Calling all readers

Are you in a book club? Perhaps you are in a reading group or are in an informal circle of friends who share literary tastes and swop thoughts on the books you read.

If so, would you like to read a 5-star international thriller for FREE?

For the next five days The Poseidon Files by Liverpool journalist Mike Rickett will be FREE on Amazon Kindle. All you have to do is click on the link below. You can download as many as you like for your group or even just for yourself.

Now, a little about the story to hopefully whet your appetite. The Poseidon Files is a story about conspiracies: Two whistle blowing scientists who discover a top-secret plot to weaponize the weather, decide to leak the secret to the world. But their plot backfires and two women accidentally find themselves in the centre of intrigue and menace.

The story is a tale of murder and intrigue where climate change is high on the agenda. It has earned eight five-star reviews from the UK, US, Canada and New Zealand.

It is mostly set on the streets of Liverpool in the UK but also in Alaska, Toronto, and the rugged mountains of Snowdonia in Wales.

This is a story that will keep you guessing from the first page to the last. Are people who they seem? Who can you trust in a world of shadows? It will captivate you to the very last page.

For the kindle edition click on

A 5-star international thriller

The Poseidon Files is a story about conspiracies: Two whistle blowing scientists who discover a top-secret plot to weaponize the weather, decide to leak the secret to the world. But their plot backfires and two women accidentally find themselves in the centre of intrigue and menace.

The story, written by UK journalist Mike Rickett, is a tale of murder and intrigue where climate change is high on the agenda. It has earned five-star reviews from the UK, US, Canada and New Zealand.

It is mostly set on the streets of Liverpool in the UK but also in Alaska, Toronto, and the rugged mountains of Snowdonia in Wales.

This is a story that will keep you guessing from the first page to the last. Are people who they seem? Who can you trust in a world of shadows? It will captivate you to the very last page.

For the kindle edition click on

Or for a paperback from your local bookshop

ISBN 978-1-5272-6479-3

The Poseidon Files

Three

Gakona, Alaska

Monday, October 8

It was almost two weeks earlier that Parry first began to seriously suspect that something sinister was going on. At first, it was just little things; important files that were unaccountably missing; members of staff who suddenly disappeared without any explanation; meetings shrouded in secrecy he was not invited to; that sort of thing. However, similar things have happened at other companies he has worked for, so he mentally shrugged it all off thinking that if it didn’t involve him or his role it didn’t matter. If he put it down to anything, it would have been to inefficiency or even incompetence on the part of management. After all, scientists are notoriously disorganised, and at HAARP most people are scientists of one sort or another.

   But then things began to get even stranger when there was a brief torrential rainfall from a cobalt blue sky one day. That might, in itself, not be that unusual except that the rain was green, and everyone was issued with a mask. There was no official explanation afterwards either. Then, just days later, there was a weird cyclone that came from nowhere and vanished just as quickly.

   Finally, around a week ago, while Parry was in the toilet block, his colleague Murdoch whispered; ‘I need to talk to you.’ Parry was about to answer when Murdoch put his finger to his lips and mouths: ‘The car park, 1 pm.’

   At first, Parry was vaguely amused by Murdoch’s melodramatics and intrigued by what could be so secretive that it must be discussed in the car park. So, at 1 pm he headed there, all bulked up ready for the minus 20 outside. He looked around when he reached the doorway and spotted Murdoch in his car not far from the door.

   He climbed inside; the engine was running and the heating on. ‘What is so secret that we have to come out here to discuss it,’ Parry demanded.

   ‘Because I spotted a microphone in the canteen,’ Murdoch replied. He stared outside, rubbing his chin. ‘And then when I begin searching, I spot another in my office behind a picture. You are almost certainly bugged too. If they are prepared to go to those lengths, the chances are the entire plant is bugged.’

   ‘But why?’ protested Parry.

   Murdoch gave an impatient snort: ‘You must have noticed odd things happening lately? The green rain, weird cyclones, files vanishing; people vanishing too; confidential meetings we were not invited to, research we know nothing about?’

   ‘Well yes, I have, but I just put it down to carelessness or mismanagement. I didn’t think the strange weather had anything to do with us. We are conducting research into the upper atmosphere, not anything that could cause something like that.’ He hesitated and then said: ‘But if something secret is going on why haven’t we been re-assigned somewhere else?’

   ‘Because we are the only two physicists here, that’s why. They need our expertise. Everyone else is a climatologist.’

   ‘It still doesn’t point to anything sinister going on,’ Parry said, wondering where all this was heading.

   ‘Oh, but this does,’ said Murdoch reaching into an inside pocket and producing a tiny memory card.

   Parry stares at it uncomprehending. ‘What’s that Keri?’

   ‘Well, obviously, it’s a memory card. But it’s what is on it that will surprise you.’ He thrusts it into Parry’s hand. Take a look, but only on your personal laptop. Under no circumstances look at it on a network terminal.’ He stares hard at Parry. ‘I mean it, George. If they find out what is on that card, we will both be going to jail.’

   Later that day in his private quarters Parry plugged in the memory card, and there was listed some dozen or so files which he opened one-by-one and read the formulas and equations and the notes accompanying them with growing astonishment and unease.

   Half an hour later, when he had finished, Parry stared at his laptop screen, the colour having drained from his face. Now he understood. Now he knew why Murdoch had been so secretive. Now he realised why a mantle of secrecy had descended over HAARP.

   Later that day Murdoch suggested meeting up at Meier’s Lake Roadhouse, a short drive away from HAARP. It is one of only four remaining roadhouses on the Richardson Highway located 15 miles south of the Denali Highway connection. It is also open 24/7 all year round and is the only stop for fuel for 150 miles.

   When Murdoch arrived, Parry was already there sitting at the bar, with a beer in front of him. He was unshaven and looked ill.

   Before Murdoch could say anything, Parry held up a hand, leaned over the table and said quietly. ‘I am going to quit. I cannot stay in this place any longer.’ He looked around the bar seeing if any of the diners are listening.

   They weren’t.

   Outside, it was becoming dark in the late afternoon, the snowfall from the previous day still mostly fresh and the streets lights glittering in the frosty air.

   He turned back and stared at his beer.

   ‘Are you serious?’ says Murdoch, concerned.

   ‘Have you seen what they do to animals? Do you realise what they are planning? Do you really want to be part of Armageddon? Make no mistake Keri, that is what they are developing. The American military are behind this and I want no part of it.’

   ‘Not sure I do either. It frightens me.’

   George Parry is in his late 40s with thinning ginger hair whose tired eyes betray sleepless nights despite on the surface appearing unperturbed. Ever since he read the files and understood their significance he has been wrestling with his conscience.

   He is British with a physics degree from Liverpool University in the UK, which is also his hometown. He took the job in Alaska after a failed marriage persuaded him to move to somewhere remote and inaccessible. The prospect of researching into the upper atmosphere was also an attraction.

   Keri Murdoch is older, in his late 40s with black hair and the beginnings of a beard. He hails from New York with a physics degree from MIT. Both have been at Gakona from the beginning when they believed the HAARP installation would be of some benefit to humanity.

   ‘What we have to decide is what we do about it,’ said Murdoch. ‘I think we should just leave. We should just walk. What do you think?’

   ‘I’m going to take some leave. I’ll tell them I need to visit my folks. My father is sick, and I need to see him.’

   ‘Where do they live?’

   ‘In Liverpool in the UK. That’s where I come from,’ he says by way of explanation.

   Murdoch looks thoughtful. ‘I could come with you. Let me run this past you. Once we are in the UK, we can take it to the newspapers or even better, the BBC.’

      Parry looked uncertain. ‘Won’t they come after us once they find out files have been leaked?

   Murdoch shook his head impatiently. ‘I daresay they will but we will be long gone by then.’

   ‘OK, let’s do it. It’s the end of the week so we will just tell them we will be on leave from this weekend. Let’s leave on Friday.

Eleven days ago

   After driving through security without incident they continue down the Tok Cut-off highway heading for the Richardson highway which will take them all the way to Anchorage. It is unlit and runs alongside the Copper River. A full moon glistens overhead showering silvery shafts of light on the river, producing stygian shadows at both sides of the road.

   They drive in silence for twenty minutes, both lost in thought about the magnitude of what they are planning. Finally, Murdoch stares at Parry and says: ‘Can you hear that? There’s a faint throbbing sound back there.’ He nods behind him.

   Parry opens his window letting in an icy blast and listens. In the distance is the unmistakable thrump, thrump, thrump, sound of a helicopter. ‘They can’t be after us can they surely? Not so soon. When did you copy the files?’

   Murdoch grimaces. ‘The day before I gave the memory card to you. I would have expected somebody to ask me why I copied them before they alerted security. Stop. Let me drive. If they are after us, I know these roads better than you. I might be able to give them the slip. It’s pitch black out there and visibility is even worse for a helicopter.’ They change places and the 4×4 hurtles down the icy road. The thrump, thrump, thrump of the chopper is loud now and is not far behind them. Murdoch weaves from side-to side and then switches the headlights off as they approach the point where the Copper River runs alongside the road. Suddenly the moon is covered by storm clouds and everywhere is plunged into impenetrable blackness. The 4×4 crashes into bushes as Murdoch attempts to follow the road. Suddenly, torrential hail and freezing rain lashes down driven by a vicious gale, reducing visibility to almost zero and making the road even more treacherous. The chopper falls back and climbs to a safe altitude, but Murdoch just accelerates.

   ‘For God’s Keri, slow down will you,’ shouts Parry. ‘The chopper is going away. We are going to crash. I can’t see anything out there. How can you see where we’re going?

   ‘Let’s hope it is just as difficult for them,’ growls Murdoch as the 4×4 bounces off more bushes, narrowly missing a tree and kidding onto the left carriageway. Suddenly, Murdoch loses control and the 4×4 mounts an embankment and hurtles down the other side careering into the Copper river.

   Parry bangs his head as the 4×4 hits the water. Murdoch is slumped over the steering wheel as the water rushes in quickly filling the 4×4. There is blood on his chest and his eyes are closed but the icy water revives him, and he mouths something to Parry, holding out his hand and dropping something into Parry’s hand.

   Parry manages to force the door open and tries to pull Murdoch out, but he is slumped over the wheel and its airbag. Parry swims to the other side but cannot open the door.

   The Copper River has a strong tide and now the partly submerged 4×4 is in its grip and is swept downstream by storm water. Parry struggles to find his footing and scrambles up the bank.

   There is no sign of the helicopter. He lies on the bank and opens the palm of his left hand. Inside is a small memory card.

   The rain stops as suddenly as it had started. Parry gets unsteadily to his feet and sees in the distance a hut used as a refuge during heavy snowfalls. He trudges towards it shivering as the cold seeps through his soaking clothes. He is hoping he will be able to start a fire and dry out his clothes. At the very least it will be somewhere to spend the night.

   He puts memory card in his wallet.

The Poseidon Files

Chapter Two

Gakona, Alaska

Friday, October 19

George Parry and Keri Murdoch are sitting in their 4×4. They are nervous and uneasy. What they are about to do may have far-reaching consequences. It is early evening, but dark already as a storm builds up to the east and forked lightning scythes down on the scene behind them.

   They are about to make a hurried escape from an installation called HAARP in Gakona, situated in the centre of Copper Valley, 15 miles northeast of Glennallen and just east of the Richardson Highway on the Tok Cut-off Road. Nearby is neighbouring Gakona Junction at the confluence of the Copper and Gakona rivers. It is a spectacularly beautiful area, surrounded by mountains and forests.

   Behind Parry and Murdoch is what at first sight looks like a large field of oversized TV aerials with a few administration offices and buildings and a large hangar-like building, slightly separate from the others. This is a US government research facility ostensibly focused on the physical and electrical properties of the earth’s ionosphere. It is surrounded by barbed wire and armed guards in watch towers.

   Parry and Murdoch know only too well that it is only a matter of time before it is discovered they have copied top secret files from the installation; files that prove deadly research is taking place; research that could cause an apocalypse. 

   Murdoch glances at Parry and then at the guards ahead. ‘Let’s go,’ he says urgently. ‘Before it’s too late.’

   Parry nods, stares through the windscreen, and guns the 4×4 towards the barrier, which is raised as they approach, the guard waving them through.

   They glance at each other relieved. ‘Put your foot down,’ snaps Murdoch. ‘We need to get to Anchorage before they realise what we’ve done.’

   Parry’s initial doubts were reinforced a few weeks ago when he decided to visit a lab at the far end of the site he had not been to before. It’s a lab he normally has no reason to visit because it is supposedly conducting experiments into snow which is completely outside his area of expertise. It was Murdoch who suggested he go there with the sinister suggestion that he will not like what is going on if he can manage to see inside.

   The lab is so remote he must use one of the many insulated electric buggies to get there. He is careful to park at an adjoining building, not wanting to draw suspicion from security who will no doubt be watching the CCTV images.

   He disappears around the building, out of sight of the CCTV camera, and quickly runs across to a window at the far end. His Parka is covered in snow and frost and the window is also covered in snow. He breathes on it and rubs it with his thick gloves.

   The snow melts enough for him to glimpse inside.

   At one end are dozens of cages containing various animals. Parry can see foxes, mice, rats, squirrels, and in a separate section, chimps. As he looks, a white coated figure Parry vaguely recognises, takes a cage with a chimp into an area with a control panel next to a dais with wires dropping down from a terminal above. The chattering chimp is wired up and the scientist is joined by another man who enters with what looks like a large ornate machine gun which he mounts on a terminal. The two men retreat behind a screen and a dazzling blue light surrounds the chimp for perhaps 20 seconds.

   The men emerge and detach the wires from the chimp whose body glitters with ice. It is frozen solid. Nearby are carcasses of animals that are obviously ready for disposal.

   Parry steps back horrified. So, this is what is really happening, he thinks to himself. This is what the research is all about.

  They are trying to weaponise the weather.

Chapter Three will be here next week. But if you can’t wait Poseidon is available as follows:-

Amazon Kindle Ebook: ASIN: B085W6C6LH Or in paperback: ASINB08BF14NWP

Or from bookshops ISBN is 978-1-5272-6479-3

International reviews for Poseidon

Above is a picture of Rodney Street in Liverpool where Naomi Richards has an apartment in the story

The Poseidon Files now has seven reviews, from the UK, US, Canada and Australia which are reproduced below.

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Anthony Avina (USA)

A shocking yet fun genre mashup..

5.0 out of 5 stars

.Reviewed in the United States on June 3, 2020

I received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. All opinions are my own.

The Review

A shocking yet fun genre mashup, author Mike Rickett delivers a stellar story and wonderful cast of characters that fans won’t soon forget. What begins as a government cover-up soon turns into a shocking mystery of death, visions, and a race against time as shadowy figures emerge and put two women brought together seemingly by fate into the crosshairs of a dangerous enemy.

In a larger than life plot lie this, the author does a fantastic job of keeping the story as grounded as possible with memorable characters who keep the reader engaged. The quick friendship and bond between the protagonists in particular keep the reader invested as the story progresses.

The Verdict

A one of a kind story that is filled with powerful drama, suspense and heart-pounding thrills, author Mike Rickett’s “The Poseidon Files” is a must-read thriller that never slows down. Entertaining and action-packed, the story’s final arc is an edge of your seat scene that will keep readers’ attention throughout its entirety. Be sure to grab your copy today!

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Mrs E.M Lea (UK)

Fast pace action combined with the supernatural

5.0 out of five stars

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 3 June 2020

Verified Purchase

Fast pace action combined with the supernatural. Kept me guessing as to where missing files were until the frightening and supernatural ending. The mainly Liverpool setting lends to the interest and mystery.

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Jim Swenson (USA)

Thrill Ride

5.0 out of 5 stars

Reviewed in the United States on June 4, 2020

I truly enjoyed this story. It was engaging, thrilling and full of great storylines. Mike Rickett did a great job of mixing technology, mystery, suspense, a little sci-fi and solid characters.
All in all, a great first novel!

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Innovationresearcher (UK)

A thrilling spy novel with a supernatural twist

5.0 out of 5 stars

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 7 June 2020

Verified Purchase

I loved this book. It was really well written, focussing on character development, not just the superficial events drive stuff that you often get in this genre. Saying that, there was a supernatural thread running through the book that gave it a special twist. The settings in Llanberis and Liverpool really brough the book to life too.

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Maggie Mac (Australia)

Fantastic Read

5.0 out of 5 stars

Reviewed in Australia on 1 June 2020

Verified Purchase

A great book, kept me intrigued all the way through. I believe there are times in this world where unexplainable events occur, When they do, you know inside that this is right!! Looks like Mike knows it too! Looking forward to more Naomi Adventures

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Kindle customer (UK)

Excellent read. .

5.0 out of 5 stars

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 24 July 2020

Verified Purchase

Great story and characters and loved the fact it was set mostly in Liverpool; in places I know well. Highly recommend

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Glen R. Harvey (Canada)

Great Read

5.0 out of 5 stars

Reviewed in Canada on August 3, 2020

Verified Purchase

 Such a gripping story! Very well written. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this. I hope there is a second book on the way soon!

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A ‘Zodiac’ killer

I have begun work on my third novel which has the working title of Follow You Deadly. It is another Naomi Richards story but this time has a serial killer who has copied the San Francisco ‘Zodiac’ killings of the 1960s. It is once again set in Liverpool and the Canadian private eye Alex Nelson returns at the behest of the FBI.

My second novel, Kill Joy, is on target to be published in December in time for Christmas hopefully. At the moment it is being copy edited.

Watch this space folks!

The Poseidon Files

Chapter One

Naomi

Liverpool, England

Thursday, October 10

The pub is quite crowded this evening. I have my usual corner by the window and a spartan table in front of me. That is all I need really. And Sid Driscoll has arranged appointments every half hour or so throughout the evening. I call him Sid the Fixer; a label I think he quite likes.

   ‘Busy night for you again luv.’ He walks over giving me the list of clients up to around 9.30 pm. He grins at me, his ponytail swinging from side-to-side as he sashays around the table. Apart from being the organiser of the psychic sessions he is also something of a bodyguard. I suppose because I am probably the youngest psychic to do these sessions Sid keeps a fatherly eye on me.

   ‘The old dears just love you and the younger ones just fancy you I reckon.’ He pauses. ‘Well, the blokes anyway,’ he sniggers. ‘And as for the divvies, one look from you will swerve them.’ He gives me a triumphant smile at that.

    ‘Stoppit Sid.’ I give him a mock serious look, but he knows me too well to take it seriously.

   His smile widens, displaying a few stained teeth with gaps. I have a feeling that Sid has had a very chequered life before deciding to specialise in the more social occupation of arranging psychic nights.

   So, Sid is my Scouse minder, and whatever he thinks of ‘the psychic stuff’ as he calls it, I know he would sort out any troublemakers in no uncertain terms. And, at 6ft 2in, with the physique of a prize-fighter, he is not someone to be ignored.

   I guess he might have a point though. There aren’t too many psychics around at 26, not the genuine kind anyway. And I am genuine because age has nothing to do with psychic ability. Indeed, I have always had the gift, only I didn’t understand it until I was about nine or so.

   I have always been able to hear words and sometimes see things and people that other people could not. Sometimes I could hear words – loud and clear – that tipped me off that something was happening. At first, I thought I was going nuts – my mum had my hearing checked, got me evaluated for mental health problems, and so on. However, I was OK, and the only explanation was that I had an ability that other people do not.

   When my mum was on a cruise one year, I woke up in the middle of the night because I had heard her voice saying ‘flood.’ I rang her to make sure she was OK because, you know, she was on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

   Everything was fine. The next day, I went to her house to feed the cats and found that a water pipe had burst about ten minutes before I got there.

   My business card declares me to be a psychic consultant. When I had them printed, I felt it sounded sophisticated ‘Naomi Richards, Psychic Consultant’. Now, I’m not so sure. I have a suspicion it might just sound pretentious.

   I know the local Police take me seriously. They repeatedly call me in to help locate missing people, or more seriously, in the grim and immensely sad task of locating bodies. At first, I could see doubt writ large on their faces, as well as the sniggers behind my back. But four successes in a row ended that and now I am treated with respect. I guess I would have been burned at the stake 400 years ago. Thank heaven we are more indulgent these days. Or at least some of us are.

   The clients are always a mixed lot in pubs. The recently bereaved, nearly always women, who are hoping for messages from their departed. Then, there are girls hoping I will tell them who to marry or who to sleep with.

   I won’t.

   Then there are the sad people who are fundamentally lonely but who are happy to pay me to talk to them for half an hour. I often don’t think they care if it’s from the spirit world or not.

   No two nights are the same. I do sometimes ‘see’ disturbing things, but I am careful not to let it show. In any case, it’s illegal to reveal anything bad like a forthcoming death, for example.

   I read somewhere that Einstein talked about there being no real division between the past, present, and the future which may be why psychics can sometimes see into the past, present, and what’s likely to happen in the future. I know that I will almost certainly be asked the same question I am invariably asked, which is: ‘Is our future set in stone, or can it change? The honest answer is that I just don’t know.

   Later that night I make my way home. It has been a wearying evening, and I am ready to put my feet up.

   I have an apartment on Liverpool’s Rodney Street in the city centre. When I was married, I lived in the suburbs in a typical three-bed semi with husband, David, and I looked forward to a life of middle-class mediocrity, but it was not to be. My ever-loving husband turned out to be ever-loving with another, which I was not prepared to tolerate. I knew all about it before I squeezed it out of him. Being psychic can have its uses!

   Now, I have no intention of repeating the experience. I would rather be single than find myself in another suffocating marriage, so while I do have male friends, they are inclined to be other artists where the only topic of conversation is art rather than sex. And if any start a conversation on matters other than art I begin to back off. I know only too well how things can develop.

   As far as work is concerned, I know a few of my friends think I’m crazy not having a regular job but the thought of a corporate nine-to-five existence makes me feel sick. I prefer my way of life no matter how precarious it might be.

   I enjoy living in the city centre. I like the hustle and bustle, especially the tourists who wander around the city’s Georgian quarter. It is also a great address for any consultancy business, as all the brass plates outside testify.

   Sadly, I am not in the rich medical and legal league that occupy the ground floors. My clients are obliged to climb two flights of stairs to get to me.

   I decide to do a little artwork before turning in. As something of a sideline, I produce quirky necklaces from odds and ends which sell quite well at art and craft fairs.

   At one time I had a burning ambition to be an artist and followed the well-trodden path through university with a BA (Hons) and then an M.A. I always knew that making a living from art was not going to be easy. I might as well have said impossible. Sure, I’ve sold the odd canvass now and then. I have even sold a few prints to people in Europe, but I never earned enough to pay the rent.

   I finish a couple of necklaces made from bits and pieces of computer hardware for a forthcoming art fair and decide it’s time to turn in. I look out of the window; the streetlights are glinting in the cold October air, the street quiet now, with not even the sound of revellers from the nearby bars and pubs to disturb the tranquillity.

   It’s 3 am, and I am suddenly awake. I am covered in sweat. My heart is pounding. I sit on the side of the bed and try to recall what I had just ‘seen’. Was it a nightmare or something else? I’m not sure.

   I am in a building – an old building – and before me and to the left is a plain wooden staircase which curves upwards to a bare door at the top. There is something about the stairs itself that holds a terror – almost as though they are alive. The light is dim, just a bare bulb dangling from the ceiling barely illuminating the room. My eyes focus on the dirty yellow door at the top which somehow leers at me. The air is thick with menace, and I know with certainty that there is something malevolent and evil in the room behind the door, but I know it is beckoning me. I am being compelled to climb the stairs.

   I slowly climb, step-by-step, my footsteps ringing out on the bare wood; my dread growing, as a muttering behind the door gradually sounds louder. My heart pounding, my terror reaches a crescendo, the door mocking me and as my dread grows, I hear screaming, slowly becoming louder. I reach out my hand to grasp the door handle…but the door begins opening before I can touch it.

   Before me is a scene shrouded in a dense fog. I can see vague shapes on either side as ghostly shadows of people loom silently out of the murk; stooped, scarves over their faces, coughing. The fog has a greasy, gaseous feel and it stifles sound but despite that I can hear someone weeping but it is difficult to know how far or how near they are. I suddenly realise I am having difficulty breathing too and I begin spluttering. I can feel the pollution in the fog creeping into my lungs, my eyes, my brain. I search for a tissue and put it over my nose and mouth.

  Around me, the figures fade and the scene changes to a hospital ward with rows of beds, all with children in them; all staring at me expressionless and wide eyed, the only sound an almost inaudible hiss from the oxygen masks they are all wearing. There is no sound, no talk, no play, no laughter. They all just stare accusingly. The scene is repugnant in its silent, sepulchral horror. I back away from the nightmare.

   I am outside again. I look up to see a blood-red sun. The smog, for I have no doubt that is what it is, has receded slightly. I am standing by what should be Liverpool’s waterfront by the city’s ‘Three Graces’ that include the Liver Buildings, famous for its Liver birds, and the Cunard Building.  What was an open plaza in front of them with a canal running along it, is now a lake with small waves lapping gently along the pavements. An eerie silence hangs malignantly over the scene. There is no clatter of life; no traffic, no screeching of seagulls, no undercurrent of distant conversation. Nothing. I look to the left and right and can see nothing but water. The River Mersey has risen at least three metres.

   I sit on the side of my bed trembling. Was all that real? What does it mean?  

If you have enjoyed what you have read so far, the rest of the novel can be found on Amazon in both digital and paperback formats. ebook ASIN: B085W6C6LH. Paperback ISBN: 9798647878892

The Moon, but not as you know it

Artemis

Andy Weir

At one time I used to dream about going to the Moon. I would imagine what it would be like to walk in the diminished gravity and to be constantly aware of the deadly vacuum outside.

Well, having read Andy Weir’s Artemis, now I know. And quite honestly if it is anything like he portrays it, I would rather stay at home thanks.

As with his first tremendous book The Martian, Wier has done his research. In fact, he once again has blinded us with science. It was that and the storyline that made The Martian totally believable. Sadly, the same cannot be said for Artemis.

Despite his extensive research his story really doesn’t stand up. In the book, Artemis is the first city to be built on the moon. The main character is Jazz, a slick, down-on-her-luck female smuggler who grew up there. Eventually, she’s given an opportunity to make a sackful of money by pulling off a dangerous heist. She, of course, takes it, but suffice it to say things don’t go very well.

Jazz may be the star of Weir’s story, but the star of the book is Artemis itself. Weir did a mind-numbing amount of research of how a city on the surface of the Moon could actually be possible, and it’s utterly mesmerizing. Every detail is there, carefully spread across the first third of the story. And Jazz is your guide providing the reader with an on-the-ground perspective of Artemis as well as relating the facts and science behind it. She’s also an underdog; she may live on the Moon, but she’s got it tough, and that struggle is very human and relatable.

But sadly, the story is just a second-rate detective story but set on the Moon and it really doesn’t work. We’ve heard it all before, the good guys, the bad guys, the cop, double crosses, you name it and it’s there.

It’s really sad. If you are interested in what it would be like to live on the Moon, you will enjoy the research. Just suspend belief when it comes to the plot!

Poseidon reviewed

Anthony Avina (USA)

*****

The Review

A shocking yet fun genre mashup, author Mike Rickett delivers a stellar story and wonderful cast of characters that fans won’t soon forget. What begins as a government cover-up soon turns into a shocking mystery of death, visions, and a race against time as shadowy figures emerge and put two women brought together seemingly by fate into the crosshairs of a dangerous enemy.

In a larger than life plot lie this, the author does a fantastic job of keeping the story as grounded as possible with memorable characters who keep the reader engaged. The quick friendship and bond between the protagonists in particular keep the reader invested as the story progresses.

The Verdict

A one of a kind story that is filled with powerful drama, suspense and heart-pounding thrills, author Mike Rickett’s “The Poseidon Files” is a must-read thriller that never slows down. Entertaining and action-packed, the story’s final arc is an edge of your seat scene that will keep readers’ attention throughout its entirety. Be sure to grab your copy today!

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Jun 03, 2020

Mrs E M Lea . It was amazing

*****

Fast pace action combined with the supernatural

Kept guessing as to where missing files were until the frightening and supernatural ending. The mainly Liverpool setting lends to the interest and mystery.

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Jim Swenson

Thrill Ride

*****

Reviewed in the United States on June 4, 2020

I truly enjoyed this story. It was engaging, thrilling and full of great storylines. Mike Rickett did a great job of mixing technology, mystery, suspense, a little sci-fi and solid characters.
All in all, a great first novel!

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innovationresearcher

*****

A thrilling spy novel with a supernatural twist

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 7 June 2020

Verified Purchase

I loved this book. It was really well written, focussing on character development, not just the superficial events drive stuff that you often get in this genre. Saying that, there was a supernatural thread running through the book that gave it a special twist. The settings in Llanberis and Liverpool really brough the book to life too.


maggie mac

*****

Fantastic Read

Reviewed in Australia on 1 June 2020

Verified Purchase

A great book, kept me intrigued all the way through. I believe there are times in this world where unexplainable Events occur, When they do, you know inside that this is right!! Looks like Mike knows it too! Looking forward to more Naomi Adventures

Tale in a creepy forest

Hold Your Breath

BP Walter

This tale begins in a very straightforward way – a ten-year-old girl is dragged along to the countryside by her parents somewhat against her will, especially since her mother has mental health problems which make even the most straightforward of journeys even more complicated.

But their journey is long and dark and ends in a remote cottage in the middle of a dense and very creepy forest in Northumberland. Why has her dad brought them to this remote and unwelcoming place?

It is at this point that the story switches to the present and the 10-year-old is being interviewed by the police over a suspicious death in the forest when she was a child.

We discover that Kitty Marchland published a novel about her troubled past during the spooky events that took place during her family’s visit to the spooky forest.  She is facing questions about what really happened and as the narrative switches between past and present. The truth, when we discover it, turns out to be horrifying.

Cleverly incorporating elements of the supernatural, Hold Your Breath is creepy and disturbing crime fiction. With a well-paced and gritty plot, perceptive characterisation and satisfying conclusion,