Fatal Exchange
Russell Blake
(c) 2011
Copyright 2011 by Russell Blake. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, contact [email protected].
Rave reviews for Russell Blake books:
For "Fatal Exchange"
"Fatal Exchange is a page-turning roller coaster ride of action, adventure and thrills. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed this presumably debut offering from Russell Blake. It's an awesome read. I couldn't put it down, and stayed up all night to finish it, no exaggeration. Six Stars, if they had that high a review! " Katherina J.
*****
"This is a book that took me completely by surprise. I thought I'd give it a shot based on the Amazon description and 5 star reviews, and it quickly became a page turner I couldn't put down. The plot is complex, sort of like a Forsyth or Ludlum, and the characters are gripping. It's a real novel. Can't wait to see what Blake does next." Anthony M.
*****
"A woman on the airplane sitting next to me was entranced with the book and recommended it to me, and I have to say it's a great read by a complete unknown. Kind of like caramel pop-corn in the guilty pleasure department. It tastes so good you don't want to stop munching. A must read for action or intrigue junkies." David A.
*****
"Fatal Exchange is a gritty," edge of your seat" thriller by first time author Russell Blake. The author cleverly combines a well paced, CSI styled crime thriller, with a "no holds barred", plausible international conspiracy. The story centers around Tess, a spunky, misplaced bicycle messenger, tirelessly working the Manhattan courier, who becomes entangled in both conflicts. Set squarely in the sights of a elusive serial killer and pursued doggedly by a ruthless, clandestine interrogation/murder team, Tess weaves her way through both worlds, as everyone around her starts to fall victim to the two very different, yet equally deadly threats. Detective Ron Stanford is stuck in the middle both conspiracy. A youngish detective assigned to a "special homicide" investigative unit, he initially meets Tess through his investigation of a set of serial murders targeting bicycle messengers, and soon becomes enmeshed another set of bizarre murders popping up throughout the city, all linked to a mysterious transaction completed by Tess's father. I can honestly say, that if I could find more books like Fatal Exchange, I would be left with absolutely no reason to read some of the "Brand" name authors on the market today." Steven K.
*****
"I really enjoyed this book! Started it yesterday and have spent every spare moment finishing it today. This author is going on my fave list!" Tux
*****
"My only regret about this book? Not purchasing it earlier. One of the best reads I've had this summer! I mean, where else can you find bike messengers, counterfeiters, and scalpers all in one book? I literally could NOT put it down, I was so drawn in... Waiting with baited breath for the next novel by Blake.... very impatiently I might add!" Amber N.
*****
" This book is in a class by itself. The main plot of the book is exciting and scary (and maybe a little graphic). The pacing is fast, the descriptions are visceral and the twists are unexpected." Stacy K.
For "How To Sell A Gazillion eBooks In No Time (even if drunk, high or incarcerated)"
“How to Sell a Gazillion eBooks In a Year is by far the most important book ever written on any topic, although I exclude the Bible since the Bible wasn’t exactly written in the way we mean the word “written.” But other than that, Gazillion does it all. For everyone. A can’t miss, sure fire Gazillion hit-a-thon from the master of them all.”
- John Lescroart, NY Times bestselling author of over 20 novels, including The Vig, The 13th Juror, Treasure Hunt, Damage, Second Chair and a host of others
“…a joyously vicious satire and parody that makes sport of John Locke, and indeed of the whole brave new world of self–publishing and self–promotion. If you don’t find Mr. Blake outrageous, and indeed offensive, you would seem to be missing the point. And the same thing goes if you only find him outrageous and offensive.”
- Lawrence Block, bestselling author of Telling Lies For Fun & Profit, The Liar’s Bible, A Drop Of The Hard Stuff, and Getting Off
“Anybody who’s ever read a self-help book will appreciate the cynical humor from the nimble mind of Russell Blake in this parody. Piercing sarcasm, the ability to turn a phrase into a missile and an impressive vocabulary (he makes up words if he doesn’t know an appropriate one – I’ve asked him, but still don’t know what a Gazillion is) combine into a book that is alternately rant, grovel, trash-talk and Bizarro-world counsel. Irreverent fun.”
– David Lender, author of Trojan Horse, The Gravy Train and Bull Street
For "The Geronimo Breach"
"The best thriller I've ever read. How often do you hear a review say that? Well. that's what I'm saying. Other reviews describing it as near perfection and incredibly well written aren't lying. Russell Blake is on par with the biggest names in the business. And I mean Grisham, Turrow, Ludlum, Forsyth, Brown. The plot is intricate and completely unexpected at every turn. Al Ross is a hateful, extremely well-written character with believable complexity and nuance, plunged into a global conspiracy nightmare he's ill-equipped to survive. Don't want to spoil the end, but it's a barn-burner. Overall, the best read ever." jennifer989
*****
"The artistry in this work as the brush strokes build layers, brings you to wonder if something like this could be true! That's the work of a true artist. Many works of fiction have a main character that is so scrubbed up that he no longer resembles a human male. No problems with this one. You start out despising him, then start to feel sorry for him, until finally you almost like him and wish him well - although that outcome seems unlikely, the way the story develops. This is almost a 'How to..' for budding writers. How to write without one word or one sentence that could be edited out! Tight narrative, great story, scary scenario. I almost never give five stars, but this has earned it!" K. McDicken
*****
"Russell Blake is fast becoming my favorite new author. Take an unlikely main character, a scarily probable conspiracy, a government run amok, cocaine dealers, commandos, whores, a burro, and a tightly meshed action/intrigue plot, and you have what to me is the most original thriller of the year. I don't want to spoil the ending but it completely blew me away, and how the suspense was sustained to the last few pages as a surprise was great. I loved Fatal Exchange and had tears of laughter running down my face for How to Sell A Gazillion Ebooks, and now spent a big chunk of my night reading till 4AM to get to the end of Geronimo Breach. Highest recommendation for a highly original and entertaining novel." Semi-Used
*****
"Okay, I'm from the other side of the pond (you can find most of my reviews and on the UK site) and I'm not a patient/forgiving reader if the writer confuses me or dawdles in their narrative. I was pleasantly surprised to find myself going along with the easy style and broad strokes of the narrative. The plot is very skilfully contrived but the real art I found was in the affinity I found myself unable to resist with the down-on-his-life main character, Al. I also love burros after following Al's steady transition as he encounters hurdle after hurdle. I laughed aloud in some scenes (I won't spoil it) when Al is, let's say...compromised. I loved the ending but also wished the story hadn't ended - so for that reason I'm taking the trouble to recommend it." Write Into Print
Excerpts from Russell Blak
e’s novels
King of Swords By Russell Blake
King of Swords is an epic assassination thriller set in modern Mexico against a backdrop of cartel violence. Captain Romero Cruz discovers an assassination plot to kill the Mexican and U.S. presidents at the G-20 conference in Cabo by "El Rey" - a super assassin responsible for some of the world's most shocking killings.
Purchase King of Swords
Go to King of Swords excerpt
The Geronimo Breach By Russell Blake
The Geronimo Breach is a breakneck-paced thrill ride that pits a despicable protagonist against the world's deadliest adversaries. When a pilfered object goes missing, he unwittingly becomes the object of a murderous jungle manhunt to retrieve a stolen secret so shocking it would alter the world's balance of power.
Purchase The Geronimo Breach
Go to The Geronimo Breach excerpt
Zero Sum By Russell Blake
The Zero Sum trilogy chronicles the saga of an entrepreneur battling a malevolent Wall Street predator in an international chess game turned deadly. From the hill towns of Italy to the rooftops of Buenos Aires, from New York boardrooms to the alleys of Havana, Zero Sum is the epic tale of a hunted man battling for survival against insurmountable odds.
Go to Zero Sum excerpt
http://russellblake.com/
Chapter 1
A shriek ripped through the bunker, then slowly tapered off to a moan punctuated by congested gasps and feeble gurgling. At first it was hard to tell the gender of the screamer by the timbre of the emanation, but then the moan gave it away.
It was a man.
The noise was coming from a room at the end of a dimly lit hallway, concrete construction, everything painted a sickly olive-green and reeking of disrepair. Behind the chamber’s steel door stood two men in brown uniforms of the Republic of the Union of Myanmar. A third man wearing a short-sleeved pleated dress shirt sat at a metal table upon which rested an old wooden box with a hand crank, and what looked like a weathered carpentry kit, with all the usual tools present. There were other, more arcane instruments strewn over a small rolling stand, and a tray containing rubber gloves, an apron, and a Dremel.
The floor sloped gradually to meet the drainage grid in the far corner, where an old faucet intermittently dripped water. Illumination was dim on the periphery but brighter in the middle of the space, where a large lamp hung from the ceiling, housing a bank of hundred-watt incandescent bulbs.
The air was putrid and smelled of urine and feces, and ventilation was poor – they’d needed to improvise a facility on relatively short notice. As the building had originally been a holding cell for prisoners offloaded from returning naval ships, powerful climate-control and air-moving machinery had never been deemed necessary.
All three men had their attention focused on a naked Asian man in his late thirties, strapped to a metal chair directly below the lights. His head rested on his chest, where a thin thread of saliva and blood slowly trickled down his concave ribcage. The screaming had stopped, replaced by sobbing and whimpering, high pitched and eerily reminiscent of a cat in heat.
The smaller of the uniformed men approached the seated figure, carefully avoiding the pool of filth around the chair—the victim had voided his bowels and bladder at some point during the interrogation, contributing to the stench in the room. He leaned in close and spoke softly in Burmese.
“Where is it?”
The man in the chair moaned. The uniformed man tried again, reasonably.
“Where is it? We know you took it.”
The subject didn’t register the words. Annoying. The officer had so many more pleasurable things he could be doing. Right now he was running late for a rendezvous with one of the young ladies he favored with his charms, as well as the odd food voucher or handful of coins.
He pressed onward. “We don’t wish to make this last any longer than it has to. It would be a shame to have to bring your family into it, but you’re leaving me no choice. How old are your two daughters? Eight and ten, I believe? Think of them. Answer the question. For them.”
The man slowly raised his head and regarded the officer. One of his eyes was missing, or rather had been punctured earlier in the discussion, and was leaking its ocular fluid down his battered cheek. The pain had to be excruciating.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I swear.” The words ran together in a hoarse mumble, due to the obliteration earlier levied upon his face.
The officer shook his head imperceptibly and sighed. His tryst would have to be delayed; this was going nowhere. Shrugging his shoulders, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a pair of white foam earplugs, then turned to the man in the short shirtsleeves and nodded.
Without hesitation, the man cranked the handle on the old wooden box. The victim shrieked again, an otherworldly sound that bespoke unimaginable horrors. A pair of worn blackened wires ran from the old hand generator to the seated man’s genitals, where the bare ends had been affixed with black electrical tape. The smell of burning hair and flesh mingled with the other noxious odors.
“Where is it? What did you do with it?”
More gurgling.
The taller officer removed his round wire-rimmed glasses, cleaned the lenses carefully with a handkerchief, and addressed the man in the shirtsleeves.
“Use the drill.”
The shirtsleeved man nodded, and removed from his bag a device resembling a dog muzzle, with straps on the back terminating in metal hooks. He clawed his hands into the man’s head, forcing his face into the contraption. The front section had a hinged mechanism controlling two short metal rods now plunged inside the man’s mouth. The rods were grooved, worn by the many previous sets of teeth which had ground them.
He secured the metal hooks to the chair back, and tightened the straps so the man couldn’t move his head. Then, with a practiced twist, he turned the lever on the side of the mechanism, forcing the man’s mouth open, allowing access to his dental plate.
Pausing for a moment, the shirtsleeved man considered his shoes, now soiled with the accumulated expulsions. Aggravating, but there was nothing to be done about it. He hoped they’d wash clean.
Turning, he donned a plastic apron with an incongruous faded image of a dancing crab, and selected the Dremel, a tiny high-speed jeweler’s drill used for polishing and grinding work. He inserted the bit—a small tapered cone with serrated edges running from the tip to the base, useful for boring holes in stone or metal—and tightened the shaft.
The victim’s eye went wide as the screech of the high-pitched motor filled the space.
“So, my friend, is there anything you want to tell me before we start?”
* * *
Overhead loudspeakers blared flight arrival and departure information in Korean as well as in Japanese, Chinese, and English. The terminal was congested, even though its ultra-modern interior was designed specifically to accommodate heavy traffic, and the din of conversations battling with the ceaseless announcements created a kind of low-grade pandemonium. Seoul was a major hub for travel into China and the Far East, and on any business day there were a lot of busy people with important places to go, most of whom apparently had to do so while having animated discussions on their cell phones.
Seung waited restlessly in the ticketing area, half an hour early for his meeting. Thin, fashionably mod haircut, and a studied air of disinterest affecting every mannerism, he was dressed in jeans and leather jacket, in defiance of the brooding heat outside the airport’s doors.
Fuck, he hated crowds. Airports were the worst. The noise and bustle were grating on his already raw nerves.
Fidgeting with his black briefcase, he scouted his surroundings and spotted a men’s restroom icon. He studied the crowd, quickly glanced at his watch, then moved towards the facilities. Of course there was a line. Forced to wait a few minutes for a toilet to free up, he passed the time imagining he was boarding one of the big 747s on the tarmac and flying to Fiji or Bora Bo
ra. Maybe one day. One day soon.
The end stall vacated and he entered and locked the little compartment door, exhaling a sigh of relief to be out of the throng. After confirming the latch was secure and there was no visibility through the door joints, he pulled a small zippered wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket and carefully opened it, using his briefcase as an ad hoc table.
He painstakingly emptied half the contents of a tiny plastic bag into an old metal spoon, and with a trembling hand clutching his cigarette lighter he melted the powder in the spoon bowl. Very slowly, he returned the lighter to his jacket pocket and removed a disposable syringe from the wallet. Gripping the orange plastic cap with his teeth, he freed the little needle and sucked the liquid into the syringe.
The tricky part concluded, he replaced the cap and held the syringe in his mouth while he repacked the kit, taking care to reseal the bag’s tiny zip-lock top.
Seung rolled up his left jean leg, exposing a network of bruised discolorations which marred the larger veins in his ankle. He removed a length of surgical tubing, tied off just below his calf and slapped at the vein. That one looked good for another week, then it would collapse like the ones in his right leg.
Oh well. He’d have to still be alive next week to care. There were no guarantees.
He popped the cap off the needle again and slid the metal into his ruined vessel, drawing blood into the syringe and mixing the amber fluid with the viscous crimson from his vein. Satisfied, he depressed the plunger, emptying the contents into his bloodstream. This was only half a hit, really just a maintenance dose—he didn’t want to nod off on the job. He released the tubing and felt a warm rush through his entire system, running up his leg to his heart, then into his throat and up to his head.
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