This is a page of a FACEBOOK friend and member of both my groups in FB.
This is a page for lovers of real books that have paper pages that turn and for those Star Trek and Man From U.N.C.L.E. fans that read fan fiction.
“The Living Nightmare Affair” Print and PDF format copies available. A 74-page gen story, written in 2021, featuring 4 black & white photos is based on the Man from U.N.C.L.E. TV-series.
Join Illya and Napoleon on their undercover mission and encounter heartbeat action and danger in Monte Carlo.
The story is priced at $15.00 US postage paid for a print copy and $6.00 for a PDF copy.
The PDF copy is “read only” and cannot be printed. It can be read on your iPad, Kindle, and computer. I accept checks and money orders (bank or postal) in payment.
If you want to order a copy, just let me know. Thanks! email@example.com
AND HERE COMES THE BEST PART
Plot: Can nightmares become a reality? Napoleon and Illya find out the hard way during their deadly Monte Carlo case.
Teaser: Walking inside the gun traffickers’ hideout with Clarkson, Napoleon did a quick scan of the room. Illuminated by a kerosene lantern, it was scantily furnished with a rocking chair in a far corner and a table with three chairs in the center. Crackling logs burned in a stone fireplace. Next to it, an inner door probably led to a bedroom. However, a particular table chair occupant drew Solo’s undivided attention. It was Illya. Bound to the chair, his head bowed forward.
“Looks like Kuryakin is dozing. Wake him up, Cramer,” Clarkson said, closing the door.
Cramer wasted no time grabbing a fistful of tousled, blond hair and jerking Illya’s head back. Lowering his hands, Napoleon balled them at his sides. His partner’s face was marred with cuts and ugly, deep red bruising. There were dark circles under his eyes.
Clarkson watched Napoleon’s reaction. “Yeah, we had to rough him up a bit at the warehouse. He was hesitant to confirm your U.N.C.L.E. membership and reveal your rendezvous spot.”
“Tell your ape to get his hands off him, now,” Napoleon said huskily, eyes narrowed.
“You heard him, Cramer. Release Kuryakin.”
Illya grimaced, but hearing Napoleon’s voice, he turned his head and tried to focus on his partner’s features haloed in the harsh, flickering light.
“Okay you’ve seen he’s still breathing, so make the call to your chief,” Clarkson said, taking off his wet jacket. He hung it on a door hook.
Eyes gleaming in the low light, Napoleon shook his head. “No deals.”
The window lit up with blinding flashes of lightning, followed by a horrendous clap of thunder that broke the atmosphere and rattled the farmhouse.
There were dubious looks on the traffickers’ faces. However, Clarkson drew his gun.
“I guess you know you’re sealing Kuryakin’s death warrant. You’re okay with that?” he asked.
Napoleon’s mouth formed a straight line.
Perplexed, Illya again tried to focus on him, hoping his partner had a trick up his sleeve.
“Sorry, Illya.” Looking away from the glazed blue eyes, Napoleon heard a single shot squeezed off and Illya grunt from the impact of the bullet . . .