What Amazon says

She seeks adventure. He battles his darkness. Will a curse end their beautiful magic?

A 2017 Paranormal Romance Guild Reviewer’s Choice Award Winner!

Herman Anderson hopes there’s more to life than her challenging past. So when a mysterious and alluring stage magician invites her to be his assistant, the seventeen-year-old can’t wait to start the behind-the-scenes training at his gothic Ontario mansion. But after she senses a growing attraction between her and the trained illusionist, she wonders what’s holding him back from stirring love’s magic.

Stephen Dagmar lives every day with the knowledge of his family’s curse. But as he sets the path in motion to destroy the dark sorcery, his stunningly beautiful stage partner throws his plan into turmoil. And as the sparks shine brighter with each passing moment, the magician fears that breaking free of the spell will crush Herman’s heart.

As the days tick down to Herman’s 18th birthday, she starts to unlock the secrets of the Dagmar family mansion. And each one is stranger and more painful than the last…

Will the magician and his assistant break their supernatural chains to discover true love?

The Magician’s Curse: A Paranormal Romance is Linda G. Hill’s enchanting debut book in her series, The Great Dagmaru. If you like passionate partnerships, hidden secrets, and powerful magic, then you’ll love this captivating tale.

Buy The Magician’s Curse to uncover the dark truth today!

My review

Herman has a most unusual name which has been a burden to her all her school life. Why on earth would her parents saddle her with a boy’s name? As this interesting book, filled with magic and mystery progresses, Herman finds out that it is not only her name that is unusual about her, or her parents choice that is unusual about them.

Herman’s mother has been very ill for a long time and her father is never there to offer any support to his family. Herman assumed the role of mother to her younger brother, Chad, when she was very young and now she is breaking free to establish a life for herself. She plans to bring her brother to live with her once she is settled and earning an income. On the train to her new job, Herman meets a riveting young man who introduces himself as Stephen. Much to Herman’s surprise, Stephen professes to be as taken with her as she is with him, so when he asks her to work for him as his assistant she doesn’t put up much of a fight. Fortunately for Herman, Stephen, who is a magician, is genuine in his offer for her to become his assistant and she quickly discovers that there is more to his magic than meets the eye. In fact, Herman soon comes to realise that the household staff and Stephen’s entire lifestyle is fairly unorthodox.

The attraction between Herman and Stephen is incredibly strong but Herman can sense there is something not quite right with their relationship and this causes her to hold back from committing herself completely to him. What is Stephen’s secret and will Herman be able to accept it when she eventually discovers what it is? I did like the fact that the character of Stephen illustrated respect for Herman and gave her the opportunity to make her own choice about his unusual situation.

This book is for adults and, although not graphic, it does contain descriptions of sex and suggestions of sexual freedoms. The romantic aspect of this book is the overriding genre with the supernatural element playing a lessor role.

Purchase The Magician’s Curse

From the diary of Jennifer Saunders

It was dark by the time we passed the outskirts of the Greater Manchester area. Great fires burned in the distance and from this I gathered that Manchester must have been a target for one of the bombs. I had tried the radio again a short while ago but it was still  broadcasting static. Driving was difficult as the road was now crowded with travelers, although it was not as congested as I had expected. The fugitives from the outskirts of the city and the surrounding countryside were scurrying away like rats and all sorts of cars, buses and other vehicles hurried along, their lights winking and twinkling.

Out of the corner of my eye I glanced at Tom. He was sitting quietly, gazing out of the window. The bright, orange flames reflected in his eyes as he watched vast expanses of suburbia burning. How is he going to adjust to being uprooted from his home and familiar surrounds? And what about his medications? 

In addition to the microchip in his brain which helps controls his serotonin levels, Tom takes four pills in the morning and washes them down with a glass of clear fibregel to prevent constipation.  The medicine comprises of two booster pills, which are supposed to help with OCD [they don’t seem to do a thing, in my opinion, but it is a truth that he has been on these medications for such a long time, I don’t know how he would be without them], a ditropan, which is a bladder cleanser, and an antihistamine.  He checks his pills carefully every day before he will take them. If they look different in any way because they are a generic or a different brand of antihistamine, he will ask me what they are. Once I have answered, he will compose a question that only requires a yes or no answer to get his assurance that the unusual pill is what I have said it is. “Is this oval shaped pill an antihistamine?” is what he will ask. The answer must be “yes”. If I add extra information or explanations it nullifies my answer and he will ask again. The answer has to follow the accepted format. Frequently, the question is followed by a further question – “Do you promise?” Again, my answer must be limited to a yes or no or he will keep asking until I get it right. When he is particularly stressed, usually before tests, examinations or a holiday, he will ask the same questions over and over. OCD doesn’t make any sense. It has no logic. You cannot explain anything or negotiate with an OCD sufferer. He knows that his questions are ridiculous; that is not the point. The point is the overwhelming need for reassurance. If he doesn’t get this reassurance he can’t settle down and can’t sleep. The need is such a huge driving force that if I try to put my foot down [as advised by our medical experts, SIGH!], he will go into hysterics and hold the entire household hostage, effectively, by shouting and crying, until he gets the answers he needs. If he knew he had a microchip in his body to help control his anxiety as well as a microchip, like everyone else, for identification purposes, I think it might push him over the edge into madness.

Fortunately, I have a two month supply of his pills as I bought them a few days before this catastrophe and I always keep an extra month’s supply in case there is ever a shortage. I can’t think further than that at the moment. Not when everything is this precarious. He seems to be calm and collected so maybe he will surprise me and show great strength of character in the face of adversity.

This post was written for Sue Vincent’s weekly write photo challenge. You can join in here: https://scvincent.com/2019/05/09/thursday-photo-prompt-rooted-writephoto/

From the diary of John Saunders

20 August 2035

I have been thinking about my situation. Now that my headache has receded, I need to formulate an escape plan. I must exhibit sisu and find a way out of this locked room.

I have no idea why I have been locked in, but I know that my wife and son must need me. Someone brought me food and drink while I was sleeping so my superiors are clearly monitoring my movements. I need to find a way to fool the microchip in my head into believing I am sleeping. Then, when someone comes, I can make my move.

A little bit extra:

In order to fool the microchip in his head that he is asleep, John will have to do the following:

Breathing, John will have to take long, even and gentle breaths;

Eyes, John will have to mimic rapid eye movement which occurs during the REM stage of sleep;

Snoring, John will have to mimic the gentle sounds he makes during sleep; and

Pulse, your pulse rate drops while you are sleeping. John, will have to meditate himself into a completely relaxed state to mimic this effect.

This post was written for Charli Mill’s Carrot Ranch 99-word flash fiction challenge here: https://carrotranch.com/2019/05/02/may-2-flash-fiction-challenge/

 

 

From the Diary of Jennifer Saunders

18 August 2035

I was grateful that I had been made aware of the bombing of various cities throughout the world as they took place. My early knowledge of the situation had given Tom and I the opportunity to be front runners in the exodus away from the city. My digipad was not working properly so I was thankful that Tom was able to read a map with co-ordinates. He helped me to plot a route to a remote farm house in Scotland owned by a friend of mine. I was sure that Glen, a previous colleague and old friend of John’s, would help us.

As I drove through the quieter back streets, leaving the growing panic further behind us, Tom kept up a constant monologue about the implications of the dropping of the bombs for people living in the targeted cities. As far as I was aware, London was the only city in the United Kingdom that had been hit to date, but that could change at any moment.

“The people and buildings within the hypercenter of the explosion will be completely vapourised. People and infrastructure in a thick band outside the vapourisation circle will be completely destroyed due to the blast effect,” he said.

“Blast effect? What’s that?” I maneuvered the car carefully around a truck that stood stationary in the middle of the road. The driver attempted to flag me down but I averted my eyes and drove on.

Tom sighed and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “A blast wave, Mom, is an area off pressure expanding supersonically outwards from the centre of the explosion. The blast wave is followed by a blast wind of negative pressure that sucks items back towards the centre. The blast wave weakens the infrastructure and the blast wind then tears the buildings and structures apart.”

How does he know this stuff, I wondered for the umpteenth time.

“The amounts of damage caused by the bomb then reduces in circular bands moving outwards from the hypercentre. That is why we need to get as far away from any potential targets as possible.”

Tom’s monochromatic way of thinking always surprises me. Everything in his life is black and white, there are no shades of grey. His attitude towards the bombs was simple, stay inside the outer limits of the circle of potential damage and be harmed or get outside that band and don’t be harmed. If only life was that simple.

Of course, Tom’s attitude towards surviving this crisis should not have surprised me. I had been living with his obsessive compulsive disorder symptoms for years. He had seen numerous doctors and psychologists and none of them made the slightest difference to his approach to life. His compulsions had to be performed. No arguments, fact patterns or any other persuasive techniques could deter him from his habits and needs. It had taken me years to accept that OCD is not rational. Sufferers might be the cleverest and most innovative people in the world, but, when it comes to their metal illness, nothing can penetrate their viewpoints and deter them from their chosen paths of rituals and compulsions.

This story was written for Sue Vincent’s weekly photo challenge – Monochrome. You can join in here: https://scvincent.com/2019/05/02/thursday-photo-prompt-monochrome-writephoto/

Extract from the diary of John Saunders

19 August 2035

I have not written in my diary for two days having experienced a strange black-out of consciousness. I woke up in the emergency barracks deep beneath the earth with no recollection of how I got here or what I have been doing for the past 48 hours. I do remember a strange and sudden change coming over my mind just before my memories stop. I have a strange recollection of my thoughts being slowly obscured by an external force in the same manner as heavy, black clouds might drive across a moon, hiding its bright face for a time.

When I awoke, I found myself dressed in my full combat uniform with my arms, chest and legs covered in  lightweight, heat resistant plates of armour. Dark patches of sweat stained the fabric of the khakis shirt which lay over the armour and the knees of my khakis pants were filthy. Every muscle in my body ached and twitched with recent strain. My military helmet covered my head and face and, when I removed it, my sticky, sweaty hair clung to my head in thick clumps. I had been doing something that required immense physical exertion, that was a fact. The movement of sitting up and pulling off the helmet caused my head to ache so violently, I thought I might vomit, so I quickly lay down again and slipped back into dreamless sleep.

Twenty four hours later I woke up again, I felt much better, but I still couldn’t remember the events of the past few days. I also found that I was locked into my room although someone had come in while I was sleeping and left me food and a pitcher of water.

I suddenly realised that the military must have activated the microchip implanted in my head and taken over my mind for 48 hours. That is the only possible explanation I can think of. Something terrible must have happened for my employers to have taken such drastic measures. It is frightening to know that your physical body has been at someone else’s beck and call for two days even though I did agree to it eight years ago when I  underwent the implant surgery. I remember that day at the hospital clearly and I am going to write it down just in case I never leave these barracks. Maybe someone will find this record and give it to my son, Thomas.

Thomas, oh dear, why did I have to think of my strange and brilliant son and Jen, my beautiful wife. Where are they? What has happened? Why am I locked in this room? I have no answers to any of these questions.

I remember lying in a cot in a general ward in the military hospital with nine of my colleagues. We had received a communication to report to the hospital at 8 A.M. on the morning of the 30th of April 2030. Similar groups of ten men lay in other rooms in the hospital. There were one hundred men having the surgery that day.

Dr Philips had entered the room once we were all settled and had made a brief speech. “It has been decided by the world government that all military personal are to have microchips implanted in their brains. These microchips will give you the ability to log into any data base or computer system regardless of where your are in the world or what your circumstance are. It will also give the government the ability to interact directly with your minds to augment your performance or control your actions if the situation requires it.”

He had spoken for another ten minutes and what he had said amounted to: You have no choice if you want to retain your well paid jobs but do not fear, the microchips will only ever be used to control your minds in the event of a breach of security that jeopardises the future of mankind.

A short while later, a nurse came over to me and set an IV in place in my arm. Next, she crimped the line and injected something into my arm through the drip. The world went black.

When I woke up, I experienced pain at the back of my head. A patch of my hair had been shaved and I could feel the roughness of stitches. Since that day, I have not thought of the government’s ability to control my mind, the possibly of something going drastically wrong in our digitally controlled world seemed so small, despite the increasing social unrest of the past ten years.

I am not so sure I made the right decision now that I am sitting in a locked room, certain that the government has invoked its power and not knowing what I have done.

This story was written for Diana Peach’s monthly write photo prompt. You can join in the fun here: https://mythsofthemirror.com/2019/05/01/may-speculative-fiction-prompt/

 

 

 

It took her thirty minutes longer than usual to get home on that fateful day, even though she left the office at 3 P.M. Everyone who worked in the central business district seemed to be on the move and all the traffic lights were clogged with lines of cars. Dozens of people were milling around the train station. Jen couldn’t know for sure, but she guessed that the train service was in disarray. After witnessing the scenes of devastation on the television shortly before she fled the office, she was not surprised at the great panic around her. People wanted to get out of the city, even though Birmingham had not as yet come under attack.

Only once she had inched her way through the traffic jams on the major roads and maneuvered her car onto the back streets, did she appreciate how quickly people were reacting to the news. Knots of people stood about on the pavements waving their arms about and talking excitedly. Others, were running out of their houses and packing valuables into their cars. I wonder where they plan to go, she thought.

Five minutes later, her own home came into view. After parking her car on the street right in front of her door, she gingerly entered, wondering how much Tom knew and how he was reacting.

Her beautiful, fair haired child ran up to her as she closed the front door, flinging his arms about her he declared: “I love you, mummy. I am so glad you are home. Have you seen what is happening on the television?” She nodded, gently pulling herself free from his suffocating embrace. “Yes, I watched some of the footage at work. That’s why I’ve come home. We need to get away from the city.”

“Where are we going to head for, Mum?” Tom asked.

“I don’t know yet. I will think about it while I pack.”

Tom followed her as she headed up the stairs to the bedrooms and starting flinging clothes into a suitcase. “London’s been hit,” he continued amiably, as if they were having a conversation about a visit to the zoo instead of the destruction of mankind. “A lot of the television networks have gone off and if you turn to those channels you only get snow. There are no messages on the communicator either. No instructions as to what we should do.”

Turning to face her son, she asked: “Have you heard from your dad?”

“No messages have come from him, Mum, I checked my iphone and my ipad. It’s strange, as I would have expected him to use his microchip to log in and contact us.”

Tom moved to his wardrobe and selected his favourite tee-shirts from the pile. Handing them to her to pack, he said: “I think we should head for rural Scotland.” His mind had clearly moved on from thoughts of his father who, as senior employee in the military, had a microchip embedded in his brain to facilitate his tapping into any available database, at any time, while on the move.

Oh God, I hope he’s still alive. Inhaling deeply, Jen pushed thoughts of her husband from her mind and focused on what Tom was saying to her.

“… the buildings and houses where the bombs hit will have been completely destroyed. There will be no underground or train services because the tunnels will have collapsed and the trains will have been crushed. We have two things to worry about, Mum. Firstly, will Birmingham be a target and, secondly, the fallout which will already be falling from the sky. Getting away from the city will help with the first problem but we don’t know if all of the bombs exploded on the ground. If any exploded in the air, the radioactive particles caused by these weapons may enter the stratosphere and then they can take months, or even years, to settle. They may also settle anywhere in the world.”

Despite all the chaos and her anxiety, Jen was still amazed by her son’s agile and amazing mind. How does he know these things? 

“What should we do then?”

Tom looked her directly in the eye. “There is nothing we can do about the fallout so there is no point in worrying about it. We can only try to get away from the city so that we are not close enough to suffer from burns and eye injuries if Birmingham comes under attack.”

“Okay, let’s get packed then.” Maybe Tom is a survivor after all. With his PTSD and OCD, I thought he’d fall apart at the threat of radiation sickness, but here he is taking it in his stride. The threat of immediate death obviously outweighs his concerns about future illness and death.

This piece of flash fiction was written as a continuation of my SOCS post from last week called Explosion. Linda’s prompt below tied in neatly with my on-going ideas for this little tale.

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “fall from the sky.” Write about anything that falls from the sky–real, imagined, or idiomatic. Have fun!

You can join in here: https://lindaghill.com/2019/05/03/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-may-4-19/

 

 

Those of you who follow this blog will know that I am one of ten authors who have each contributed short stories to a murder mystery anthology due to be released in early July. In advance of the publication of this book, I am running a series of posts to introduce you to some of the other contributing authors.

This week I am introducing you to author Greg Alldredge. Welcome Greg to Roberta Writes.

About Greg Alldredge and his contribution to Death Among Us

I will not bore the readers with the ancient history of past decades; I will simply say I am now retired. My wife and I just started working our way around the world on a small retiree’s pay, planning to take a full two years before we return to the United States.

We are in Vietnam for another few months before working our way south, with the eventual goal of New Zealand, before heading back over the equator.

I still write, completing about one book a month while on the road and researching for other projects along the way.

What drew you to writing short stories in the genre of murder mystery?

My stories are normally a mash-up of different genres with Sci-Fi and Fantasy being the normal starting point. I have written some mystery and adventure in each of my books and short stories, my goal has always been to tell an entertaining story no matter the genre or length I choose to write.

Who is your favourite murder mystery writer?

I tend to be old school when it comes to my mystery. Arthur Conan Doyle or Agatha Christie is my favorite. I would also need to throw in the Sci-Fi writers Dick and Adams.

What is your favourite murder mystery book or series of books and why?

Helter Skelter by Vincent Bugliosi and Curt Gentry. If you want to find the face of pure evil reality gives us all the material we need.

What is the overarching theme of your three short stories in Death Among Us?

Artificial Intelligence is in the news every day. The day will come when something designed by a mortal becomes sentient. How that day comes, how both sides behave at the birth of a new kind of intelligence will have huge ramification for the future. I wanted to play with the idea and discover where it took me. The result was my submissions for the book. I hope you enjoy them.

Greg Alldredge has written a large number of books which are all available on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/Greg-Alldredge/e/B0718VVJ8S/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1. 

I have chosen to feature Lights in the Night: The OStinato Series Book One as I have this one on my TBR.

Lights in the Night: The Ostinato Series Book One

About Lights in the Night: The Ostinato Series Book One

Book One
The Ostinato Series.

Live life on the edge of sanity.

Trevor, an orphan at thirteen, bounced around the Far-east searching for something, trouble was he didn’t understand what. Wracked with insomnia and tired of traveling the world, he’d returned home to be more “normal” and took a job from his older brother, he failed at normal. When world events reignite his pursuit of the inexplicable to a sleepy West Texas town, his world took a turn to the bizarre and unimaginable.

Caught between fantasy and reality, Trevor must face his greatest fears and admit some things can’t be explained. Unseen forces drive him to his destiny. Will Trevor be able to discover what created the Lights in the Night and get the girl, or lose his grip on sanity?

Don’t miss Lights in the Night, the first of the Ostinato series by Greg Alldredge. If you like tales with quirky characters and a metaphysical search for hard to answer questions, then this Speculative Fiction will have you turning the pages! Come check it out!

A recent review for Lights in the Night: The Ostinato Series Book One

A five star review by a Verified Purchaser:

In this quirky romp, Trevor is drawn from London to a small town in Texas. The strange lights that initially caught his attention in a story, are just the beginning of the odd things, or people I should say, that he runs into. The cast really made this enjoyable, from the group that comes with Trevor, to the people in the town. Sergei cracked me up, and his tea…

The plot moved at a deliberate pace and concluded with a surprise. There was a fresh humor that on more than one occasion, had me laughing. The blending of genres will allow for this to be enjoyed by a nice spread of readers, there was even a dash of romance thrown in.

I see the next part will be releasing very soon, and look forward to it.

Purchase Lights in the Night: The Ostinato Series Book One

You can pre-order Death Among Us here:

Thanks to Stevie at Stevie Turner for nominating me for the Sunshine Blogger Award. The Sunshine Blogger Award is an award given by bloggers in order to award their blogging peers.  Each blogger nominated is asked to nominate 11 other bloggers that they admire or are inspired by.  It’s an honour to be recognised, and a wonderful opportunity to encourage others to keep doing what they love.

Stevie is an accomplished and talented author which a number of interesting books. She has launched a new book today which you can read about here: https://steviet3.wordpress.com/2019/05/01/new-paranormal-novel-partners-in-time/

Rules
Thank the person who nominated you and provides a link back to their blog so others can find them.
Answer the 11 questions asked by the blogger who nominated you.
Nominate 11 other bloggers and ask them 11 new questions.
Notify the nominees about it by commenting on one of their blog posts.
List the rules and (optional) display a Sunshine Blogger Award logo on your post and/or your blog site.

Here are my answers to Stevie’s questions:

Do you think authors having many social media accounts is a good idea?

I think it depends on the person and whether they can manage the social media accounts they have. I have a number as follows:

Blogs – I have three: https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/ which is the blog I use to share thoughts and ideas about my children’s books series, Sir Chocolate and Friends and my Silly Willy book as well as my poetry and some book reviews. This one, Roberta Writes, which is for my YA and adult writing and https://bakeandwrite.co.za/category/bake-and-write/ which is my flagship paid website. I use that blog to share reviews of my own books, recipes and promotional posts. This blog is linked to my Goodreads and Amazon author accounts.

Twitter – I have two accounts, one linked to Robbiesinspiration and one linked to Roberta Writes.

Pinterest – https://za.pinterest.com/r_cheadle/ – I pin my fondant artwork and cakes, interesting blog posts and interesting books I read or find out about.

Instagram – I use this in much the same way as I use pinterest to share photographs of my artwork and books.

Facebook – I have two author pages, one for each free blog, and three groups for sharing poetry, dark and mysterious short stories and recipes.

MeWe – This is a new social media for me and I have just today established a poetry sharing group there. If you are interested in joining this group, you will find it here: https://mewe.com/group/5cc950af952bc50f1a26205e

Do you submit your work to agents, or are you happy staying self-published?

All my books are published through TSL Publications in the UK except for my poetry book, Open a new door which is published through Moyhill Publishing. I am happier working through a small and caring publisher.

Do you think authors should give away their work for free?

No, I think it ruins the market.

If you have an email (mailing) list, how do you gain more followers for it?

I don’t have an email list. I probably should have one but I don’t have time for anything else as I work full time and write and market and, and, and…

If you had to be confined to one social media account to promote your books, which one would it be?

Definitely my blogs on WordPress. I love blogging, it is more like having friendships that social media for me.

Is book promotion worth it?  Do you gain sales by your promotion efforts, or is it all just a time suck?

When I published my first book, I didn’t have any social media accounts so I didn’t have many sales. Soft promotion of my books has definitely helped my sales. Being part of anthologies and entering short story competitions has also helped my writing a great deal and I have met a lot of new writers that way.

What’s the best part of a doughnut?  I would say it’s the hole in the middle, but I’d love to hear what you think.

I can’t eat doughnuts as my liver was damaged through illness when I was a young girl. If I did eat one, it would be the jammy kind and not the hole-in-the-middle kind. I love jam.

How would you go about ‘kissing the sky’ like Mr Hendrix did?

I think I do that everyday when I write.

Can you dance the Tango?

I have done so. I have also danced a number of other dances such as the Cha Cha and the Rhumba. My husband and I went for dancing lessons before we got married.

What strange phenomena have you experienced?

Sadly, none in real life. Lots in my imagination and in books.

Do you want to live forever?

Not if I have to lose my health and become old and infirm.

I am not nominating people for this award as it takes me hours to think of people and link to their blogs. I am very grateful to Stevie for thinking of me and my blog for this award.

 

What Amazon says

In March 1978, at the culmination of Operation Julie, 15 defendants, including doctors, research chemists, a writer, and “professional” drug dealers were sentenced to a combined total of 124 years’ imprisonment. Operation Julie is still today the point of reference for all British undercover operations and training. In 2011, the BBC claimed this massive and unique police operation was the start of the war on drugs. Stephen Bentley, was one of four undercover detectives engaged on Operation Julie, one of the world’s largest drug busts.

Together with his undercover partner, Bentley infiltrated the gang producing around 90 percent of the world’s LSD and uncovered a plot to import huge quantities of Bolivian cocaine into the UK. The underworld knew the author as Steve Jackson. How did he successfully infiltrate the two gangs? Did he have to take drugs, and how did living a lie affect him? Discover the answers and get inside the mind of Steve Jackson, undercover detective.

My review

I listened to the audio book of Undercover: Operation Julie. The narrator did a good job of telling this story and had a pleasant and smooth reading style. I would certainly recommend the audio book to people who like to listen to, rather than read, stories.

This book is an autobiography of a period in the author’s life when he was an undercover cop in a historic police investigation that led to the breakup of a huge LSD manufacturing and distribution operation in Great Britain. The story is set during the 1970’s and the author, known by the underworld as Steve Jackson, and his undercover partner need to integrate themselves into the shady and dangerous world of small time drug dealers and work themselves up so that they can find out who the ring leaders are.

Steve Bentley’s depiction of how both cops have to completely sever all ties to their “real” lives and eat, sleep and breath their assumed persona is compelling and quite frightening. To put yourself into a situation where you need to become a hard drinking, drug taking low-life seems inconceivable to me and the author describes how difficult it eventually becomes to separate your actual mind from that of your assumed personality. Over time, and with the help of drugs, they start to merge and you start living your lie.

Of course, both cops manage to keep their eye on the ball and work towards their ultimate goal of uncovering the entire drug smuggling and selling operation. They, together with the other undercover detectives, the police and various other involved parties, are successful in the end and the doctors, chemists, drug dealers and related parties to what became known as Project Julie were brought to justice.

I thought this was a fascinating, first hand account of this amazing story which reads just like an action movie. It was well written and detailed in a way that only a person who lived the story could describe. The last section of the book deals with the impact years of undercover work had on the life of the author. I was surprised at the lack of support and treatment for post traumatic stress disorder that was made available to Steve. I would have expected more from a first world country like Great Britain. Hopefully, this has changed and people in the line of fire doing jobs for the benefit of the citizens of a country get better after treatment after their discharge from the police force.

Purchase Undercover: Operation Julie

The children and their mothers walked through the camp gates.

Their eyes widened in shock as they gazed at the sea of white, bell-shaped tents pitched in straight lines at equal intervals all over the large and dusty field. It had once been veld but the grass had been hacked away leaving barren, exposed earth between the tents and in the cooking area. There was not a single tree in sight to provide welcome relief from the sun which shone down harshly, even during the winter months.

There are so many tents!

A small number of defeated looking men and large numbers of thin and raggedy women and children sat or lay listlessly in the dirt among the tents. Marta could see a few black house servants and farmworkers scatted among them. None of them seemed to have any sort of useful occupation.

Marta was shocked at the filthy state of the people. Did they not have soap and water to keep themselves clean?

A tannie [respectful term for an older woman] roused herself and came over to them.

“I’m Mrs De Wet. Come this way”, she said, leading them towards one of the tents. As they walked, Marta noticed a number of tree stumps, like keloid scars on the earth.

“Where have all the trees gone?”

“They were cut down and their wood used for fires to cook food and boil water. There are none left now.”

The woman approached one of the tents. “There is space for you in this one,” she said. “Mrs Odendaal and her son are currently the only people living here.”

She looked at Ardrina and Dorthea. “It will be a tight fit as you have brought your servants with you. No extra rations or blankets are provided for servants,” she said. “Did the Khakis tell you that?”

Sannie nodded that they had.

The front flap of the tent was tightly closed. The tannie opened it and gestured to them to enter. Marta’s first impression was of neatness despite the dim lighting and stuffiness inside the tent. A smell of sickness and impending death hung in the oppressive air.

A women in her thirties knelt on the floor next to a makeshift mattress. Her small son lay on the mattress, weak and frail. His flushed face and the bright, red rash that marred his white skin indicated his illness.

“He can’t bear the light,” the mother said, by way of explanation for keeping the flap closed.

“What is wrong with him?” asked Marta. She already knew but she needed to be sure. Her whole being shrank away from what she already feared.

“He has measles. It is rife here in the camp.”

Marta looked at Sannie, aghast. Their two families and their house servants had always lived a rural life and had little immunity to such illness. It was bad enough to deal with the multitude of biting insects and vermin but how could they deal with this?

Discouragement filled Marta’s heart as she walked around the camp, stopping to speak to the other women. She averted her face in disgust from the few men who had clearly deserted their commandos. She was proud of the fact that her husband was a bittereinder [bitter ender].

She quickly discovered that water was in short supply and some of the pumps were broken and had not been repaired. Animals, both dead and alive, had polluted the scanty water resources. Other prisoners quickly confirmed that all the available fuel had already been stripped from the area inside the camp so making a fire to boil water had become impossible. Very few inmates had utilities to hold the water for boiling even if fuel had been obtainable.

Written for Sue Vincent’s weekly write photo challenge. You can join in here: https://scvincent.com/2019/04/25/thursday-photo-prompt-shade-writephoto/