By Alan Glenn
A solid cop. a nasty selection. allow historical past be the judge.
In 1943, in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, Sam Miller is a cop helping a relatives and attempting to remain at the correct part of his boss, the legislation, and his moral sense. Then a physique is located through the railroad tracks, a bunch tattooed at the victim’s wrist. it's a case Sam may well stroll clear of. it's a case he'll be ordered to drop. And it truly is case that leads him right into a deadly vortex of politics, espionage, uprising, and overseas intrigue.
As struggle rages in Europe, a brand new strength rises in the US. And the folk Sam thinks he is aware best—his spouse, his brother, his colleagues—reveal new identities. In a previously close-knit urban via the ocean, the place not anyone is above suspicion and not anyone is secure, a world summit is ready to ensue. On that day, historical past can be replaced. And thousands of individuals will dwell or die, all simply because Sam Miller has been an outstanding cop—faced with a really undesirable selection.
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Additional resources for Amerikan Eagle: A Novel
At least Homer opened and closed these gates for me. It was forty-five minutes before we reached the next road. I still didn’t recognise it, so we had to start the whole process again, me navigating by instinct as we followed fencelines and old wheeltracks. Any time things looked like getting too civilised – any hint of buildings or small well-cultivated paddocks for example – I’d swing away again. No matter how tired and frustrated I got I could always console myself with the thought that they’d never follow us here.
I asked Lee, nodding at the girl with the splint. ‘I think so,’ he said. ’ The girl, as if on cue, said, ‘I can’t walk anywhere. ’ She started crying too. Only then did I realise who she was. Casey, the kid I’d hugged in the house in Castlefield Street. I looked at the other two girls more closely then, and recognised one of them as the third girl from that rumpus room. But Brianna, the bad-tempered red-head, must have been back in Stratton, coping or not coping on her own. ‘I’m not going with you lot,’ the oldest boy said.
We concentrated on getting down the spur. It was a nuisance, doing this. We’d have to slog our way back up sooner or later, and it would be quite a slog. I hated throwing away height that I’d worked hard to gain. The spur was very rocky and soon got thinner. There were three sharp 40 drops, none of them dangerous, but none of them easy. For the third one I had to turn around and go down facing the cliff, so it was as hard as that. I must admit I was surprised that the kids had got this far, and Homer’s words were starting to haunt me.