The Deadliest Echo
Author
Reese Hogan
Author Bio
Hello, I’m Reese Hogan, a science fiction and fantasy enthusiast who loves to both read and write in these two exciting genres. I live in Rio Rancho, New Mexico, with my wonderful family of four and our two cats. I enjoy studying languages and military history, and also love outdoor activities, such as camping, hiking, exercising, and skiing. My second passion after writing is music; I download new music at least once a week and can’t work without it. My favorite genres are alternative and hard rock, punk, indie, rap, and a scattering of beloved bands from the eighties.
I have been reading since I was four, and writing poetry and fiction since I was fourteen. I grew up on Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, Jordan’s The Wheel of Time, and Star Wars. As an adult, I discovered Bujold’s Miles Vorkosigan Saga, Butcher’s Dresden Files, Thurman’s Chimera series, and Sanderson’s Stormlight Archives, to name just a few. I have, to date, written six novels, although The Deadliest Echo is my first published work. I am at various stages of development on three other projects: a trilogy set in outer space, another trilogy set in an occupied country in time of war, and one science fiction standalone. Check out my website at www.reesehogan.com for more details.
Description
The year is 1928, and Echo Maebius, an American mercenary, is captured and interrogated at the Russian border after the disappearance of Joseph Stalin. Just when things can’t get worse, something unthinkable happens: Echo’s doppelganger walks into the room, offering him a way out—but with a terrible catch.
Echo is sent to another world where he has killed his closest comrade. His torture at the hands of the Russians has left him more dead than alive. But these things pale next to the real threat. The appearance of a duplicitous stranger leads Echo to believe that his best friend’s life is not the only thing at stake. His weakened condition leaves him no choice but to trust the man—at least until he can regain the strength to confront him.
But until that moment comes, he can only speculate on the events that led him to such tragedy in the first place. His involvement with the White Army faction where he met explosives expert and fellow American, Jez Ryder. Their dangerous pursuit of a pair of Soviet secret police. The rescue of a beautiful Russian fugitive who almost came between them. Echo’s infiltration of the Moscow Kremlin. The moment when he had Stalin in his sights and watched everything he’d worked for fall apart.
Told in alternating chapters between Echo’s past and present, The Deadliest Echo is a science fiction thriller about assassination, alternate paths, and the dangers of being a foreigner in a country newly raised from revolution. It is a powerful tale about the thin line between loneliness and friendship, and the intricate web of secrets that forces Echo to confront the one truth he most wants to escape…
Unless he can finish the mission he never completed in Moscow, the whole world will pay the price for his failure.
Readers of both science fiction and historical thrillers should find something to love in this debut novel from Reese Hogan. The period between the two world wars was a tense and turbulent time, and less explored in mainstream fiction, so it will offer readers a fresh setting to explore through the eyes of two young Americans in the wake of the Russian Civil War.
The Deadliest Echo is available in paperback or ebook through Amazon and Barnes and Noble, or as an ebook for any iOS device. For more details or to read a sample, visit the author’s website at www.reesehogan.com.
Book excerpt
1. Customs
October 1928
I’ll admit it. I never expected to get out of Russia alive. And that was before I was targeted as the man who murdered Stalin. At half past four, the sun’s already below the tree line, and I know I’ll be lucky if I live to see it rise another morning.
The afternoon shadows lengthen around me, stretching languorously toward the stone-gray building that squats between me and the Russian border. Impossibly tall fences prickling with barbed wire march away on either side, disappearing into the woods. I have to squint my eyes to make out the birches and pines outside the pool cast by the floodlights above. Details run together in a grainy haze. There is no movement, no sound. The countryside surrounding the customs office is as dead as a pigeon in Moscow.
Standing, I press my hands against my cheeks, trying to squeeze some warmth back into them. Even through my gloves, I can feel the roughness of the stubble on my face; with any luck, it will alter my appearance. It’s the only disguise I have. A new layer of powder crunches under my Belleville combat boots as I approach the steel-plated door of the customs office. After almost a full day of steady snowfall, the sky has finally cleared. The cold clings to me, a second skin underneath my woolen clothing. I can’t feel the doorknob beneath my palm. This is a problem. Unless I can get my hands warmed again, and fast, my chances of living through this are even worse. Just one more reason I’ve come to hate this country.
It’s just as ugly and colorless inside as it was out. The walls are stark concrete, unadorned, flat. No windows relieve their austerity or offer escape. A small woodstove huddles in the corner. Judging by the loud crackling behind the iron door, it’s burning larch. The room is substantially warmer than the outdoors; it’s a small blessing, but a good one. I flex my fingers within my wool-lined gloves as I cast a wary eye over the office. A young couple stands at the single open booth, speaking in low voices with the inspector, a thin bespectacled man in his forties. I hear him ask how they paid for their train tickets, but don’t know if he’s referring to tickets inside or outside the country.
I don’t waste too much time on the ragged commoners. It’s the guards I’m worried about. Right off the bat, I can see three: one is visible just behind the inspector, and two more stand at the other end of the room, talking softly. There are probably at least twice that many in the building, possibly more. Each one has a Dragoon rifle slung over his shoulder with a canvas strap. They’re wearing long olive-green coats made of a felt-like material that’s inferior in quality to wool, but markedly cheaper to make. Their boots are ill-fitting constructs of battered leather. Their hats are thin rabbit fur.
Author Website
http://www.reesehogan.com
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