|MILFORD HOUSE PRESS – Bestsellers for June 2019 (by Revenue)|
|1||1||Purpose of Evasion||JA Walsh||Espionage Thriller|
|2||NEW||Magic Diary||Pat LaMarche||Historical YA|
|3||17||The Vatican’s Vault||Barry Libin||Detective Thriller|
|4||23||H_NGM_N||JC Gatlin||Murder Mystery|
|5||—||The Sea Is a Thief||David Parmalee||Historical|
|6||—||Dead of Winter||Sherry Knowlton||Murder Mystery|
|7||—||French Quarters||James Snyder||Historical|
|8||—||Traces of the Past||Steve Laracy||Detective Thriller|
|9||5||Dead of Autumn||Sherry Knowlton||Murder Mystery|
|10||4||Dead of Summer||Sherry Knowlton||Murder Mystery|
|11||—||Miss Feezenschneezen Is Ill||David Parmalee||Humor YA|
|12||—||Dead of Spring||Sherry Knowlton||Murder Mystery|
|13||2||The B Team||Alan Mindell||Sports Fiction|
|14||15||The Closer||Alan Mindell||Sports Fiction|
|15||25||Till We Have Built Jerusalem||Alan Craven||Historical|
|16||NEW||Murder on the Quilt||Steve Kious||Murder Mystery|
|17||16||Winter of the Metal People||Dennis Herrick||Historical|
|18||7||When the Numbers Don’t Add Up||Patty Bialak||Detective Thriller|
|19||—||As the Raven Flies||Job Leach||Crime Thriller|
|20||21||Red Herrings||Donald Dewey||Detective Thriller|
|21||22||The Titan Strain||Virginia Soenksen||Dystopian Thriller|
|22||10||Where Elephants Fought||Bridget Smith||Historical|
|23||14||Breck’s Quandary||Mark Mitten||Crime Thriller|
|24||—||Moon Games||Shelly Frome||Detective Thriller|
|25||9||On the Run||Scott Stevens||Crime Thriller|
A tale of greed, betrayal, and vengeance, CHOICE OF ENEMIES is the first in a series of espionage novels featuring Nathan Monsarrat, a retired Central Intelligence Agency deep cover operative with an extensive knowledge of black gold and expertise in weapons, women, and Benjamins.
Light sweet crude is the mother’s milk of the Niger Delta. As the price for each barrel of oil rises on the international markets and the stakes for securing the black gold increase, a consortium of American oil companies and the Central Intelligence Agency plot to secure the flow of the crude. In Africa, though, plans unravel as quickly as cheap socks, and promises between partners have the lifespan of a mayfly.
Nathan, now a Dean at a small college in Massachusetts, is visited by his former mentor at the Agency, who offers him a blunt choice: either travel to the Dark Continent to lay the groundwork for the coup d’état, or condemn the woman who saved his life to a brutal execution. Out of options, he returns to Africa, where he discovers that the Agency plans to reward his services with an oil soaked grave.
Assisted by a coterie of new and old allies, including a beautiful vor with a thirst for power and a yeshiva bocher with a fondness for Armani suits, as well as his own sharp intelligence, considerable wit, and substantial charm, Nathan parries the Agency, circumvents the consortium, and exacts his own vengeance. In doing so, he learns that his choice of friends is as important as his choice of enemies.
In the cool of the African dawn, six armored Suburbans bulled through the sodden Delta jungle toward Bonny Island. In their wake, whirlwinds of red dirt billowed upward toward the crown canopy. Inside the vehicles, frigid air filtered the jungle stench of rot and decay. Felix Sanhedrin, a twenty-five-year veteran of covert operations in Africa and the Middle East, sat on the rear bench of the convoy’s second Suburban like Allan Quatermain returned to the Dark Continent. White linen slacks, a blue Oxford shirt, a silk ascot, and a freshly pressed, khaki bush jacket adorned his thin frame. A device more computer than chronometer rested on his left wrist. His felt slouch hat boasted a faux leopard-skin band, and his canvas jungle boots gleamed. A Glock 19 nested in a leather holster on his right hip.
Sanhedrin’s new boots rested atop two green, canvas duffel bags stuffed with Benjamin Franklins, and he carried with him, like a talisman, the blessings of the Mandarins who guided the operations of the Central Intelligence Agency in Langley, Virginia. Despite their stated policy to never negotiate with the enemies of the United States, Sanhedrin had convinced the éminences grises to ransom his assistant, Nathan Monsarrat, from the rebel group called Fighters Against Terror in Africa, or FATA.
He issued orders like a young boy presenting Santa Claus with his Christmas list. “First rule: I’m in charge, and my word is law. Second rule: we take only Monsarrat with us. Final rule: my money’s bought your silence. Neither you nor your shooters nor your medics will speak of this mission to anyone. Never repeat, never. Capish, my new friend?”
Next to Sanhedrin, Mark Palmer wore funereal black, a shooter’s vest, tee shirt, tactical pants, jungle boots, baseball cap, Nomex gloves, and sunglasses. Years beneath the African sun had braised his face and arms. He was clean shaven, and his hair was cut in a brown bristle. Military tattoos covered both his forearms, and blue veins latticed his knotted muscles. He carried an M4 rifle, a brace of Heckler and Koch P30 pistols in nylon holsters strapped to his thighs, a combat knife, commo gear, and four P30 magazines looped onto his belt. The shooter’s vest held extra M4 mags.
He spoke with a soft, Southern drawl. “Five by five, Mr. Scarnagh. No worries. We were never here.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Born in Lowell, Massachusetts, M. A. Richards received his Bachelor of Arts degree in Theater Studies from Connecticut College and his Master of Arts degree in English from the University of Massachusetts at Amherst. During a career as a Cultural Attaché in the Department of State that spanned more than two decades, he served in Baghdad, Jerusalem, Lagos, Moscow, Seoul, Tel Aviv, and Washington, D.C. He also served at U.S. Pacific Command in Honolulu as the Special Advisor to the Commander. He speaks Arabic, Hebrew, Korean, and Russian.
FROM THE AUTHOR:
A true labor of love, CHOICE OF ENEMIES grew from my 24(+) years as a Cultural Attaché with the Department of State. During my years as a diplomat, I spent much time in Africa and worked in many countries, including Nigeria, South Africa, and Namibia. My first-hand experiences and adventures (and misadventures) were a petri dish for incubating the story. I’d like to say the novel sprung entire and polished from my head, like Athena springing fully armored from the forehead of Zeus, but all that the birth of CHOICE OF ENEMIES had in common with that particular piece of mythology was the feeling of an axe cleaving my brain. First novels are notoriously difficult to bring to fruition, and this one took eighteen months to write, but like any difficult child who survived a tough start, I am very proud of the book and its hero, Nathan Monsarrat. He’s a good man, steady, dependable, and smart, but not without neuroses. Still, if I had to go into a dark alley at night in one of the planet’s nastier shitholes to meet a scumbag like Felix Sanhedrin (Monsarrat’s bête noire), I would want Nathan on my six.
Choice of Enemies: A Nathan Monsarrat Thriller
Authored by M A Richards
List Price: $16.95
6″ x 9″ (15.24 x 22.86 cm)
Black & White on White paper
Sunbury Press, Inc.
BISAC: Fiction / Espionage
Also available in hardcover and on Kindle
For more information, please see:
Dallas, TX — Since the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, three theories have been forwaded as the involvement of Lee Harvey Oswald: that he was a lone assassin, as the Warren Commission claimed; that Oswald was a part of a vast, complex conspiracy to kill the sitting president, as those who reject the Warren report insist; and, finally, that Oswald was not involved, either singly or collectively, in what went down that day in Dallas. The greatest stumbling block to the latter has to do with hard, cold evidence: Not only was Oswald located on the sixth floor of the book depository that day; he absolutely carried a rifle with telescopic sight and fired it out the window. How could it be remotely possible, then, that Oswald was completely innocent as to JFK’s murder?
In his latest iconoclastic work, prolific writer DOUGLAS BRODE presents a detailed argument as to the theory of innocence, taking into account one of Oswald’s final statements–“I’m a Patsy!”–proceeding from there to trace this unique man’s entire life. Such materials are juxtaposed throughout the book with larger, greater world events that, when viewed from a contrarian perspective, may shed light on who actually wanted Kennedy dead and why. This non-fiction novel is written in the style of an imaginative work, yet events detailed here remain true to fact. As Brode reveals, we can precisely know what Oswald did and said that day, but what actually went on in his, or any person’s, mind can never be fully reclaimed from history, therefore reconstructed here in a freely creative manner to offer “a truth,” if not “the truth,” as to what may have actually happened fifty years ago, and why.
Excerpt from Douglas Brode’s book Patsy:
“I’m a patsy … A patsy!”
—Lee Harvey Oswald, November 24, 1963; 11:21 A.M.
As he returned, albeit briefly, to a state of semi-consciousness, Lee Harvey Oswald, age 24 and with less than ten minutes left to live, vaguely recalled saying those words into a TV camera. He couldn’t be certain as to when. Minutes ago? Perhaps. Years, maybe. A lifetime earlier or a split-second, if the concept called ‘time’ existed, something Lee had long since come to doubt.
Once those words were out, everything had suddenly gone dark, as if for a fade-out between a fifteen minute chapter on a television show and the commercials to follow. Funny, isn’t it? Lee thought, if thinking correctly describes what the swiftly dying man’s mind was capable of during those final moments. For now, thoughts and emotions could no longer be separated. The combination of the two tore through Lee’s tight frame and his human consciousness, or what remained of it. With end-game right around the corner, Lee Oswald attempted to understand his own self—however racked with pain—as well as the nightmare-world that had come to enclose him during his less-than-a-quarter-century on earth. Meanwhile, everything around him came in and out of focus whenever Lee managed to flicker his eyes. Bizarre shapes and odd shadows registered, if little else.
At this moment, life—or what Lee could in his agony still perceive of everyday existence—resembled an old black-and-white movie. That made sense, for nothing had ever meant as much to Lee as The Picture Show, as his mother Marguerite long ago had so quaintly referred to it: the one and only place where he had ever been able to set aside the ugliness of his daily reality and discover a few treasured hours of respite in a finer world.
Funny, all the same. For Lee Harvey Oswald had always, ever since he could remember, desired to be famous. Adored by the masses, those very people he had over the years come to hold in contempt. Bizarre how he needed, hungered for their attention, even admiration, perhaps adulation. And, in the early stages of the second-half of the 20th century, that he inhabited for at least a little longer, fame had come to mean television. Appear on TV and your life is fulfilled. The whole world is watching, even as you always believed they ought to be doing.
I was about to tell all … everything! … but as I recall only the first words were out … the prologue, so to speak … “I’m a patsy!” … then, before I could continue … Wham! … the noise, like thunder clapping … or a pistol firing . . yes, that must have been it … I do know the sound of a pistol … rifles, too … no, no, I can’t let myself laugh. Hurts too much … so let’s try to remain calm, concentrate … alright, I had spit those words out … and repeated the last two, just so all would be sure to hear me, loud and clear … and then I … inflated … like a little kid’s balloon some mean man pops with his cigarette while passing by on the carnival midway … no good reason to do so … just to be mean … oh, wait a minute, there was a reason … they had to silence me … of course! … ‘they’ … them! … all of them working together.
Patsy: The Life and Times of Lee Harvey Oswald
Black & White on White paper
BISAC: Fiction / Historical