Interview with spy-thriller romantic suspense author S.D. Skye

Welcome, Readers.

I’m happy to introduce you to romantic suspense author S.D. Skye today. She’s talking about the newest book in her spy thriller series, A No Good Itch.

While she does a virtual book tour (and review tour) with Goddess Fish Promotions, S.D. will be awarding an Amazon Kindle Fire HD7 + a $25 Kindle gift card (US only) to a randomly drawn winner. To be entered for a chance to win, use the form below. To increase your chances of winning, feel free to visit her other tour stops and any of the review tour stops, and enter there, too!

Bio:

S.D. Skye is a former FBI Counterintelligence Analyst in the Russia program and supported cases during her 12-year tenure at the Bureau. She has personally witnessed the blowback the Intelligence Community suffered due to the most significant compromises in U.S. history, including the arrests of former CIA Case Officer Aldrich Ames and two of the Bureau's own—FBI Agents Earl Pitts and Robert Hansen. She has spent 20 years in the U.S. Intelligence Community.

Skye is a member of the Maryland Writer’s Association, Romance Writers of America, and International Thriller Writers. She’s addicted to writing and chocolate—not necessarily in that order—and currently lives in the Washington D.C. area with her son. Skye is hard at work on several projects, including the next installment of the series.

Welcome, S.D. Please tell us about your current release.
Part of a planned series, A No Good Itch—Book 3 in the J.J. McCall series picks up where the last book leaves off. J.J. and Tony have just identified a mole targeting the White House and is now en route to New York where their operation to take down the financial hub for the mole network will lead them in the middle of a crime war bubbling up between Russian and Italian Organized Crime—and Tony’s family.

Meanwhile, CIA Case Officer Grayson “Six” Chance is in Moscow trying to capture a fugitive American, who has stolen White House intelligence and is planning to pass it to the Russians. He’s working with a CIA black ops contractor who is working under a different set of rules and a different code than he is, which ends up putting him in a moral dilemma he’s not certain how to deal with.

And finally, J.J. learns the truth surrounding her mother's death in the line of duty (her mother was an FBI Special Agent under Hoover), her life may never be the same.

All in all, I will say this book should be hard to put down. There’s non-stop action and twists until the big cliffhanger ending (please forgive me, readers, but I did it for your entertainment).

What inspired you to write this book?

The story is loosely based on my career at the FBI.I spent 12 years working in counterintelligence which really opened me up to a new world. I’d lived in D.C. for many years, but never realized there was this entire clandestine, spy culture going on every single day right under our noses. Even more than that, judging from the movies you see and characters like Jason Bourne, Jack Ryan, and Salt, you would never know that the personnel leading some of the biggest operations in the country are black, Latino, Asian, etc.

When I looked back on my career, one FBI Special Agent really stood out. She was an African American woman working in the field of counterintelligence and Russian organized crime—a walking enigma. Most people in the field, who are really good what they do, were white males. So, to see her excel, I always admired her work ethic and strength and professionalism.

When I finally broke down and decided to write a series loosely based on my career (I was decidedly against it for years) then modeling a character after her in a world we rarely see in spy movies and books (daily counterintelligence operations inside the beltway) seemed like a great way to go. It’s different, but readers seem to like that.


Excerpt from A No Good Itch:

The Sheriffs walked J.J. and Tony through a series of security doors until they reached the interrogation room. They left their overcoats with their escorts and tugged their suit jackets straight before entering. The sight of Kendell Phillips’ murderer shrouded in orange and shackled at the hands and feet gave J.J. a burst of pleasure she hadn’t felt since her early morning romp with Tony. A reddish blue bruise circled his eye and spread to the cap of his jaw. His gaze disintegrated under the weight of her glare and fell to his twiddling thumbs. She prepared to speak when an overwhelming scent jarred her senses—the smell of contemptible swine.

“My, my, my,” J.J. said to Maddix. “What an ugly fall from grace. Too bad they don’t make an Armani perp suit. You used to wear him so well.”

Positioned across from Maddix, Tony scanned the rat’s face and looked at him with a pained expression. “Rough night, eh? Did they forget to put you in solitary? Looks like you’ve been mingling with the locals.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said with a shrug. Then he leaned back, spread his knees wide, and placed his hands in his lap. “So, this is the reason you came all the way to Shangri-La? To gloat?”

J.J. savored his misery and then vexed him with a tight smile. “We’re here to discuss your comrade in arms, Hawk—Gary Mosin.”

 “Newsflash, doll.” Maddix forced out a grating laugh, overplaying his weak position just a smidge. “You get nothing from me, not without a deal. I want immunity.”

“Immunity?” J.J. blinked in rapid motion.

“Listen, you ain’t gotta make this difficult. We didn’t come here to pick a fight. Give us the information we need, and you can go back to counting the tiles on the ceiling . . . or whatever it is you do on the inside.” Tony contrived a calm demeanor as he reached into his pant pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboro 100s and a book of matches. He slid them to the middle of the table until they stopped beside a plastic ashtray. “Our treat. Enjoy. But if you choose to stay on the difficult route, we can reverse course any time.”

Maddix cupped his hands and with no show of gratitude, pulled the offerings to the table’s edge, his shackles jangling with his every move. He folded back the foil on the corner of the pack and knocked the open end against his wrist until a cigarette emerged. Then his brow drew together, furrowed in confusion. “You don’t have a clue, do you?” His gaze ping-ponged between J.J. and Tony before he shook his head. “That’s why you’re here. You don’t know!”


What exciting story are you working on next?
I’m working on Book 4 of this series—The Crazy Itch—which should be pretty exciting. The story moves from New York back to D.C. where the group is on the hunt for a new mole, this time inside the Pentagon. I’d initially planned to use this book to start to wind down the series, but my characters have other ideas. As I begin to outline based on the direction they’re taking me in, this book promises to be just as twisty turn and exciting all of the others. I’m very excited to finish it.

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

I’ve always been big on writing journals for most of my childhood, teen years, and onward. I always wanted to be a writer, but never thought I could. I didn’t write my first full novel, a romance until I was almost 40 years old. In the midst of a breakup and overdose of Oprah “Live Your Life” series, I found my voice and wrote a romantic comedy. It was one of the most freeing and cathartic processes of my life. Of course, I thought it was the best romantic comedy ever written…until I entered it into a contest and got my first criticism. Oh, it was crushing…for a short time. Maybe a few days. But then I decided instead of allowing the criticism to stop me, I’d use it to help me make my work better.

After the contest, I queried it to a bunch of literary agents and got rejected over and over and over again. At least 50, probably closer to 100 (at least it felt that way). The moment I first considered myself a writer is when, despite the rejection, I decided I was going to keep writing anyway. I decided if I wrote a book, self-published it, and only one person loved it, then that one person was enough for me. And I haven’t stopped writing yet. It’s six years later…

Do you write full-time? If so, what's your work day like? If not, what do you do other than write and how do you find time to write?
Oh, how I WISH I could write full-time. But, alas, the literary gods have not been that kind to me…yet. I do see that in my future.

As a single mom with what I consider three full-time jobs, writing, the 9-to-5, and being a mom, my days are super busy. I’m usually up and writing by 4 am. I get my son up at 5:30 am and we’re out of the house by 7am. I spend 8+ hours a day at a government contractor writing and editing proposals, helping them to win business. And then I’m back home in the evenings, getting junior’s homework done and eventually squeezing out another two to three hours of writing/marketing time.

How do I find time to write?

I don’t sleep and I do a lot of work on the weekends, holidays, etc. There’s no easy way when you work full time. You have to make writing a priority. You have to sacrifice. You have to give up the idea of balance always and be okay with balance sometimes. There’s no other way, not if you want to be productive.

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?
I’m not one of those writers who can only write when the moon is in the 7^th house and Jupiter aligns with Mars. Pretty much, I can write anywhere anytime. However, when I write in longhand, I’ve become addicted to Moleskine notebooks and Pilot G-2 gel pens. If I don’t have those, I can’t write. It’s like the words get stuck. My only quirk.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
I always wanted to be a writer, but I never thought I could be a writer. I always loved books and reading. To me, authors were like the gods on Mt. Olympus and they didn’t mingle with mortals. I ended up being a writer of a different kind—an intelligence analyst—and it’s that work and a bunch of bad relationships that fuel the stories for my books today. So, the lesson learned for me is, never talk yourself out of answering your calling. The question is not “if” it’s “how.”

Thanks, S.D.!

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Interview with international thriller author Ian Coates

Today’s fun interview is with thriller author Ian Coates as he shares about his newest novel, Eavesdrop.  

Bio:

Author Ian Coates graduated with honors in engineering. He worked in the high tech electronics industry for thirty years, where he specialized in the design of radio communication equipment. His intimate knowledge of that environment always triggered his imagination to think about the mysterious world of international spies.

A lifelong love of books led him into writing, but it was being named one of the winners in the Writers’ & Artists’ Yearbook centenary novel writing competition that spurred him on to complete his spy thriller, Eavesdrop.

The novel was written largely on planes and in airport lounges as well as in snatched moments before starting work each morning. Eavesdrop was released by Bad Day Books, the suspense and thriller imprint of Assent Publishing.

Ian is proud to support the British Science Association and donates a proportion of his book proceeds to that charity. He lives and writes in Buckinghamshire, England, with his wife and two daughters.

Welcome, Ian. Please tell us about your current release.

James Winter is a Customs Investigation Officer, but when the smuggling ring he’s closing-in on suddenly develops an uncanny knack of avoiding arrest, he is suspended on suspicion of helping them. As he tries to clear his name, he uncovers a group of assassins, industrial espionage, and a very determined Mossad agent.

The story starts with three apparently separate story threads. The first follows the assassins – they are operating in London, and when their hits suddenly start to go wrong, they begin to think they have a traitor in their midst.

The second story thread follows the smugglers. They are setting-up a new run to smuggle diamonds from Antwerp to London, and need to bring in a new courier to help. However, they soon begin to think that the man they’ve chosen is not all that he seems.

The third thread follows Winter as he tries to discover who was behind his dismissal. As the story progresses, these three threads start to come together until, by the time we reach the climax in the snowy wastes of Finland, they’ve become just one storyline and we suddenly realize there’s a lot more at stake than just Winter’s career.

It’s a fast paced thriller, and it’s the book’s title that gives us a clue as to what links the story threads.

What inspired you to write this book?

I graduated in electronics, and my first job was working for a company that designed radio equipment – transmitters, receivers, walkie-talkies and the like – and one of the ranges we made had a facility for encrypted audio. That was at the time of the Northern Ireland troubles, and we sold some of those to the Northern Ireland police force – the idea was that they didn’t want the IRA listening in to what they were saying.  And that got me thinking - what if I wanted to be able to intercept their conversations? How might I go about it? That was what gave me the main idea for Eavesdrop.

But I don’t think a single idea is large enough or strong enough to support something as big as a novel. For that, I think you need two or even three solid ideas that work together to create an overall plot. The second idea for Eavesdrop came when I thinking about the attempts to achieve peace in the Middle East, and how it is that we never seem to be able to manage it, especially around Israel.

It was only when those two ideas, together with some thoughts I’d had about smuggling, all coalesced that I realized I had a plot powerful enough to support a full length thriller – and Eavesdrop was born.

Excerpt from Eavesdrop:

Copyright © 2014 Ian Coates

All rights reserved.

PROLOGUE

August 2nd, 2010

Bashar Al-Jabib wriggled forward into position in the long grass. Everywhere smelled fresh and damp. Perched on the crag among the trees that carpeted the higher slope, he commanded an uninterrupted view of the lake in the valley bottom. Water glinted silver when the first rays of sun reached its mirrored surface. Thin ribbons of mist hung here and there above it like wraiths.

Al-Jabib’s pulse quickened with excitement. After many months of planning, it was finally time to set things in motion. He smiled to himself. They would be proud of him back home.

On the far bank, an angler tied a new fly to his line. After one final inspection, he cast toward the row of willows that edged the water, then slowly drew it back by hand so that the lure glided smoothly across the surface.

Al-Jabib reached for his rifle, felt its cold metal against his fingertips. Without taking his eyes off the fisherman, he seated the bipod in the soil to support the muzzle, and pushed the stock hard against his shoulder. Shuffling awkwardly until he was aligned with the weapon, he squinted into its telescopic sight. He noticed his nerves didn’t flutter. Years ago, he would have wet himself doing this.

Not now.

He adjusted the focus and flicked off the safety catch.

The fisherman raised his rod and flicked it forward again, letting the line run through his fingers. The man’s face looked content. Al-Jabib could see it clearly as he squeezed the trigger.

The bullet entered through the angler’s right eye. Blood spattered across the fishing bag that stood on the bank as he toppled backwards and the rod splashed into the water. In the woods, the gunshot sent a pair of pigeons flapping away through the undergrowth.

Staying on his stomach, Al-Jabib shuffled backwards off the small square of tarpaulin he’d been lying on. His whole body tingled with exhilaration. It had been a beautifully placed shot. Easy.

He retrieved the spent case, and did his best to rough-up the flattened grass before he wriggled further back into the trees. Only when he was well into their cover did he stand and brush himself down.

Al-Jabib slid his hand inside his jacket and felt for the locket that hung around his neck. His fingers caressed the polished metal, conjuring the memories, the screams, the falling masonry, and choking dust. He shouldn’t be wearing it, but it had seemed so appropriate; a fresh chapter of history was going to be written and it fell to him to prepare the ground. It was his destiny.

As he hiked the mile back to the hire car, he tapped a number into his mobile and spoke in Arabic.

Two weeks later

The meeting in Tel-Aviv drew to a close. Fluorescent strips lit the windowless room three floors below ground. The ashtrays on the table around which the eight men sat were full, and thick cigarette smoke hung in the air, the air conditioning too slow to remove it.

Ehud Mandell, a large man with heavy jowls and thick spectacles, looked around at the others from his place at the head of the table. “Any other items?” He wanted to go home. Already, the meeting had gone over time. Mandell chaired these cross-departmental security meetings, held every month under the grandiose directive of ensuring the continued security of the homeland of the Israeli State. He scratched his mop of white hair as he waited. Most of the others were already gathering up their papers.

The head of International Analysis coughed. “I have one thing.” Leon Cardash was the antithesis of Mandell: short, with sallow features that looked malnourished. His head jerked in short rapid movements when he looked around the table like a bird nervously searching for grubs.

Mandell sighed. The traffic was going to be hell. “Go on,” he said. Cardash was not known for getting to the point quickly.

“I…well…rather the head of the European team, asked me to raise this.” Cardash coughed again. “He’s very reliable, and if he says…well…if he thinks this committee needs to know about it, certainly we should not dismiss it.”

“Just get on with it,” Mandell barked.

He smiled obsequiously. “Well, a couple of weeks ago in England, one of their top government officials was assassinated during a weekend fishing break. It seems it was…er…a very professional job.”

The Chief of the Israeli Air Force spoke up. “So what? Let the Brits sort out their own mess. It’s nothing to do with us.”

Cardash tugged at his earlobe and looked down at the sheet of paper in front of him.

“Well, you see, there we’re not quite so sure. As you say, it is probably nothing, but the thing is, the British police—and we’ve seen all their reports—the thing is, they can find no motive at all.”

“I still don’t see why this is relevant.”

“It may not be, of course, but Charles Asquith—that’s the dead man—well, he was always a strong advocate of Israel and had an influential place in the British government that was often to our advantage. He has, on occasions persuaded it to make decisions that favor our position. My European head was concerned that Asquith may have been…” He hesitated as he chose for the most appropriate phrase. “…well, perhaps he was permanently removed because of it.”

Mandell took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It had been a long day. It was fifty-fifty whether anything raised by Analysis was useful, but they were right just frequently enough that one couldn’t take the chance of dismissing them. He turned to the head of Mossad. “Perhaps you could check it out, Avraham? Do you have anyone in England who could take a look?”

The head of Mossad nodded slowly. “I’ve a man in London, Sol Halutz. He’s a pain in the arse, but he’s good at bringing a fresh perspective to things. I’ll get him to dig around.”

What exciting story are you working on next?

I’ve started work on a new thriller with the working title of The Rival. It deals with industrial espionage, a long-hidden family secret, an unusual double blackmail, and what happens when two people being blackmailed don’t want to be blackmailed any more.

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

I’ve wanted to write novels since I was about 7 or 8, but wouldn’t have called myself a writer at that point. I remember once copying out the first few chapters of one of Enid Blyton’s Secret Seven mysteries into a fresh notebook, changing the name of the children and the dog, and then putting my name on the front cover. I suppose I could call myself a writer by the time I reached the age of fourteen, because that was when I won a competition run by the local authority with a private-eye novella.

Do you write full-time? If so, what's your work day like? If not, what do you do other than write and how do you find time to write?

I work as a technical manager in the electronics industry, so I fit my writing in between holding down a busy full-time job and helping to bring up a family. That means it gets written over breakfast, during additional snatched moments here and there, and during holidays.

Eavesdrop was largely written during a spell when I did a lot of business travel, which meant much of it was written on planes and in airport lounges.

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

Perhaps the fact that I write my first drafts longhand in spiral notebooks with a lovely propelling pencil that my wife bought me. There’s something special about the visceral connection between hand, pencil and paper that seems to help my creative process.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

One of my earliest memories is of wanting to be a spy.  I think that came from reading and re-reading a big fat storybook called something like “Spy Stories for Boys.” I absolutely loved that book, and that’s what made me think I wanted to become a spy when I grew up. As I got older, though, I realized it was probably rather a dangerous profession, so started to think more about technology. I confess to being a coward

As a child, I never appreciated there was such a job as a writer. I don’t know where I thought books came from, but I didn’t realize it was something you could do for a living. If I had known writing could be a profession, I guess that’s what I would have said I wanted to do.

Anything additional you want to share with the readers?

Just that I hope people enjoy reading Eavesdrop. Certainly I’d love to hear from them, and I can be contacted via social media or my website. If readers like the book, please add a review on Amazon to encourage others to also give the story a try.

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Thanks, Ian!