I will donate all royalties from the sale of ERECOT to Harefield hospital.

Imagine what would happen if a gangland leader, an ambitious MP, a Crown Prince and his wily minister all want the same priceless, but cursed, object, for very different reasons, but none of them knew where it was. ERECOT, although fictional, tells you what might happen in real life.

Available as an e-book

A mystery thriller in which the Crown Prince of an absolute monarchy decides that the ERECOT is the only way to save his country from disaster as its oil runs out.

Available as a paperback

Chapter 1 – 8th May 2006, Eurostar heading for Waterloo Station, London

     The Eurostar was dead on time as it passed through Vauxhall. Anna Fey grabbed the coat, picked up her rucksack and walked towards the front of the train. She jumped on to the platform as soon as the doors opened at Waterloo and was one of the first to reach passport control. She judged she would be through it in less than a minute. Looking back she saw a long queue forming behind her, with no sign of the woman whose coat she had just taken.

     The young passport officer smiled as he returned her passport and waved her through.

     ‘Welcome back to England, Miss Fey.’

     She could tell he fancied her because she was used to it and she liked it. Why would any young, heterosexual man not fancy a pretty, twenty-five-year-old with blue eyes and wavy, shoulder-length dark hair, who kept herself in shape? She knew she had good looks so always dressed to show them to their best effect. That’s how she got her work as a fashion model. Today she was wearing a figure-hugging white blouse over a bra designed to make the most of breasts that complemented her petite figure. A tight, black leather mini-skirt, black stockings and black leather, high-heeled shoes completed her outfit.

      “Enough of that”, she thought as she headed for the taxi rank, “it’s time for business and the thousand pounds I’ve been promised”.

     Not an hour earlier she had seen the woman put a package into the right-hand pocket of the coat she was now wearing. She slipped her hand into the pocket to gain reassurance of its presence. At that moment she felt her arm being grabbed. She turned to see a tall, heavily built, black man dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform. Instinctively she tried to pull away, but his grip was too tight.

     ‘Your car is this way, Miss Fey.’

     A large, white Mercedes pulled up beside them. He opened the rear door with his free hand, bundled her in and sat beside her. The car pulled away at speed. She tried to break free, struggling for all her worth, but was no match for his strength. She was attempting to scream when he placed a handkerchief over her nose and mouth. She raised her left leg, intending to bring the stiletto heel down hard on his foot, but suddenly lost all her energy. She detected a faint smell of something she did not recognise before she passed out.