by D S Kane
Valerie Plame was a covert agent for our country, working the Middle East to gather intelligence about nuclear weapons.
I can’t point out any others, for obvious reasons. But Hollywood and the New York publishers seem to love female spies.
Nora Roberts, writing as J. D. Robb, has a successful “In Death” series, getting close now to thirty books. One of the characters in Jim Rollins’s Sigma series is a mysterious female assassin.
And Hollywood worships hard-boiled female protagonists. For example. a television series called Alias featured a female spy. It was popular for about five years.
As part of my agreement with my handler, I’m writing a female. One of the folks I worked with was from Mossad, decades ago, and told me she’d been an Israeli tank commander during the Six Day War. I know, Israel claims women weren’t allowed into combat roles until recently. Maybe she was lying? It’s what spies do best. I met her when she was running the global non-credit services area of a New York bank. I believe she was there to launder money for Mossad, but I’ve no proof of that.
The example I’m offering you is my protagonist from my novel, Swiftshadow: Cassandra Sashakovich. She earned a PhD in economics at Stanford and was recruited to work as an NOC at one of Washington’s intelligence agencies. Her family immigrated to the United States from the Soviet Union just before it fell. Her mother was a commissar for the KGB, her father an economist working for the Central Committee, and her uncle a KGB operative. She speaks most Middle Eastern languages and is a computer hacker with basic tradecraft and weapons skills when my story starts. In Riyadh, her cover is blown by a mole within her agency and she’s hunted by terrorists until she discovers why the terrorists are interested in her and who the mole is, and figures out how to recover her life. By the end of the novel, she’s a crack shot, a master hacker, and the CEO of a mercenary company with a hacker division.
Writing women characters is tough for a guy. Luckily, my wife Andrea has a publishing background, and she reads my material before anyone else does. She pushes me to think in ways a male brain isn’t designed to. By the time my critique group at ActFourWriters.com gets the material, it’s close to a publishable draft. She’s helped me learn how to write fiction.
One more thing: If any of your readers would like assistance on the tradecraft for their character who is a covert agent, or feedback on potential plots for a thriller, they can contact me at [email protected].
NS: Thank you so much for your helpful insights into the world and mystery of special ops agents.
Bonus: First Chapter of DeathByte, Book 2 of the Spies Lie Series
Home office of Xian Wing, Senior Director of State Security, north side of Fourth Ring Road near Jingping Road, Beijing, China
August 23, 4:26 p.m.
William Wing’s small wrists strained against the handcuffs. Across the desk, his father stared at him. Behind the two, at the carved wooden door, Corporal Benjamin Chan watched. William scanned the mirror over his father’s desk and saw Chan shift, his eyes wide.
William wondered if anyone had ever seen his father angry before.
Xian Wing seethed a whisper that could peel paint, “What do I do with you?”
The twelve-year-old boy struggled against the cuffs but remained silent. He raised his head.
“Father, you know what I am. You have known for a long time. You did nothing before.”
The older man slammed the desk with his fist. “Hacking into your school and changing your grades is a crime. Hacking into the state computers is much more serious crime. Getting caught is even worse. You have caused our family considerable shame. The committee has called for your death.”
“All I did was peek at the records.”
“All? You were inside the CSIS servers more than twenty times before Chan figured out what you had done. You used my computer. Your trail of electronic breadcrumbs led him to me, not you. To me!”
“But, father—”
“Silence.” He stared right through William. “I will offer you one favor. I will spare your life. You will be flown to Hong Kong and left at the airport. You must never return to China. Never! Should you set foot here, you will be apprehended and executed.”
The two glared at each other. Corporal Chan held his breath.
Xian nodded to Chan. The corporal uncuffed William, who leaned over and swiped a gold fountain pen from the top of his father’s desk. Done swift and smooth, neither man saw him do this.
Xian stood and stared out the window. He shouted, “You are no longer my son!”
Acknowledgments
So many people were crucial in preparing this manuscript for you, the reader.
My critiques were provided by the ActFourWriting.com group, including Dennis Phinney, Linda Rohrbough, Janet Simcic, Brenda Barrie, Aaron Ritchey, Caryn Scotto, Liz Picco, Julia Reynolds, Daniel Houston, Steve Eggleston, Juliann Kauffman, Teri Gray, Carl Vondareu, Claudia Melendez, Megan Edwards, and Judy Whitmore. I also received valuable feedback, especially concerning military tactics and strategy, as well as inside information regarding sites where conflicts have occurred or are now occurring, from several folks from the Drink of the Month Club, a group consisting mostly of Naval Postgraduate School administration and faculty, including Ron Nelson, Martin Metzger, Fred Drake, Lee Scheffel, and Gary Ohls. Also, my friends and family contributed critiques, including Barry Groves, Michael Spicer, Frances and Elliot Spiselman, and Dana Gorman. And finally, Andrea Brown, my wife and the CEO of the Andrea Brown Literary Agency, Inc., is the best and final voice for judging what I create.
Several best-selling authors have contributed to my efforts, including James Rollins (for his discussions with me on Liquid Armor), Barry Eisler for his advice on self-publishing, Holly Lisle for her coursework on world building, and Greg Bear during our discussion on craft after the graduation ceremony at Northwest Institute of Literary Arts.
I want to thank my publication team, consisting of my editor, Sandra Beris; copyeditor Karl Yambert; graphic designer Jeroen Ten Berge; my website designer and host Maddee James of xuni.com; my publicist Brandi Andres; and Paul Marotta and Megan Jeanne of the Corporate Law Group, who incorporated The Swiftshadow Group for me.
I also want to thank my literary agent, Nancy Ellis, and my film agent, Brandy Rivers, for all their hard work on my behalf.
I am grateful for all the suggestions and advice I have received but I alone am responsible for the resulting work.
About the Author
D. S. KANE is the name the author has chosen to write under. He worked in the field of covert intelligence for over a decade. During that time, he traveled globally for clients including government and military agencies, the largest banks, and Fortune 100 corporations. One of the banks he investigated housed the banking assets of many of the world’s intelligence agencies and secret police forces, including the CIA and NSA. Much of his work product was pure but believable fiction, lies he told, and truths he concealed.
Now, he’s a retired spy, still writing fiction. Through his novels, he exposes the way intelligence agencies craft fiction for sale to sway their countries and manipulate their national policy, driving countries into dangerous conflicts.
He’s been published under his real name many times in financial trade journals on topics including global banking, computer fraud and countermeasures, financial forecasting, global electronic-funds transfer networks, and corporate finance, including one book on finance published by a major publisher. He has been a featured speaker at financial conferences and conventions. His children’s book, A Teenager’s Guide to Money, Banking and Finance, was published in 1987 by Simon & Schuster. He was once the CEO of an eBook publishing company and writes a blog (http://dskane.com) on topics that include new technology, politics, and the future of publishing.
He has been adjunct faculty at the Whidbey Island MFA program, and also teaches a course at the Muse Online Writers Conference entitled Covert Training and Covert Operations for Fiction Writers
, and one on a similar topic at California libraries, funded by a federal grant. He has taught a thriller-writing course at the Pikes Peak Writers Conference and was a featured speaker at a dinner meeting of the California Writers Club. He taught finance at the Stern Graduate Business School of New York University for over ten years, and is one of the co-founders of ActFourWriters. com, a unique email-based novelists’ critique group (http:// www.actfourwriters.com). His website can be found at http://dskane.com.
DeathByte
Book 2 in the Spies Lie Series
By D.S. Kane
Praise for DS Kane
Bloodridge
“A globe-trotting spy thriller dense with intriguing insider’s knowledge.”—Kirkus Reviews
“I thoroughly enjoyed this book … It is definitely a page-turner.”—Judge, 22nd Annual Writer’s Digest Self-Published Book Awards on Bloodridge
“This is a sizzler torn straight from tomorrow’s headlines. Bloodridge by D.S. Kane is one you won’t want to miss.”—John Reinhard Dizon, author of Nightcrawler and Wolf Man
“What a wild ride! Filled with adventure and suspense and kept me on the edge of my seat. There wasn’t a slow moment in it. Reminiscent of Ludlum and Follett.” —Sharon Law Tucker, Author, How To Be A BadAss, A Survival Guide For Women
DeathByte
“Readers who adore action-packed thrillers in the vein of Robert Ludlum’s Bourne series will enjoy its many double-crossings.”—Kirkus Reviews on DeathByte
“This was a great thriller … and the speed of the plot was breathtaking.”—Judge, 22nd Annual Writer’s Digest Self-Published Book Awards on DeathByte
Swiftshadow
“A must read for lovers of this genre.” —Sheri A. Wilkinson, book blogger
Also by DS Kane
The “Spies Lie” Series by DS Kane:
Bloodridge, Book 1 — AMAZON BESTSELLER
DeathByte, Book 2 — AMAZON BESTSELLER
Swiftshadow, Book 3 — AMAZON BESTSELLER
GrayNet, Book 4 — AMAZON BESTSELLER
Baksheesh (Bribes), Book 5 — AMAZON BESTSELLER
ProxyWar, Book 6…with more to come.
For Frances and Leonard, who made me.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events depicted here are the work of the author’s mind. Most but not all of the places are real.
“It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing”
—William Shakespeare,
Macbeth, Act V, Scene 5
Part One
Chapter One
Home office of Xian Wing, Senior Director of State Security, north side of Fourth Ring Road near Jingping Road, Beijing, China
August 23, 4:26 p.m.
William Wing’s small wrists strained against the handcuffs. Across the desk, his father stared at him. Behind the two, at the carved wooden door, Corporal Benjamin Chan watched. William scanned the mirror over father’s desk and saw Chan shift, his eyes wide.
William wondered if anyone had ever seen his father angry before.
Xian Wing seethed a whisper that could peel paint, “What do I do with you?”
The twelve-year-old boy struggled against the cuffs but remained silent. He raised his head.
“Father, you know what I am. You have known for a long time. You did nothing before.”
The older man slammed the desk with his fist. “Hacking into your school and changing your grades is a crime. Hacking into the state computers is much more serious crime. Getting caught is even worse. You have caused our family considerable shame. The committee has called for your death.”
“All I did was peek at the records.”
“All? You were inside the CSIS servers more than twenty times before Chan figured out what you had done. You used my computer. Your trail of electronic breadcrumbs led him to me, not you. To me!”
“But, father—”
“Silence.” He stared right through William. “I will offer you one favor. I will spare your life. You will be flown to Hong Kong and left at the airport. You must never return to China. Never! Should you set foot here, you will be apprehended and executed.”
The two glared at each other. Corporal Chan held his breath.
Xian nodded to Chan. The corporal uncuffed William, who leaned over and swiped a gold fountain pen from the top of his father’s desk. Done swift and smooth, neither man saw him do this.
Xian stood and stared out the window. He shouted, “You are no longer my son!”
Twelve Years Later
Chapter Two
The hallway outside William Wing’s apartment, Ascot Heights, Block A, 21 Lok Lam Road, New Territories, Hong Kong
June 17, 5:22 a.m.
The young woman stared at the metallic blue door. She searched the hallway for cams. None, but there might be some inside. She donned a balaclava from her pocket to shroud her face. From another pocket, she pulled out a bump-key set.
It took her eleven seconds to pick it open. Her skills were rusty. The last time she’d picked one open was in Riyadh, more than a year ago. That time it was the vault of a bank at midnight. She entered the living room and closed the door behind her.
Cassandra Sashakovich whistled an old blues tune, “Death Letter.” There were cams everywhere, eight of them embedded into the ceiling. “Paranoid little bastard.”
She took a wrench and started working.
Elevator doors scraped open on the third floor. As William Wing closed the distance to his apartment, his eyes locked on the door to his apartment and he jolted back to full awareness. Something was wrong: the high-tech paint the Chinese Secret Intelligence Service had applied to his front door bore an opaque sheen. The sheen indicated it had been opened and the circuitry held within the paint hadn’t been reset. Developed by the CSIS to protect the homes of senior officials, the paint contained nanotech that reacted to movement by shifting color tone.
He dropped the handle of his rolling suitcase and swept back the mop of thick black hair that drooped over his brow.
In the humid heat, he shivered but noticed his shirt was soaked through. “Damn.” Had he been targeted by a client? How had they found out where he lived?
He pulled the jammer-scanner from his pocket, but it snagged on the new ID badge, tumbling it out. The badge’s label glared back at him: “Major William Wing, Chinese Cyberwar Technology Lab.” Working for his father, as the Chinese government had demanded, he still didn’t know why his father had demanded he accept the position.
Twelve years since he’d left mainland China. In the hacking community, William was known as CryptoMonger, and his clients were corporations and governments. He’d learned to hide in shadows, worked hard to become one of the world’s two or three most accomplished gray-hat hackers, feared by those who failed to make themselves his clients.
He remembered how CarderWorld and DarkMarket had come and gone. But William’s skills exceeded those of the Ukrainian hackers who merely wanted riches. He’d shunned the Anonymous LulzSec hackers who were only interested in politics. For him, it was all about his reputation as the best hacker anywhere. With the exception of his call sign, CryptoMonger had remained a cipher.
No one had ever known where he lived.
Until now.
William wiped away the perspiration pooling his glasses.
He pushed several buttons on the jammer-scanner and pointed it at the door. The digital readout indicated the number of times the door had opened since he’d left home. The scanner blinked a “2,” confirming his worst fear. The door had been opened twice since he’d left for Beijing three days ago.
Someone had broken into his apartment. Were they there now, waiting for him?
He reset the jammer-scanner unit for a deep scan of body presence and when it blinked a zero, his hands unclenched. But this technology, like that of the high-tech paint on his front door, was still in the testing stage. “Damn,” he whispered again, and took several s
teps back.
Was this related to his hack last month for the Israelis, just before he visited his father in Beijing?
He stood frozen.
At five-foot-six and one-hundred-forty pounds, he wasn’t big and he had no martial arts experience or weapons training. He needed to know what they’d taken, or possibly what they’d left, but he dreaded opening the door.
William steeled himself. Cracked the door open. Silence. His calico cat, Mousey Tongue, bounded into his arms. He stroked the animal and set the scanner to search for his intruder. It flashed a big “1.” DNA somewhere in the room. Foreign DNA, not his or Mousey’s. The only other person he’d invited in was Lily, and he’d coded her DNA.
No, this was left by the intruder.
He kissed the top of the cat’s white head and placed her on the sofa, then threaded his way into the bathroom. Then into the bedroom. He walked to his primary computer, on a desk in the corner by the window view of the distant harbor.
