Secrets, spies, and star-crossed destinies –
when MI6 meets the cosmos, the fate of Earth hangs in the balance.
The Book of Aesop: Lupin
The Book of Aesop Book 2
by Iam Oliver
Genre: Paranormal Mystery, Romantic Thriller
★★★★★
“This second book in the series does a great job of mixing action, mystery, and relationships, building on what was started in the first book while keeping things fresh and exciting.“
– Readers’ Favorite
Book-2 begins with the car explosion and our hero, Eric Pickles, surrounded by kidnappers. Safely back in DC in meetings with the team and the Americans, he then headed back to London. Meanwhile, there’s trouble stirring at FSB headquarters in Russia with an investigation into the attempted kidnapping and resulting accident.
The story continues with the romantic shenanigans at Ivy Gardens involving Eric and three tempting residents as well as Edith and a blossoming love interest of her own. Meanwhile, Gabrielle lies in wait for Eric to return her affections and make an honest woman out of her and give her the three children she so desires and has already named.
And let’s not forget the evolving espionage at M16, twists and turns that will keep you guessing throughout and wanting more from our trio of intrepid protagonists, Eric Pickles, Dr Rupert Sniffles and Agent Gymslip.
DEATH by DENIAL – your journey ends here. LUPIN-II and Project Toy Story will die here with you, and your hopes and dreams of The New World Order will no longer exist. Even your Ispirian powers will fail you now, Aesop. This is your life’s end. Goodbye, my friend, goodbye.
There are two more books in the Aesop series, so stay tuned for more mystery and romance!
*****
BOOK-3 Walking with Shadows
BOOK-4 The Revenge
Friends of Whitby charity shop.
“Good morning, sir. May I help you?” asked Miss Helen Procter, one of the Whitby volunteers.
“Yes, I am sure you can. I came to see Mrs Gamble, the owner of the shop. My name is Eric Pickles, and she is expecting me. I called earlier,” replied Eric, giving her a more than generous smile.
“She should be here soon. She did call, asking me to look after you,” Helen replied, offering him her hand. You must be the gentleman from Bleak House. Isn’t that the house near to where one of our delivery drivers was accidently killed in a landslide a few days ago, when the road collapsed into a disused quarry? It must have been a terrible shock for you!” she said, her eyes wanting more of him.
“Hamish, you mean. Yes, it was a shock, and I think that is why Mrs Gamble asked me if I would be so kind as to drop by the shop when I returned home from America,” replied Eric, his eyes undressing her beauty.
“Do you travel a lot? I always wanted to travel, but my mother suffers from severe muscular arthritis, so the farthest I have ever been away from Whitby is Edinburgh. My father took me there once before he passed away two years ago to see the royal yacht Brittania, which is on permanent display there at the port of Leith. That about sums up my world of travelling experiences. But you, you look like a well-travelled young man, handsome, dashing, single and desirable, I would say,” she replied, blushing and turning away from him, hiding her embarrassment.
“Thank you, that is definitely something no other woman has ever said to me before. I feel honoured, especially coming from you, a very attractive single young lady like yourself. Perhaps we will meet again somewhere more romantic on the far side of the world at some lazy bar overlooking the ocean with silver beaches where time just drifts by, cooled by a sea breeze stealing your wildest dreams and making your heart beat faster as the tide ebbs away out of reach. I read something like that in a paperback once that I bought in a WH Smith shop at the airport on one of my trips,” he replied, smiling back at her words.
“Oh my goodness me, you take my breath away talking like that. I wanted to be there with you at the bar,” she said, her words full of excitement.
“I do hope I have not offended you,” said Eric, with concern.
“Good heavens no! You have opened my Pandora’s box, and my life will never be quite the same again. What an exciting world you must live in, Mr Handsome! And please do not ask me why I have let my guard down and spoken so openly like that. That is a first for me. God, my cheeks are burning. I think we had better hope Mrs Gamble comes back soon and rescues me,” she replied, her voice choked as she desperately tried to hold back her emotions.
“Is that what you would like – to be rescued?” Eric asked, snapping back at her words.
“Goodness gracious me, no! Certainly not! I am feeling all excited,” she said, her swollen nipples showing through her paisley jumper as her emotions betrayed her thoughts. “I meant rescue myself from me, not from you!” she replied, blurting out the words, embarrassed by her own innocence.
The telltale tinkling of the shop bell announced the arrival of Mrs Gamble. Helen, her head still up there on cloud romance, or most certainly in another place, turned away from him, losing herself behind a bookcase on the other side of the shop.
“Eric, thank you for coming! Sorry I am a little late, but there are a lot of people in Whitby who knew Hamish for what he was, a generous and kind person who went out of his way to help others. He was a happy-go-lucky kind of person, well-liked by everyone and unstinting in his labours for the community, young and old. He cared about everyone and will be sadly missed.
“Now, if Helen would be so kind to put the kettle on, you and I can discuss Hamish’s replacement over a nice cup of tea and a biscuit, if that is alright with you,” she said, pleased to see him again.
“Yes, that will be fine. I really came to assure you that the funding we provide for your charity will continue to be paid as usual at the end of each month. That is the least we can do under the circumstances until you find a replacement for Hamish,” replied Eric, his thoughts somewhere else.
“Yes, that is what I wanted to talk to you about. You and Helen seemed to be getting on well together. She would have been my obvious choice, but her invalid mother needs her more than we do, unfortunately.
“Yes she told me about her mother’s illness. A shame, really, because she is a very attractive young woman trapped in circumstances that give her very little in return. I am surprised she has not been swept off her feet and married to a local boy. That would perhaps give her the freedom she desires to live a more normal life,” replied Eric, his thoughts still in another place.
“One can only live in hope. I am thinking of taking on Hamish’s deliveries myself until I can find a suitable replacement for him. Would that be acceptable to you? I do have someone in mind, but she is not available until sometime in June. A local girl, very presentable and of a good nature and responsible, which is what that position is all about. So all I can do at the moment is to remain determined and patient, I’m afraid.
A cup of tea and a malted cream biscuit later, Eric left the shop as he found it, although his thoughts were already asking him questions he could not answer.
He found himself in a situation that even his Ispirian powers could not help him with. You must never use these powers for your own personal gain, your position in life or financial standing, whispered Zacharias, as she, the woman with no name, prodded his ribs with her stick. You still have unfinished business to deal with, Mr Eric Pickles, she whispered in his ear as he left the shop and said his goodbyes. He was still asking himself what the meeting was really all about, because it was certainly not about finding a replacement for Hamish Kruger or exchanging condolences. No, there were other issues that needed his attention, he was busy telling himself.
“That, Helen, is the enemy I was telling you about, and I am sure he is the person responsible for the deaths of Liv Jenko and Hamish Kruger, two of our top field agents,” Mrs Gamble said. “Did you do as I asked and openly flirt with him, letting him believe that there was plenty more honey left in the pot where that came from?” she asked, wanting to know more about him, anything that could explain why a very good toy salesman with a Ph.D. from Cambridge University was visiting Bleak House, the home of an impoverished artist barely making a living from the sales of his non-descript canvasses. “There must be something more than friendship involved there. Does he prefer men, perhaps? That would be good blackmail bait if he were gay,” she said, with a smirk on her face wanting to hurt him.
“Well, he certainly is not gay. I can guarantee you that because he most definitely stirred my sex drive, I can tell you. I am still wearing wet silk for God’s sake! That should tell you all you need to know about his sexual preferences,” interrupted Helen, still excited by his visit.
I wonder, said Aesop, repeating her words to himself.
The Book of Aesop: The New World Order
The Book of Aesop Book 1
★★★★★
“…an intriguing blend of political thriller with paranormal fiction, sci-fi, and romance.”
– Readers’ Favorite
It’s 2020 and our protagonist, a Mr Eric Pickles, has embarked on a coach journey when he meets the beautiful Gabrielle Smith-Rawlings. They sit together for the duration, getting acquainted, and he invites her to the house in the seaside town of Whitby in North Yorkshire where he’s staying, owned by Edith Crumble, the kind lady of the house and a dear friend of Eric’s.
Was it merely a coincidence that this beautiful young lady was on the same coach as our hero? Eric is an unassuming toy salesman, and Gabrielle works in Export and Innovations for the Department of International Trade in London. But do they, really? The readers later learn that, unbeknownst to each other, they both work for MI6 at their headquarters at Vauxhall Cross on the banks of the river Thames, and both are involved in secret programmes for the UK government.
There are several characters who all intertwine with Eric and Gabby, including Primrose Allgood, another resident of Edith’s house; Rupert Horatio Sniffles (Nighthawk), second in command to Eric (Hawk); Evelyn Trousseau (Gymslip), third in command under Rupert; Edgar Fairbanks (Eagle Eye), the head of the organization and Eric’s boss; Sir Robert Embury Jones (Fencer), Gabrielle’s boss; and many others with personal, romantic and business ties to our protagonist and his lady.
This exciting thriller contains a vicious attack on a lead character by an assassin who sacrifices her own life, the murder of a beloved character, several romances and ones in the making and plot twists that will have your head spinning.
Nothing is as it seems, as the story will take the readers on a rollercoaster of twists and turns involving several identities, nefarious plot lines and hidden dangers. It’s a book of romantic fantasy laced with espionage and mystery.
“Eric, you are a very successful toy salesman and a most valued agent of MI6 with the destiny of planet Earth in your hands wearing your clothes with my mind and gifted with an intelligence that is way beyond your wildest dreams! What you must understand, Eric, is that the Ispirian people have searched every planet in every universe in the Milky Way and beyond for tens of thousands of years searching for you, the chosen one, Aesop.”
Just when you think you have it all figured out, think again. There are 3 more books in the Aesop series, so stay tuned for more mystery and romance!
The year is 2020.
The Passenger.
St. James Park Tube Station, London A3212.
Eric Pickles was an unassuming traveller, reminiscent of the old-fashioned salesman from the 1950s, a whistle while you work sort of happy-go-lucky kind of guy. He was going about his business on a coach journey to Whitby, a seaside town in North Yorkshire overlooking the North Sea.
It was 9 o’clock in the morning and pissing down with rain as Eric stood in the queue of passengers waiting to board the coach. The driver checked his ticket before placing his baggage—a well-travelled suitcase and heavy linen travel bag—in the bus’s storage locker.
He boarded the bus with a copy of the Daily Mail newspaper tucked under his arm, wet down one edge, making it nearly impossible to read. A Twix bar and a bottle of diet Pepsi were in his other hand. His aunt Rose was always getting on at him to lose a little more weight.
Eric was wearing a well-worn, off-the-peg, charcoal grey suit styled by Next, a white shirt from his sister Margaret’s Freeman’s catalogue, a Christmas tie and a pair of good old M&S black lace-ups. He looked presentable but lacked that over strikingly ‘come and get me’ look. Shall we just say that he was a very successful salesman and leave it there?
Eric chose a window seat halfway down the coach that offered him views of the journey ahead and a pee stop on the A1 this side of Peterborough with lunch offered at the Flying Childers pub, if required. This was the first leg of the journey to Whitby, one he had travelled many times before.
*****
Gabrielle Smith-Rawlings, a dashingly attractive young lady, worked as head of the Export and Innovations, Section-5, at The Department for International Trade at The Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office, located in Whitehall London SW1. This was a pseudonym, of course. Nobody could work for the Foreign Office in 2020 with a name like Gladys Bulge; absolutely not! It would be unheard of, although her personnel file held by HR said otherwise. However, her beauty and figure would tell any level-headed person that her records would be stored in the James Bond section under active personnel.
She was tall and beautiful with a figure most young girls her age would die for. Dark auburn hair plaited Viking style with sparkling dark brown eyes shining like crystals. Her lips were highlighted with Ferrari-red lipstick to complete the portrait. She was wearing a floral pattern dress in reds and greens on a white background with a plunging neckline cut short, just above the knee, finished with a pair of red stiletto heels. Her bare shoulders were draped with an Armani designer jacket in a soft pastel pink colour as she waltzed down the aisle of the coach, touching the top of each seat that she passed, looking left, then right, as though she were searching for someone. Her cleavage left nothing to anyone’s imagination. She was definitely on a mission, no doubt about that, leaving the whispers behind her.
*****
Eric was wiping the condensation from the window when he heard a young woman’s voice asking him if she could sit next to him. She explained that she hated sitting all alone on a bus with only a view of the seat in front of her.
“You can’t share a conversation with a seat back, unless you are insane, of course,” she said, giggling, holding her hand over her mouth, her eyes searching his face, wanting him to say yes.
His mind stopped working the moment their eyes met.
“If you would rather be on your own, I would understand,” she continued. “After all, we do not know each other.”
His eyes were fixed on her cleavage, his mind not listening to a word she was saying.
She was sitting beside him before he could gather his thoughts, a slight blush rising up his cheeks, his eyes half closed, wanting someone to pinch him, telling him that this was really happening to him. And on a Sunday of all days! What is the world coming to? he thought to himself, his mind still fixated somewhere inside her cleavage.
“Sorry, I do apologise! It’s that you just don’t seem to be the sort of young lady to take a bus trip on a Sunday. You see, it has never happened to me before. Someone wanting to sit next to me, I mean,” he replied, looking ashamedly embarrassed.
“I suppose you could be right in thinking that, but actually taking a coach journey on my own is something I have always wanted to do since I was a child,” she replied, offering him her hand. “My mum and dad always used to take me to Filey on the bus for our annual holiday… well, ritual, I should have said. It was always the first two weeks in August when my dad took his annual leave. He worked as the senior planning officer for the local council in Wimbledon. That’s where we used to live. I remember how excited I used to feel looking out of the window, counting cows and sheep and asking annoying questions like, ‘When will we get there, Mummy?’”
“My name is Eric, by the way, Eric Pickles,” he said, taking her hand in his.
“Eric Pickles,” she repeated, giggling, holding her hand to her mouth by way of an apology for her rudeness.
“I am not offended,” Eric replied. It happens all the time. I just let it go over my head. I am me, and there is nothing I can do about that, unfortunately. There was a kid at my school who went by the name of Adrian Pullit, so you can only imagine the type of abuse he used to get. Of course, fat people took most of the abuse back then, so I considered myself somewhat fortunate in that respect,” he replied, his eyes still talking to her breasts.
“Your newspaper looks like it is in need of a hair dryer! Have you got one with you?” she asked, again laughing into the palm of her hand.
His heartbeat raced away with his thoughts once again.
“Gabrielle, Gabrielle Smith-Rawlings from Chelsea. Nice to meet you, Eric. Are you sure it is okay for me to bother you like this? I could take another seat towards the back of the bus if you prefer sitting on your own.”
“No, not at all! In fact, I think I would enjoy your company. It is a long journey, and I very rarely have someone sitting next to me, especially someone as attractive as you. That has never happened to me before. I live in Knightsbridge, Basil Street near Harrod’s, to be precise. You have no doubt heard the name mentioned before. It is convenient for me, great for fine dining and, needless to say, handy for shopping. I love it there. It has everything going for it as far as I am concerned. And you? Do you like living in Chelsea? I am told it is the ‘in place’ to be with trendy cocktail bars, fancy expensive restaurants and more than its fair share of rich single men, I have heard it said.”
“Yes, I do. I am referring to the place rather than the rich single men. I could get one of those anywhere in London if I chose to do so, although I would swap places with you any day of the week. I love Chelsea, but I enjoy Knightsbridge even more.”
She was struggling with her thoughts right now, her eyes searching his face, trying to figure out why an average guy like him living in the heart of Knightsbridge was doing travelling on a bus to Whitby with a half-sodden copy of the Daily Mail laid out to dry on the pull-down table in front of him.
Something seemed out of place. Did they do a thorough job? I don’t think so. I need to talk to Sir Robert this evening, her thoughts were busy telling her, her mind beginning to panic.
“You must be paying a hefty rent living in Knightsbridge next to Harrod’s. That, I’m afraid, is well beyond my pay grade at the Foreign Office. I even struggle with my finances in a shared grace and favour house that comes with the job. You have obviously done very well for yourself. I admire that,” she said, smiling back at his embarrassment.
The intercom crackled as the tour guide stood up to face the passengers.
“May I have your attention, please?” she asked in a pleasant and friendly voice. My name is Francis, and, along with my husband John, our driver today, we are pleased to welcome you on board for your trip to Whitby on behalf of Turner Coaches. If there is anyone missing, could you please raise your hand?”
Her words were accompanied by the usual giggles and laughter. “We are about to start our journey to Whitby, a total time of five hours and fifty minutes with a stop at Peterborough for an early lunch, for those wishing to dine at the Flying Childers Pub just off the A1. The next break in the journey will be at the Bilbrough Top services near Bramham on the A64 near York, before leaving for the final leg to Victoria Square Bagdale, Whitby, our final destination.
“Hot and cold drinks and snacks will be available throughout the journey, and there is an onboard toilet. Please read the leaflet you were given when boarding the coach, listing the drinks and snacks available for your journey to Whitby, along with the usual tourist and useful contact telephone numbers.
“We hope you have a pleasant journey, and, if you have a problem or you would like some help, please press the CALL button on the alert panel above your head, and I will attend to you as quickly as possible.”
*****
“Would you like a hot drink? I could certainly use one,” said Eric. I missed out on my second cup of coffee at breakfast this morning when my lift to the coach station turned up twenty minutes early knocking on my front door. I hardly had time to say cheerio to my aunt Rose. I promised to call her this evening and let her know that I have arrived safely, or she will be worrying about me for the rest of the week.”
“So, you live with your aunt Rose, your cook, washer up and bedmaker? Not bad, eh? I wish I was so lucky,” she commented, fishing for clues about his character, building a picture to take to bed with her thoughts.
“That may well be so, but as it happened it was a situation that benefitted us both following the tragic death of my mother and father in a car crash two years ago whilst holidaying in the south of France,” Eric replied, reaching up to press the CALL button for his second cup of coffee of the morning.
“Oh, my God! I did not mean to be so rude. Please forgive me!” she said, reaching over and touching his hand by way of an apology.
“There is no need for an apology. You had no way of knowing. A coffee or hot chocolate for you?” he asked again.
“Good morning, Eric! Good to see you again. It has been almost a month. Holiday or business in Whitby?” the server asked, looking at Gabrielle sitting next to him, still holding his hand as she reached up to turn off the CALL button. “What can I get the two of you? A drink, a snack or the latest weather forecast for North Yorkshire tomorrow morning?” she asked.
They ordered two cappuccinos and then spent the next three quarters of an hour talking about Whitby and the tourist attractions along the North Yorkshire coastline over hot coffees and a finger of a Trix chocolate bar.
“Eric has found himself a girlfriend at last. Would you believe it? I never ever thought I would see that day! I wonder if we will get an invite to the wedding? They have both got love in their eyes, and I can say that with a great deal of certainty,” whispered Francis to John.
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June 4
Kickoff at Silver Dagger Book Tours
June 5
Word Processor, Romance, Cats, Kids and Creed
June 6
June 7
June 8
Book Bites….with a side of coffee
June 9
☼ A Place In The Spotlight ☼ with M.C.V. EGAN
June 10
Books all things paranormal and romance
June 11
Stormy Nights Reviewing & Bloggin’
Nice picture
A genre I really like; thank you for the chance :)
This sounds super interesting and one that will so keep me reading well into the late night.
How did you create thoe cover graphic? It’s really unique.
This sounds like a great thriller.
Sounds intriguing.
Lots of plotlines in this one.
Sounds like a good read. Good luck on your book.
This sounds really good. I would enjoy reading it.
I really like the excerpt and the cover. Sounds like a good read.
Great cover!
Looks very exciting Do you write in a daily journal?
Sounds good. I will have to go back and read 1st book before reading this one.
I enjoyed the excerpts. Thanks for the giveaway!
Is there anything you wish readers knew about the book that they might not get from reading it?
cool
Paranormal Mystery, Romantic Thriller – love this genre mix!
Thank you for sharing the excerpt.
great cover, this sounds like an exciting book to read
Great cover
This sounds like an interesting book and I also like the cover.
I like the book details.
This is an interesting series! The covers are very captivating!
The book sounds very intriguing. I love the film noir-esque cover. Very effective.
looks like a fun one.
looks good
I like the cover.
The cover art is awesome and I love a good mystery. I also am a huge fan of anything paranormal so this is perfection for me!
Sounds good.
looks like an excellent book
cant wait to read it
Sounds like a great book!