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Goldhammer: Comedy Thriller by Haris Orkin

Goldhammer, a comedy thriller by screenwriter, game writer, playwright, and novelist Haris Orkin

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Goldhammer by Haris Orkin

GoldhammerA James Flynn Escapade

A young actress, involuntarily committed to City of Roses Psychiatric Hospital, plunges James Flynn into a dangerous new adventure when she claims one of the most powerful producers in Hollywood is trying to kill her.

Still convinced he’s a secret agent for Her Majesty’s Secret Service, Flynn springs into action, helps her escape and finds himself embroiled in a battle with a dangerous sociopath worth billions. In the process, he uncovers a high-tech conspiracy to control the mind of every human being on Earth.

With the help of his reluctant sidekick, Sancho, and a forgotten Hollywood sex symbol from the 1960s, Flynn faces off with Goldhammer and his private army in a desperate attempt to save the young actress…and save the world…once again.

To purchase Goldhammer, click any of the following links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Genre: Comedy Thriller
Published by: Black Rose Writing
Publication Date: June 23rd 2022
Number of Pages: 240
ISBN: 1684339677 (ISBN-13: 978-1684339679)
Series: The James Flynn Escapades, Book 3 | Each is a stand-alone thriller


JAMES BOND – THE WORST SECRET AGENT EVER

By Haris Orkin

When the first James Bond films were released, they were considered very adult. Tight-ass moralists of the time preached that they glamorized sex and violence to a degree never before seen. And at age twelve, that’s exactly why I so desperately wanted to see them. But my parents wouldn’t let me. They thought all that sex and violence might prematurely end my childhood. Because they wouldn’t let me see Bond in the movies, I started reading the books. My parents thought that was just fine. Even though they contained even more sex and violence than the films. By the time Thunderball was released, those three years of nagging and whining finally paid off. My parents decided to relent.

Thunderball was Sean Connery’s third outing as Bond and I couldn’t get enough. I watched it three times in a row. Bond was a revelation. The greatest creation ever as far as my twelve year old self was concerned. And as a skinny, bespectacled suburban nerd, I finally knew who I wanted to be when I grew up.

James Bond.

No one was cooler. No one was more confident. He had no fear and could handle any situation with aplomb. He drove the coolest cars and traveled everywhere and regularly saved the world. He wasn’t just an expert shot and a black belt in karate, he was brilliant. Elegant. Sophisticated. Witty. Best of all, women threw themselves at him willy-nilly. A plus for me, since I was so shy I could barely talk to a girl. (Unless I was already related to her.) He seemed to know everything. His life seemed so exciting. So much more exciting than the derpy suburban dads who drove Buicks and wore Hush Puppies with black socks and shorts as they mowed their lawns. Who wouldn’t want to be Bond?

But as I grew older and continued to read the books and watch the films, I eventually came to an inescapable conclusion. James Bond was a terrible secret agent. First of all, he always used his real name. Everyone knew who he was. That kind of fame does not make for a great secret agent. Plus, he hardly ever wore disguises and when he did, they were terrible. Like in You Only Live Twice when he tried to convince people he was Japanese. A six foot tall Caucasian guy with a Scottish brogue and a Moe Howard haircut. Or that time in Goldfinger when he swam through a harbor in a scuba suit with a fake seagull glued to his head.

Secondly, almost everyone who worked with Bond died a terrible death. In Goldfinger two beautiful sisters died in horrible, yet ridiculous ways. (Spoiler ahead!) One was painted from head to toe in gold paint and another was cut down with a flying bowler hat. Bond’s CIA ally, Felix Leiter, lost a different body part in every book. Yet, he always came limping back to work with Bond one more time. As bad as Bond was at keeping allies alive, he was great at one thing. Coming up with lame quips after killing people. Like the time he shot the creepy assassin in Thunderball with a speargun and said, “I think he got the point.”

Three, he’s a terrible driver. He managed to destroy every car that Q ever gave him.

Four, he always seduced the supervillain’s girlfriend. Not a great way to stay under the radar while conducting an investigation. Not that he ever conducted actual investigations. He just blundered into the middle of things, hoping to provoke something. Usually Bond managed to piss off the person he was after until they finally captured and tortured him. How many secret agents blow their covers on every mission and then get taken prisoner by the enemy? Luckily, Dr. No, Goldfinger, Scaramanga, Largo, and Blofeld were just as bad at what they did as Bond was at what he did.

Every supervillain who captured Bond would gleefully tell him about their entire secret plan before leaving him to die alone in some elaborate trap. Somehow Bond always managed to escape, defeat the supervillain and his private army and blow the bad guy’s incredibly elaborate secret base to smithereens. Despite his blunders, Bond always saved the world and did it with style and insane confidence. How could you not root for someone so stupidly lucky?

That quality of complete confidence in the face of total incompetence is what inspired me to create James Flynn. James Flynn worships Bond and approaches what he does with the same insane disregard for logic. Like a modern day Don Quixote, Flynn blunders into adventures that somehow allow him to save the world. Unlike Bond, however, everyone knows he’s completely out of his tree.


Excerpt: Goldhammer

CHAPTER ONE

The Corsican wanted him dead.

Of that James Flynn was certain.

Somehow, the assassin had infiltrated Her Majesty’s Secret Service as a security officer. Flynn didn’t recognize him at first. The killer had put on a few pounds and likely had plastic surgery, but what he couldn’t disguise were his eyes. His cold, dark, pitiless eyes. The eyes of a sociopath. The eyes of an executioner.

The only question was when.

When would the Corsican come for him?

He told his colleagues what he suspected, but they refused to believe him. They claimed his name was Thomas Hernandez and that someone else on the security team had recommended him. They also said they fully vetted him. But Flynn wasn’t fooled. He tangled with the Corsican before. The man was relentless. A cold-blooded enforcer who started with the Corsican mafia but went on to do contract hits for the Sicilians, the Albanians, the Serbians, and the Russians.

Instead of waiting for the Corsican to come to him, Flynn decided to flush him out. Force his hand. Expose him for who he was and why he was there.

Flynn dressed in black denim and a black turtleneck and waited until 2 a.m. to make his move. He kept to the shadows as he trod the deserted corridors. He had no weapon since lethal weapons of any kind were now forbidden at headquarters. A foolish rule put in place by sheltered bureaucrats who had no clue. Luckily, not even security could carry a firearm at headquarters. All the Corsican had was an expandable baton and a Taser. Even so, the man was lethal enough with just his hands and feet.

But then, so was Flynn.

Flynn heard footsteps ahead and ducked into a conference room. He waited and listened as the footsteps drew closer. As they passed the doorway, Flynn peered into the corridor to see the Corsican lumbering forward, quietly peering in room after room. Suddenly, he stopped. Flynn felt a jolt of adrenaline. The air was electric. The silence palpable. Could the Corsican feel Flynn’s eyes on him? Flynn knew that scientists have identified a specialized group of neurons in the primate brain that fire specifically when a monkey is under the direct gaze of another. Humans also appear to be wired for that kind of gaze perception. Predators like Flynn and the Corsican can also be prey and have developed a sixth sense to alert them to danger.

The Corsican turned and he and Flynn locked eyes for a moment. Before the hit man could take a step, Flynn took off down the hall in the opposite direction. He heard the footfalls of the Corsican as he chased after him. Flynn had his route all mapped out. Darting down one corridor. Then another. Running until he arrived at a door that led down to the basement and the guts of the building. Flynn had picked the lock after dinner, knowing that this was the night he would lure the Corsican to his end. He had a license to kill and could have used it anytime, but Flynn didn’t exercise that power willy-nilly. Only as a last resort. He didn’t want the Corsican dead. He needed to know who put the price on his head. Otherwise who ever hired the killer would continue to send hitters until finally one succeeded.

The building that housed HMSS was huge and had a substantial infrastructure. The basement utility plant had mechanical, electrical, HVAC, and plumbing systems that fed water, air, and electricity all through the facility. Flynn moved from massive room to massive room, staying just ahead of the Corsican. He needed to lose him and lay in wait. Flynn was confident in his abilities, but to come at a killer like that head-on didn’t make much sense. Why give your opponents any edge at all?

Flynn ducked into a room that housed all the electrical panels, distribution boards, and circuit breakers. Conduit snaked everywhere and Flynn found a metal door secured with a heavy padlock. Using two straightened paper clips, he quickly picked the lock. The door led to an outside area protected by a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. The security fence surrounded three giant transformers and two massive backup generators the size of semi-trailers.

Flynn stood next to the door and strained his ears to hear approaching footsteps over the electrical buzz of the transformers. Faint at first, they moved closer. Careful. Slow. Stealthy. He saw a shoe as someone came through and Flynn took them from behind, using jiu-jitsu to slam them into the ground.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said the man Flynn had face down in the gravel.

“Sancho?”

“Get off me, man.”

Flynn released his comrade-in-arms and helped him to his feet. Bits of gravel still clung to his face. “I thought you were the Corsican.” Flynn’s British accent had a touch of Scottish burr.

“His name is Hernandez,” Sancho said.

“That’s not his real name.”

“And I’m telling you, he’s not the Corsican.”

“Don’t let him fool you, my friend. He’s not who he says he is.”

“Then why’d he call me? He knows I know you. He knows we’re friends. He asked me to find you. Talk to you. Calm you down.”

“Perhaps he wants to take care of you too.”

“Take care of me?”

Flynn heard the Corsican call to them, his voice deep and resonant. “You okay in there, brother?”

“We’re good,” Sancho said.

The Corsican walked in with two other men. All three wore the blue security uniform issued to those who guard HMSS. The Corsican looked at Flynn with his dark, merciless eyes. “You okay, Mr. Flynn?”

“Tell them who you are,” Flynn demanded.

“Thomas Hernandez.”

“Who you really are.”

The Corsican rolled his eyes and sighed. “That’s who I really am.”

Flynn aimed an accusatory finger. “I know who you are. Born Stefanu Perrina in Porto, Corsica. Contract killer for the Unione Corse, the Cosa Nostra, and the Russian mafia. Wanted by Interpol for fifty-two confirmed kills.”

“I was born in Hacienda Heights.”

Flynn glanced at Sancho. “The man is a master of deception. It’s kill or be killed with men like him.”

The Corsican drew his Taser and the other two guards followed suit.

Sancho raised his hands. “Whoa, come on now. Easy.” He stepped in front of Flynn as the Corsican fired. The Taser darts caught Sancho in the shoulder and socked him with fifty thousand volts. He screamed in agony as his whole body seized up and shook. His legs gave out and he fell on his side, helpless and twitching.

Flynn dove behind a generator before the other two guards could fire. Each guard stalked him from a different side. Flynn clambered up over the top and launched himself from above, tackling the Corsican. He wrenched away his reloaded Taser and shot one of the guards in the crotch. The man went down with a shriek as the other guard fired on him. Flynn fell to his knees and the darts parted his hair before hitting the Corsican in the chest. The killer crumpled as Flynn sprang to his feet and pulled the Corsican’s expandable baton out of its holster. Flicking his wrist, Flynn fully extended the menacing club and turned to confront the last standing guard.

Someone grabbed Flynn by the arm and Flynn elbowed him in the face. Sancho staggered back, holding his bloody nose. “What the hell, man?”

“Sorry, mate.”

Flynn heard a Taser fire and an instant later, two darts hit him in the side. Fifty thousand volts took him to his knees as another guard fired another Taser. Those two darts hit him in the stomach. Flynn lost control of every muscle in his body. And then he saw the Corsican looming over him with his own weapon. He shot the darts directly into Flynn’s chest. Right over his heart. Now all three lit him up with electricity. One hundred and fifty thousand volts rocked Flynn as they shocked him with charge after charge until the world faded into a tiny aperture that slowly began to close.


Haris Orkin — Author of Goldhammer

GoldhammerHaris Orkin is a novelist, a playwright, a screenwriter, and a game writer.

His play, Dada was produced at The American Stage and the La Jolla Playhouse. Sex, Impotence, and International Terrorism was chosen as a critic’s choice by the L.A. Weekly and sold as a film script to MGM/UA.

Save the Dog was produced as a Disney Sunday Night movie. His original screenplay, A Saintly Switch, was directed by Peter Bogdanovich and starred David Alan Grier and Vivica A. Fox.

He is a WGA Award and BAFTA Award nominated game writer and narrative designer known for Command and Conquer: Red Alert 3Call of Juarez: GunslingerTom Clancy’s The DivisionMafia 3, and Dying Light.

To learn more about Haris, click on any of the following links: www.harisorkin.com, Goodreads, BookBub – @HarisOrkin, Instagram – @HarisOrkin, Twitter – @HarisOrkin, Facebook – @AuthorHarisOrkin


Visit all the stops on the Goldhammer tour!

Goldhammer

06/08 Interview @ Quiet Fury Books
06/10 Review @ Book Reviews From an Avid Reader
06/11 Guest post @ The Mystery of Writing
06/14 Review @ I Read What You Write
06/16 Showcase @ Celticladys Reviews
06/18 Guest post @ The Book Divas Reads
06/20 Interview @ I Read What You Write
06/23 Showcase @ Nesies Place
06/24 Review @ Pat Fayo Reviews
06/27 Review @ Paws. Read. Repeat
06/28 Review @ Urban Book Reviews
06/29 Review @ enjoyingbooksagain
06/30 Showcase @ Reads and Screens
07/01 Review @ Melissa As Blog


Elena Taylor/Elena Hartwell

All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio.

Silver Falchion Award Finalist, Best Investigator 2020

Foreword INDIE Award Finalist, Best Mystery 2020

 

 

The Foundation of Plot, a Wait, Wait, Don’t Query (Yet!) guidebook. Out July 19.

 

Elena Hartwell

Author and developmental editor.

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