File no. 1, Moneyman, also known as Codename: Moneyman, is the action-packed, exciting story of one SAS trooper who must uncover international espionage or die in the attempt…
British Secret Intelligence selects a man to carry out a sanctioned termination in Tenerife. He leaves on the mission, unaware of his real purpose. He’s one part of a secret plot to uncover a spy deep within the London, Whitehall establishment.
The mission rapidly turns deadly.
He soon discovers the world of international espionage has placed him in a desperate situation and presented him with an impossible task. Chinese, Russian, and British agents hunt him while his only help comes from a single London contact, but can he trust her?
Will his skills as an elite-soldier be enough to keep him alive long enough to complete his mission and discover the truth, or will time run out?
Targeted Age Group:: 16+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
As a keen reader of thrillers, I thought it might be interesting to write one myself, so during a two week holiday in Tenerife I wrote Moneyman, and I enjoyed it enough to go on a write five more books in the Meriwether Files series over the following seven years.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
My characters are an amalgamation of people I know, people I know of, and people who only exist in my imagination. I try to take the best and worst of all of them.
Deal thirteen cards each to four players.
THE NIGHT WAS BLACK like the wing of a lifeless raven. I stared forward into the darkness, and my eyes saw with an unnatural light. It was eerie, ghostly, unnerving. I lifted my hand to my face. I felt night-vision goggles tightly fastened and set to maximum.
I realised it was raining. Heavy drops fell from the canopy and slapped gently against my battle helmet. My jungle combats felt wet, and my boots fought for grip in the mud. I looked down at my waist and saw I held an LMG [LMG: light machine gun]. Secured around my hips was an ammunition belt and below that a scabbard that held a fighting knife.
My fingers left the gun and automatically touched the handle of the knife, mentally reinforcing distance and position. I held my concentration. My eyes searched forward, and I listened. The only sound was the falling rain. I lifted one boot and moved ahead. One-step, slowly, and then another. It seemed the jungle had consumed me. All I saw was vegetation. There were no other soldiers, no buildings, no lights, just the eerie abnormal glow through the night-vision goggles. I stepped forward again and then stopped. Had I heard someone move? I listened. There was silence. Then the man dropped on me from above. The weight and force of his body took me down with him. He was over me, grabbing at me, and his fist was clenched and preparing to strike. He pulled his arm back, and I saw the silver blade flash pale green. Unconsciously, I pushed my body forward using every muscle in my abdomen and struck his knees with my feet. His balance went, and in the mud, his feet slipped. I was already up, already pulling my fighting knife, already advancing on him. He tried desperately to get his balance and defend the attack, but it was too late. I could smell the sour tobacco on his breath. My knife sank deeply into his throat. A death sound came from his chest, and my hand found his mouth. I watched his eyes search for something that wasn’t there and then lose focus. He turned heavy, and I let him fall. My eyes searched the jungle and the canopy, and then I stepped away. He made a sound. I looked back. He was dead. I was sure of it. My eyes stayed on him. I wanted to pull myself away, but I couldn’t. Something held me fast, and then he lifted his head. His eyes opened, and they burned into me. His lips parted, his black mouth gaped wide, and he screamed the words: ‘Your mother is dead.’
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