1. The Emissary, 90,000 words, complete, mass market action thriller.

2. Hunters Moon, proposal, 90,000 word sequel (More of the same)

3. Shadow Killer, proposal, 90,000 words, proposal. (Conspiracy theme)

The Emissary - Sample

French Intelligence SIGINT Intercept/Kourou station French Guyana March 22 2005,

"Draw near and listen my people for soon my Emissary will carry the word of the Prophet to the land of the Infidel. The land of the free shall feel the weight of my hand. I will teach them the truth of suffering. Truly, they will reap what they have sown."

       Sheik Ahmed Aziz Ibn Saoud.

Memo to all DGSE Station heads, March 23 - Ref possible attack on USA.

No action, repeat, no further Action pending in depth Intelligence analysis.

                   Colonel Hugo Bousson, Head of DGSE Intelligence Directorate.

Synopsis and sample chapters

  Danny McCoy, Afghan veteran, is recovering from his wounds in sunny California. Helen Torrance, the local Park Ranger, comes into his life at the perfect moment, romance blossoms. His new life as a civilian is beginning to take shape. Then a ghost from his past, an old adversary, arrives on the scene. An attack on the local militia rednecks and a bombing seem to be random events, but Danny's not so sure.

  Someone is using the mountains as a base and Danny seems to recognise the work of an old enemy. With Helen's local knowledge and Danny's Special Forces experience the two of them begin their dangerous search for the deadly predator known as The Emissary.
  An orphan from a small village in the mountains of Afghanistan, Jamil, AKA the Emissary, travels the world fighting the infidel. He is the ultimate insurgent. Now, finally, his is the honour of taking the fight to the Americans on their home soil. The Emissary will teach them the true nature of suffering, first hand.
  Jamil's first job is to take weapons from the militia, child's play. Then he bombs a small town shopping mall, all too easy. It is then that he realises that he has an adversary, someone who dogs his trail and seems to know how he thinks. No longer a wolf among the sheep, he is hunted now, in a way that he has not experienced since Afghanistan. Who is his mysterious enemy? He must destroy his opponent, he must have time to launch his final devastating attack on the land of the free.
  The story culminates in the primal beauty of Yosemite National park where a desperate Jamil is brought to bay. Danny and Helen have anticipated his arrival and wait in ambush. They are all that stands between the world and a hellish mutation of the HIV virus, a virus carried by the common Mosquito. Unknown to even Jamil, the virus is carried in the cells of his own body. His lifes blood must flow to bring ruin on the world and he is eager to shed it.

The Emissary

Chapter 1                         Insertion

The mighty Caterpillar diesel slowed to a low rumbling growl. Idling now, the Prince Hassan began to lose way and settle comfortably in the water. A fretful sea reasserted itself and began to agitate the huge luxury yacht. On the bridge the skipper became nervous as the motion of the boat changed from that of a dolphin to that of a bobbing cork. Normally such a thing would cause the intercom from the main stateroom to start squawking indignantly.
Tonight there were no complaints. The skipper was aware that something unusual was going on but he had been told to stay on his bridge. The crew were below sleeping with only the radar on watch. The owner was not a man to disobey. There were dark rumours, stories about his boss that lost nothing in the telling. The skipper, a simple man, was the soul of discretion.
On the deserted aft sundeck a lone figure moved with stealth in the pre dawn light. He quickly freed the long torpedo shape of a sea kayak which had been lashed to the stern rail. It's cargo holds were already packed for a trip that had been planned for a very long time. Bodily lifting the little craft over the rail he stepped down onto the water deck. In a manoeuvre that he had practiced many times, he placed the kayak across the edge of the stern and sat in it. Taking the paddle from under the bungee cords he held it across his body and began to wriggle sideways. The kayak began to creep towards the water, finally slipping in with the merest splash.
He sat motionless in the kayak as the Prince Hassan gradually opened the distance between them. The cool sea crept into the little craft and into his thighs. He felt the vastness of the ocean, for a moment he felt very alone. From the window of the stateroom he saw a single point of light glow as someone standing there drew on a cigarette. The man stared half expecting a salute. There was none.
The note of the idling Caterpillar diesel rose gently as the yacht increased speed. She turned gracefully to port and made for the open sea. Now, he was truly alone. This was no time for thinking, it was at last, the time for action. He felt his feet into the rudder pedals, drew a deep breath and began to paddle towards the dark shoreline.

Danny McCoy winced in what had been the pleasant torpor of half sleep. He must have turned in his sleep and accidentally strained the wound. He sat up cursing softly,
"Shit that hurts!" He fingered the puckered scar over his right side moodily. He was tired of it now. It had been three months and still it was cramping his style. He put on the light, sitting on the edge of the bed. The clock radio flashed 4 am at him and he groaned. That last, lingering hour before dawn was always the longest and the blackest. He touched the scar again feeling it's rough familiar edges. He automatically checked his finger tips for the suppurating fluid that had only just stopped bothering him. There was nothing, good.
Rising gingerly he went to the bathroom for a drink. He squinted in the glare of the bathroom light looking over his shoulder at the scar in the mirror. Contrary to popular belief the exit hole was not that large. The operation scar on his stomach was far more impressive. A jacketed rifle bullet does not mushroom much when it hits such a fragile target as a human being. Most of the energy leaves with the bullet, God willing. The bulk of the damage is caused internally. The hydrostatic shock wave generated by the passage of the bullet at 2400 feet per second pulverises soft tissue. It had cost Danny a kidney and almost his liver, and his life. The high mountain passes of Afghanistan were no place for a liver wound. He had been lucky.
On a routine search and destroy mission his squad had stumbled on a party of suspected Al Qaeda operatives. Danny's squad had been pushing hard. They were all sweating like pigs. Danny had foolishly opened his flak jacket to let in some air. That was not all that he let in. In the ensuing brief, fire fight Danny took an AK round just under the ribs on his right side. Doh! Yeah, well he was paying for it now.
The rest of the squad maintained the contact for as long as possible. They were hungry. It was forty minutes later that his squad returned as darkness fell.
The night that followed has one that Danny would spend his life trying to forget. They were too high for medevac by helicopter. The air was too thin at sixteen thousand feet for anything but an extreme emergency. A belly shot Ranger was supposed to be able to rescue himself. Over the next few hours they had to drop two thousand feet in the pitch black on a perilous track that would have made a mountain goat blanch.
Pain! Danny remembered the remorseless pain. Shattering, hysterical, nerve shredding pain. It was something he had never encountered before. Even with the blessed morphine he had plumbed the depths of his own endurance and sanity. Stumbling, staggering, still on his own two feet, because there was room on the track for only one, they had walked into the dawn. Finally the helicopter made it in with the new day. After local emergency surgery he was flown straight to Islamabad and then on to Fort Benning, Georgia.
That, essentially, was the end of his soldiering career and a huge chunk of his life. So it was that Danny McCoy found himself at a remote cabin in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California wondering what the hell he was going to do for the rest of his life. Lieutenant Parry owned the cabin and had generously offered Danny the use of it to recover. It was remote and private, just what he needed after being poked and prodded for months under the eagle eyes of the medical staff.
They weren't best pleased that he had chosen to isolate himself from decent health care. They were worried about his liver, the kidney was gone but, he had another. The liver was another matter. However he was strong, stubborn and obviously on the mend, so they had relented in the end. Providing he stayed within the range of his cell phone. That, was an order. He was still a soldier, for now.
Danny took his glass of water across the room to the window. The day comes early to the mountains. The first streaks of dawn were sending dark shadows creeping back to the gullies and deep, rock choked valleys. There they would await the return of the night. Danny stood naked in front of the huge picture window awed by the miracle birth of a new day.
A sudden movement caught his trained eye. He turned his head instinctively. A Black tailed doe was quietly making her way to the cover of the woods after her nights foraging. She stopped briefly by the chopping log and sniffed the axe still embedded there. He saw a tiny puff of frosty breath as she exhaled in her displeasure at the human scent. She squatted briefly and another little squirt of mist indicated her vain attempt to eradicate the unwanted taint.
Danny smiled and stood transfixed as she picked her way daintily through the stumps to the tall trees. At the tree line another small movement caught his eye. A tiny fawn tottered out on unsteady legs to greet his mother. She had hidden him at the edge of the clearing while she fed and now her starving infant was impatient. He dashed under her back legs giving her a couple of business like butts before settling to his much needed breakfast.
"Damned if you're not the smartest one here kid!" Danny spoke aloud chuckling to himself. What a way to start the day. He had completely shaken off the black miasma that afflicts all humanity in the dark hours before the dawn. He headed for the kitchen rubbing his hands together briskly. Suddenly he was famished.

"I need bacon and I need pancakes and I need syrup, lots of it!"

Whistling tunelessly to himself he clattered and banged about in the unfamiliar kitchen. Soon the bacon was sizzling and the pancake mix was sitting ready for the pan. Like any good soldier Danny appreciated the simple things in life. A good feed rated pretty high on his list.
He could turn his hand to just about anything, sewing, darning, cooking. He was the best shot in his company, he could estimate range to a nicety. His knowledge of navigation and field craft was received with his mother's milk as a child on the farm in Long Ridge, Tennessee. The Rangers taught him the rest. His father gave him his first BB gun when he was 6. The two of them hunted many a long mile together in the tractless wilderness of that fair State. He was pretty much good at whatever he turned his hand to.
Danny was also blessed with a good physique and the constitution of a bull elephant. He just didn't get sick. Some even said that he was good looking in a craggy kind of way. His easy going good humour and self confidence came from an inner belief in his ability to cope with anything that came his way. His green, intelligent eyes were set in a broad open face over the long upper lip of his Highland ancestors. Those who knew about such things saw stubborn resolve and bulldog tenacity.
His curly brown hair was usually closely cropped but over the weeks it had grown unruly. He stood 5' 11" and weighed in at 185 pounds, at least he did when he was in fighting trim. Several months in hospital had added 10 pounds to his frame. He wasn't worried, he knew that he could lose that in a weeks hard labour. So it was with a clear conscience and a light heart that he cleared his plate that morning. The dark cloud of an uncertain future was temporarily forgotten.



Chapter 2                           Big Ears

Onboard the motor yacht Prince Hassan the actual Prince Hassan was making a satellite call to his father in Tangier, Morocco. The signal was bounced of a commercial low orbit satellite. It was clear and strong. He spoke in English, why make it hard for the Americans?
"Father? It is good to hear your voice, is mother well?" He listened for a moment, nodding,
"Good, good, I am glad. We are just cruising along the American coast towards the Panama canal. God willing, I will be home soon." He listened respectfully to his father for a moment before replying,
"Yes indeed, the trade fair went very well, I was especially impressed with the desalination equipment. The whole trip has been very profitable. The Americans have been most hospitable." He walked over to the salt grimed window of the stateroom,
"Everything, is going according to plan, I just thought that I would let you know. I will speak to you again soon, goodbye for now." He switched off the phone and tossed it carelessly on to the leather couch, he was smiling.

In fact the Prince was partially incorrect. It was not just the Americans who were listening to his conversation, but also the French. The satellite listening station at Kourou, French Guyana, picked up the conversation. It was encrypted by the duty staff and passed instantly on to the Headquarters of the DGSE, French Intelligence Service in Paris. The American listening station at Yakima, Washington State, also picked up the conversation but it was an automated intercept and the conversation was dumped. The computer did not find any "watch list" key words in the conversation.

The Muezzin’s timeless call to prayer echoed across the lofty minarets and dusty streets of the ancient city. Mid day heat reverberated fiercely from the stonework in shimmering, remorseless waves. Far above the milling throng in a turreted, Moorish tower, an old man told his prayer beads as he paced deep in thought. A very expensive satellite phone and scrambler were still in his other hand. The room was cool and silent.
Sheik Ahmed Aziz Ibn Saoud was alone as usual. His wives and family, such as were left, were far away in Tunisia. Once he had called it home, but now he lived where his fight with the infidel would allow. He had given up much, but he was a wealthy man. What did it matter where he laid his head at night so long as he could fight back?
Unconsciously he turned to his prayer mat and knelt tucking the phone into the folds of his spotless robes. He gave thanks that his message to the American Infidels was in safe hands. Soon they would hear his words, soon they would feel the weight of his hand.

Colonel Hugo Bousson, head of DGSE’s Intelligence Directorate, had ordered all intercept signals from Prince Hassan to be forwarded to him personally. Something was in the wind, and the Colonel preferred to combine state of the art technology with human intuition. The Colonel’s neatly trimmed moustache was twitching like an antennae. He read the transcript carefully, several times, before punching the intercom,
“Gilbert, answer me one question.” His Aide Captain Gilbert Thierrey’s reply was guarded,
“Of course Colonel.” Gilbert Thierrey knew his Colonel very well, he was in for a roasting. The Colonel continued,
“Do you recall my ordering that the intercepts from the Prince Hassan were to come direct to me?”
“Yes Colonel, I do.”
“Do you recall my asking for the audio transcripts as well as the written?” Now Captain Thierrey was pretty sure that the Colonel had made no such request,
“Yes Colonel, I do remember.” The colonel sighed petulantly,
“They are not here Gilbert!” The Colonel was gratified to hear the scrape of Gilbert’s chair as he stood in his agitation outside in the anteroom.
“I will see to it at once Colonel!” The older man smiled briefly,
“My terminal is switched on Gilbert, I await the fruit of your efforts with bated breath, today, if that is not too inconvenient?” He sighed heavily,
“Angelique will not wait for ever you know, she will be impatient.” Captain Thierrey was used to the older man’s vanity and his mistress was, after all, a very beautiful young woman.
“I will do it myself Colonel, immediately!”

 
Chapter 3                            Landed

A curious seal was the only witness to Jamil’s arrival on American soil. Paddling with expert, short strokes he was no more than twenty yards from the steep rocky shore of California. This was Arcadia National Park and Jamil was about to make the transition from kayaker to hiker. All he needed was a good place to land and get rid of the kayak. He was looking for deep water and he soon found what he was after.
A private, log strewn cove with a little shingle beach. On either side huge rounded shoulders of solid basalt rose up shear to the waters edge. The water dropped off sharply to at least thirty feet. It would have to do, time was short.
He ran ashore, hard, onto the rattling shingle and climbed out. Quickly he looked around to make sure that he was alone. Ripping off the hatch covers he tipped out all of his equipment. Taking out an ordinary hunting knife he peppered the hull with deep incisive blows all along it’s length. Then he broke the paddle in two and stuffed the pieces into the leg space and began to fill the compartments with rocks.
Dragging the crippled boat to he water he made his way to the north side of the cove. He pushed the rapidly sinking kayak towards the rocky cliff and the deep water with all his strength. It shot out bubbling and hissed like a submerging submarine before disappearing from view. Hopefully for the last time. He considered climbing the rocks to see if the kayak was visible to passers by. The last thing he needed was an air sea search for a missing kayaker. What could he do even if it was visible?
Hurriedly he made his way back to his pile of gear. A forty litre day pack and a large waterproof stuff sack contained all his worldly possessions. Anything else that he needed would have to be acquired by whatever means necessary. This, after all, was the land of plenty, he had one hundred thousand dollars dollars in cash and a pistol. He was strong and well trained, he would follow the Americans own example. What he couldn’t buy he would take.

 Colonel Bousson smoothed his moustache and listened to the transcript again,
“Everything, is going according to plan.” Was that not a strange thing for a son to say to his father? Perhaps not. The strange thing was that normally Hassan was paranoia personified when it came to satellite communications and yet he hadn’t even used his scrambler unlike his father. He had also spoken in English. The Colonel punched his intercom,
“Plot the Prince Hassan’s course prior to the transmission to Tangier.” He leaned back in his swivel chair ruminating. It never occurred to him that Gilbert would have gone home. On an impulse he hit the intercom again,
“See what satellite photographs you can scare up for the same time frame…” There was a knock at the door and Captain Thierrey came in. Nobody else would have dared enter unbidden. He strode up to the desk speaking as he went.
”The Prince Hassan was seven miles off the coast of northern California on a westerly heading when the call went through. The commercial communications bird was the only one in line of site at that time so we have no photographs.” He placed the details on the Colonel’s desk, with a tiny flourish.
If the Colonel was impressed he certainly did not show it.
“Surely that is improbable Gilbert, no satellite images at all?” He stood and turned to face his window,
“Could they possibly know when and where the satellites were?” Gilbert was on the ball again,
“Of course Colonel, that information is freely available on the Internet.” The Colonel turned sharply, his colour rising. He was openly astonished,
“Do you mean to say that this information is a matter of public record?!” Gilbert enjoyed the rare spectacle of a ruffled Colonel Bousson. The older generation knew about the Internet but they did not understand it.
“Why of course Colonel…” He hesitated but couldn’t resist it,
“All except of course for some of the American satellites.” The Colonel’s nostrils dilated and he drew himself up to his full height, but he would never expose his true feelings to a junior officer.
After a long moment he turned back to the window,
“Gilbert, I believe that they have put an agent ashore while the satellites were off line.” Gilbert too had come to that conclusion. He reflected that had he been in charge he might consider warning the Americans. As the dapper little Colonel reached for his hat and coat Gilbert knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that such a thought, would never even occur to Colonel Bousson.