Cheap Sunglasses

Guy Davies

Description

(FOR INTERIOR)
Rural England spring 2020. The old normal.
With the world entering into a world wide lockdown The King family launch there plan for world domination.
Watching them make there move Central Command in Israel are unable to react due to the travel ban.
Noah Aziz the brilliant commander of operations has only one choice. His man in England Terry must recruit locals to make a stand against The King family.
Terry`s problem is, he only has time to round up drinking buddies from the local pub, The Highwayman. He has to rely on Drake for help. Drake and his friends are more interested in getting off their heads.
Noah has a secret weapon. Ava and her strange son Tony are embedded in Dumbleton Hall The Kings home. She poses as a stable girl but is really a highly trained spy from South Korea. She has been winning the charms of Jonathan the youngest and twisted heir to The King.
(FOR BACK COVER)
Brace yourself for the non-woke book of the decade!
Drake and his party loving friends collide headlong with the twisted and evil King family. It’s the start of the global pandemic and rural England is set to be the battleground between bad and pure evil. Never has so many reckless fools been entrusted with so much. Failure is practically guaranteed right?

Sujets

• Israel
• Science-fiction
• Fiction
• Lunettes de soleil
• Sunglasses
• Cheap
• Science Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse UK
• Date de parution: 28 novembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781728376622
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

CHEAP SUNGLASSES
 
 
YOU GOTTA BE IN IT TO WIN IT
 
 
 
 
 
 
GUY DAVIES
 
 
 
 
 

 
AuthorHouse™ UK
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403  USA
www.authorhouse.co.uk
Phone: UK TFN: 0800 0148641 (Toll Free inside the UK)
UK Local: (02) 0369 56322 ([phone] from outside the UK)
 
 
 
 
 
 
© 2022 Guy Davies. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
Published by AuthorHouse 11/14/2022
 
ISBN: 978-1-7283-7663-9 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-7283-7662-2 (e)
 
 
 
 
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
CONTENTS
Prologue
 
Spring 2019—The Old Normal
Bob/Camp Freddy
Both The Man Of Science And The Man Of Action Live Always At The Edge Of Mystery, Surrounded By It
“In Israel, will they sing a happy Noel”
“Yes we are gonna have to go to ludicrous speed”
“People are starting to notice”
Tarkhat Haranah
“I will motivate you!”
“When boy? When are you going to get your act together?”
“I’ve Seen Things You People Wouldn’t Believe”
PROLOGUE
‘A lie can be half-way around the w orld
before the truth has even got it’s boot s on’
(James Callaghan Prime Minister UK 197 6-79)
It’s been a lovely spring day here in the Cottswolds, away from all of the hustle and bustle of the cities. How do those people live like that?
Lola is sat in the back of her vintage Rolls Royce. She takes a drawn-out drag of the imported cigarette in her extra long holder. Then she knocks back her Japanese Whiskey. “OK,” She says to her chauffeur. The driver slips the car into gear and expertly powers down the road at an alarming rate. Destination. London.
Lowering the privacy suite screen she orders, “I’m doing business, so no interruptions please.” The driver keeps his eyes on the road and his foot planted on the throttle. For these people normal rules just don’t apply.
Warren knows something monumental is going on. He works at level two clearance but has access to higher. Most of his colleagues at Government Communications Head Quarters can’t be bothered to read the clearance notes. He reads everything. Warren is watching. Warren is also being watched. He spends his time at work analyzing, sometimes daydreaming, always thinking. Everything passes by Warren at some point.
“It can’t be that surely?” They start by trickling the story. Drip, drip, drip. Then the experts start chiming in. Drip, drip, drip. Then somehow the newscasters are all experts. Drip, drip, drip. Now the politicians, sports personalities, influencers. And then everyone everywhere are all now experts, so they make their comments.
The idea, becomes the story, then the fact. Don’t worry, your favorite social media outlet will crush any descent. Not following like the rest of us? Shame them Piers Morgan, so nobody dares to stand out of line again. Soon, you find yourself banging the drum louder than anyone.
Goebbels literally wrote the script in the 1930s.
Create an enemy.
Vilify them in the media.
The people will follow.
SPRING 2019—THE OLD NORMAL
I met the man on the street once. He was a cunt.
—Sid Vicious (1978)
Driving up to Joe’s was the last thing that Drake could have imagined himself doing only a few days ago.
Joe’s world is surrounded in magnificent country parkland. Here in the Cotswolds, everything is green and good. The buildings are made from beautiful Cotswolds stone, a gold colour that ages into picture-perfect loveliness. There are magnificent trees dotted around, set in rolling farmland. The whole area is awash with money. There is no hunger, no unemployment, and there are no rough areas. It’s as close to perfect as anywhere could be.
Joe is an ideas man. He spends his time idly inventing one get-rich-quick scheme after the other. For fifteen years, he has toiled with his retirement homes park. It is as close to a disaster as humanly possible. Nothing is finished. There are pockets of mess everywhere. The roads are not properly tarmacked, and grass areas are turning to weeds. There’s unfinished grounds work—water pipes poke out of the ground, like thin blue Loch Ness monsters trying to escape. A dream that has turned sour for all concerned.
There are six homes on the site with room for another twenty. None of the residents are happy. Most are resigned to living out the rest of their days in abject misery. Most won’t even talk to Joe. When he speaks to them, they just shrug their shoulders. They have heard all the excuses before, and most bitch about him openly with one another.
Any staff or contractors that do turn up to work there soon find out Joe likes to chisel them over wages. He doesn’t do this to be nasty—it’s just his way.
Drake drives into Periwinkle Residential Park, stopping at the gate. He switches off the engine then pulls out his baccy pouch. He fumbles around the dash, looking for papers and his lighter. In seconds he has rolled himself a cigarette, which he lights and takes a huge draw of. In the cup holder sits a can of Smirnoff and Cranberry.
Drake finishes off the tin and throws it behind the passenger seat where it lands, clanking on the carcasses of several others. He knows he is out of booze and has to get out of the car to open the gate. Drake exerts the most draining sigh of the day then starts banging on his steering wheel screaming, “Fuck! You fucking idiot, Drake! Nooooo!”
Standing on his porch, Joe is smirking at Drake. Joe’s chalet is of the larger variety. It has all the amenities of a nice bungalow. With a smart Volkswagen SUV on the drive, he’s looking good. Joe has been fiddling with one of his inventions. He takes a last look at it then places it on a table. There are all manner of partly pulled apart appliances and small hand tools covering every surface. Most of Joe’s time is spent fiddling pointlessly in this way. Joe calls out in his deep West Country drawl, “Eh, boy! What’s happened then?”
Drake pulls into a vacant parking spot. He gets out of the car, not even bothering to lock it, and he flicks the stub of his roll into a bush and calls back. “I fucked it again, man.” Joe can’t help dropping a huge smirk. These two have battled for supremacy one way or another for decades. This is Joe’s time, and he is going to milk it. Drake knows he will have to take some shit. He also knows at least he will have a bed tonight.
Joe throws in with, “Yea? We were wondering how much longer until that happened. Think Nigel came the closest with two years.”
Drake wants to tell him to go fuck himself, which only yesterday he did, but now destitute, he has to play along. Desperately trying to salvage some pride, he starts, “Listen, man, I’ve—”
After fully embellishing his smirk with a heroic pose, Joe trots down the steps to give the usual welcome of a knuckles. “I know. Look, I’ve got my old chalet over the back. Stay in there till you sort yourself out.”
Drake checks out his miserable stash of belongings in the back of his car. “Cheers, man.”
Lavinia, Joe’s mother is deploying her finest West Country screech from her chalet opposite. “Joe boy, your brother’s gone dinlo again. You need to give him some money. Now!”
Joe turns to the sound of the voice. “Er, I’d better go.”
Lavinia shouts another even more piercing salvo from inside the chalet. “Joe!”
It was Drake’s turn to offer up a smirk. “Off you go, Cooper.” Drake knows where his new abode is and makes his way up to it. As he stands facing the door, a scruffy man appears. “All right, Kirk. What’s happening?”
Kirk always just appears, never seemingly to be doing anything. He is as sad and lacking in vigour as any man could be. Life is one of those things that just happens to other people. He is slightly built, in his midfifties, and shuffles around with a stoop. He is married to Eileen, the lady he saw during his frequent visits to the local job centre.
No one in his family ever had the drive to pack up and leave the area. He turns up at Joe’s around 10:00 a.m. most mornings and waits until Joe can find him something to do. Kirk stands in a half-shadow. His shoulders slump and there’s a look in his eyes that speaks of years of nonfulfilment. “Dunno.” He shrugs. “You tell me.”
Drake shrugs nonchalantly. “Yea, you know.”
“How long you staying for?” Kirk asks.
Drake shrugs again and gives a vague answer. “Dunno, couple of weeks, maybe a month. Who knows? So go on—what’s been going on ’round here?”
Kirk gives Drake a look that says “plenty,” then he says, “I’ll tell you when Joe’s not about.” He watches Drake as he tries to open the caravan door. Kirks eyes are always just behind the action. “You’re not staying in there?”
Drake feigns a confused face. “No. I’m moving into your place. Eileen said she’s made the spare room up for you.”
Kirk looks bemused.
Drake can see the complexity of his remark is lost on Kirk. “Yea, I’m moving into here.”
Bounding back towards them, Joe returns after dispensing the appropriate judgement to his family. “Hold on a minute. You will need the key.” Joe sees Kirk is awaiting instruction. “Kirk, go and get the