Showing posts with label kenneth eade. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kenneth eade. Show all posts

Thursday, January 5, 2017

Paladine by Kenneth Eade

Title: Paladine
Author: Kenneth Eade
Series: Paladine #1
Genre: Thriller
Release Date: September 18, 2016
Summary:
Meet terrorism's worst enemy

From the best-selling & award winning author critics hail as "one of the strongest thriller writers on our scene" comes an unforgettable story of an unlikely "anti-hero."

Robert Garcia was an unremarkable man, tapped out of a promising military career to become a death squad assassin for the CIA. Retirement was not in the cards for Robert, so he disappeared instead. After he comes out of the cold to answer the call to aid a fellow soldier facing a bum rap, he is thrust back into the spotlight when he is in the wrong place at the wrong time and kills a terrorist, thereby saving dozens of lives. He finds gainful employment in the slaughter of jihadists, which sparks an urban social media legend that Robert, a dangerous and unfeeling assassin, is a living paladin, whose mission is to rid the earth of evil for the betterment of mankind. Social media gives him the name: "Paladine" and God help whoever gets between him and his next target.

2016 quarter-finalist in Publisher's Weekly's Book Prize in Fiction


The apartment obviously belonged to a bachelor, but it was neat and orderly, like a military man’s freshly made bed. The cushions on the couch were soft and comfortable and the Colonial style furniture practical and functional, rustic but not antique. The dΓ©cor was earth tone and neutral, and the walls were peppered with tasteful framed prints, replicas of art that said nothing about the occupant. They were just hanging there so the walls would not be bare. There were no framed family photos on the tables, no stacks of well-worn books and no magazines. It was almost as if nobody lived there.

Robert Garcia was an unremarkable man. Other men, the exceptional types, could never be forgotten. Men of striking, imposing persuasion, or those with a certain superior intellect or cleverness. Robert held none of those attributes but, if you had the misfortune to have him touch your life in any way, and were fortuitous enough to live after the experience, he would be indelibly etched in your memory.

Robert’s characteristics were fine-drawn, precise. He could drift in on the night air with only a whisper of the wind, and then disappear into the shadows, the only place where he ever felt secure and content. At five-foot-eleven, dark-haired with a touch of grey around the edges, he was a chameleon that blended in with most crowds. But under the ordinary clothing he wore he had the body of a herculean powerhouse, chiseled and ripped. NΓ©e John Richards, Jr. to an American military career man who had taken a Lebanese wife, since Robert had been old enough to walk, he had marched in the footsteps of his father. When his country came calling, John Richards, Jr. proudly answered that call and served with pride as his father’s son, the nephew of his Great Uncle Sam. There was never any question of it. Working up the ranks the hard way, he made Captain, and it wasn’t long before his special traits and abilities landed him his first secret assignment, along with his first alias – Malik Abdul.

Malik was a name that had fit Robert well. He never did look or behave like a John Richards. That was a name his Anglo Father, John Richards, Sr., had insisted on giving the child and his mother dutifully went along with it. Eventually, it was adept profiling that helped Malik recognize his destiny. His swarthy skin and his second language – Arabic – made Malik a valuable asset to his country. Beyond his language prowess and physical attributes, Malik possessed a unique set of special skills, forged by intensive training and honed to perfection with experience. Malik and his band of assassins were utilized only in the most extreme of circumstances – covert operations for well-known agencies who called themselves by three letter acronyms – and the unknown ones as well.

Malik had tried to retire, tried his hand at transforming his life into the “normal” one of Robert Garcia, and had dutifully taken the number 4 train Monday through Friday, from his little brownstone in El Barrio to Two Penn Plaza, where he worked as a janitor. But Malik’s past had beckoned. It was a call he could not resist. He had come out into the open to support a fellow soldier who had been given a bum rap. About the only thing Malik had left which resembled a conscience was the soldier’s creed. He had no morals, no principles, except for those, which were burned into his hardwiring like a brand on a cow: The mission comes first; never accept defeat; never quit; and never leave a fallen comrade.

The comrade was Captain Ryan Bennington, an officer serving in the war against the insurgency in Iraq who had been sent on a mission by his superiors with instructions to breech four houses in an Iraqi village that intelligence had confirmed were being run by Al-Qaeda terrorists and kill any one of them who did not actively surrender. It was a mission the likes of which Malik – Robert – knew well, as he had been on many of them, committing unspeakable acts in the name of the War on Terror during the insurgency. Now the accused officer was being court-martialed and could face life in prison for simply doing his duty.

Robert had come back from the court-martial trial on the coast a ball of nerves, constantly looking over his shoulder. Now that the record had been set straight, Robert’s life was in a state of distress and disquietude. He couldn’t resume his job as a custodian. They could be watching for him there.  He couldn’t return to the woman he had been seeing regularly, and who had given him hope that he actually could rejoin society after all that he had seen and done, and he couldn’t go back to the little apartment in the quaint brownstone on 118th Street, between 2nd and 3rd Avenues in Spanish Harlem that he had called home for the past five years. Well, he had to come back here – for only one last time, he thought, as he shut the door behind him.

*****

Now that Robert had exposed himself and his new identity to set the record straight it was, once again, time to slip back into the shadows. Without a glimpse of emotion, he had left everything behind in the top floor of that little brownstone that had been collected by Robert Garcia over the years –the furniture, the clothing, the little knick-knacks reminiscent of the life he had simulated. He also left something in the apartment that had never been there before, a product of his life’s work – something that he had not produced for the past five years – the body of a dead man, five-foot eleven, olive-skinned and dark-haired. He took one last look at the life of Robert Garcia as he threw the match on the floor and then slipped away.




Russian Holiday #2
Summary:
Even killers need a vacation

Paladine, terrorism's worst enemy, is back in this sequel to the hit thriller.

From the best-selling & award winning author critics hail as "one of the strongest thriller writers on our scene" comes the continuation of the unforgettable story of an unlikely "anti-hero," Robert Garcia, a dangerous and unfeeling assassin of jihadist terrorists, has been exalted by social media as "Paladine", a living paladin whose mission is to rid the earth of evil for the betterment of mankind. In this installment of the series, Paladine crosses paths with a Russian assassin, which puts him in the middle of the controversial new cold war between the United States and Russia.

Sequel to the bestseller, "Paladine"
#1 Superhero Thriller best seller & #1 hot new release
#2 Pulp Thriller best seller #1 hot new release
#2 Terrorism Thriller best seller & #1 hot new release

What Others Are Saying:
"Robert Garcia is a vigilante known as Paladine, and in this well-written and fast-paced thriller, the author demonstrates skill not only with plot, but with character -- and character is what makes this book stand out. An ill-fated love story and an irresistible dog only deepen what could be just another hit-man-killing-jihadists story." --Publisher's Weekly, Booklife Prize in Fiction

"A satisfyingly original, compelling piece that moves well beyond genre writing and into the realm of military precision, insight, and adventure, linking action into modern-day pursuits and concerns with the precision of a surgeon. Paladine is very highly recommended reading for anyone looking for a protagonist and purpose that goes the extra mile, and then keeps on running." --Midwest Book Review

"Kenneth Eade is one of our strongest thriller writers on the scene and the fact that he draws his stories from the contemporary philosophical landscape is very much to his credit. Another top-flight novel from the master of intrigue – one of his best series yet." --Grady Harp, Amazon Hall of Fame, Top 100 & Vine Voice

Author Bio:
Described by critics as "one of our strongest thriller writers on the scene," author Kenneth Eade, best known for his legal and political thrillers, practiced law for 30 years before publishing his first novel, "An Involuntary Spy." Eade, an up-and-coming author in the legal thriller and courtroom drama genre, has been described by critics as "One of our strongest thriller writers on the scene and the fact that he draws his stories from the contemporary philosophical landscape is very much to his credit." He is the author of the "Brent Marks Legal Thriller Series", the fifth installment of which, Killer.com, won best legal thriller in the 2015 Beverly Hills Book Awards, and the "Involuntary Spy Espionage Series".

Said Eade of the comparisons, "Readers compare me in style to John Grisham and, there are some similarities, because John also likes to craft a story around real topics and we are both lawyers. However, all of my novels are rooted in reality, not fantasy. I use fictional characters and situations to express factual and conceptual issues. Some use the term 'faction' to describe this style, and it is present in all my fictional works."

Eade has written twelve novels, which are now in the process of being translated into six languages. He is known to keep in touch with his readers, and offers a free Kindle book to all those who sign up at his website.


FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  BLOG #1  /  BLOG #2
AUDIBLE  /  B&N  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS



Paladine #1
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N

Russian Holiday #2
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  GOODREADS TBR

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Thursday, December 8, 2016

Free Today Only: Paladine by Kenneth Eade

Title: Paladine
Author: Kenneth Eade
Series: Paladine #1
Genre: Thriller
Release Date: September 18, 2016

***Free Today Only***


Summary:
Meet terrorism's worst enemy

From the best-selling & award winning author critics hail as "one of the strongest thriller writers on our scene" comes an unforgettable story of an unlikely "anti-hero."

Robert Garcia was an unremarkable man, tapped out of a promising military career to become a death squad assassin for the CIA. Retirement was not in the cards for Robert, so he disappeared instead. After he comes out of the cold to answer the call to aid a fellow soldier facing a bum rap, he is thrust back into the spotlight when he is in the wrong place at the wrong time and kills a terrorist, thereby saving dozens of lives. He finds gainful employment in the slaughter of jihadists, which sparks an urban social media legend that Robert, a dangerous and unfeeling assassin, is a living paladin, whose mission is to rid the earth of evil for the betterment of mankind. Social media gives him the name: "Paladine" and God help whoever gets between him and his next target.

2016 quarter-finalist in Publisher's Weekly's Book Prize in Fiction


The apartment obviously belonged to a bachelor, but it was neat and orderly, like a military man’s freshly made bed. The cushions on the couch were soft and comfortable and the Colonial style furniture practical and functional, rustic but not antique. The dΓ©cor was earth tone and neutral, and the walls were peppered with tasteful framed prints, replicas of art that said nothing about the occupant. They were just hanging there so the walls would not be bare. There were no framed family photos on the tables, no stacks of well-worn books and no magazines. It was almost as if nobody lived there.

Robert Garcia was an unremarkable man. Other men, the exceptional types, could never be forgotten. Men of striking, imposing persuasion, or those with a certain superior intellect or cleverness. Robert held none of those attributes but, if you had the misfortune to have him touch your life in any way, and were fortuitous enough to live after the experience, he would be indelibly etched in your memory.

Robert’s characteristics were fine-drawn, precise. He could drift in on the night air with only a whisper of the wind, and then disappear into the shadows, the only place where he ever felt secure and content. At five-foot-eleven, dark-haired with a touch of grey around the edges, he was a chameleon that blended in with most crowds. But under the ordinary clothing he wore he had the body of a herculean powerhouse, chiseled and ripped. NΓ©e John Richards, Jr. to an American military career man who had taken a Lebanese wife, since Robert had been old enough to walk, he had marched in the footsteps of his father. When his country came calling, John Richards, Jr. proudly answered that call and served with pride as his father’s son, the nephew of his Great Uncle Sam. There was never any question of it. Working up the ranks the hard way, he made Captain, and it wasn’t long before his special traits and abilities landed him his first secret assignment, along with his first alias – Malik Abdul.

Malik was a name that had fit Robert well. He never did look or behave like a John Richards. That was a name his Anglo Father, John Richards, Sr., had insisted on giving the child and his mother dutifully went along with it. Eventually, it was adept profiling that helped Malik recognize his destiny. His swarthy skin and his second language – Arabic – made Malik a valuable asset to his country. Beyond his language prowess and physical attributes, Malik possessed a unique set of special skills, forged by intensive training and honed to perfection with experience. Malik and his band of assassins were utilized only in the most extreme of circumstances – covert operations for well-known agencies who called themselves by three letter acronyms – and the unknown ones as well.

Malik had tried to retire, tried his hand at transforming his life into the “normal” one of Robert Garcia, and had dutifully taken the number 4 train Monday through Friday, from his little brownstone in El Barrio to Two Penn Plaza, where he worked as a janitor. But Malik’s past had beckoned. It was a call he could not resist. He had come out into the open to support a fellow soldier who had been given a bum rap. About the only thing Malik had left which resembled a conscience was the soldier’s creed. He had no morals, no principles, except for those, which were burned into his hardwiring like a brand on a cow: The mission comes first; never accept defeat; never quit; and never leave a fallen comrade.

The comrade was Captain Ryan Bennington, an officer serving in the war against the insurgency in Iraq who had been sent on a mission by his superiors with instructions to breech four houses in an Iraqi village that intelligence had confirmed were being run by Al-Qaeda terrorists and kill any one of them who did not actively surrender. It was a mission the likes of which Malik – Robert – knew well, as he had been on many of them, committing unspeakable acts in the name of the War on Terror during the insurgency. Now the accused officer was being court-martialed and could face life in prison for simply doing his duty.

Robert had come back from the court-martial trial on the coast a ball of nerves, constantly looking over his shoulder. Now that the record had been set straight, Robert’s life was in a state of distress and disquietude. He couldn’t resume his job as a custodian. They could be watching for him there.  He couldn’t return to the woman he had been seeing regularly, and who had given him hope that he actually could rejoin society after all that he had seen and done, and he couldn’t go back to the little apartment in the quaint brownstone on 118th Street, between 2nd and 3rd Avenues in Spanish Harlem that he had called home for the past five years. Well, he had to come back here – for only one last time, he thought, as he shut the door behind him.

*****

Now that Robert had exposed himself and his new identity to set the record straight it was, once again, time to slip back into the shadows. Without a glimpse of emotion, he had left everything behind in the top floor of that little brownstone that had been collected by Robert Garcia over the years –the furniture, the clothing, the little knick-knacks reminiscent of the life he had simulated. He also left something in the apartment that had never been there before, a product of his life’s work – something that he had not produced for the past five years – the body of a dead man, five-foot eleven, olive-skinned and dark-haired. He took one last look at the life of Robert Garcia as he threw the match on the floor and then slipped away.




Come visit ManyBooks.net and see the latest interview
with this incredible author of spine chilling thriller as he is
honored with as the "Featured Author of the Day".

Author Bio:
Described by critics as "one of our strongest thriller writers on the scene," author Kenneth Eade, best known for his legal and political thrillers, practiced law for 30 years before publishing his first novel, "An Involuntary Spy." Eade, an up-and-coming author in the legal thriller and courtroom drama genre, has been described by critics as "One of our strongest thriller writers on the scene and the fact that he draws his stories from the contemporary philosophical landscape is very much to his credit." He is the author of the "Brent Marks Legal Thriller Series", the fifth installment of which, Killer.com, won best legal thriller in the 2015 Beverly Hills Book Awards, and the "Involuntary Spy Espionage Series".

Said Eade of the comparisons, "Readers compare me in style to John Grisham and, there are some similarities, because John also likes to craft a story around real topics and we are both lawyers. However, all of my novels are rooted in reality, not fantasy. I use fictional characters and situations to express factual and conceptual issues. Some use the term 'faction' to describe this style, and it is present in all my fictional works."

Eade has written twelve novels, which are now in the process of being translated into six languages. He is known to keep in touch with his readers, and offers a free Kindle book to all those who sign up at his website.


FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  BLOG #1
BLOG #2  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS





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Saturday, November 26, 2016

Saturday's Series Spotlight: Brent Marks Legal Thriller by Kenneth Eade


Series: Brent Marks Legal Thriller #5, 8, & 9
Author: Kenneth Eade
Genre: Legal Thriller

 Killer.com #5
Summary:
Experience the suspense and mystery in the 6th of this fiction series and winner of the Beverly Hills Book Awards best legal thriller from the author critics call 'one of the strongest thriller writers on the scene.

What if murder was as easy as clicking a button and nobody would ever know?

A mob of anonymous cyber stalkers torments lawyer Brent Marks with defamatory posts on the Internet in this fifth novel of the legal thriller series. When the attorney sues to enjoin their libelous publication, the stalkers hide behind the immunity of the Communications Decency Act.

What if the attorney becomes the accused?

When a mysterious anonymous killer for hire strikes, Marks finds himself accused of the murder, and in a desperate race to prove his innocence.










Decree of Finaltiy #8
Summary:
A wife, faced with divorce, hires a hit man to take out her husband, then changes her mind and is killed, or so it appears to the police and to Lawyer Brent Marks, who represents the husband. But Marks finds himself questioning whether his client has a role in the murder.

























Beyond all Recognition #9
Summary:
This fast-paced and action packed legal and military thriller introduces us to 26-year-old Captain Ryan Bennington, in command of a company during the Iraq Warand fighting a faceless enemy in the global war on terror where a split-second decision could mean the difference between killing an innocent civilian or losing an entire platoon to a suicide bomber. Ryan survives the war and comes home to conquer PTSD and chronic unemployment, only to be arrested for following the orders of his Commander to kill suspected Al-Qaeda terrorists in a small Iraqi village, who turn out, after the raid, to be civilians.

Lawyer Brent Marks takes on Ryan's defense in his court-martial trial, which will reveal the deepest, darkest secrets of the military industrial complex. In their search for a scapegoat, have the powers-that-be gone too far this time?




Killer.com #5
Prologue
The boys lined up in six squads of seven, dressed in the tomato-red shorts and bleached white shirts of their Hale Jr. High School gym uniforms. It was a bright southern California day, the sun blazing high above the field where the boys were in line. Each squad had a leader who answered to Coach Vince Nieman, who was nothing more than a grown-up boy himself: a has-been, first string high school football player who used to be good enough to land himself a spot on the bench in exchange for a college football scholarship. Now he wasn’t good enough for anything but teaching P.E. Brent’s squad leader was a C- student named Russ Carlton, a bulky, red-haired, freckle-faced bully whom, even in middle school, every one of his teachers would have voted as most likely to become a criminal - that is, except for Coach Nieman, who found his brawn useful for crowd control.

Brent hung his head down and filed in. He hated P.E. and made no secret about it.

“You’re a fag, Marquez!” Russ Carlton spouted.

“A dickless fag!” chimed in another.

“You’re a dickless fag who sucks dick!” Now there was a chorus.

“Do it, Steinman!” Russ commanded.

That was the cue for Gary Steinman, a skinny, pathetic-looking kid with a generous brown bush of frizzy, crumpled hair, to fall in line behind Brent. With both hands he grabbed the waistband of Brent’s shorts and underwear and pulled down with all his strength, until they were dangling around Brent’s ankles. Gary’s efforts were rewarded by a cacophony of belly laughter from everyone.

As Brent pulled up his shorts and began to run away, Russ affirmed to the group: “See, I told you he was a fag!”

“Yeah, what a pussy!” exclaimed Gary.

Brent ran past Coach Nieman and into the locker room.

“Where do you think you’re going, Marquez?” asked the Coach. Brent ignored him. Then he turned to Russ. “Carlton, go get Marquez and bring him back out here."

“Come on, Steinman,” commanded Russ as he ran after Brent into the locker room. Steinman followed him like a trained dog.

Brent spun the lock on his gym locker and opened it. The locker room smelled: a combination of the stench of armpits, sweaty balls, and dirty stale socks. He was just putting a leg into his jeans when the two arrived.

“Suit up, Marquez. Coach wants you back out there.”

Brent pretended not to hear Russ and kept putting on his street clothes.

“What are you, deaf, faggot?” asked Steinman.

“I heard you. I’m not going.”

“Get him, Steinman," Russ said as he shoved Gary Steinman into Brent, slamming Brent’s back against the locker. Like a cobra, Brent came back at Steinman, grabbing his left arm, which he twisted behind his back, and applying pressure upward, causing Steinman to wince as he turned and smashed his nose against the locker door.

“Who’s the faggot now, Steinman?” Brent bellowed into his ear.

“Let him go, Marquez, or I’ll fuck you up,” threatened Russ Carlton. Brent ignored Carlton and kept up the pressure.

“What’s going on here?” Coach Nieman’s voice boomed through the locker room. Brent wouldn’t let go. He pushed harder on Steinman’s arm until he thought it would break and ground his face into the locker. Steinman’s wire-rimmed glasses bent at the nose, fell off, and hit the filthy locker room floor.

“No fighting, Marquez. Let him go, now!” barked Nieman. Brent let go of Steinman and gave him a push to the floor. “You two: back outside. Marquez: to the VP’s office, on the double!”

“This isn’t over, faggot!” said Russ, walking backwards and pointing his finger at Brent threateningly.


*****

Brent left the Vice Principal’s office with a two-day suspension from school, which was fine by him. It was nothing but a wasteland of adolescent scum, as far as he was concerned. The classes were a joke, and the so-called students seemed to be in a popularity contest over who could be the most ignorant.

As Brent closed the door of his locker and turned around, there stood Russ Carlton and about eight of his friends. What a surprise.

“You wanna fight, pussy?” said Carlton, shoving Brent against the locker, the combination dial digging into his spine. “I’ll kick your ass!” Brent dared not shove back. There were too many of them. He popped back on his feet and Steinman shoved him back into the locker, followed by a body slam from Nate, another push from Joe, and a sock in the stomach from Briscoe.

“You call this a fair fight?” Brent said, gasping for air. “One against five?”

Russ cackled like a chicken. “The Mexican wants a fair fight!”

“I’m not Mexican.”

“Sorry, I forgot. I guess that’s not your brown skin, is it? You must have just rubbed shit all over it.” Russ laughed again, accompanied by his band of delinquents. He leaned into Brent so closely that Brent could smell his dead-fish breath, and he sniffed at Brent’s neck and grimaced.

“Smells like beans to me. How ‘bout you Briscoe?”

Briscoe stuck his big, long nose right under Brent’s earlobe and sniffed.

“Yup, beans and tortillas.”

“It’s official, Marquez: you’re a beaner!” said Russ, and roared with laughter, to the chorus of guffaws and chortles of his entourage.

“Tell you what. Steinman, here, has to earn his wings. Plus, that wasn’t a fair fight in the locker room today.”

“Yeah, he ain’t been initiated yet,” said Briscoe.

“Did I ask you, dog breath? Like I was saying, Steinman needs his first fight. Saturday, 12 noon, Knapp Park. Be there or we’ll come and get you, and I don’t have to tell you what that’ll be like.”

Russ slammed Brent back into the locker and walked away, followed by Steinman and each of the boys, until Brent fell on his butt on the concrete. He picked himself up, dusted off the knees of his filthy blue jeans, and decided right then and there that he would never back down from any bully.

Decree of Finality #8
Prologue
He sat at the table, patiently. At first glance, he appeared like any other ordinary person, unless you looked a little bit further. Then you could see that he was different than most people. Oh, he could put on the charm and act like everyone else. But this time, he was staring – an intense, unwavering fixation that made you want to look away, run away.

“You’re pretty brave, you know?”

“Either way, this has to be settled.”

There was a darkness in his eyes – an emptiness so deep that if you were unfortunate enough to catch his gaze, you also caught a chill. Those eyes kept staring ahead – two ebony pools with no reflection; an endless void, a black hole.

“This isn’t a game, you know.”

“I know that better than anybody. You need to call this off, immediately.”

His lips curved upward, as if to form a smile which turned into a sneer. He clenched his fists tightly until his knuckles began to turn red. He was a professional. Being a professional meant not only being skillful at what he did, but also being careful about whom he did it for. And who he did it to. He didn’t like to make mistakes of judgment.

“You’ve really got guts, I’ll give you that.”

“When the stakes are as high as this, you have to. So, do we have a deal?”

“There’re no refunds. That’s a rule.”

“You can keep the money. I consider it well spent.”

He leaned forward across the table, his reptilian eyes still staring forward, expressionless and empty.

“Did you bring the termination fee?”

“Yes. It’s all there.”

A black bag was placed on the table. He opened it and thumbed through it, his eyes all the while fixed. Then a malicious, sardonic grin spread across his lips.

“Then I suppose the contract is terminated.”

Beyond all Recognition #9
“You get numb to it. Numb to death, killing. That’s all I can say. You get numb to the things that happen in war, but you never can forget them. They come back in your dreams after you finally come home and they never leave.”

Slap!
Pull!
Observe!
Release!
Tap!
Squeeze!

“SPORT – called the immediate action drill. Helps remind you what to do if your rifle malfunctions. It’s drilled into your head in training. You’re breaking that rifle down and putting it together two hundred times a day and by the time you get over there, you’re doing it like a machine on autopilot. But all that training goes out the window when the first shot’s fired in combat. That adrenalin kicks in, lights you up like a firebomb. But you remember SPORT because that rifle’s the most important possession you’ve got. You’re only alive as long as its in your hands.”

Never surrender as long as there’s a means to resist. And never leave any man behind.

“General Smedley Butler said: ‘War is a racket. It is possibly the oldest, easily the most profitable, surely the most vicious. It’s the only one in which the profits are reckoned in dollars and the losses in lives.’ Well, I know war. Probably better than I know anything. You see in the movies all their charts and maps and plans. But when you hit the ground its pure fucking chaos. The loud thumping of mortar rounds, helicopters buzzing around, rockets exploding, the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire. Guys getting hit. People screaming, calling out, ‘Medic! Medic!’. Pieces of flaming hot metal flying. Sweating like shit under all that gear, guys screaming, the fucking smoke. The blood, the heat, the flies, the bodies swelling up, the smell.”

“Get small in your foxholes! Air support on the way!”

“They tell us we don’t have to obey any order that’s illegal. Then they tell us if we don’t obey it, we’ll go to jail. Orders come down from the Colonel and I’ve got to give them to my company. Two hundred lives under my charge.”

You have to distinguish between the civilians and parties to the conflict at all times. But, make a mistake and you’ve either killed innocents or you get a whole patrol barraged by rocket propelled grenades and machine gun fire.

“Rules of engagement say you can use deadly force to protect your life. I’ve had to make split-second decisions on who to shoot and who not to shoot. We all have. Some guys have shot people carrying bags of groceries heading toward them because they thought they were insurgents coming to kill them.”

Better to be judged by 12 than carried by six.

“I enlisted on a scholarship – a higher education. I got it, but my real education started after the first deployment. It was then I realized that they we weren’t playing by the rules. We weren’t fighting for honor, for freedom. That was all a lie. But we fought. We fought for our own survival. We fought for each other. For the guy to our left and the guy to our right. I fought for the survival of the entire company. Our goal? To go home.

“I’ve given orders to guys older than me, who’ve seen more action than I have. To sergeants who know more about what goes on outside the wire than I do. I’ve sent the guys out on casualty collection – you’d be talking to your buddy one day, and the next day, you’re picking up pieces of him after he’s been blown to bits by and IED. Some guys have had to shoot dogs who picked up an arm or a leg and wouldn’t let go of it. You do what you’ve got to do because everybody comes home. Dead or alive. We don’t leave anyone behind.”

Captain Ryan Bennington suppressed the tears as the unwanted souvenirs that had been muffled and restrained ascended out of the depth of his memory and flooded his brain as he faced his accusers. Memories that had begun when he was at the top of his graduating class at West Point. Twenty-six years old and with nothing ahead of him but a great future. Two years later, he was carrying the bloody body of an 8-year-old girl as she died in his arms.

Author Bio:
Described by critics as "one of our strongest thriller writers on the scene," author Kenneth Eade, best known for his legal and political thrillers, practiced law for 30 years before publishing his first novel, "An Involuntary Spy." Eade, an up-and-coming author in the legal thriller and courtroom drama genre, has been described by critics as "One of our strongest thriller writers on the scene and the fact that he draws his stories from the contemporary philosophical landscape is very much to his credit." He is the author of the "Brent Marks Legal Thriller Series", the fifth installment of which, Killer.com, won best legal thriller in the 2015 Beverly Hills Book Awards, and the "Involuntary Spy Espionage Series".

Said Eade of the comparisons, "Readers compare me in style to John Grisham and, there are some similarities, because John also likes to craft a story around real topics and we are both lawyers. However, all of my novels are rooted in reality, not fantasy. I use fictional characters and situations to express factual and conceptual issues. Some use the term 'faction' to describe this style, and it is present in all my fictional works."

Eade has written twelve novels, which are now in the process of being translated into six languages. He is known to keep in touch with his readers, and offers a free Kindle book to all those who sign up at his website.


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Killer.com #5

Decree of Finality #8

Beyond all Recognition #9 




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