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Adventure abounds in the
snow-covered Scottish countryside as British agents take on Russian
operatives plus Irish Republican Army conspirators. From high mountain
peaks, to well-concealed mines, to the corridors of charming inns,
drinking, dancing, fighting, and lovemaking share space as dastardly
Cold War deeds unfold.
The year is 1962. English agents Mullholland and Sommerville have
successfully thwarted one threat to the empire when another arises.
Still taking rooms at the picturesque Orchy Hotel, the majority of
their time seems to be taken up with two of the establishment’s female
employees. Their frequent boudoir romps are soon interrupted (though
certainly not ended) with the discovery of strange events at a gold
mine, plus deaths that appear to be anything but accidental. Soon the
pair is knee deep in Soviet spies, two-man submarines, strangely
unidentifiable aircraft, and a gunrunning villain who is proving to be
remarkably hard to kill. Before you know it, arrows, bullets and bodies
begin to fly. Though in truth, a lot of the flying bodies continue to
be in and out of bed.
Young paces his yarn briskly. He packs in a potpourri of players whose
characteristics and behaviors easily delineate each one’s place on the
good-guy to bad-guy scale. An exceptional talent for capturing the
local dialect adds realism to conversations though sometimes at the
expense of immediate comprehension. The author also does a good job
with descriptive depictions of the countryside revealing both knowledge
and fondness for the hamlets, farms, and foothills. If you like scenic
locations, testosterone-filled heroes, and a dash of fun in your
fiction, Achaladair awaits.