Ancient Memories by Youngblood Hawke
Imagine your wildest terror, a ghost from your past has found your piece of paradise and thrusts herself into your idyllic life. You know she intends to murder you. Your teenage daughter is drawn into your nightmare, affected by the dark evil that changes both their lives. The terror tears apart your very soul, peels it away one layer at a time until all that is left is an ancient memory that rips the happiness out of your life, dashes it against the rocks scattered in the sands of time, and washes your peace away, much as the sand on the seashore is washed away into the bottom of the sea and lost forever.
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About the Author
Becoming a writer was not my greatest dream. I wanted a life of excitement, a fast life. I wanted to take risks and live to tell about it. Ordinary life bored me. I risked my life often, and lived to tell every story. I established several successful businesses. I grew the businesses by twice risking complete financial ruin.
Then I grew old and began to write novels. My books are in no way autobiographical. I write about mysteries that interest me. Just as people once believed man would never fly, I write about mysteries of science that most people believe is pure fantasy. I write mysteries based on not yet scientifically discovered principals that I believe will someday be shown to be possible.
I began my unorthodox life at an early age. As a teenager still in high school, I applied for and received a mineral concession from the government of Venezuela to search for gold in the jungles near Angel Falls, the world’s highest waterfall. Prohibited from going to Venezuela because my passport application could not be approved and issued without my parents’ consent, I was forced to complete high school and graduate from college with a degree in civil engineering. Following a brief stint as an engineer, I decided to be a writer and wanted life to be an adventure. Thus began a nearly four-year sojourn that began in Mexico, where my bus once came under automatic weapons fire from bandits in the South of Mexico, to its end in London where I flipped a coin to decide whether to get married or go to Tangier, Morocco . I didn’t go to Tangier.
When Europe beckoned I spent months hitching around the continent while sending back stories of my travels to my hometown newspaper. I wrote stories ranging from the hardships of a struggling young writer who covered himself with newspapers to keep warm while sleeping in the weeds, to a once-in-a-lifetime experience of fighting a bull in Spain.While living in London I worked security at Sotheby’s , the world famous auction house, and once served as a security guard for former British Prime Minister Ted Heath. Providing security at Sothebys, I came into contact with numerous celebrities including Mick Jagger and Marianne Faithful. In London I also came to know some of the world’s most infamous mercenary soldiers, the African mercenaries that best-selling author Fredrick Forsythe dubbed “the Dogs of War”. They were my friends. We drank beer together in Chelsea pubs, and I heard war stories of fighting in the Congo, Rwanda, Biafra and The Sudan.
A civil war raging in Sudan provided me with the most exciting adventure of my life. The black tribal peoples of the South were fighting for their freedom against the Arab controlled North, who forced southern blacks into slavery, raided their villages and killed their women and children. Southern leaders reached out to the mercenaries in London. The mercenary they contacted was a good friend of mine, Taffy Williams. Through him I became a paid mercenary. The mercenaries brought me into the planning of a civil war. My job, entirely in London, was to work as liaison between southern tribal leaders and the head of military intelligence at the American Embassy. I attended the early planning meetings with the Africans. They sought American support of their cause, and needed weapons and money to help finance their fight. It was my job get it. I had over half a dozen meetings with an army colonel at the embassy The American reception wasn’t promising, so I brought another mercenary to plead the African case, all to no avail.
Planning the mercenary insertion continued, although the southerners had only scant funding to pay the mercenaries Two more seasoned mercenaries were hired and sent to Lisbon to begin recruiting a team. Most mercenary campaigns were launched in Portugal, since it was not legal to do so in Britain. The work we did in London was illegal, while Portugal still had strong African connections due to their colonial involvement.
I continued negotiations with the embassy, and things were moving ahead in Lisbon when suddenly it all ended with no fighter even shipped to Africa. Two of our guys were murdered in Paris, then word cane down that the Sudanese government had learned about the mercenary recruitment. The word was, there was a price on our heads and it was placed there by the government of Sudan.
With ouR men dying and the rest of us wanted dead, the Africans got scared and ended negotiations. It all fizzled and died, but at least I can claim to have been a paid mercenary. We failed, but I still get a pounding heart when I remember the time I planned a civil war.
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