Description:

Guns of Navarone meets Orwell’s 1984

Chasing the Wind is a fast-paced often violent thriller set in an alternative reality and will appeal to fans of Fatherland by Robert Harris. The story takes place ten years after an IRA atrocity failed to exterminate the British government at a conference in Brighton during 1984. However, in this fictional world -- the bombers succeed.

Following the bomb outrage, the European Union has become a collection of Federated States governed by a presidium in Brussels. They believe the security of their borders is sacrosanct, and birth The Federated Security Division. This force soon becomes a law unto itself, where imprisonment, torture and death await all those apposed to the Union. Paul Cain, ex-policeman, soldier and mercenary, is a reluctant hero who attempts to find redemption from the past amongst the murder, traitors, betrayals and intrigue of a Europe under martial law.

This thrilling tale is about the evil barbarism of absolute power in the hands of a tyrant and is not for the fainthearted.

Reviews:

‘Chasing the Wind is a great suspense-filled adventure. The action never lets up from the first page to the last.’ Writer’s Digest

‘As the camera captures an image, so a good writer brings a scene to life. Kibble’s unique style and skill breathes life into his characters, while his scenes explode with unrelenting emotion and action.’ Dick Ross, Writing Well

‘This man knows his characters and writes about them with a loaded pen.’ John Franks, author of Maximum 281

‘Clichéd but apt -- I really couldn’t put it down.’ J. J. Irons, author of Sleepwalker

‘Be prepared for a very long night with the light on.’ Mizzy Cairns, Thriller Review

Excerpt:

Roberts grinned and walked in, dog at his heels; it shook off the rain, yawned and licked some rancid butter from the floor.

“I won't be a minute. Need to shove some togs on,” Cain said as he bent to stroke the animal's thick neck. “Whisky, Major?”

“Too early for me.”

“Really.”

Cain went upstairs and returned as Roberts pulled on the second boot. “Good fit?”

The dog sniffed at the Wellingtons and Roberts shoved him away. “A little tight, but they'll do.”

Outside, pushing hard against the wind and rain, they worked their way down a steep bank into a grassy field and stopped in the middle. Both were hunched up, backs against the onslaught. Hands plunged into pockets, hoods stretched over heads like a couple of monks.

Roberts looked at him. “Awful weather. I thought a tired old winter might have --”

“I haven't seen John for a few years.” Cain studied his reflection in the mud-smeared shine of his boots. “I guessed he wasn't dead. He was always too quick, too clever.”

“He speaks highly of you,” Roberts said. “He told me about your last operation.”

“Come off it, you're not here to pass on his best wishes.”

Roberts cast a furtive look about the field. “I'm asking you to trust me.”

“Trust?” Cain shook his head and chuckled. “I don't even trust myself.”

“If you'll just let me --”

“I'm out of it. I'm Joe Longthorn now.”

“But --”

“I don't bother anybody and nobody bothers me. Sometimes I go to the pub and burgle a mind or two. That's about as covert as it gets.” He stared down at a ripple on a puddle. “The Cain is dead. Long live the Longthorn.”

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