year’s Early Warning. This volume concludes what I call the Skorzeny Trilogy, after the chief bad, Emanuel Skorzeny, the shadowy German billionaire who’s waging a private war against both Devlin, the American president, Jeb Tyler, and the West as a presidential election looms.

In this excerpt, the publishing mogul Jake Sinclair, who’s also made it his mission to destroy Tyler, has just learned of a terrible accident in California, and gets his best reporter — the sexy Principessa Stanley (who figured prominently in Early Warning) — on the case:

CHAPTER ELEVEN

New York City

The news was breaking as Jake Tyler entered the offices on Sixth Avenue.  Normally he didn’t come to New York much, certainly not since they’d moved the corporate base of operations to Los Angeles in some choice Century City property he just happened to own.

He’d flown in on his private jet, and if there was one rule he had on his private jet it was that he was not to be disturbed for any reason whatsoever, short of Selenites landing at Bowling Green or, worse, Carbon Beach.  Or Elvis, reappearing in Branson.

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The torture techniques described in this harrowing chapter from Exchange Alley (now available on Kindle for 99 cents) are true. Taken from the second half of the novel, this sequence dramatizes what happens to the rogue KGB agent, Egil Ekdahl (here called Vanya) as the Soviet spy agency first breaks him and then reconstructs him into a stone killer.

Not for the squeamish. Enjoy.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Sakhalin Island, USSR; 1984 

They never turned the light off. That was the rule.

There were many rules in prison. The way you had to sleep, for example. Only one position allowed, facing the light. The light, which was always in your eyes. How did they expect a man to sleep with this way? They didn’t. That was part of the punishment. That was part of the treatment. That’s how you made the New Soviet Man: by shining the light in his eyes until he finally saw it.

No matter how you tried, you couldn’t avoid the light. You couldn’t roll over during the few hours they allowed you to sleep. You had to lie on your back, facing the light; if you fell asleep on your side or on your stomach, the guards came in and woke you up, flipped you over, and made you observe the light, ponder it. There was no escaping the light, although it did give you, the prisoner, adequate radiance to illuminate your crime.

After a while, however, you got accustomed to it, used to the position, used to the lack of sleep, used to the light. The light was like the Almighty, drawing you nearer. Into the light, as if you were dead, shooting along the dark tunnel that was this earthly life into the eternal light of the next.

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This is the first chapter of my first novel, Exchange Alley, originally published by Warner Books in 1997 and now available on Kindle for the introductory price of just 99 cents. It introduces the main character, Frankie Byrne, and presents him with a very nasty little murder case — one that quickly turns extremely personal.

CHAPTER ONE 

Ramapo, New York 

Thursday, October 18, 1990; noon 

“Bob and them found it just over there.” The woman smacked her lips in recollection. She was only about forty, but she looked sixty. One of her front teeth was missing, and the others were crooked and yellow. Her hair hung in greasy strands around her forehead, and there was a large mole on her left cheek. Her hands were wrinkled and gnarled. Arthritis, thought Byrne, and bad nutrition. Life was tough in the country. Almost as tough as it was in town. “We live out here pretty much by our lonesomes,” she said. “Like it that way.”

Lieutenant Francis X. Byrne of the New York City Police Department asked the woman for her name. Jean, Jean Brandmelder. He wrote it down as she spelled it out. Byrne followed the woman through the clearing in the woods. Even though it was mid-October, the weather was still warm; hot, even. “Bob and them was out hunting this morning, early,” Jean explained. “But really it was the dogs. They all of a sudden set to barkin’ and Jimmy – that’s my son Jimmy right there – went over to see what’s all the fuss about.” Another smack of the lips. Byrne took notes as he walked, and hoped he would be able to read them later. The nuns always said his handwriting sucked, and the nuns were always right.

“Bob and them” were standing near the body. Bob was Mr. Brandmelder. He was a big, heavy-set, older man with a weak handshake and the outsized girth that comes from a rigorous diet of McDonald’s, Coke and Cheez Doodles, one of the rural widebodies; Byrne thought he looked and sounded just like Andy Devine. Or maybe, with enough eye shadow, just Divine. Over his shoulder, Bob was carrying a shotgun, broken to show it was unloaded. On his face, he wore a gap-toothed grin. “Howdy,” said Bob as Byrne approached. He was pointing. “Over there.” He had a slight accent of indeterminate origin.

(more…)

My first novel, Exchange Alley, is now up on Kindle and can be yours for the special introductory price of just 99 cents. Such a deal — especially when used paperback copies are being offered on Amazon for up to $688.88.

The original hardback cover

A Book-of-the-Month Club alternate selection upon its publication in 1997, and the recipient of a starred review in Publishers Weekly, Exchange Alley (for reasons that will become clear as you read) has become something of a cult novel. In it, I introduced the character of Lt. Francis X. Byrne, the hot-tempered detective who catches a grisly murder case that, literally, changes his entire world. Frankie became so popular with readers that I brought him back last year (and promoted him to Captain) in Early Warning, where he battles against a spectacular terrorist attack on Times Square, and I suspect he’ll turn up again in another novel very soon.

I first got the idea of writing Exchange Alley during my various trips to the Soviet Union, beginning in 1986 (I was in country when Chernobyl blew up) and continuing right up to its dissolution in 1991. At the same time, I was deeply fascinated by the Kennedy Assassination, which I recalled vividly from my boyhood. So, as writers do, I thought: what if? (more…)

Brad Thor’s new thriller, The Athena Project, may at first glance seem so far-fetched — the U.S. government is training a cadre of smokin’ hot, kick-ass female Delta Force ops; yeah, right — that you might be tempted to dismiss it as just another Hollywood fantasy. Not only would you be way wrong, you’d also be missing out on one of the year’s great action-adventures.

The plot of the novel (don’t worry, I won’t give anything away) involves a Delta team of four hot chicks, an Italian terrorist financier, long-lost Nazi technology and even a cameo appearance by Thor’s regular hero, Scot Harvath, who’s the lucky guy who supervises the Fox Force Four in the field.  But there’s a lot more than simple plot going on in Brad’s work, as well as in the work of all the best thriller writers, and that’s what I want to talk about.

While it’s true that every story begins with the writer asking himself the question, “What if…?” in the thriller business there’s an added component, which is the factual basis for asking the question in the first place. That is, whether it’s Brad Thor, Vince Flynn, Tom Clancy or the other terrific writers currently working the field, the story is generally firmly grounded in actual fact: some of this stuff you can’t make up, because it already exists.

Let me give you an example. The Athena Project opens with a reference to the DARPA program — the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, otherwise known as the toy department.  Ian Fleming’s fictional “Q” — you remember him, the slightly nutty guy played in the movies by Desmond Llewelyn and John Cleese — has nothing on DARPA, which is tasked with coming up with weapons of the future. Now you may think that a semi-obscure outfit that combines the military and the private sector, that is constantly rotating personnel to keep it fresh and imaginative, and which combines hard-headed science with imaginative science fiction is strictly the stuff of fiction. On the contrary, DARPA exists and does it exactly what Thor says it does.

Ditto the existence of the female Delta ops.

(more…)

So my agent called me the other day and said she’s putting me up for the newest James Bond movie and would I come up with a “take” so I can go in and pitch. Of course I said sure, because if there’s one thing I know, it’s James Bond movies. I’ve been watching them since I’m a kid, caught up with all the old ones on Netflix, and actually have a friend who’s a friend of the guy who wrote three of the best of them, which by Hollywood’s way of measuring these things means that I practically wrote them myself.

Coming up with a “take” is what we highly paid writers do out here, which translated into laymen’s speak means we work for free until the studio, against its better judgment, decides to actually hire us, and even though we’re not supposed to do this, we do it anyway because beggars can’t be choosers, and when you’re a writer out here O brother are you ever a beggar.

So I thought about it for five minutes and came up with my take, which I’m now going to test on you before I go over to wherever the ghost of MGM is located these days and pitch it to some fresh- faced young executive who’s never even heard of Roger Moore, much less Ian Fleming. I’m calling it For Four Eyes Only: This Time, It’s Personal.

Every Bond film has a killer pre- titles sequence, an exciting but, plot- wise, irrelevant four or five minutes’ worth of nonstop action. Then come the titles, complete with catchy song, then comes the movie proper: Bond gets the assignment from M, heads off to some exotic locale, beds a bird or two or six, gets into some seriously life- threatening hot water, turns the tables, kills the villain, conquers the leading lady, and we go out on a trademark Bond quip, preferably a sexual double entendre. That’s it! (more…)

In this, Chapter 29, Devlin uses advanced technology to track down and confront the Iranian terrorist who’s directing the Bombay-style assault on Manhattan.

New York City

Arash Kohanloo had spent a great deal of time in New York, especially for an Iranian national.  Under some circumstances, his passport might have proven a bit of a bother, but the Tyler Administration had been determined to turn its back on the old ways.  The fact that he was attached, however tangentially, to his country’s U.N. mission facilitated matters greatly and, even if all else failed, he had multiple passports from multiple countries, including a Swiss passport that was tantamount to an international laissez-passer.  It was amazing what the combination of money and power and fear could win you.

The hotel, of course, was in lockdown.  The New York authorities were smart; they had gone to school on the Bombay massacre, and knew that the fancy hotels were natural targets for gunmen with grudges.  The elevators were all switched off, except for a couple of service elevators being guarded by private security.  You could order room service to eat, but you had to stay in the hotel, and preferably in your room, until the “incident” was over.

All of which was fine with Kohanloo.  In fact, that was just the way he wanted it.  Fewer people milling about suited him just fine, and as long as the cell phone service worked he could stay in touch with everyone with whom he needed to stay in touch, and then events would unfold as they unfolded.

At the first news of the attack he had informed his people back home.  He had also made certain that a specific sum of money had been wired to several bank accounts in Switzerland, the Cayman Islands, and one of the Channel Islands between Britain and France.  One could no longer rely on the discretion of the Swiss.  In the crackdown on international money transfers that followed in the wake of September 11, including the so-called Swift program that enabled the government to trace “terrorist” financing and thus disrupt the usual remittance channels and other mechanisms of Shari’a-compliant finance, the damned Americans had disrupted everything.  This had necessitated a change in the networks, which funneled money between the Muslim lands and their bankers in London and Brussels, and for a time the stream was partly damned.  But money is like water and soon enough it finds its way to its inevitable destination. (more…)

This chapter from my new novel, Early Warning, was written well before the Times Square bomber made his abortive attempt to bring fiction to life. Remember: everything in it is not only possible but, on some level, probable.

Times Square -

Jake Sinclair’s face was forty feet high on the Jumbotron above Times Square, smiling at some private joke only he was privy to.  Since he pretty much owned the media in the U.S.,, that was not an outrageous supposition.  Underneath his picture, the Zipper was proclaiming to the world: “WITH BLAST AT TYLER, SINCLAIR HOLDINGS SELLS MANHATTAN HEADQUARTERS TO GERMAN MEDIA CONSORTIUM.  CORP. HQ TO RE-LOCATE TO LOS ANGELES.”

Those who looked up at the Jumbotron at that moment would have seen Sinclair, speaking now, praising Tyler’s rival in the upcoming election.  “The Tyler Administration,” he was saying, “has forfeited all claims to credibility.  The attacks last year on the homeland — the first since September 11th — proved that this administration is not to be trusted with our national security.  Despite his gross and flagrant violation of civil liberties, President Tyler has not kept us safe and, in my opinion, it’s time for a change.  That’s why every patriotic American should send a message to Tyler and his part at the polls this November.  Not just ‘throw the bums out,’ but hell yes, throw the bums out.” He smiled the oleaginous smile that had made him a favorite of most of the media, for Jake Sinclair had long ago learned the first and most important lesson of Hollywood, which had since translated to journalism: if you can fake sincerity, you’ve got it made. (more…)

Thanks to all of you, my new novel, Early Warning, is in stores today, as well as on Kindle. It’s the sequel to last year’s thriller, Hostile Intent, which went to No. 1 on Kindle upon its debut, sat high on the  the Barnes & Noble mass-market list for months and even managed to sneak onto the New York Times extended bestseller list.

Clearly, something about my protagonist, “Devlin,” resonated with the public, and I hope you find his latest incarnation even more compelling. He’s a hero for our times, a complex man with a mysterious past, part superhero and part everyschmuck, the kind of guy you probably wouldn’t notice on the street but who you most definitely do not want to meet in a dark alley — or, in the case of Early Warning, under the Central Park Reservoir — when he’s got his blood up.  As the most secret, and lethal, weapon in the United States’ arsenal, he puts the security in the Central Security Service — which, believe it or not, actually exists.

—–

The themes of this series — there will be at least three more installments — are the very real and manifest security threats that keep our Homeland Security and intel agencies johnnies awake at night. In Hostile Intent, it was an EMP attack on the east coast; in Early Warning, it’s a Bombay-style assault on Times Square, complete with car bombs, automatic weapons fire and one hell of a subway explosion. And yes, I wrote it all months before the Times Square bomber. (more…)

I think we were all surprised and disappointed when Michael Mann’s $100 million ode to the midwestern bank robbers of the 1930s, Public Enemies, misfired at the box office, A Nightmare on Elm Street or no Donnie Brasco. After all, Captain Jack Sparrow meets Edith Piaf in Capone-era Chicago directed by the man who put De Niro and Pacino together for the first time at Kate Mantelini’s on Wilshire: what’s not to like?

–

Many theories have been offered as to why the public made b.o. enemies of John Dillinger, Baby Face Nelson, and Pretty Boy Floyd, but the real reason, I think, has yet to be articulated.  And it’s this: Mann, perhaps our greatest living director, taught his cast how to do everything – fight, handle firearms, rob banks, ogle Marion Cotillard… (more…)

Even more than Washington, Hollywood is famously the land of, “if you want a friend, get a dog.”  Pals, business associates, even lovers come and go in this, the country’s last freewheeling bastion of untrammeled capitalism, in which “what have you done for me lately?” is not a reproach but a perfectly reasonable question.

Daniel Melnick

So it is with great sadness that I learned, up here in the New England woods, of the death on Tuesday of my friend, rabbi and mentor, Daniel Melnick, the former head of MGM and Columbia, best known for Straw Dogs, Altered States, All That Jazz, L.A. Story, and That’s Entertainment.  Dan was not only a great producer, with a story sense second to none, a sense of history, both cinematic and American, a steel-trap mind, and an amazing memory (he could read version after version of a treatment written by an idiot – in this case, me – and always find the new material.  And then tell you what was wrong with it).   No, he was much more. (more…)

Like everyone else driving along Sunset Boulevard in Echo Park last year, I couldn’t help but notice the now-iconic Shepard Fairey “Hope” poster of candidate Barack Obama emblazoned 20 feet high on the side of a building near Dodger Stadium.  As a piece of advocacy, it was tremendously effective – Obama the visionary, gazing bravely into the middle distance and the distant future – even if it did turn out to be a shameless rip-off of an Associated Press photograph.

That image is now once again front and center in the wake of the revelations that the National Endowment for the Arts has apparently been colluding with the White House’s Office of Public Engagement and the president’s United We Serve “call to action” to enlist sympathetic artists in the furtherance of the administration’s political goals, in defiance of tradition and perhaps, as George Will has suggested, the law.  Having served myself on both the NEA’s Opera-Music Theater and Oversight panels in 1985, I find this news to be profoundly depressing. (more…)

My new novel, Hostile Intent, is out from Pinnacle Books today.  Here’s the pitch:

When terrorists seize a middle school in the Midwest and issue a list of impossible demands, the U.S. Government must activate its most secret, and lethal, resource, a man known only by his code name: “Devlin.”  The top agent of a practically unknown branch of the intelligence world called the Central Security Service — the military-liaison arm of the National Security Agency — Devlin’s very existence is known only to a handful of senior Washington officials.

Operating entirely off the grid, Devlin is the “bleeding edge” of force projection, using both the technological power of the NSA and the blunt force of special ops as he and his ad hoc team of Blackwater fighters retake the school and rescue the children.  The school-hostage crisis, however, is only a feint to get Devlin out of the shadows and into the kill zone.  But by whom?  As a series of ever-deadlier attacks strike the country, Devlin must fight his way out of the wilderness of mirrors before a monstrous plot can bring America to her knees and usher in a New World Order. (more…)