"Listen, Drummond, your client betrayed this country in ways too horrible to contemplate....In the history of espionage, there's never been one like him."
But Major Sean Drummond never says die. Especially when an old flame begs him to defend her brigadier general husband in the biggest treason case in U.S. history. And even when Drummond is up against the fiercest prosecutor in the Army and fighting two murder charges. With an unconventional and beautiful co-counsel, Drummond plunges into an investigation that will unearth a damning array of secrets and cover-ups-and reveal a master manipulator who doesn't care who or what goes up in flames...as long as Drummond's client burns.
Military lawyer Sean Drummond, the wiseass hero of Haig's promising new series, ventures into the '90s aftermath of the Cold War this time out. The rollicking, free-swinging attorney is assigned to defend U.S. Army Gen. William Morrison, a Russian specialist accused of being a Soviet spy for 10 years. Drummond doesn't particularly want the job. On a professional level, he dislikes traitors. Personally, he resents the pompous Morrison. Complicating matters further, Drummond still carries a torch for Morrison's sexy wife, who had her pick of the two men years earlier and opted for the one with the higher rank. Despite all the distractions, Drummond hurls himself into the case. The action bounces back and forth in dramatic fashion between Washington, D.C., and Moscow, with Drummond finding nothing but discouragement in both capitals. It is only after two attempts on his life that he begins to suspect that Morrison was framed. Drummond's tireless investigations eventually put him face to face with a man who has been the driving force behind every Russian ruler in the past 30 years: the so-called Kingmaker. Haig's third Drummond adventure (after Mortal Allies) rolls along in high spirits, mixing clever cloak-and-dagger tricks, gutsy heroics and edgy, often humorous dialogue. Drummond at times borders on comic caricature-he personally kills five villains, stabbing one fatally in the eye with a ballpoint pen-yet he is easy to root for and fun to watch in action. Remarkably, his smart-alecky personality, expressed in one wisenheimer comment after another, remains fresh from start to finish. Agent, Luke Janklow, Janklow Nesbit. (Jan. 9) Forecast: Haig's track record, his name (he is the son of former secretary of state Alexander Haig) and ample television, radio and print advertising should help make this a big seller. Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information. -- PUBLISHERS WEEKLY.
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1 . The Kingmaker
Posted March 25, 2008 by mullenp , New Jersey or at 35000 feetThis was an excellent read. He weaves an complex plot while keeping the reader engaged throughout the tale.
Grand Central Publishing
July 31, 2003
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Excerpt from The Kingmaker by Brian Haig
THE PRISONER WAS LED THROUGH THE DOORWAY BY A PAIR of burly MPs, who shoved him into a chair and immediately began shackling his handcuffs to the table. The table was bolted to the floor, which was bolted to the prison, and so on.
"Guys. . . no need for that," I politely insisted. And was coldly ignored.
"Look, it's ridiculous," I said, with a touch more indignation. "How's he going to break out of here, much less walk two inches from this prison without being instantly recognized?" I was blowing hot air, actually to impress the prisoner more than the guards. I'm a lawyer. I'm not above such things.
The MP sergeant stuffed the shackle key in his pocket and replied, "Don't give the prisoner nothing. No pens, no pencils, no sharp objects. Knock when you're done."
He stared at me longer than necessary--a gesture meant to convey that he didn't think highly of me or what I came here to do.Well, neither did I-regarding the latter.
I gave him a cold stare back. "All right, Sergeant." The MPs scuttled from the room as I turned to examine the prisoner. It had been over ten years, and the changes were barely detectable--a tad more gray, perhaps, but he was still strikingly handsome in that chisel-featured, dark-haired, deepeyed way some women find attractive. His athlete's body had softened, but those wide shoulders and slim waist were mostly intact. He'd always been a gym rat.
His psyche was a burned-out wreck; shoulders slumped, chin resting on his chest, arms hanging limply at his sides. Not good--little wonder they had stolen his shoelaces and belt. I bent forward and squeezed his shoulder. "Bill, look at me." Nothing. More sharply, I said, "Damn it, Billy, it's Sean Drummond. Pull yourself together and look at me."
Not so much as a twitch. The harsh tack wasn't punching through that wall of depression--perhaps something warmer, more conversational? I said, "Billy, listen. . . Mary called the day after your arrest and asked me to get out here right away. She said you want me to represent you."
The "here" was the military penitentiary tacked onto the backside of Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.
"Mary"was his wife of the past thirteen years, and the man I was speaking to was Brigadier General William T. Morrison, until recently the U.S. military attach? in our Moscow embassy. The "day after your arrest" had been two long and miserable days earlier, the "arrest" being the one CNN had replayed over and over, of an Army general being dragged out the side door of the Moscow embassy, surrounded by FBI agents in bulletproof vests, his face a tangle of frustration and fury. Since then there had been countless newspaper articles detailing what a despicably awful bastard he was. If the reports were true, I was seated across from the most monstrous traitor since-well, I suppose since ever.
He mumbled, "How is she?" "She flew in from Moscow yesterday. She's staying with her father."
This got a dull nod, and I added, "The kids are fine. Her father has some pull with Sidwell Friends Academy, a private school that caters to celebrity children. They're hoping to get them in."
Shouldn't it help to make him think of his wife and family? He was locked down in a special isolation wing and denied any contact with the outside world: no phone calls, no letters, no notes.The authorities said the quarantine was to keep him from exposing more information or receiving smuggled-in cues from his Russian handlers. Perhaps. Unmentioned, of course, was that they hoped the social starvation would drive him babbling into the arms of his interrogators.