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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.
Social media links
Walton Wordsmiths: https://waltonwordsmiths.org.uk
Alex Rushton: https://alexrushton.co.uk
Twitter: https://twitter.com/alexrushton1
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/alexrushton2033
Purchase Links
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CL6VWPJ4
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CL6VWPJ4
