Showing posts with label Extraordinary Retribution. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Extraordinary Retribution. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Talking with Erec Stebbins About His Writing...His Books...and World Issues In His Fantastic Novels!











I'm so happy to have had the opportunity to meet and get to know Erec Stebbins, author extraordinaire, here at  Book Readers Heaven. His latest book, Extraordinary Retribution, is just out and is somewhat of a sequel to his Debut thriller, The Ragnarok Conspiracy...



Erec, Chris Brookmyre, an author that was quoted on the back of your book, used the word "subversive" in his review blurb for The Ragnarok Conspiracy... I was intrigued that you used it on the cover of your novel... Do you see your first book as subversive?
To begin, the main reason I used Chris' quote was the incredible enthusiasm he had for the story. It's not often one gets called "outrageously entertaining". He also uses the word "compassionate". So, "subversively compassionate" might work!

To be fair, subversive is a bit strong given the traitorous connotations often associated with the word. My books always come from a sincere perspective of writing for a better nation and better treatment of people more in lines with the Bill of Rights. Sometimes, however, that puts my perspective in conflict with that of many who believe their approach and actions are protecting the nation. Therefore, my words might be considered as an effort to "subvert" that position. Since these others also earnestly believe their approaches to security are indeed protecting the nation, it's a simple logical deduction that I am a "subversive".

Of course, my response is that one could argue that many of the things America has done that I implicitly or explicitly critique in my novels, in fact "subvert" the Bill of Rights and the Constitution. Things like indefinite detention, torture, denial of right to trial, execution without a trial, etc: I find these things far more subversive of America than anything I have dreamed to write. In some ways, if we continue down this path, those who wish to destroy America may achieve that far more deeply by inducing us to burn our Bill of Rights than by killing us.

I knew there was a reason I've become a fan... In truth, I've become more subversive in my retirement than ever before, maybe because I have the time to see things clearly! I certainly agree with what you've said... 

I was also intrigued that you acknowledged Javed Ahmad, the individual I consider your main character in Extraordinary Retribution, in your formal "Acknowledgments" in the book. I don't think I've ever seen that done. Further, you state that you "heard his voice (and others) and could not get it out of your mind, calling the book an exorcism...



Now I "kinda" know what you meant, but are you willing to be more specific related to this book being an exorcism?
Two topics here, I think, and I'll try to deal with each in its turn.

(1) Acknowledging a character

Javed Ahmad, a.k.a. the wraith, is not so much acknowledged as mentioned as someone who could have existed. He is a composite of several real men - with several heapings of imagination -  who were rendered and tortured and then released without anything ever being charged against them. In some rare cases, there was some admission of "mistakes" by the authorities. 

But what is labeled by some as "collateral damage" that is unavoidable in a war (on terror), is to the unjustly tormented a far more personal reality. I tried to put myself in their shoes. I felt a desire for revenge in that scenario. That gave birth to a character in my mind who demanded punishment, who burned in a madness of wrath for the injustice that was done, and then took it upon himself to become the agent of retaliation.

I mentioned this in the acknowledgment to help explain the genesis of the novel, and to point out that just because it has not happened (such revenge) doesn't mean it didn't have to, or still won't in the future.

Finally, I'll also just point out that in Reader I dedicate the novel to an imaginary character, Ambra Dawn. Due to the nature of that story, there are a lot of fun recursive mind-games in that, but I'll let the readers discover it on their own.

(2) Exorcism of characters

For me, characters with lasting power - the kind that generate full length novels - are ghosts haunting my awareness. We all carry multiple versions of ourselves in our minds, and those who have acted on the stage know what it is like to "assume character," to become someone often utterly different from ourselves. How do we do that? I think the answer science is revealing is that there is no single locus of "personhood" in the brain, and that in fact the seemingly unified "mind" that comes from the physiological construct of the brain is more an illusion than a reality. What we call ourselves is the interaction of multiple and distinct mental regions that reveal themselves in neurological studies often to have "minds of their own," so to speak. I think artists channel this truth and that lets them assume characters in drama or write it in books or convey moods etc in the graphics arts and music. We're basically high-functioning multiple personalities!

When characters take a life of their own in my mind, they speak, act, and I imagine actions they undertake. Sometimes those personalities stay with me a long time, and telling their story is a way to get them out of my mind, down on the paper, so that the story is told and done with. That is what I mean by "exorcism". Like the ancient idea of a being infiltrating the soul/mind of another, and being removed or excised, there is something a little bit like that with writing down the stories of characters that "burn" with passion in my own. And after one hundred thousand words, multiple rewrites, critiques, etc - believe me, I am very ready to move on from the character at last!
Let's hope and pray that Javad never becomes a real individual, but do you see a correlation, to some extent, to those who become suicide bombers?
I think the roots of something so extreme as a suicide bomber are very hard to get at. It overrides so many strong biological imperatives that it's amazing it happens at all. That is to distinguish it from "in the moment" self-sacrifice, which one can explain away more easily. But premeditated murder and suicide, premeditated self-destruction when there is often months to years to back out of it - that requires a level of override in the brain, a fanaticism so powerful. However, the thing people often fail to appreciate is that the bomber is always "striking a blow" for something. Might that be pure revenge? Possibly, although there need not be suicide with that - why not just a bomber? I think the suicide bomber has to combine (1) a consuming anger, (2) a sense of helplessness to achieve goals even through normal violent means, and (3) a religious justification, transcendence that allows their minds to override the "I'm killing myself" by the thought that this is not really the case, that heaven awaits and thus their existence is not truly ending. That's my dime store psychological take on it anyway.

So to summarize, I would say that pure vengeance isn't near enough to make a wronged person a suicide bomber (except perhaps on a very short term "crime of passion" type reaction).

Erec, do you feel that The Patriot Act, is part of where your concern comes from? Certainly what happened in this book "could" have evolved from its implementation?
Even the name, Patriot Act, has a kind of Orwellian ring to it. How can you be against something with that name? Unless of course there are things that are very unpatriotic about it. For The Ragnarök Conspiracy, the genesis was the conflict of the two opposing forces in the narrative, and my own identification with each one after 9/11. But the backdrop to so much, and the character of Husaam Jordan - a devoted Muslim CIA agent - is very much tied to the Patriot Act, or, more broadly, the fearful mindset that gave birth to it. When we curtail basic rights in the name of security, we are not patriots, we are setting fire to the foundational principles of this nation. Similarly, when we demonize a group of people out of fear and treat innocents as guilty because of that, we are ignoring the protections against tyranny that informed the formation of this nation. In Extraordinary Retribution, that backdrop is taken to a logical conclusion in two ways. One is the idea of our committing wrongs against innocents out of our fear (engendering a backlash), and the second is powerful people with access to the new laws we have put in place  - these security laws designed to protect us when used with the best intentions - whose intentions are less than the best. We erect this Patriot Act/NSA/drone assassination infrastructure at the peril of generations to come.
Whew! Well said! Let's hope more people begin to speak out...and more importantly, Americans and those involved realize what is happening...
Somewhere I read that your range of genre writing is based upon issues for which you are passionate...Could I ask that you delve into that deeper as well:


As I mentioned The Ragnarök Conspiracy, it was the attacks of 9/11 that engendered two divergent responses within me. One could easily be summarized with the question I often asked: "Why hasn't there been an American bin laden?" There are many rich and powerful Americans who could stage and fight their own war in the world much like the former Saudi royalty. A character grew in my mind along these lines, and a counterpart - both having suffered losses on 9/11, both taking opposing paths that bring them into conflict on the world stage. 

In Extraordinary Retribution, I took some of my own anger and disgust at the suspension of basic rights and the use of "enhanced interrogation" (hello again, Orwell!) - in other words, torture of many kinds beyond water boarding - and combined those with a horror at those innocents that were rendered to dark cells at "black sites" across the world. It always astounds me that people will rail against government incompetence or threat, talk about health care or food stamps like it was some Armageddon-like scenario, and yet these same people will entrust the same government with far more frightening things such as the right to kill, to kidnap (extraordinary rendition), to torture, to wage war based on evidence that everyone should have seen was more full of holes than Swiss cheese. When Healthcare.gov is down, it's a problem. When innocents are rendered to Syria - without trial, due process, rights of any kind, detained indefinitely, tortured, perhaps even killed - we have legalized the transferal of one of the outer layers of Hell to Earth. All these things came together in the character of a tortured innocent who brought the wrath of justice to point of madness. Combined with disillusioned but honorable members of the government who pursue justice, a story plays out in which some of the darker possibilities that might arise from our security compromises come to life.
Exactly, we are instinctively selfish and worry about what affects us, but then when something happens, a tornado, for instance, Americans rush in to help... What I just don't understand is why they can't see the present--the daily abuse of the rights of those innocents, including for instance American teens who are being kidnapped into human trafficking. How can we spent money on wars such as Iraq and yet have our own citizens stolen?
I think there are many reasons why we ignore evil (when we aren't busy participating in it, sadly!). And yes, to some degree, it is all about selfishness. Ignoring human rights violations in the war on terror often comes because of fear and the idea that we need to do bad things to be safe. It puts our well-being over the well-being of others. "I don't care about the Geneva conventions and terrorists!" many shout. But the point is - and surely people know this but don't want to know it - that until there is a trial, until some sort of due process comes into play - not kidnappings, confessions from torture, indefinite detention without due process - we actually don't know if the people we are tormenting have done anything wrong. And it's clear in some publicized cases that they haven't. People scream about the horrors of government incompetence or corruption for welfare or healthcare, but want to hand to the government the power to judge without jury, jail without hearing, torture, and kill by decisions made behind closed doors?

"Collateral damage," some respond, "is the price of war." That is always true, and yet always evil. Just because wrongful death is the only way (often necessary) wars can be won doesn't mean the wrongs are "absolved." Tell that to the wounded and dead, and their mourners, before the Judgment. But in this case it goes beyond that ethical problem. When we set up a state machinery that is given the green light to risk great wrong through rights violations, we tempt the fates that this system will be co-opted and used against us all. And that comes out in Extraordinary Retribution as well.



My science fiction stories are drawn from a very different well, but require no less passion, no less characters that haunt my mind, than my thrillers (or any of my stories). Reader, the first novel in the Daughter of Time series, was born when Ambra Dawn started speaking to me on the shores of Greece. I had been letting my imagination run wild to create a story for my teen-aged daughters. I wanted a female protagonist that would have amazing adventures, unusual ones, and of course she would have to save the world! That's the best I can map it out: suddenly a story and a voice began to form in my mind, one that took on several iterations over a few years until something consistent came together (and my daughters had grown up quite a bit over that time, and the tone of the story changed). Ambra Dawn needed me to tell her harrowing story, and so I did.

Fifteen years ago, I wrote a novella called Junk Man. This is technically my first book, although The Ragnarök Conspiracy was my first published book. When I wrote Junk Man, it was in the 1990's, I was knee-deep in graduate school studying biochemistry, and I didn't imagine that much about publishing it. But again, I had to write it. This idea also came to me while in Greece (my wife is Greek, and our children spent many summers there with the family). Laying awake at night, the two central characters in the story suddenly came into being in my mind, and spoke and acted, and told their story over several days. I just had to write it down. 

My storybook, The Caterpillar and the Stone, is perhaps the most personal of all the books I have published. Written as a short story again in the 1990's, it is an exploration of a personal loss that transformed my life in a number of ways - a real monsoon of emotion and confusion. I tried many ways to deal with it over the years (with only partial success). One way was to create a myth, or fairytale version of events, and let some of the issues I was struggling with play out as metaphors. It sat around for nearly two decades and then with the modern miracle of digital publishing, I decided to turn it into an illustrated storybook. One big problem was that I can't draw to save my life. What I ended up doing was running some photographs I've taken over the years through digital processing to give them an illustrated look. A bit hit-or-miss, but I was satisfied with the result. 

Erec, your professional career is in the sciences--did any of your scientific knowledge and background lead to your writing? More specifically, what did happen to get you started to write? Has it been a recent experience or were you always thinking about stories to share?

I would say my interest in writing and interest in sciences developed around the same time. I might actually trace both of them back to a great communicator and author who was also a scientist: Carl Sagan. From the time I read his book Cosmos as a twelve year-old on cross-country trips, I became hooked on ideas and expressing ideas. This led me to science fiction especially, and I found the mind-opening worlds of some of the great writers of that genre to be very inspiring. So, I would say that my work as a scientist and writer have always been in parallel. Of course, being finite, it is a challenge to do both and there have been periods in my life when it was impossible to pursue everything that I wanted to. But as the old books I mentioned show, even in the midst of some of the most intense scientific research in my life, I also wrote. 

In The Ragnarok Conspiracy, we find what you referred to as the American bin Laden--and his followers. Besides the obvious assumption that he was evil, there seems to also be a parallel in your story illustrating that a leader's passion, gone wrong, does not mean an entire country, religion, or any type of group can become synonymous with that of the larger group from which they come. Obviously we Americans would not want to be "tagged" along with those who looked to Thor's Hammer for their terrorist actions. Am I also correct in assuming that we Americans also cannot tag all Muslims as followers of bin Laden?
I'm probably one of the least "tribal" people I know. I see good and bad not only in all cultures, but in each individual. I also take a long view of civilizations, remembering that it was during the European Dark Ages that Muslims kept the light of knowledge burning, that it was less than 100 years ago that we deigned to allow 50% of our population to vote, less than 150 years ago that enslaving human beings was legal in this nation. It is indeed simply looking within myself that I can understand how easily Americans could be terrorists like bin Laden: after 9/11 I felt wronged, and the crimes William Gunn perpetrates in the novel are ideas I easily came up with for revenge. So, my ideas of the unity of humanity - that we are all far more alike than different - truly come from seeing into the darkness of my own heart, and, not too differently, the anger and fear that seethes in the comments, actions, and attitudes of my fellow citizens. The steps to large-scale evil are never short and simple, and each step appears justified to the one taking that path. it reminds me of Saruman's speech to Gandalf in Fellowship of the Ring:

"We can bide our time, we can keep our thoughts in our hearts, deploring maybe evils done by the way, but approving the high and ultimate purpose. There need not be, there would not be, any real change in our designs, only in our means."

Innocent until proven guilty. Trial by jury. No cruel and unusual punishment. We are threatening those means. And it is my belief that the ends don't justify the means, but the means give birth to the ends.

More importantly, Erec, why does it take somebody and everybody to say this type of truth over and over and some still will not accept that... Do you have some thoughts on that?
I've always sympathized with Pontus Pilate asking Jesus: "What is truth?" And yet, to quote from the Lord of the Rings again: "'Good and ill have not changed since yesteryear; nor are they one thing among Elves and Dwarves, and another among Men."  I have a strong strain of "radical doubt" that runs through my thoughts of truth and ethics. I often wonder "what is truth?" and yet at the same time feel passionate about "what is right?" So, I'm not sure I'm right. But I feel I am. That doesn't answer your question, but I feel especially unqualified to judge the state and motivation of others especially when I so doubt myself. I can only speak to what I believe. 
Erec, I feel like I've met a friend with similar "multiple personalities"! Except, I've only come to similar thoughts now in my 60s! I'm thrilled to know that there are young people who are looking with opened minds at where America may be going... One of my personalities also has developed that "radical doubt" and it is haunting me often--maybe more so than you, since I've always been faithful to Christian beliefs. Those who speak with forked tongue on behalf of religion are so obviously creating or initiating actions which just are so wrong, that the whole basis of faith has been corrupted for me and perhaps others…
I try to keep separate the idea of revealed religious truth and the actions and words of people. Of course, it's hard to, because it's usually people who are claiming to know, speaking for a Divinity about what is truth. And it seems hardly even two people can agree! I also try to separate cultural constructs/fads/biases from what a given religion may or may not be saying. There are many Islams depending on whether you are in Iran, Saudi Arabia, Indonesia, India, or the United States. There are many Christianities. The common theme is that a given group tends to reflect the cultural norms around them in their interpretation and practice of a given faith. Not that this is anything new. The warnings against "false prophets" is an old one. But maybe the better guide is not so intellectual: "By their fruits will they be known."


Again, well said...
Your thoughs to create a scifi for your daughters is somewhat surprising for me, since I see it more as an adult book--and you surely can't have adult children, LOL! Your use of psychic parents--obviously leads me to ask, simply, do you believe that there are some people with psychic abilities? Kidnapping children from across the world surely would have been noticed by the law at some point? Or was there no real law enforcement at the time of your story?

My daughters were middle schoolers when I started writing Reader. Now the oldest is about to head to college. So, I had initially aimed for a Young Adult novel. But the tone irked them, and I realized that "writing down" to kids is rarely a good idea. So I rewrote the novel trying to let it tell its story. Some of the initial tone remains, especially in the earlier chapters, but it gets darker and more adult quickly. Perhaps a kind of The Hobbit to Lord of the Rings transition!

As for psychic abilities, it depends on what one means as to what I think. If there is a supernatural world - a reality outside the physical world a naturalist would consider "the real" but that can enter into this bubble of reality, then all bets would of course be off. I would say that in my life I have not seen it. But I have seen a lot of charlatans. So, as Carl Sagan said, "Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence." I've never even seen remotely "ok" evidence so I remain a skeptic (with an open mind). But I like this quote from Lovecraft:

"What do we know … of the world and the universe about us? Our means of receiving impressions are absurdly few, and our notions of surrounding objects infinitely narrow. We see things only as we are constructed to see them, and can gain no idea of their absolute nature. With five feeble senses we pretend to comprehend the boundlessly complex cosmos, yet other beings with wider, stronger, or different range of senses might not only see very differently the things we see, but might see and study whole worlds of matter, energy, and life which lie close at hand yet can never be detected with the senses we have."

So I combine both an emotional "mysticism" with an intellectual "skepticism." Since both in the naturalistic world view come from the same squishy organ called my brain, I really have no way to say which garners truth better. But I think I tend to side with Olaf Stapledon in this quote from Last and First Men:

“There is much in this vision that will remind you of your mystics; yet between them and us there is far more difference than similarity, in respect both of the matter and the manner of our thought. For while they are confident that the cosmos is perfect, we are sure only that it is very beautiful. While they pass to their conclusion without the aid of intellect, we have used that staff every step of the way. Thus, even when in respect of conclusions we agree with your mystics rather than your plodding intellectuals, in respect of method we applaud most your intellectuals; for they scorned to deceive themselves with comfortable fantasies.”


You indicated that Ambra will also become a Writer in the future.... as the Daughter of Time. For those who have not yet read Reader and to give us a little insight on your next novel, how would you explain what being a Writer and Reader of Time means, for purposes of your novels?
In the Daughter of Time series, I use a conceit (in the literary sense of the word) that the dynamics of space and time (tied together to matter and gravity by Einstein), much like electromagnetism, can be sensed by biological organs. Our eyes can detect electromagnetic waves, producing the amazing vision that we have, which gives us tremendous power over the environment around us. For space and time, I imagine that such organs can also evolve in lifeforms, and has begun to do so in humans. My protagonist in Reader, Ambra Dawn, is unusual in that this nascent space-time "eye" in the brain - a minor cyst in a small percentage of the population, weak and hardly useful - has become overgrown because of her genetics. She has a benign, but large, tumor in this region. Therefore, the sense organ is dramatically developed beyond other humans, and, as it turns out, beyond all the other alien species in our galaxy. This vision in space and time allows her to see in to the past and future - perhaps somewhat like we can gaze far and near - making her prescient. The term used in Ambra's time for such people is "Reader", as in reading the future.

But even in the novel Reader, Ambra goes beyond this. She is able to alter space and time. Perhaps like a bioluminescent fish that sees photons through its eyes but also produces photons that change the visual landscape around it, she is able to change space and time through her unique organ. She goes beyond reading, to writing, changing the nature of space and time. She is the first Writer, and that is the name of the second novel. But she is not all-powerful. Like the glowing fish, altering the universe requires energy, and she is just an Earth woman in most respects. In fact, it is the energy problem that informs the unusual ending of Reader.
One of the reasons I so admire many writers is your (and others) abilities to take knowledge of science, math, physics, etc., and adapt it into a story that we who lack that extensive background, can still understand and learn from! All three of your novels captured my attention, yet in so many different ways... It seems so small in comparison for me to say, well done! But...
Can you give us some idea when Writer will be available for your fans? Also, has your passion honed in on a new topic and are you working on something you are able to share with us?
My hope is to publish Writer this coming summer, 2014, perhaps in September. I have several other novels - thriller, scifi, and some very different things - that are in the queue, but time limits how much can be accomplished!

Erec, thanks once again for spending such great quality time here at Book Readers Heaven. Your attention and response to my simple non-scientific questions are greatly appreciated, while at the same time you've revealed such  mastery exhibited in all three of the novels I've had the opportunity to read thus far. Ambra touched me as a character, so I'm looking forward to reading Writer! Don't forget to keep in touch!

~~~ 

Monday, November 25, 2013

Extraordinary Retribution Went Into My Top 10 for 2013! Erec Stebbins Brings Passion Caused By Today's Headlines Into Fantastic Thrillers!


Sometimes evil is not born of madness, but madness of evil.
..


"The man looked up from the floor, confusion on his face. "Why can't you kill me?" He seemed almost desperate.
"Lopez sat down as well, the sirens much louder and the sound of men's shouts ringing out above them. He pulled his knees up into his chest, fingering the weapon.
"I believed I would be a holy man by becoming a priest," said Lopez, a sad smile on his face. I thought that the sacrament of ordination would fill me with the Holy Spirit, and I would then overcome myself and march toward righteousness." He laughed, pointing the barrel of the gun at his chest. I always feared what was inside. Terrible things. Violence. Murder. Things to be suppressed. Confessed. I ran from it all, praying that God would cure me. But God has not.
"Lopez flipped the gun into the air and caught it. He repeated the process over and over as he spoke. "When I walked into that cabin in Gatlinburg and saw what you had done to my brother - things changed. I have chased you now for months. Not for justice. Justice is impartial. It is procedural. It is careful. I wanted none of those things. I wanted you dead. I wouldn't let myself see it, but I wanted to kill you. I chased after you for vengeance."
"So do it!" demanded the wraith. "Now you can! Take your vengeance!"
~~~

Extraordinary Retribution
By Erec Stebbins

I'm happy I read this book by Erec Stebbins first. Actually, he had already submitted requests for two other novels, but my backlog had prevented my not even opening those requests. They, too, are great books, but this one, for me, was clearly my favorite. One of the top 10 favorites for the year... In his acknowledgements, Erec recognizes his main character, whose voice he had heard and could not get out of his mind. This novel reveals the passionate response to this character--it is the author's exorcism... I felt it and shared it. I wonder--if the world could--or would--cry together for this character, maybe all wars could cease... May you cry for this...wraith... May he only remain a fictional character... For what if all...

"It had been a difficult week--his usual teaching
load, a marriage, two funerals, and tonight's
coming mass. He had already met twice with
the local city council, pleading a case for
Hispanic families who felt terrified by the new
Alabama anti-immigration laws. U.S. citizens,
he thought bitterly, who already were becoming
second-class citizens because of the fears of
immigrant workers. And the laws were achieving
their goals. Fields were full of rotting harvests
because no Americans wanted the jobs, schools
with dropping enrollments, and businesses
sucker-punched in a recession as the workers
took their pay to other states...
"Hanging over everything was the constant
reminder that his Catholic school was bank-
rupt. The church had decided to close it down.
They protect pedophiles in their ranks and
turn children out on the street! He felt like
a heretic once again, crossing himself as he
stacked his lecture notes. Have we failed you,
Lord?
~~~
Where the offense is, let the great axe fall. 
                                                     --Hamlet, Shakespeare

Father Francisco Lopez had received a frantic call from his sister-in-law. Miguel had rushed home, tossed clothes into a bag and gone! Telling her that he loved her and to tell the kids,  still he had left. Running Scared!

Now he was dead... But he had made his last confession to his Priest...his brother... Miguel had said goodbye, hoping also for some forgiveness from God... although he had never told him what he--and the others--had done.

Others had died before him, some also had tried to run...

Now Miguel remembered his childhood, hoping to find that safety with family he had once felt:

"Turning northeast, he finally began the drive toward the old cabin. It had been in the family since before he was born, and as very small children, he and Francisco had spent many vacations there...
"But it had been abandoned--too old, too far, and too much trouble once his sons had grown. His father had never even bothered to sell it. Or maintain it, he thought and smiled. It had cost him a lot of work and money to bring the cabin to the condition he required of it. He had told no one. Why he thought there was a need for a safe house had no rational answer. It was that part of his mind that had kept him alive, the part that sensed vulnerability and constantly sought ways to reduce it.
"The family's mountain cabin was the perfect solution. He had nearly rebuilt the entire structure, to a different set of specifications. The walls were reinforced with thick steel, the windows of bullet-proof glass. Security systems spread like a web from the cabin into the neighboring woods: cameras, a centralized control module in the cabin itself. Underneath the floor, he had built a storage room that housed an armament of weapons from high-powered assault rifles to grenades. Somehow, some part of his sensed that it would all be needed someday. That day was now.
"He didn't know why this was happening. That it was could not be denied. The victims, one after the other, were all known to him. They had run the secret operations together. They had handled the cargo as a beam. They had followed orders. Orders from above that told them that this was necessary, that this would save the lives of potentially thousands of Americans. This was a war, even if the form and manner of the execution was unlike anything ever seen before. In war, you followed orders; that much he knew from the battlefield. 
But sometimes, things went wrong..."
~~~


But the safe house, his family cabin,  was not enough to keep Miguel safe. When Father Lopez had finally remembered their family cabin and had arrived, he saw the remainder of a nightmare. Almost all of one cabin wall--a wall that had been reinforced inside by steel rebar--was gone. Something had ripped the wall apart! It was clear that Miguel had fought to the bitter end, but whatever, or whoever had been there had won...

And that's when it started to get strange... Father Lopez knew what he'd seen, but later when he talked to the police, they indicated that it was probably just a robbery. The nightmare scene had disappeared...

Sara Houston had come to Miguel's funeral and started saying some strange things to Lopez. Who was she and what had his brother been involved with? But by the time Lopez had learned more, he was making a demand of his own--to participate in the investigation! Would he be able to get over what he was discovering about his brother, and others?

To find out more, Houston and Lopez broke into a "secure" CIA compound!


CIA Compound
"He's involved because his brother
was killed only days after I took that
leave! Before I could warn him! You
remember Miguel, don't you Jesse?"
"Don't you patronize me, Sara! Her
boss relaxed momentarily and ran his
palm across his sparse hair. You don't
think I've gotten enough heat with the
deaths of so many agents? A conspiracy
to hunt down and kill CIA agents has
a nice, satisfactory Jason Bourne feel
to it. It gives meaning and makes sense
out of what are, from all the facts,
unrelated, coincidental deaths...
"That they all were involved in covert
missions together, hidden from the
rest of us, going on for years? That
this topic is so hot-button that infor-
mation on these missions is denied
to most CIA employees?...
"You've taken to covertly investigating
your own division?"
"Damn it, Jesse, it's not covert!
!!!
"But he saw that her pain was deeper. She was losing part of the America that she had devoted herself to, that she loved and served with all her heart. Her agency directed these atrocities. Her entire belief system was collapsing...
"Houston grunted. Not all is great. According to Fred, the CIA now has me listed as a top-priority catch. And if you can believe it, I'm coded 'GADAHN.' You're listed as a possible accomplice, if that makes you feel less left out.
"What's Gadahn? Accomplice to what?
"Adam Gadahn, the first American indicted for treason in more than half a century...
"Basically, you're fucked," said the floating head of Fred Simon on the monitor. His pixelated image showed little emotion. Lopez and Houston sat close together in front of the screen listening to the parade of bad news. It was worse than Lopez could ever had imagined, even given what they had done. Their theft of CIA documents had crossed a line in the Agency neither Houston nor Simon knew existed.
"They can't make a charge of treason stick, of course, but that won't matter for the manhunt..."
~~~

But he was also having a major personal issue--his growing feelings for Sara and what that meant to his vows to the church...

Now there were a sufficient number dead to know that a specific group of individuals was being hunted. The hunted had to become hunters...or else... But they were hunting not only who was doing the assassinations, but anybody else who got in their way of coverup--and that included Lopez and Houston if necessary...

So far, the hunter had gotten near enough to kill every target he was after...and there were more to come...

Those of you who have already read The Ragnarok Conspiracy which told of a conspiracy intensely affecting the entire world by actions of a group of terrorists, will find a much more subtle, almost quiet--elimination. Yet, the suspense is so much more heightened, even once readers know who initiated the actions... The back cover calls him a madman... I find it important to repeat the phrase I quoted from the backcover:

Sometimes evil is not born of madness, but madness of evil...

This novel is a confrontation to every reader--every American. How will you receive it? With understanding?  With empathy? Will it change your thinking? This story demands a reaction, a realization? It is an outstanding explosion of reality--smack in our faces! There are those in the United States who are just as evil as those we are asked to fight in other countries...

I loved it! Payback, retribution, revenge...What if every victim of crime began to fight back? Chaos, yes, but...  Is it time to stop the evil before madness reigns? I recommend this highly as a must-read!


GABixlerReviews

Extraordinary Retribution by Erec Stebbins - An Excerpt...

1



By the time he reached the razor-wire, the Syrian landscape had shrugged off the delusion of the irrigated greenery around Damascus. Here, the Old Man, the desert, could not be hidden and refused to be banished. Cold even in the oppressive heat, crueler than the scalped links fencing out trespassers, the sands smiled sadistically, remembering centuries of slaughter and dreaming of future screams of anguish.
For the man in the truck, gazing across the landscape, the screams returned to him now. Howling, gasped, panicked. His own and many around him. Images of dank stone, blood and waste-soiled cells. Eyes. Faces. Tormentors and their hideous tools. The weeping of grown men echoed inside his mind as the winds stirred the dry sands around his vehicle. He squeezed the steering wheel tightly, refusing their summons, determined more than ever to rise above their damage and demons. He had come too far to be defeated now.
He stepped out of the begrimed pickup truck and slammed the door. Glancing over the barren land, he followed the fence line to the horizon. The entrance was at a large distance around the perimeter of the compound, hidden in part by an outcropping of desert rocks. His well-paid sources had been accurate: an entrance from the rear would likely go unnoticed. And what madman would ever break into this place? He did not expect vigilance.
 He moved around to the back of the truck and untied a dusty canvas covering the bed. Underneath were several heavy crates. He opened each, removing weapons and explosives, strapping them to his body, and moved to the passenger side of the vehicle. From the glove compartment, he removed a map, glanced at it fleetingly, and pocketed the ruffled pages. It was memorized.
Night fell quickly in the deserts of Syria. In the darkness and desolation, short metallic clips sounded and fell mute on the empty sands. As a shadow, he passed through an opening cut into the gray outlines of the fence and vanished into the blackness.
Through the sandy winds sweeping across the compound, lights twinkled from a handful of incandescent bulbs. Near the gated entrance, he left a guard inside a small shed, seeming to doze peacefully, the unnatural angle of his neck observable only at close range. Before him, a desolate stone structure was dimly outlined by the band of the Milky Way, a single window of light visible in the darkness. Voices could be heard, at times loud and rude, spilling clumsily from the room. Harsh, staccato bursts of laughter confirmed the presence of the prison guards inside. He darted past the window and pressed himself flat against the compound walls. He slid along the rough surface toward the door, arm raised, his hand ending in an extended, metallic cylinder. He made no sound until he spun and kicked in the flimsy wooden door.
He saw four men around a small table, cigarettes in their mouths, pornography and cards strewn haphazardly across the stained wood. As the door swung madly on its hinges and smashed into the wall, they jumped, confused, turning toward him. Even that small pause meant death.
He fired several shots in the confined space. The explosions were amplified and echoed throughout the stone chamber, spilling down the poorly lit hallway opposite to the gunman. Two of the men arched, their heads snapping backward as the bullets blew open their skulls. The whitewashed walls were sprayed red. As the other two men lurched upward and towards him, he spun, his right foot arcing like a sledgehammer coming down, whipping the nearest man backward onto the table. Glasses shattered, and cards dispersed as the guard rolled roughly and fell hard on the stone floor. The intruder channeled the momentum of the spinning motion, and his gun hand came whirling around toward the second man, who now stood unprepared, barely having obtained a fighting stance. His attempted blow was smashed aside, and his jaw shattered as the man’s gun arm brought the metal crashing downward. All four guards now lay still around the table, two dead, two unconscious.
The assailant aimed his weapon at the guard near his feet, firing directly into his head. He then turned and aimed at the other prone figure, rendering a similar judgment. He studied the faces carefully. “At night, five remain once the others leave for the day. And Mahjub works late.”He didn’t need to be told this by his informant. Yes, he knew Mahjub worked late. He would never forget. Nor would he forget his face. Mahjub was not in this room. He must be….below. He had been busy, perhaps.  But not now. By now, he would have heard the shots. He would be afraid.
The assassin smiled.

Two floors below, buried deeply in the Syrian sands, a long hallway with numerous cells ran its begrimed course. Broken men were locked behind stone-walled enclosures with iron doors. The cells were like graves: shallow pits scraped into the rock, devoid of light or even the space to stand. At the far end of the hallway, opposite the stairs, was a small room without a door. Inside Mahjub Samhan clutched a knife in one hand and a pistol in the other. Both hands shook as he cowered behind an upturned table in the middle of the room. He cried out in a high-pitched voice.
“Kamil? Saif?” There was only silence. “Bassam? Nadeem!” He wiped the dripping sweat from his eyebrows and tried to focus toward the stairs. A solitary bulb dangled limply from exposed wires in the middle of the hallway. His left leg began to shake. “Answer me! Who is there? What is happening?”
Suddenly, before he could focus or react, a shadow seemed to leap from nowhere, an explosion slapped his ears, and the bulb burst. Shards of glass rained on the stone floor like small bells. A terrible darkness blotted out his vision. In panic, Mahjub screamed, firing shots wildly into the blackness.
A bright light leapt from across the darkness, blinding him. A sizzling rod landed only a foot away from the table. Momentarily confused and distracted by the fire, Mahjub stared down at the stick burning beside him. Explosive? Too late, he turned his weapon toward the sound of rushing footsteps from the hallway, the searing afterimage of the flame obscuring his sight.
A gunshot rang. His right shoulder exploded in agony. His knees buckled, and he fell backward against the wall, releasing a howl of pain as he slid to the floor. He dropped the knife from his left hand and reached over to hold his injured shoulder, grimacing as he felt the warm blood coat his arm and fingers.
He squinted against the light as it was raised above his head. He saw a tall, dark shape behind the flare, a gun in one hand aimed at him. In a swift motion, the table was righted and the flare violently wedged into the rotting boards like a candlestick. The figure crouched beside him.
“You always were a coward, Mahjub,” spoke the voice in accented Arabic. Trying to block the pain, Mahjub strained to place the origin. Saudi? Pakistani?He stared at the face partially concealed in shadow. He had never seen it before. Light hair, blue eyes…American? Nothing made sense. Had the Americans turned on them after all this time? Did they need to bury this operation so completely? With all the chaos in the nation, did they care so much now?
“You don’t recognize me, do you, Mahjub?” the figure asked, almost with amusement. “How fitting, to lie here in pain, your death awaiting you, and not know the first thing about your tormenter.”
Mahjub felt the panic well within him again. “Sir, please, don’t kill me. Whatever we have done wrong, we can fix. We will not speak. We will disappear. Please, not like this.”
Mahjub’s eyes widened at the sound he heard. The man with the gun laughed. Laughed at him! “Mahjub, how do you live outside this place?” The Syrian only looked at the gunman in distress.
“I mean, when you buy fruit at the market, mixing with decent people, or entertain your mother-in-law, do you think about breaking men’s fingers? Sodomizing them? Do you think of blood and vomit when you stir her coffee? Do their screams, their pleas for mercy keep you awake at night?”
“Sir, no, please, I don’t know…”
“You know,” said the man, his blue eyes seemingly glazed over, frosted, utterly cold. The shadowed form whispered ominously, “See, I know what you do, what you are.” Mahjub felt his blood run cold.
“These poor men here,” said the pale man, gesturing toward the hallway, “they don’t know who you are, but they know what you are.” The man spoke with such venom, a snake’s hiss. “It took some time to track you down.”
Mahjub began to cry, clutching his blasted shoulder, grime and blood on his hands and face. A man with such power over others, now powerless, weeping like a child. “Please….”
There was no pity in the cold blue eyes before him. “Consider me more merciful than you ever were.”
The man stood up and aimed the weapon.
“No!” Mahjub began to scream, but a final gunshot ripped through his throat, silencing his cry as he fell against the wall. He gasped vainly for breath, his healthy arm at the gurgling wound, his eyes swimming, his feet kicking madly as he drowned in his own blood. It was over in less than a minute.
The assassin spat on the dead man, turned, and carried a set of keys from the room. One by one, he unlocked the doors along the hallway as he walked toward the stairs. He spoke loudly. “They’re all dead! Leave now, if you can. God soon brings fire to this place!”
Soft sounds of bodies stirring could be heard within the cells. The hinges of one door ground behind him. When he reached the first step, he dropped the large keychain and ascended to the upper floors.

The truck made a startling sound in the desert night as he turned the key. Twenty minutes. That was enough. If they had not escaped yet, they were as good as dead anyway. He stared down at a small radio transmitter on the seat next to him. A red light blinked at the upper-right corner. He pressed the button underneath, and a bright orange glow flashed before him in the darkness. Several seconds later, the sound arrived, the rumbling blast from an explosion as the compound was blown into the sky, rubble and embers raining down on the dark sands.
The last shall be first, and the first shall be last.
He doubted Jesus had meant it that way. He shifted gears and raced away from the inferno.
It had begun.

~~~



Extraordinary Retribution Out Now! Erec Stebbins' Latest Stunning Followup to The Ragnarok Conspiracy!



EXTRAORDINARY RETRIBUTION
Sometimes evil is not born of madness, but madness of evil.


A ruthless killer bent on revenge exposes a global cover-up that threatens our democratic founda-tions. A rogue CIA agent partners with the brother of a slain colleague to unravel a mystery that extends to the highest corridors of power. Can they stop a madman before he completes his final act of Extraordinary Retribution?  
Out Early! Yahoo! See My Review Later Today!

kindle:

Paperback:

Hardcover:

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Meet Erec Stebbins - Spotlighted Author! New Novel, Extraordinary Retribution Coming December 5th!



Hi, my name is Erec Stebbins and I’m a biomedical researcher in New York City who writes “on the side”. I have hopped around genres from thrillers to science fiction, “mystic junkyard lit” to storybooks. There was no plan in this, only that the ideas for narratives came to me in many different forms.

Glenda has been kind enough to feature several of my books and guest blog posts over the next few days.  With my second thriller set for release December 5th, it is a timely marathon session!

I have loved to write since an early age, and through college put in quite a bit of effort at producing fiction and poetry as well as essays for “underground” magazines I co-founded with others. Once children and graduate school came along, I found it much more difficult to find the time (and energy) to write, and there was a period of relative stasis. I did manage to write a novella in that time period (Junk Man).




In 2008, feelings engendered by the attacks of 9/11 led me to write The Ragnarök Conspiracy, a thriller dealing with a lot of the conflicting emotions in our War Against Terror. Many of these conflicts between security and liberty continued to find their way into plots and characters in my second thriller coming out in December: Extraordinary Retribution.
 Most of my writing stems from deeply emotional events in my life, either personal or as part of a cultural experience. I rarely find myself in the mainstream on any issue, and that gives me additional motivation to provide a dissonant voice to a chorus that too often seems dangerously homogenous to me.  This tends to produce polarizing responses to what I write, and when that is political, often the reaction someone has (positive or negative) to the politics can unduly color their response to the narrative and characters. But such is the danger of “hot button” topics.

In my science fiction (e.g., the Daughter of Time series), I tend to tackle much more metaphysical issues. Of course, these often relate back to religion and spirituality, so that there is no escaping controversy here either!

But in order for me to be able to tackle the mountain that is writing a novel, it requires passion. Often passion is about topics society and individuals struggle with. Perhaps to the detriment of my sales, I have not shied away from putting my own voice out there on many difficult issues.

My hope is to find a community of readers who respond to my narratives and perspective. Stories are told to be heard, and, at the next level, to involve and move readers. In the end, those are my goals.


As Tolkien once wrote: “The prime motive was the desire of a tale-teller to try his hand at a really long story that would hold the attention of readers, amuse them, delight them, and at times maybe excite them or deeply move them.”
~~~