Synopsis
How far will a man go for a promise? It has been three years since Amber Payne and her friend were murdered in Venezuela while on holidays. The man responsible, Bartolommeo Rizzato, has never been found. Williston Payne, Amber’s brother, searches the world over for him. He has been sighted in Bangladesh. Payne turns to his best friend, a former soldier. Drake Alexander makes Williston a promise.
Dark Side of a Promise is a tale of revenge, not only for Williston and Alexander but for Andrew Stratton, a tortured soul that seeks recompense for his own losses, his two children. Drake Alexander encounters more danger than he anticipated when the man he is pursuing joins forces with Stratton to undertake a reprisal so diabolical it defies all sensibilities.
From the shores of New Brunswick to the busy rivers of Dhaka, Dark Side takes you on an international journey. Alexander, his band of ex-soldiers, a French expat and a stalwart Bengali cop are closing in on the man they seek only to discover a sinister plot to murder hundreds of innocent people. Can they stop it?
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Excerpt
Drake leans against the wall of Inspector Chowdhury’s office and crosses his arms. He had been sitting in the same chair Mireille had occupied the day before, telling Chowdhury of the events of the last three years. He had been speaking for over an hour when he had gotten up to stretch half way through, his muscles taut from the day’s action and frustration. He had paced about the office as he related the rest of his story before leaning back against the wall.
The Inspector had interrupted occasionally for clarification on some points of Drake’s narrative but mostly sat unmoving, wrapped up in the details. Drake began by telling Chowdhury of finding Amber and Sakeema, who they were, the condition their bodies were found in. In those very first sentences, Bitan learnt a great deal about the stranger in his office. When Drake had been itemizing the girls’ terrible wounds, he had choked up. Chowdhury, who had been listening while writing his own notes, had looked up at Drake when he had gone quiet. The man was looking him directly in the eyes, not downcast, not covert, and not ashamed. Chowdhury could tell the effort it was taking Drake not to blink. The inspector stared back only for a second, dropping his gaze out of respect. He continued to write when Drake speaks again, stops writing and drops his pencil. The notes can wait, he believes, and listens intently.
“So you see, Inspector, every trail we follow has always led us back to Central America, but it goes cold when you set foot on the isthmus. He could be in the Honduras, Belize, Panama, Guatemala, we don’t know. All we know is that he’s involved in something here in Dhaka. Men, we can safely assume work for him, are chasing one of the slain girls cousin’s, who by the freakiest chance heard someone speak Rizzato’s name.”“Why didn’t you contact someone in our departments when you arrived”? He asks, his English precise, his accent euphonic.
“Well, as I told you earlier, law enforcement agencies have not been effective in finding Rizzato. It has always been an international screw-up, with arguments over jurisdiction. The girls were in Venezuela, so agents there are involved. The girls were foreigners, one American, one Saudi Arabian living in the U.S.A. on a student visa, so those countries are involved. Bartolommeo Rizzato is a wanted man in several countries, so when his name popped up, they all got involved. Now your people will be involved. Do I need to go on, Inspector? Can’t you see the bureaucratic mess? We had originally planned to do this on our own. But Rae is right, it’s important for us to stay on the right side of the law. I think we need to work together. I have good people with me and we can find him. Let us bring him in.”
About the Author
I've been reading since my mother - a school teacher - brought home Dick and Jane. I discovered The Hardy Boys when I was 10 and read everything I can get my hands on, even the milk carton when I'm having breakfast. I've made a living either by selling things or building things. It’s been a wonderful trip so far. Along the way I met my fantastic wife, Gloria. After all the years of going on about writing, it was she that finally sent me to the computer with the admonition to either write or shut up.
Bryce Courtenay is in my opinion one of the finest storytellers to have ever lived (Died Dec/2012 RIP) and he started writing in his fifties - an inspiration. Harlan Coban.....his Myron Bolitar is one of my favorite characters, another inspiration. So to those three in particular, thank you for prompting me to finally start writing, one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life.
I have a son, two stepsons, lovely daughter-in-laws, and three fantastic grandchildren. I live in the seaside community of Cocagne, New Brunswick, Canada.
Connect with Allan online:
The South Branch Scribbler www.allanhudson.ca or www.allanhudson.com
Twitter https://twitter.com/hudson_allan
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