The Heist, Featuring Detective Isaac Bell, Arrives Just In Time for Summer Adventure

By

Scott D. Parker

Clive Cussler knew his readers.

The prolific author wrote over sixty books in his lifetime (he died in 2020 at age 88) spread across five main series: Dirk Pitt, Sam and Remi Fargo, the Oregon files, and Kurt Austin. But it is the Isaac Bell series that captured my attention from the jump.

The Isaac Bell series features the titular character, the lead detective of the Van Dorn detective agency. As ruggedly handsome as you can imagine, dogged in his determination to find the culprit, and devoted to justice, Bell is the kind of man you want on your side. 

All of the stories are set in the early 20th Century and that is what attracted me to them. Unlike, say, the Dirk Pitt novels—that often have a slightly alternative history quality to them—the Bell novels fit squarely into real history. I tend to think of them along the lines of “well, that certainly could have happened.”

The Cold Open in The Heist is Pretty Hot

Cussler’s novels are always good, reliable action/adventure mystery/thrillers guaranteed to be the summer blockbuster movie you see in your mind and The Heist is no different. 

The latest novel debuted last week and, just like any Bell novel, it opens with a bang. Literally. Bell finds himself on the presidential yacht of Woodrow Wilson. It’s 1914 and he’s invited the members of the federal reserve as they launch the organization. All seems to be going well until a rogue airplane launches an attack: incendiary bombs are dropped on the boat. Bell, naturally, saves the day, but that launches his new investigation.

Until he’s reassigned to another case. He’s called out to a mansion in Rhode Island where he is to serve as a “second opinion” for a rich guy who is accused of killing his wife. In a fascinating three-chapter sequence, author Jack Du Brul (now the primary author for the Bell series after Justin Scott wrote the nine of the first ten entries) delivers what is, in essence, a short story in the middle of the novel. The solution is ingenious and could easily stand on its own as a story.

The Actual Heist is Massive

But this is a novel and with its title, we need something big. And we got it. In our age of instant communications and cell phones and satellites, it can sometimes be difficult to remember how slow we used to talk with each other and just how much we didn’t know if it wasn’t published in the newspapers. The Isaac Bell novels are a nice reminder of this, and this lack of communications plays a big part in the heist.

It actually boggles the mind, which is a nifty trick to pull off in a book set more than a century before today. When you have a series character like Isaac Bell, it’s rare the hero loses. The joy comes in the locations, the devices the hero uses, and specifically the steps and daring do Bell takes to get his man.

The Narrator is Fantastic

I’ve written before how much I enjoy Scott Brick as an audiobook narrator. I cannot recall the first book I heard with Brick as a narrator, but he became an instant favorite. He has the ability to characterize the existing prose with different emphasis and nuances that make for a better listening experience. When I discovered the Bell series and learned Brick was the narrator, I actually latched onto Brick as Bell. I, of course, have “cast” Isaac Bell in my mind, but it’s Brick’s voice I hear. 

In fact, on Thursday night, strong storms blew through Houston and knocked the power out at my house. My wife and I turned to books to pass the time and I pulled up my ebook copy from the Libby app and started to read.

And “heard” Brick’s narration.

The Isaac Bell series is a wonderful historical thriller series I highly recommend, and Jack Du Brul’s The Heist carries on the tradition. If you need a good, old-fashioned cat-and-mouse story, this book fits the bill.

Now Available: Treason at Hanford: A Harry Truman Mystery

by
Scott D. Parker

Well, this is fun.

After a long gestation period, one of my favorite books has now been published.

What’s It About?

Here’s the short elevator pitch:

During an investigation to ferret out corruption on the home front in World War II, Senator Harry Truman not only finds himself embroiled in the top-secret world of the Manhattan Project, but must also confront the worst act of treason in American history since Benedict Arnold.

Here’s the longer book description:

As a U.S. Senator, Harry Truman led a congressional committee dedicated to ferreting out corruption during World War II with a simple credo: help the country win the war and bring our soldiers home.

In the spring of 1944, Truman receives a series of ominous letters from a lawyer out in Hanford, Washington. His client, a farmer who lost his land when the government confiscated it for a secret project, has been silenced and drafted into the Army.

Truman personally leads this investigation, bringing along former policeman Carl Hancock. Soon after they start looking into things, Truman and Hancock witness a pair of brutally murdered corpses, a town clouded in secrecy, and more than one person who’d prefer to be done with the pesky senator.

But the investigators are tenacious, and in no time, Truman and Hancock not only find themselves embroiled in the top-secret world of the Manhattan Project but also must confront the worst act of treason in American history since Benedict Arnold.
 

Where Can You Find It?

It is currently available as a ebook in all major online stores. For those of y’all who prefer paperbacks, those will be available soon.

 

Read an Excerpt

Monday
April 17, 1944
4:13 p.m., Pacific War Time

McLeod led Truman and Hancock out into the parking lot after the two travelers had refreshed themselves. As McLeod was getting his keys from his pocket, Truman said, “This is your car?”

“Yes, it is,” McLeod said, a hint of pride in his voice as he admired how the sun shone off the chrome grill and the midnight blue paint. “It’s a 1941 Lincoln Continental, the last major line produced before the war started.” He ran a hand along the roof on the driver’s side. “This baby really purrs, too. Smoothest riding car I’ve ever known.”

He opened the back door behind the driver’s seat and placed both suitcases on the seat. He leaned in and unlocked both passenger doors. The other two men climbed in, Truman in the front. McLeod slid behind the steering wheel and started the engine.

He paused with both hands on the wheel and looked over at Truman. “I deeply appreciate you both coming out here. I know you don’t know me from Adam and I’m not even a constituent. But it’s reached the point where I don’t trust anyone official over in Richland.”

“Well you can trust us,” Truman said, his finger idly tracing the curve of his hat, now on his lap. “Your letters, taken as a whole, amount to something we’ve not encountered. Usually, we get the company cheating the government and hampering the war effort with cheap products. Yours was, well, unnerving.” He glanced back at Hancock. “Carl?”

“It’s certainly unusual, I’ll give you that,” Hancock said. “But I’d like to hear some more details, if you don’t mind.”

“We have the time,” McLeod said, putting the car in gear and backing out of the parking space. “We have a little drive back up to Richland.”

Hancock said, “That reminds me. Why’d you have us meet you here in Oregon? Ain’t there a train station in Richland or some other town near there?”

McLeod looked at him in the rearview mirror. “I think I’m being watched. Those two hoods convinced me of that. I wanted to get out of the spotlight and meet somewhere where no one knows who I am.”

“You give your name to anyone here?” Hancock asked.

“No.” McLeod thought. “Yes, to the ticket man. I introduced myself and asked whether or not your train would be on time. Why, was that wrong?”

“Not necessarily, no, but it might’ve been better if you hadn’t.”

McLeod frowned. “But we’re more than an hour away from Richland. Why would it matter if I gave my name down here? Besides, I live in Seattle so Richland’s not even my hometown.”

“But you’ve been in Richland for a few weeks working for your client.” Truman said, seeing where Hancock was going. “You’re probably known around town, too. You aren’t just some worker. You’re the attorney for a man suing the federal government. Word spreads in small towns when out-of-towners come in. Back in Independence, the whole town would know if so-and-so’s uncle or aunt were visiting almost as soon as they arrived.”

Hancock said, “Mr. McLeod, I’ve come late to this party. I just read your letters this morning. And I don’t know what else you and Harry’ve talked about. Why don’t you fill in some details while we’re driving?”

“I didn’t leave much out of the letters. I had to make a compelling case to get some help out here. As I wrote in the last letter, I’ve gotten to where I don’t trust anyone official out here, even Ira, the local sheriff.” McLeod shook his head. “Ira. That one’s hard to explain. He’s such a straight arrow. Nothing bad ever happened to him except for the loss of his wife back in ’37. My wife and I were at Donald’s house for Christmas and he’d invited Ira over so he wouldn’t be alone on Christmas. He’d even…”

“Why were you at Mr. Bumble’s house for Christmas?” Hancock asked, his gaze never leaving the passing scenery outside his window. “I thought you were just his lawyer.”

McLeod’s face reddened at the question and Truman, half facing McLeod, leaned in closer. “Is there something you’ve left out of your letters, Mr. McLeod?”

“It’s not important, really,” McLeod said, “and it doesn’t have any bearing on my standing as Donald’s attorney.” He eased off the gas as he approached a slow-moving truck carrying crates of apples. “I didn’t think you’d come out here if I wrote it in a letter.”

“What is it, Mr. McLeod?” Truman asked, a bit more firmly.

“Donald, or Donnie, as my wife likes to call him, is my brother-in-law.”

Truman sat back and Hancock let out a little chuckle. “Let me guess. Your sister didn’t want to live on a farm for the rest of her life so she got outta there as fast as she could. ‘Cept that left Mr. Bumble as the only one to tend the farm when dear old mom and dad went to the great orchard in the sky. Then, when the government took the land, your wife got all guilty and ‘persuaded’ you to represent her brother.” The word “persuade” was said in such a way that each man, husbands all, exactly knew the meaning.

McLeod eyed the Texan sitting in his back seat. “That’s about eighty percent correct. How’d you know?”

“Because I was in a similar situation. Me and your wife played the same part and my sister and Mr. Bumble played the other part. ‘Course, in my case, it was the other war. Took me away from the farm and I never went back, despite what I told my sister. She hated me for a while, too. Spent the first Christmas after the war stuck at my podunk apartment in Austin.” Hancock turned from his window and looked at McLeod through the rearview mirror.

“What changed your sister’s mind to invite you back the next time,” McLeod said.

“Oh, she didn’t. After that, I met my future wife and she invited me to celebrate Christmas with her family.” Hancock’s voice sounded like it was far away. “Fact is, it wasn’t  until I went into law enforcement that Edna finally came around.”

McLeod had sat up straighter. “Did you say ‘law enforcement’? Are you a cop?”

Truman jumped in. “I recruited Carl straight out of the sheriff’s office in Texas.” He shifted in his seat so that he faced McLeod. “That’s beside the point, Mr. McLeod. Aside from the many details of dates, times, witnesses, et cetera, is there anything else you need to tell us before we proceed?”

McLeod shook his head then stopped. “Well, as Donald was feeling the heat, I took steps to get him to dictate and sign an affidavit. We actually drove all the way to Walla Walla to see one of my law school buddies we could trust. He’s a county judge out there. We got the affidavit four days before Donald was drafted.”

Truman noticed that Hancock was nodding. “Okay, that’s good,” he said. “Anything else? Anything at all?”

McLeod, finally realizing the fruit truck was not going to turn anytime soon, downshifted the Lincoln and sped past the truck. “No,” said McLeod, settling back into his casual driving position, the open highway before him.

“Tell us about the warehouse where Mr. Bumble worked.”

“Moore Shipping and Warehousing? They have branches all over the Columbia River, from Spokane to the Pacific, as well as Portland and Seattle. I didn’t know anything about them but my firm represented them once, before I was on board. The owner is Edward P. Moore, avid hunter and outdoorsman. Real Hemingway type, if you know what I mean.”

The conversation went on in this manner with Truman and Hancock asking questions about Richland, other people McLeod represented, and other theories the attorney had. Hancock, his eyes rarely leaving the view outside his window, caught the first glimpse of a river he assumed was the Columbia. He also was the first one to see the police lights.

McLeod slowed the car and stopped at the junction of two roads. Both he and Truman saw the police cars, now clearly visible about fifty yards away to their right.

“That the direction we’re going? Hancock asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s stop and say hello.”


***

There’s more to this excerpt but I didn’t want to make today’s post too long.

Click here to read the rest of the excerpt at the main page on my website.

Click here for a list of the stores where Treason at Hanford is now available.

A Little Vicarious Traveling--Murder at The Mena House

My friend Erica Ruth Neubauer’s first novel came out this week. Yep. This week. Her publisher scheduled it months ago. And she did what authors do—she spent even more months organizing events at booksellers, even planning to hit multiple out-of-town stores. And then . . . well, there came a pandemic.

So since readers aren’t getting to see her in person at the moment, I’m doubly delighted to have her here today. Her book, Murder at The Mena House takes place in 1920s Cairo, Egypt, where an American widow is caught up in a murder and a possible deadly attraction at the city’s Mena House Hotel. I can’t wait to start it for the chance to indulge in some armchair traveling.

And here’s Erica Ruth with a few more suggestions about things to do from your armchair. - Claire

These are strange times, friends. I hope that you’re all safe, healthy, and finding ways to stay sane, while also cutting yourself slack for the things you AREN’T getting done. This is a time to be kind to others and also ourselves.

Without further ado, here is a random list of things that are helping me hang on to my sanity during this lockdown.

The Miss Fisher movie.

I am admittedly obsessed with the series (“Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries,” for those of you who haven’t, like me, watched it all the way through four or five times.) I didn’t really show up to the movie for the plot, which I’m hoping is entertaining for those of you new to the thing. I came for the Indiana Jones feel of it, the amazing clothing, and the shot of Inspector Jack Robinson, shirtless in the desert with suspenders.

I’m just speaking my truth here, folks.

(I’ve only watched the movie twice so far, which I think shows a lot of restraint on my part.)

Acorn TV

30-day free trial! Did you know? This is good stuff—I love a good English mystery. Although unfortunately I’ve already seen all of Midsomer Murders (which seems incredible, but it’s true) and Foyle’s War. But there’s a ton of other really good stuff out there, like QUEENS OF MYSTERY which was very quirky and charming.

30Rock

This might be my third time through the series, but it’s been several years since I’ve watched it, and I forgot how much I love this show. And how much I identify with Liz Lemon—I’ve been known to slice some cheese in my kitchen late at night and actually sing “Working on my night cheese.” I still have a couple seasons left before I start hunting for the next great comedy to binge. (May I also recommend Schitt’s Creek.)

Exercise

This one is boring, but it’s really helping. I’ve been taking (socially distant) long walks and doing yoga in my living room. The yoga studio that I frequent is doing some classes online and some of my favorite teachers are also doing classes online. It’s not the same as sweating in the same room as other people, but when I put it like that, it’s also less gross.

Books

- The latest installment in Kristen Lepionka’s Roxane Weary PI series. Get in on this. The first in the series is THE LAST PLACE YOU LOOK.

- Elizabeth Little’s entirely enjoyable PRETTY AS A PICTURE—a love letter to cinema and awkwardness, Little’s voice is a standout.

- Samantha Downing’s HE STARTED IT. I don’t think this is out yet, but I tore through both it and her first novel, MY LOVELY WIFE. Super twisty thrillers.

- Allison Montclair’s THE RIGHT SORT OF MAN—set after WWII, and utterly charming, with two young women running a marriage bureau and solving murders.

- And I’ve been doing a Margaret Atwood retrospective. I read THE BLIND ASSASSIN years ago and remember loving it, but I’m picking it up again as well as several others I’ve had lying about the house.

Cross Stitch

I like to keep my hands busy while I watch TV, so I’m busting out the cussy cross-stitch. My throw pillows will never be the same.

Well-heeled travelers from around the world flock to the Mena House Hotel—an exotic gem in the heart of Cairo where cocktails flow, adventure dispels the aftershocks of World War I, and deadly dangers wait in the shadows . . .
Egypt, 1926. Fiercely independent American Jane Wunderly has made up her mind: she won’t be swept off her feet on a trip abroad. Despite her Aunt Millie’s best efforts at meddling with her love life, the young widow would rather gaze at the Great Pyramids of Giza than into the eyes of a dashing stranger. Yet Jane’s plans to remain cool and indifferent become ancient history in the company of Mr. Redvers, a roguish banker she can’t quite figure out . . .
While the Mena House has its share of charming guests, Anna Stainton isn’t one of them. The beautiful socialite makes it clear that she won’t share the spotlight with anyone—especially Jane. But Jane soon becomes the center of attention when she’s the one standing over her unintentional rival’s dead body.
Now, with her innocence at stake in a foreign country, Jane must determine who can be trusted, and who had motive to commit a brutal murder. Between Aunt Millie’s unusual new acquaintances, a smarmy playboy with an off-putting smile, and the enigmatic Mr. Redvers, someone has too many secrets. Can Jane excavate the horrible truth before her future falls to ruin in Cairo . . . and the body count rises like the desert heat?

You can find Murder at The Mena House at IndieBound, Bookshop.org, Barnes & Noble, or Amazon.

Erica Ruth Neubauer spent eleven years in the military, two years as a cop and one year as a high school English teacher before finding her way as a writer. She has reviewed mysteries and crime fiction for several years at publications such as Publisher’s Weekly, the Los Angeles Review of Books and Mystery Scene Magazine and is a member of both Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime. When she’s not writing her next novel or curled up with a book, she enjoys traveling, yoga and craft beer. She lives in Milwaukee, WI with her husband.