Northern Irish rebels
pull off a sting operation against the British Army in 1777 Philadelphia.
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REVIEW:
TITLE: The Brand
AUTHOR: John Reinhard
Dizon
RATING 5 Stars
REVIEWED BY: Tamara White
When a man is
branded his life becomes the brand. The reader can feel the pain of Sean
Colerian and almost smell his searing flesh as he is branded for his beliefs. Sean
Colerian is the under dog fighter readers love to read about and root for. John
Reinhard Dizon thrust his reader into one of the more tumultuous phases in
American history 1777. John Reinhard Dizon’s historical fiction The Brand does a tremendous job of not
only capturing the essence of the period but the tensions and strife that
occurred during conflict. The Brand
is not just a war story; where an infant country is struggle to become free but
a love story as well. Sean Colerian and the lovely Beth O’ Connell’ hearts want
for each other while class and duty demand she care for another. Beth is a
young woman who doesn’t want what society 1777 society requires her to desire. The Brand does an excellent job of
balancing fiction with historical truths. The
Brand reads like a thrilling heart pounding roller-coaster that the reader
will want to read again.
EXCERPT
He and
three of his men escorted Colonel Blackmore to the Penn Hotel that evening for
the high-stakes Poque game Coulter alluded to. They reserved the conference
room on the second floor, and there were eight other men who arrived to keep
watch over the lobby area. One of them was Joe Flynn, who was with his three
cohorts standing in the rear area on the main floor in discussion with four of
Count Verdu's Spanish guards.
"Well,
well," Brennus swaggered over to where the eight men were conversing.
"Looks like we've got some truly hard men on guard down here. If I was a
terrorist, I sure would think twice about making a move in this hotel."
"Just
a friendly card game, it shouldn't be attracting a whole lot of
attention," Flynn replied. "I'm not quite sure as to what would be
the gain in offing a prison official, a couple of diplomats and an overseas
trader."
"Nothing
these terrorists do these days ever makes sense," Brennus said, before a
flash of realization suddenly hit him. "Say, fellow, did anyone ever tell
you that you looked like Flynn Ravernet?"
"Ravernet?"
he squinted, looking at Cobra, who suddenly looked like he was poised to
strike. "You mean Flynn Ravernet, the English highwayman? Do you mean
you've actually seen a depiction of him? I was under the impression that no man
could see Ravernet and live. Kind of like what God told Moses on Mount Sinai."
"I don't
think there's a whole lot to compare between God and a murderous
cutthroat."
"Well,
I will admit Ravernet has not earned many admirers back home, although there
are always the odd groups of females who fancy the rogue," Flynn smiled.
"Joe
Flynn," Brennus mused. "Even that's a coincidence."
"I
know it's hard to keep track of current events, being so far away from home,
but I have found it to my benefit to keep reference material handy for the
misinformed," Flynn reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and produced
a folded-up newspaper. He unfolded it and handed it to Brennus. KING OF THIEVES
KILLED IN SHOOTOUT
Brennus
read the accompanying story on the front page of the London Times which told of a military foray into the hills
surrounding York. Ravernet and his gang were trapped in a ravine and gunned
down, the bodies returned to London before being buried in an unmarked grave.
"Where's the rest of the paper? And why would you be carrying it around
anyway?"
"I
think I've had my share of the third degree," Flynn narrowed his eyes.
"You're a prison guard; you're not an officer of the law. If you have any
misgivings, I suggest you take it up with your superior officer. He may not be
in the mood for much foolishness if he ends up on the losing end of that Poque
game."
"I'll
be sure to separate fact from foolishness before I bring it up with him,"
Brennus smirked. "I appreciate the suggestion."
Brennus
turned and walked out of the lobby as the eight men began speaking in muted
voices. He signaled his own men to keep an eye on things as he stepped out onto
the windy streets. These scoundrels might be using these Poque games as a
distraction for a bigger gambit. Anyone who spent time around Colonel Blackmore
knew he was a degenerate gambler who would sacrifice time for a crap shoot. He
would find out if Coulter and Flynn had an interest in anything more than
cards.
He decided
to head back to Constitution Hall and find out where Benjamin Franklin was
staying. It was well known Franklin traveled with a portable printing press. He
had no doubt Franklin could have made up a copy of the Times at Flynn's request. He also knew the authorities were dying
to hang anything onto Franklin to warrant an arrest for sedition. It might be a
career-changing move on his end if he could prove Flynn was actually Ravernet
and had ties to Franklin himself. As he turned onto Market Street, he saw the
figure of a woman on the opposite end of the block walking in his direction.
She was dressed in men's clothing, possibly riding gear. It didn't make a lot
of sense for a woman to be wearing that type of expensive apparel in the
downtown area.
He stared
in astonishment as he recognized the face of the Princess Nightshade beneath
her tricorn hat. It seemed impossible she was out here in the middle of
downtown, dressed like this. The last time he saw her she was beautiful, and
Indian or not he would have married her in a heartbeat. If he had a choice
between Beth O'Connell and the Princess, he would have gone for the white
woman, but it would have been a hard choice.
The
Princess walked directly up to him, and before he could say anything, he felt
the sickening impact in his belly. She drove six inches of cold steel into his
stomach, twisting it before shoving him backwards toward a narrow alley to her
right. He felt his legs buckling, and the last thing he remembered in this life
was collapsing onto his back on the slimy concrete. The Princess grabbed an
overflowing trash barrel and dumped it out onto Brennus. She set it down in
front of the alley, satisfied the body of the dying man would not be visible
until daylight as she disappeared into the darkness.
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