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Writer's pictureKirsty Whitlock

The Asymmetric Man by Alex Rushton. Extract.


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Book Description


Embark on a gripping journey of sacrifice and self-discovery in The Asymmetric Man, a thrilling tale

set against the tumultuous backdrop of the Vietnam War. Follow Blake, a young recruit turned

undercover agent, as he navigates the treacherous world of espionage, survival and forbidden love.


From war-ravaged Saigon to seemingly impenetrable jungle and the tranquillity of a Buddhist

monastery, this riveting novel explores the power of recognising and embracing one’s true calling, no

matter the cost.



Extract


New MI6 recruit Blake Carter, having completed his

training, is questioned on his performance and his

relationships with the other trainees.


CHAPTER 2

London


February 1967


‘Excuse me, sir, we’re beginning our descent into

Heathrow.’ The male voice was clear and close.

‘Would you fasten your seat belt, please?’

With a start Blake opened his eyes. ‘What? Oh,

right,’ he said. He heaved himself upright and clicked

the belt into place.


At passport control he noticed the official looking

intently at him as she compared his face and the

photograph. She turned slightly and nodded at a man

waiting in a nearby doorway. The man returned the

nod, went into the office and closed the door. The

woman gave Blake his passport.


‘Welcome back to England, Mr Carter,’ she said

and looked at him with interest.

‘Thank you,’ said Blake.

In the taxi he took out the envelope the official had

put in his passport. Inside was a piece of paper with an

address and an appointment time for the following day,

with instructions on where to enter the building. He

memorised the details, tore the note into fragments and

stuffed them into the cab’s ashtray.


* * *


Next day, Blake got out of a taxi outside Century

House at 100 Westminster Bridge Road, Lambeth. He

noticed with some concern that the taxi driver gave

him an exaggerated wink before driving off, which

made him suspect that although MI6 officially didn’t

exist, the site of its headquarters seemed to be known to London taxi drivers. Proceeding according to his

instructions, he made his way through a tradesman’s

entrance and identified himself to a member of staff.

An officious receptionist led him up a narrow beige

staircase, through long blank corridors, onto the second

floor and into a featureless committee room. There was

a smell of cigarettes. Two men were sitting at an oval

table. When Blake entered they got to their feet,

introduced themselves and shook his hand.


Mr Marshall, the older man with an air of authority

about him, had obviously been educated at a public

school, which was true of most of the people Blake had

met at Cambridge. Mr ‘Smith’ was shabbier. He had

shrewd, intelligent eyes that missed nothing. He held a

cigarette between fore- and middle fingers and flicked

ash into the nearby ashtray. A field operative, Blake

guessed.

Marshall paced up and down the room. He held a

set of documents in his hand.


‘Do sit down. Blake Carter, isn’t it? Don’t mind if I

stand up, do you, a habit of mine, keeps my mind on

track, you know.’ Smith sat down and Blake took one

of the other chairs. Marshall continued, ‘You’ve got an

impressive background, Carter, Combined Science and

Languages. It’s your Oriental languages we’re

interested in. You’re fluent in Thai, Vietnamese and

French, I understand.’

‘Yes, sir, and I speak some Cantonese as well.’

‘I hear you’re an excellent shot.’

‘They thought so.’

Marshall brandished his clutch of papers.

‘According to the reports in here, you scored

remarkably well with all the weapons you’ve used.’ Blake shrugged. ‘Your father was a marksman as well,

I believe.’

Blake flinched. ‘I wasn’t aware of that,’ he said.


‘Well, that was some time ago. Let’s get back to

you. I want to talk about your training, which you have

now completed. Very successfully, I might add.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘All your instructors for basic fitness training and

tradecraft were very impressed with your abilities. You

passed all the exercises with excellent marks. Not just

scraping through, as some of the others did. Did you

find that part of it a struggle?’

‘No, not really. It was challenging, of course, but I

felt it was something I could master.’

‘Did you form any friendships with your fellow

trainees?’ asked Smith. ‘Sometimes these sorts of

shared experiences bring people closer together.’


‘No, I’m afraid not. Was I supposed to?’

‘Well, it’s not required but it does happen,

naturally,’ said Marshall.

Again, Blake shrugged. ‘Not with me,’ he said.

‘There was one aspect of our observations that

interested us. Your rejection of Claire Brendon,’ said

Smith.

Blake sat up straighter. ‘Pardon?’

‘Did you form a special attachment to her?’

‘No.’

‘She asked you for help with some of the exercises,

didn’t she?’

‘How did you know that?’ asked Blake, before

realising that of course they would know – they would

let nothing escape them. ‘Yes, she did.’

‘But you didn’t help her, did you?’ continued Smith.

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Was there a particular reason?’

‘Yes.’

There was a pause.

‘Go on,’ said Marshall.


Blake sighed. ‘I liked her, but she was struggling. If

I’d helped her, she might have made it through the

training. But when it came time for her to be

deployed… I thought she would have been a liability.

So I thought it best not to prolong the agony.’

Marshall looked across at Smith, who just raised

one eyebrow but said nothing. Blake couldn’t read

Marshall’s expression.


‘Sink or swim?’ said Marshall. ‘It was a very

Oriental reaction, and one of which we approve.’

‘She didn’t get through, did she? I didn’t see her

again after we finished tradecraft.’

‘We don’t discuss an applicant’s results, Blake, at

least not within the applicant’s team,’ said Smith.

Blake nodded.

Marshall leafed through some of his papers. ‘Your

performance in the desert was impressive as well, it

seems. Were you pleased with how it went?’

‘I found the sand tiresome. It got into everything,

every nook and cranny. Too gritty for my liking.’

‘And Scotland, bit nippy up there I expect.’

‘Yes, we didn’t get properly warm the whole time.’

‘Even so, you impressed again.’

Blake gave a slight smile.


‘Now, we come to the real meat of your training,

with the SAS in Borneo, and your baptism of fire.

There is an incident we’d like to know more about, your lost map. In the jungle, where you’re not supposed to leave any traces to show that the SAS are patrolling out there '




Author Bio


I worked for many years as an academic and later in the NHS as a therapist. Initially I wrote academic

papers before branching out into fiction writing. I joined my local writing group Walton Wordsmiths

nearly fifteen years ago and the group is still going strong. Here I found companionship, inspiration,

encouragement and a group of likeminded friends. I write because I feel inspired… the novel wants

to be written, although I often have no idea where the ideas come from, it’s like a stream of

consciousness! I find editing the most challenging, but it has to be done. Each novel takes me at least

a couple of years to complete. I have now written three novels. The first two have already been

published by SCRIPTORA, in association with the Society of Women Writers and Journalists (SWWJ).


The third ‘The Asymmetric Man’ will be published shortly – also by SCRIPTORA. Ironically, ‘The

Asymmetric Man’ is the first in the trilogy, but the last to be published. ‘The Girl at Conway Place’

and ‘Sunrise at An Lac’ come next.


I am a member of the SWWJ (Society of Women Writers and Journalists) and the SOA (Society of

Authors). I am a regular participant in the SOA Novelists in London zoom group.



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