Kingmaker book thread (merged 89 times)

[sunvalleyslim]

Good one Steed..................:rotfl::rotfl::rotfl:

[Brag]

Good morning everyone!

Slowly, word is creeping out to the rest of the world that Kingmaker is in existence. Yesterday began campaign of trelephoning Bookstore managers and had a reasonably positive reception. The support I've been getting from Subsimers makes a great difference when I contact these people.

A number of our guys who got the book should soon have finished reading it. Your comments here and a small review on Amazon will help a lot.

Presently, Kingmaker is hovering in the #45 position in the Hot Releases Espionage section.

I thank everyone for the continuing support.

[Kapitan_Phillips]

I dont understand why booksellers are so defensive when it comes to giving new authors a chance. They dont really lose much if they buy enough to try out. Heck, if I was running a store Kingmaker would get a wee promo corner with little stickers and stuff

[Jimbuna]

Originally Posted by Kapitan_Phillips

I dont understand why booksellers are so defensive when it comes to giving new authors a chance. They dont really lose much if they buy enough to try out. Heck, if I was running a store Kingmaker would get a wee promo corner with little stickers and stuff

Plus a life size cardboard cutout of the author so anyone who didn't enjoy the book could rip an ear off or write some obsenity :rotfl:

[Brag]

Originally Posted by jimbuna

Plus a life size cardboard cutout of the author so anyone who didn't enjoy the book could rip an ear off or write some obsenity :rotfl:

I have ordered a spit-proof cape :p :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl:

[Brag]

Originally Posted by Kapitan_Phillips

I dont understand why booksellers are so defensive when it comes to giving new authors a chance. They dont really lose much if they buy enough to try out. Heck, if I was running a store Kingmaker would get a wee promo corner with little stickers and stuff

With over 51,000 fiction titles coming out every year in the USA, a debut author with zero advertizing budget has a wee bit of a problem. Store managers are also aware that a large percentage of these new titles is trash. So far, the managers I have contacted have treated me with utmost respect. So I can't complain.

[stabiz]

Yeah, and the media is tough too. I had a hard time getting my first novel even reviewed, except in the local newspaper.:rotfl:

The reason why managers hesitate going for the unknown, is that they ideally would have one title, and 500.000 copies. Preferably Harry Potter. This is of course not only the managers fault, its just as much you morons who only buy Harry Potter.

It gets easier when your book number two hits the shelves, Brag. (I`ll get back to you what happens when an authors number three is out, in a few months)

[Brag]

[quote=stabiz]Yeah, and the media is tough too. I had a hard time getting my first novel even reviewed, except in the local newspaper.:rotfl:

The reason why managers hesitate going for the unknown, is that they ideally would have one title, and 500.000 copies. Preferably Harry Potter. This is of course not only the managers fault, its just as much you morons who only buy Harry Potter.

quote]

LMAO ---Too Bad I don't read Norwegian. Looking forward to hear how your #3 book does, wishing it to be a best seller.

[Brag]

If you have read or are still reading Kingmaker, post your comments here. A posting on the Amazon site would also be appreciated

[Tango589]

I received Kingmaker a few days ago from a 3rd party on Amazon UK as Amazon never gave me a date for delivery a fortnight after telling me they were having trouble getting hold od the book. I am now up to chapter 9 and so far it is a damn good read! Recommend it to all your friends, neighbours,relatives and strangers you pass on the street as they don't know what they are missing.:p

[Brag]

Tango,
Thank you for the super enthusiastic comment! I hope you will continue to enjoy the read.
Up to now, UK readers been getting the book through Amazon afiliates.

[Brag]

After a week of sliding back on the ratings on Amazon's Hot Spy Story Releases list and reaching the # 53 spot, KINGMAKER surged ahead during Friday night. This morning it had recaptured the #31 spot.

Though difficult to tell, it seems that Subsimers once again played a role in pushing the book out toward public awareness of it's existence.

So far, it has been a major struggle to get the large chain stores to stock Kingmaker on their shelves. Your support plays a key role in convincing the stores that this is a worthwhile book to have in stock. Thanks again, mates!

[Brag]

For those curious, here is a sample chapter of my novel. I hope you'll like it. Since this is a copy taken from the manuscript submited to the publisher, the printed version is slightly different.

Kingmaker

© 2008 Alexey Braguine

Chapter 1

"Enough!" John Trager growled through clenched teeth. He wanted to spit on the note and jam it down Blanky's throat.
Lunch at the Frog place, noon.
Closing his hand into a fist, he scrunched the arrogant communication. "Enough," he repeated to the walls of the austere office in the attic of his Georgetown townhouse. With a growing sense of bravado, he fed the note together with an incriminating copy of the ISAS, Institute for Strategic Advanced Studies, report to the shredder.
The voracious machine buzzed. A happy vandal, singing a song of rebellion.
Humming along, Trager hit send on his computer. The newsletter, a paraphrased version of the ISAS report, was on its circuitous way. Seventy-three clients in the White House, Pentagon and Senate would eat it up. Though he hated himself for doing it, Trager slanted the report to what the White House wanted to hear. At two hundred bucks a pop, today's issue would bring the Merril kids' trust fund up to the level required to see them through college.
Free of his moral obligation, he was unfettered to move on. Blankenship--Blanky behind his back--would **** when he heard what Trager had to say.
Thinking of the upcoming change in his life, he gazed at the framed photographs on the wall, all of them fifteen years or older, as if his life had stopped when he left the Marine Corps. Trager shook his head. Fifteen years of drifting from mission to mission with brief interludes in between. Like an avaricious collector, every time he returned to Washington, he bought a piece of fine furniture or a painting to plush up his house. What in the hell for? To impress cockroaches and Norwegian rats who proliferated during his absences? He swiveled his chair and his gaze rested on the neatly made up bunk, which could pass boot camp inspection. That was all he needed, a place to lay one's head. In the rest of the house, he felt like a visitor from his earlier life of genteel poverty. Were his parents still alive, he would have given the house to them. They would have liked it.
Trager sighed. Time to go see Blanky, the gourmet *****.

#

Ignoring the muggy July heat, Trager strode down M Street toward La Cigalle. Elation, doubt, fear spun in his mind, accelerating his heartbeat. After all the years of working with Blanky, Trager knew the old spook's reaction would not be a pat on the back and a good luck speech. He pushed the restaurant's frosted glass door open. A shock of cold air made his light gray tropical suit cling like a leech. Like aliens from another world, the denizens of the nation's capital lived much of their lives in artificial environments shielding them from the realities of the planet. Trager waited for the maitre d' to emerge.
"Bonjour Monsieur."
"Bonjour Etienne, il fait froid ici."
Etienne smiled and winked. "Shortly, when our clientele arrives, we'll enjoy plenty of hot air."
Trager followed Etienne to the plush corner booth Blankenship always reserved. For an experienced case officer it was bad tradecraft. Or maybe Blankenship had the booth bugged. Next time he would refuse to sit there. Next time? Trager reminded himself he and Blankenship were finished. Severing a relationship with the CIA was final and total. Trager would instantly become an outsider to be warily observed from a distance. The few friends Trager had would vanish from his map.
A fanatic for psychological advantage, Blankenship never arrived early to a meeting with an agent. He always gave the poor wretch at least ten minutes to feel nervous and insecure. He probably lurked in the lobby of the building across the street, watching the restaurant to see if anyone followed Trager. Even in DC, Blankenship acted as if he were in Moscow at the height of the Cold War.
The old spook would make it difficult for Trager to quit. Wishing he were in Arles or Aix en Provence, or anywhere out of Blanky's reach, Trager poured water into his Ricard and swirled the drink, watching it turn from clear amber into milky vanilla.
To Trager's surprise, only two minutes late, Blankenship huffed up the steps to the dining room. He bulldozed past Etienne and slid his bulk into the booth. Ignoring Trager he let out a grunt and turned to the waiter who rushed over as if his life depended on swift action. "Martini, Monsieur?"
"Oui, comme toujour," Blankenship growled.
Trager sipped his drink while he studied his boss. The carefully trimmed ash-colored beard gave Blankenship a sinister appearance. He no longer wore comfortably shabby but well-tailored suits. His almost new seersucker, already too tight, barely hid the Colt .45 in a shoulder holster. Except when inside the Pickle Factory, Blankenship and his pistol never parted company.
In less than a minute, the waiter returned with the martini.
Blankenship raised his glass. "It's good to see you, Johnny."
Surprised at Blanky's bonhomie, Trager chuckled trying to disguise his anxiety. "This is our farewell lunch," he blurted.
Blankenship tilted his head to one side. "What do you think about the elections in Kenya?"
Trager wondered why Blankenship bothered to ask such a banal question, Compared to Trager's, Blanky's expertise of African politics was encyclopedic. "My parting pearls of wisdom--About time they got rid of Moi. But I doubt Kibaki can clean up the mess."
The waiter returned.
Finished ordering, Trager turned to Blankenship with a wicked smile. "And a bottle of the best Burgundy in the house."
Blankenship frowned as the waiter left. "Isn't that extravagant?"
"My last chance to skin the poor, meek tax-paying stiffs."
Blankenship shook his head, and launched a startling bomb. "Remember Dankov?"
Trager swallowed the wrong way. He jerked the blue decorative handkerchief from his outside breast pocket and coughed into it.
Blankenship seemed amused as he watched Trager's distress.
Recovered from his coughing fit, Trager gave Blankenship a hard look, took a sip of his drink. When the tickling in his throat stopped, he said, "I came here to gracefully--"
"Remember Dankov?"
"Who?" Trager answered as if interrogated by a foreign security service.
"Dankov. Your compadre."
"He always gave me indigestion." Trager didn't know whether to blame Dankov, Blankenship or himself for what happened in Bratislava. But that was ancient history.
"I want you to find him."
Trager laughed. "That's a good one. You gave him such an effective new identity you lost him?"
"This isn't funny. Your show of amusement is impolite."
"You've screwed up. Now you want me to wash your dirty skivvies--the answer is no. Would you like me to spell it?"
Blankenship's face reddened. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but the food arrived.
"Bon appetit," the waiter said as he withdrew.
"Listen to me. I'll spell a couple of things for you." Blankenship's face returned to its normal gray. "Rosemarie Merrill. Would you like to see the nice lady go to jail?"
Trager fought to control himself, put down his fork. Rosemarie provided him with copies of the ISAS reports, which helped him make the newsletter such a success. "You're talking gibberish."
"I can also give the IRS your list of subscribers. They'll find it fascinating."
Trager wondered how Blankenship found out about his newsletter, which was retransmitted from an Internet café in Barcelona. Threatening Rosemarie was incredibly low. What made it more galling was that during the Gulf War an American plane had drilled her husband. With Chuck in a wheelchair and two kids to raise, she had a hard time. Intelligence officers like Blankenship were sewer rats with good table manners. "Are you willing to admit to engaging in domestic spying?"
Without looking up, Blankenship answered. "Haven't you heard of anonymous tips?"
"Can't you find something pleasant to say? After all, this is an expensive lunch. I'd like to finish it."
"Dankov left his suburban Iowa house, deserted his American wife, has reverted to his real identity."
This wasn't surprising. Trager couldn't imagine the outrageous Dankov happy as a suburbanite. "So what? The Cold War is over. Defector goes home.
It's not even newsworthy."
"He's morphed into a troublemaker."
"He was always a troublemaker, always caused problems." Trager tasted his crepe. It was superb.
"He's now working against U.S. interests."
"I have trouble believing that."
"I want you to find him."
"Okay, I'll go to Russia tomorrow and whack him. This is back in fashion, I hear."
Blankenship sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, looking at the ceiling as if seeking divine inspiration. His gaze returned to Trager. "You'll find him in Africa." After delivering this last bit of information, he got busy harpooning snails.
Trager's stomach knotted. After two bites of crepe he felt full.
"Eat," Blankenship said. "The worst sin is the waste of taxpayer's money." With a piece of bread Blankenship sopped the last of the garlic oil, shrugged, took Trager's crepe and ate it, too.
Trager toyed with his fork, wanting to twist it inside Blanky's gut.
Blankenship daubed his lips with a napkin. "You have two weeks to find Dankov."
"Send someone else."
"I have. They failed. I want you to ask him what the **** he's up to--and give him my personal, warmest regards." Blankenship smiled. "He used to call me Uncle Dougie."
"How touching."
"You lack understanding of warmth in human relations."
"Uncle Dougie--this side of you I've never seen."
"You don't deserve it."
"I'm tired. I want a fresh start. I want to have long-term human contact in my real identity. I'm searching for a polite way to tell you to go **** yourself."
"Johnny, you are impulsive. Don't burn the house that sheltered you just because it's ugly."
"It stinks."
"You have two weeks to find out what Dankov is up to. By then you will have found a way to express your feelings of abhorrence or reconsider." Blankenship's expression softened. "One last favor for Uncle Doug."
Trager took a deep breath. Two more weeks under Blanky's thumb wasn't the end of the world. He always knew severing his ties to the Agency would be difficult. "Where in Africa is he?"
"Zengawal. He's running a bunch of mercs. And I'm getting bad vibes." Blankenship took an envelope out of a pocket and slid it across the table. "You fly to Brussels tonight, connect with Sabena for your flight to Kinshasa. You'll probably need to bribe someone there to get you a seat on Air Zengawal. I need the info pronto."
"Okay, I'm giving you two week's notice now."
Blankenship nodded. His eyes narrowed, and the corners of his mouth sagged.
"Who's my contact?"
"Nobody. We don't have an embassy in Turako and no station."
"I don't believe it."
"You don't have to. Fact--no local contact." Blankenship shook his head and sighed. "We don't even have a consulate there."
"Come on." Trager was sure Blankenship was lying. "Not even one guy under commercial cover?"
"You know perfectly well that in the last few years we've been decapitated. On 9/11 the FBI had more agents in New York City alone than we had case officers worldwide."
Trager hated to agree with Blanky. Inept foreign policy, politics, turf wars and bureaucracy had dramatically eroded the CIA's human intelligence collection capabilities.
Blankenship placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "You're flying solo. Commercial cover."
Trager lifted the envelope. "Pretty thin briefing."
"One sheet, one mug shot. The expense money is in your account."
Trager opened the envelope and inspected the photograph of a brunette. The fourth generation copy of the passport photo couldn't hide a striking face. "Who is she?"
"Mademoiselle Simone Loriot. Dankov was last seen in her company." Blankenship grinned. "A pretty woman, a lead."
"Who is she?"
"That's what you'll find out and report."
"I thought you were interested in Dankov."
"Yeah, and his Axis of Evil."
Trager wanted to smile but didn't. Blankenship's contempt for politicians was well known in the Agency. After President Bush's Axis of Evil speech, Blankenship took to carrying a roll of duct tape when walking the Pickle Factory's corridors and asking for volunteers to wrap tape around Bush's mouth. It was rumored the director had Blankenship on the carpet over it.
Trager slid the photograph back into the envelope.
"If I accept this assignment, will you destroy whatever evidence you have on Mrs. Merrill?"
"If? Dear boy, you misread me again." Blankenship touched his beard. "You have no choice."
"I asked you a question."
"Extortionists never destroy the goods."
"Driven by desperation, after lunch, I'll go to the Dupont Metro station and jump in front of a train," worried about Rosemarie, he said only half-joking.
"I wish I could go with you and watch."
"Give me your word you'll destroy the evidence."
Blankenship sighed. "Okay, you have my word."
Without illusions about Blankenship's sense of honor, Trager pulled out the rest of the contents of the envelope--airline tickets and some pocket litter. "You call this a briefing?"
"Mademoiselle Loriot works in the Ministry of Education."
"A white woman in an African government?"
"Interesting, isn't it?"
"Is she with the UN?"
The question brought a grin to Blankenship's face. "Supposedly she's a French national. But the French claim to have zero on her. A Simone Loriot worked for the UN refugee organization in Bosnia." He reached over. "Now give me the picture back. You don't want to be caught carrying it."
"Since I'm not the first assigned to this job, what happened to the others?"
"They failed to contact Dankov."
"That's obvious--why did they fail?"
Blankenship shifted in his seat. "You have access to Dankov, you and he were buddies."
"What happened to them?" Trager tapped the table with his fingers.
Blankenship's expression grew dark. "You're good at finding the truth. When you return, you'll let me know." He reached inside his jacket and drew an American passport. "Use the Davenport identity."

[GlobalExplorer]

Boring. Ehm I mean ..

[Tango589]

Read that bit. Now up to chapter 25. Hercule Poirot just stepped off the steaming train.