22 September, 2012

Special Feature:: #Spotlight on The Dynameos Conspiracy by Dave Folsom


*** SPECIAL FEATURE - September'12 ***


When an acquaintance from college dies on his doorstep from an assassins gunshot wound, former government operative Lee Trainer, quietly living in Montana, finds a mysterious computer chip in the dead man's pocket The chip is a new and mysterious kind with curious abilities. The killers, desperate to retrieve the chip make several unsuccessful attempts on his life and open a trail of deception and murder. Following leads from Montana to the Cayman Islands, Trainer gathers former comrades, a beautiful former lover and a friend from the past who likes to hurt killers. Together they become entangled in a widespread conspiracy to destroy the country.

An Excerpt



Chapter Five

Under his dark coat, the short man wore a chrome-plated, customized Smith and Wesson .45 ACP clipped to a shoulder harness.  A heavy pistol and notoriously inaccurate at anything over fifty feet without a lot of practice, at close range it would stop most men in their tracks, rendering them helpless to defend a kill shot, if they weren’t already dead.  The short man practiced regularly and could put a full clip into a saucer-sized bull’s-eye most of the time making a kill shot rarely necessary. He touched the pistol habitually, nervous because something didn’t feel right.  Staring across the dark deserted street at a dimly lighted office building, he debated his next move.  He called himself Harry Dahl on this particular day, one of hundreds of aliases he’d used; so many, in fact, he could hardly remember his real name.  He fit his profession perfectly; he never felt fear, lacked a conscience, and had no idea how many people he’d killed, nor cared.  Harry was a professional shooter and in nearly ten years he’d never failed to complete a contract, until today. 
 When he’d called the number that he’d been given, he received directions to this address.  He didn’t like it.  Normally his pay went to a numbered Swiss account.  When it didn’t the non-payer became a casualty also.  This employer had threatened non-payment and Harry was not about to let it go.  His job wasn’t complete.
Moving carefully in the dark, he worked his way to the glass-fronted door and looked in.   He could see an older man sitting at a large oak desk surrounded by other office-like fixtures.  He appeared alone.  An overstuffed chair sat directly in front of the desk, facing the old man.  Harry withdrew the .45 and tried the door.  It opened and he stepped in and found himself well within his thirty-foot accuracy limit.  Harry smiled.  This was going to be easy.
“Ah, Mister Dahl.  Come in.  I’ve been expecting you,” the old man said.
Harry hesitated.  What the hell was this?
“Please, Mr. Dahl, I’ll admit I was a little perturbed at first that Trainer and the girl got away, but it was an admirable try.  Tell me about it so we can plan a new strategy.  Please sit.  You can keep your gun in your lap if you so desire, but I can assure you I am unarmed and my hands are in plain sight.”
“I told you up front, I don’t work for nothing.  There are no guarantees.  I’ll finish the job, but don’t threaten me.  I don’t appreciate it,” Harry growled.  “You move a god-dammed finger and I’ll blow yer fucking head off.”
“Now, now, Mr. Dahl, no need for anger.  I just want a report on the details and then we will plan our next move.  I can assure you that you will be compensated for your efforts.  Now, please sit and tell me about it.” 
Harry sat, but with the .45 ready and his feet planted.  “Ain’t nothing to tell.  We fire-bombed the house and were ready front and back in case they escaped, but somehow they got out another way.  I lost two good men.”
“Do you know where they are now?”
“No, the tracking device quit sending.”  The modesty panel on the desk exploded in a shower of wood slivers and double-aught buckshot slamming into Harry’s chest and driving him into the chair back.  He died staring at the old man in disbelief.
“That, Mr. Dahl, is how we compensate failure,” the old man said.  He punched a button and two men dressed in orange coveralls appeared.  “Please clean up the mess, throw out the trash, get me a new panel for the desk” he continued, “and another chair.”

I picked up the rental Buick, canceled the room at the Best Western, and watched as they took Rusty through the emergency room doors at Washington County Hospital.  I parked across the street on East Antietam and called Murray again.  I told him what happened and he muttered an expletive, barked that he’d look into it and to call back in another couple of hours.
My second call was to Rusty’s friend in Florida, not because I was anxious to see the Sunshine State, but more because I didn’t know what else to do.  He answered with a perturbed voice, grumbling until I mentioned Rusty’s name and their meeting code followed by the fact that she’d been shot; then he lightened up and told me to come to Tampa, call when I got there and hung up without another word.  Rusty had said he was a bit weird.
By late morning I’d driven most of the way back to Leesburg and turned on the road to Dulles Airport.  I turned in the rented Buick, bought a one-way ticket to Tampa and sat down to wait in the enormous center corridor.  I must have slept because I woke to the sound of a dinging cell phone and a very stiff neck. 
“Yeah,” I said, sitting up and not looking to see the caller I.D.
“Trainer,” said Murray’s voice.  “Thought you’d like to know we moved Agent Henderson to a secure hospital in Virginia.  You should know where, you’ve been there.”
I did and I had, years ago.  A four story, non-descript building just outside the Beltway that looked from the outside like a deserted warehouse and on the inside became a fully equipped, modern hospital.
“Thanks, Murray, I appreciate that.”
“You can show your appreciation by coming in and telling us everything you know.”
“Can’t do that.  I don’t know anything except someone is trying hard to put me away and it’s pissing me off.  What about letting me have Sally.  I need some help out here.”
“We have that arranged.  Where do you want to meet him?”
I thought about that for a minute and decided I didn’t want anyone, even Murray, to know where I was since considering the last three days I wasn’t sure who to trust.  “Put him on a plane to Tampa.  I’ll find him in the airport.”
“Okay.  Be careful,” Murray said and hung up.
They called my flight for boarding about twenty minutes later.  Standing in line between a nice-looking blond and guy acting like he’d spent too much time in the frequent flyer lounge, I was forced to think about the events of the last week because the blond was behind me.  The way things were going the drunk would be my seat mate, although I didn’t have much room to criticize since I only had the clothes on my back and no luggage.   I probably looked more suspicious than the jerk in front of me.  An airline employee looked quickly at my boarding pass and waved me through.  I felt naked and vulnerable since I’d had to stash the guns in a locker. I kept the key hoping I’d be able to mail it to Rusty at some point. 
I’d popped for first-class hoping to sleep since sleeping in coach requires a height under five-five and a contortionist’s body.  I ducked through the door of the Boeing 767 and found my aisle seat midway back in the good seats.  My seat mate turned out to be a friendly salesman from Denver who liked playing six-card cribbage and when I agreed to round or two, he produce a fold-up board and a deck of cards.  We were into the second hand, in mid-taxi, with me down nine points when the man in the window seat across the aisle from us jumped up and started screaming, “Let me off!” at the top of his voice.  When he started climbing over the buckled-in young oriental girl in the aisle seat, she immediately started screaming also.  By the time I got my seat belt unbuckled he was at the door, still hollering and tugging on the lock lever.  When the flight attendant tried to pull him away, he backhanded her across the cabin.  I strode up behind him, slipped my arm around his neck while pulling his left arm behind his back and up until he let go of the lever.  With my knee pushing him into the door I pulled back his head and whispered in his ear.  “Keep fighting, asshole, and I’ll break your fucking arm.  Now, I’m going to put you on the floor, if you resist it’s going to hurt real bad.”  He struggle a little and I spun him around, hooked his ankle with my foot and took him down, making sure that hitting the floor would knock the wind out of him.  “Told ya,” I whispered as he lay gasping for air.  I could tell that the plane had stopped.
The First Officer appeared out of the flight deck looked at the Flight Attendant, me on the floor and said, “You all right, Jane?”
“Yes, the man on the bottom tried to open the door and the big guy stopped him.”  The Flight Attendant gathered herself and stood.  “We need to return to the gate.”
“Already started,” the First Officer said, looking at me.  “You a cop?” 
“No, just a concerned citizen.”  Last thing I wanted was to draw attention.  “Just have some cops at the gate to take this guy.”
Back at the jet-way, the Flight Attendant opened the door to six Airport Police and a plain clothes officer with a hip mounted Glock I assumed to be in charge.  He left the guy I was holding to the uniforms and signaled me to follow him into the jet-way. 
When I hesitated, he said, “Don’t worry, just want to get your side of it, won’t take but a minute.  I followed him out into the gate and he continued, “I’ve already talked to the First Officer on the radio.  He says you pretty much stopped whatever was happening.”
“All I know is he started acting crazy and backhanded the Flight Attendant.”
“The flight manifest says your name is Trainer.  Do you have some identification, Mr. Trainer?”
I showed him my Montana driver’s license.  He studied a minute and said, “You seem to know how to handle yourself.”
“Been wrestling calves all my life,” I replied, with just a hint of “awe shucks” drawl.
“You wouldn’t be trying to shit me now would you?”
“Not a bit, Officer, I just want to get on the plane and back to our card game.  I owe the guy next to me for nine points in cribbage and I need to get even before we get to Tampa.”
“Ok, go.  I guess I’ve got everything I need.”
Twenty minutes later we were on our way to Tampa again.  The Airport Police removed the nutcase and I sat down in my seat.  The salesman looked at me and said, “You don’t suppose he knows something we don’t?”
“I don’t know,” I said, non-committal.
“Well I hope not because you owe me forty-five cents and it’s your deal.”
We played all the way to Tampa and I ended up owing him nine dollars and fifteen cents.  I think he was counting cards.  The plane landed in Tampa three hours later without further incident.  Walking up the ramp to the gate in Tampa he asked me, “You fly down here often?”
“Rarely,” I said.
“I suppose not.  Not many chickens down here,” he said, referencing my response when he asked my occupation.  Well, here’s my card.  Call me it you do, I could use the extra income.”
When he turned and walked away, I smiled.  It was nice to meet a regular person with a sense of humor.  I looked around the passenger-filled waiting area and spotted Sally, not a hard thing as he towered a head over the crowd.  At six-seven and two-eighty, he had three inches and ninety pounds on me.  A seventh degree black belt in several forms of martial arts, boxed as a heavy-weight, educated in street fighting as youth in the Bronx, and generally tougher than owl shit, Salvador Reyes Jones stood out in a crowd.  All that and a PhD in English Literature from Harvard, he leaned against a pillar like a well-dressed character out of John Singleton’s “Boyz ‘N The Hood” and ignored me as I walked past.   He fell in behind about twenty yards back and followed me toward baggage claim and the car rental area.  Since I had no need for baggage claim, when I passed it he came up beside me and said “Hertz” and continued on by.  Outside we stood discreetly distant waiting for the Hertz bus ride to the rental car lot.  On the bus, I went to the back and Sally sat forward of a crowd of tourists.  Several of the women couldn’t help staring at him.  I remembered the old days when Sally rarely went anywhere without a following of female admirers.  When the bus reached the first stop in the parking lot, Sally got off, followed by one of the women and I brought up the rear.  The bus left and the woman headed down the row of cars with only a couple of glances back.  Sally smiled at her and waved at the second glance which made her pick up her pace.  Apparently, some things hadn’t changed.  When she disappeared he looked at me.
“Long time no see, Whitey, what kind of trouble you in?”
“Long story, my friend, I’ll tell you later.  Are you carrying?”  I knew he was, but I had to ask since I was seeing spooks behind every corner.
“Bears shit in the woods?”
“Got an extra?”
“Of course.  As I remember it you favor one of them pansy-assed Glocks.  A .40, right.”
“That’ll work.  And you can the dialect.”
“If I did you dumb honkies wouldn’t be able to understand my perfect Harvard diction.”
“You’re as full of shit as ever, Sally.”
“Maybe, but it good to see you, Chicken Farmer.  Come on, that be our car over there.  I got us a safe place to work out of so’s to keep your lily-white ass from git’n shot.  Le’s role.”
Sally, true to his nature, rented a Lincoln Town Car that comfortably sat one tall guy and one tall heavy guy with room to spare.  While I appreciated the extra leg room and real leather under my rear, I had to chastise my companion for his wastrel rental shopping, to which he responded, “You’ll thank me when bad guys try to chase your skinny ass through the narrow streets of Clearwater Beach.  This baby corners like a Ferrari California and has better seats.”
By this time we were cruising south on the airport access road and about to turn on Courtney Campbell Causeway.  I knew it would take us across to Clearwater Beach Island, a strip of sand that parallels the western coast of Florida just west of Tampa. “I’m assuming our destination is somewhere in Clearwater Beach?”
 “Right you are.  I got us a nice defendable pad on the beach with all the comforts and airtight security.  Borrowed it from one of those alphabet agencies.  Understand you’ve been pissn’ off some home-grown terrorists.”
“Seems that way,” I said, “I’ll tell you about it when we get there.  Also, we need to sweep the house and this car.  Rusty found a tracking device on me in Hagerstown.  That’s how they found her house.”
“Heard that.  The house is good.  The car was checked at the airport and watched until we picked it up.”
We crossed over the Clearwater Memorial Causeway and entered the city of Clearwater Beach, both of us silent for the moment.  Sally turned the Lincoln on Eldorado Avenue and a half mile later we pulled up at a walled compound with a substantial-looking iron gate and a stucco-finished gate house. 
A tough-looking guard stepped out and approached the Lincoln and Sally touched the down-window button.  “Sorry, sir, this is a private...” he started to say and then stopped.  “Ah, Mr. Jones.”  He stooped over and peered through at me.  “I will need some identification for your passenger.”
Sally turned to me, “You got some I.D.?”
“Only my Montana drivers license.”
I dug out my license and handed it to Sally who passed it on to the guard. “I’ll vouch for him.  He’s the new client.  Former spook.”
“Yes, sir.” the guard said.  “Thank you.”  He made notes on a clipboard, handed back my driver’s license and continued, “I’ll open for you.  Have a good day.”
The guard turned and for the first time I saw the Uzi barrel hanging just below the hem of his five-hundred dollar tan suit coat.  I felt better immediately.
“You have well equipped friends,” I said.
“There’s twenty more, gardeners, lawn keepers, and other guards all similarly equipped and the wall and grounds have cameras, noise and movement sensors, and automatic lights, all monitored inside 24-7.”
“Impressive,” I said, as the Lincoln shot up a long curved driveway, through a small grove of palms and stopped before an three story mansion that could have passed as a palace.  “And your friends have money, too.”
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
Sally parked the Lincoln under a portico and we unloaded.  Since I had no bags and only the clothes on my back, my hands hung empty.  I stood watching as two fully armed suits loaded everything in the trunk on a cart. 
“Went shopping for you.  If we missed anything let me know and we’ll get it for you.  Murray doesn’t want you out and about any more than necessary until we know more.  First thing you and me need to talk.”
“First thing I want is a steaming hot shower and clean clothes.”
“You get that done, we’ll have some dinner and then some strategy planning.  Ed here will show you to your room,” Sally said, indicating one of the tan-suited armed security guards,
An hour later, freshly scrubbed, shaved, dressed in new clothes that strangely fit and armed with a new Glock .40 in a leather shoulder holster, I peeked out into a wide empty second-floor hallway to begin the search for the dining room.  






Lesser Known Facts about The Dynameos Conspiracy:

1.This is the longest book I’ve written at almost 100,000 words.
2. It also took the most research and writing time.

So, I got ask Lee Trainer the same 'This or That' Questions that Charlie Draper & Scott Jackson has answered before. If you have missed that out - you can see what Charlie Draper & Scott Jackson said.

Fact or Fiction?
Facts are Facts.  The nation power grid is very susceptible to attack.
 Book or Movies?
This story would make a great movie.
Shakespeare or Dickens?
I like Dickens.  Shakespeare is too hard to read under a Coleman lantern
Jack Sparrow or Mad Hatter?
It takes a Mad Hatter to think up this kind of destruction
Ocean or mountains?
Mountains are my favorite.
Forest or Beach?
The beach is nice if you are with someone special
iPod or Mp3 Player?
I couldn’t live without my iPod.
Desktop or Laptop?
My hands are too big for a Laptop.
Baked or Fried? 
My housekeeper won’t cook anything fried.  She worries about my weight.
Shaken or Stirred?
In front of my stone fireplace I enjoy a gently stirred Martini with friends.

Thanks Lee... I love the mountains too.


Giveaway
Now for the most amazing news! The Giveaway! Mr.Folsom has very kindly agreed to a Very Special Giveaway. This month there's going to be 2 very lucky winners.
 First winner in US only a signed copy of winner's choice any of Dave Folsom's books in trade paperback.  Second winner choice of ebook copy of any of  Dave Folsom's books - gifted through amazon in kindle or smashwords in other formats. 
So,what are you waiting for??? Go Enter NOW!!

Rules:
1. There's only two compulsory entry to qualify for this Giveaway. 
2. If the compulsory entries are not completed properly, additional entries of that person will not count.
3. The Giveaway is open to US for Trade Paperback & Internationally for Ebook.
4. I will select the winner through Random.org on 30th September and will send an e-mail. They have to reply with their mailing address/e-mail id within 48 hours, or I will select another winner.
5. Please do not leave your e-mail id in the comment section.

Open Internationally

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US Only

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