The job was simple. Find out who stole the priceless Holbein drawings. Steal them back. Sell them to the highest bidder. Get rich. If only. First there was the murder of the art dealer, and then the book went missing. A book of names, secret names, identities of those who would prefer to remain; nameless. Then there was the girl, the politician and the gangster. Now it wasn’t just the drawings and the book. Now he had to get his hands on the diamonds as well. Tricky. He would have to play it deftly, cloak and dagger, cat and mouse. And what of the gangster’s captivating wife, the mercurial chanteuse at the Black Peacock Club? Did she know where to find the drawings? Of course there were other interested parties; Mossad, Odessa, two bent coppers, and an army of Tamil Tigers. And, most of all, the Irishmen. He would have to work fast. Time was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
Brighton, nineteen eighty-four. The annual Conservative Party conference is about to begin, and the gentlemen in Whitehall are nervous. Assassins are abroad and they will strike at the heart of the British Government.
He's fresh out of prison, and he’s a black man in a white man’s world; Matt Waters has one last chance to redeem himself.....
Brighton, nineteen eighty-four. The annual Conservative Party conference is about to begin, and the gentlemen in Whitehall are nervous. Assassins are abroad and they will strike at the heart of the British Government.
He's fresh out of prison, and he’s a black man in a white man’s world; Matt Waters has one last chance to redeem himself.....
