conspiracy thriller

Vatican Euro-thriller--SOLOMON'S KEY: THE CODIS PROJECT. Foreign rights bid auction completed recently and film option with major Hollywood film producdtion company in progress for Protocol-17,BUT--SOLOMON'S KEY is available for film and TV.

Foreign rights sold: Bulgaria-BARD in 2nd Print Run!,Brazil,Cyprus,Quebec,Macedonia ...
The Voynich Prophecy pre-sold to Greece,Quebec,Bulgaria,Brazil,Macedonia...
RICHARD D. WEBER was formerly a U.S. Foreign Service Officer, Special Agent in Charge of Dignitary Protection with the U.S. Department of State's (DSS) Diplomatic Security Service. The unit responsible for the protection of the late Princess Diana and Prince Charles, the Secretary of State, The Prime Minister of Israel, and Saudi Arabia's and Jordan's ambassadors to name but a few. He has traveled extensively and roamed the hallowed halls of Foggy Bottom, various embassies, and the Pentagon. His last position was Deputy Assistant Regional Director with the U.S. Department of Justice.

He's a graduate of University of Wisconsin and a member of HWA and MWA. He has just completed his new euro-thriller screenplay/novel "The Voynich Prophecy WGA #877241." His current novel "SOLOMON'S KEY" is also available.

He has interviewed such notables as Doug Clegg and Tom Piccirilli for publication. His latest works will appear in THE BLACK SPIRAL(edited by Mr. Weber)along with Ramsey Campbell, Tim Lebbon, Tina L. Jens, Mort Castle, Sephera Giron, Nancy Kilpatrick, Robert Weinberg and others. His feature stories have appeared in BLACKOCTOBER MAGAZINE and Cthulhu Issue 17 Vol.II. Richard's work has appeared in the following magazines: "GUNS & AMMO," "SOLDIER OF FORTUNE," "FOREIGN POLICY," "GUNS," "LATINA," and "PENTHOUSE." When not writing, he is an adjutant teacher of creative writing. Visit Richard's website: Da Vinci Code Rival-Solomon's KEY

This writer is looking for an agent.

THE VOYNICH PROPHECY EXCERPT: WGA REGISTERED ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
London

With her last ounce of strength, the girl shouldered her way through the door. The steady drizzle of rain felt cool and welcoming as she pounded across the rooftop. The cold evening air poured into her lungs as she ran. Almost there, she thought. A few more feet and I’ll be free.

She stopped suddenly and inched her way toward the edge of the roof.

The wind rocked her as she stood blinking the rain from her eyes, arms outstretched and struggling to maintain her balance.

Looking down, she could dimly make out the stream of headlights as vehicles swam like fireflies through the darkness. They beckoned to her.

From behind, the door burst open and slammed against the wall with a loud thud. Light from the stairwell shot across the rooftop, reaching for her.

She turned. A knot of dark figures spilled out of the doorway and stood silhouetted in the weak backwash of light.

Even in the grayness, she could recognize the outline of the tallest form, her blonde-white hair capturing the watery light. Her stature, her body language was unmistakable; it held the raw cruelty of a coiled whip. She could almost feel the black wind of Margot Gant’s terror.

The sound of another familiar voice, winded from the fast climb to the rooftop, sent panic shuddering through the girl.

“Time to come home, little one,” Dr. Craven said.

She didn’t answer.

Another figure at the doctor’s side took a step forward.

The girl inched closer to the edge. Then Margot’s arm shot outward, halting the other man’s advance.

The blinding beam of a torch seared her eyes.

“Shut it off, you bleeding idiot,” Margot snapped.

To the girl, she said,“No one’s going to harm you, Wendy.” As she spoke in soft, soothing tones, her hand glided to the tranquilizer pistol tucked neatly in her waistband at the small of her back.

Somehow, Wendy sensed the weapon; she could picture the cold black metal in her mind’s eye.

But as she stood with her arms still extended, she felt as if the wind might waft her to safety. With half-closed lips, she began singing a nursery rhyme. “Rock a bye baby, in the tree tops. When the wind blows, the cradle will rock …”

Wendy took another step. Wind tore across the rooftop, flaming her hair.

“When the bough breaks …”

Wendy’s eyes were closed tightly now,her eyelids heavy with memories that were not quite memories, dreams that were not quite dreams, as she rolled her head from side to side.

She took another step.

“NO!” Margot shouted as she dove forward.

Silent, graceful, and weightless as an angel,the eight-year-old girl disappeared before her eyes.

They stood at the edge, staring down at the street below.

Nervously peering over the ledge and shaking his head,the grub-faced doctor at Margot’s side said,“Can’t make out the street from here, ja?” He took a step back, gave a sigh of relief. “For a moment there, I thought just maybe, our little bird could actually fly.”

Margot’s fiery eyes glared. She spun and backhanded the doctor hard across the cheek. “She can fly, you fool. That’s the whole damned point!”
****************************************************
SOLOMON'S KEY EXCERPT:

CODIS,the FBI's Combined DNA Index System,has found a match. A link between the past and present. Between a royal bloodline and the world's foremost terrorist.

On the anniversary of their downfall at the hands of the papacy, the Knights Templar vow revenge.

The ultimate spies and the ultimate threat: Reunited lovers brought together by fate, Italian Secret Service agent Nick Rossi and beautiful Mossad agent, Josie Schulman, battle an al-Qaeda orchestrated wave of terrorist attacks directed against Rome, the Vatican, and the newly elected Pope. But the investigation means plunging into Rossi's own past and into the arms of Fatima, the alluring stranger, who may be his downfall.

The ultimate secret: Beneath the Dome of the Rock, in Solomon's Temple, an ancient scroll is found. It unlocks the Holy See's brutally suppressed truth concerning the location of history's most important tomb.

The ultimate deception: As world leaders converge on Rome for the Pope's funeral, Rossi and Josie race against time and follow a cryptic trail of symbols hidden within German Renaissance paintings: the keys to a mystery that points to a secret Masonic nexus of power, the secrets of the Widow's Son.
Will the truth of the crucifixion shock the world??

Josie sat chain-smoking. She crossed one leg over the other, counting away the minutes with each flex of her ankle.

After awhile, a feeling of dread leached into her. Fragmented thoughts ran across her mind like fire ants. She bolted from her chair and into the outer hallway. Empty . . . Nobody . . . Zip.

At first, walking hurriedly, searching, listening and then, she heard it, the ding of the elevator. A muffled cry.

She broke into a dead run, screeching to a halt at the elevator door just as it closed.

"Damn it!"

Somehow she knew it, knew it in her gut, her father was in danger and in that elevator. Glancing up at the floor indicator, watching the numbers change as it rose steadily upward, she pounded the call button.

First floor.

Second.

She ran for the stairwell, crashed through the door and bounded up the stairs. Her Doc Martins slapping the concrete steps, layered echoes, intertwined in a chorus that followed her up the stairwell, barking at her heels.

She climbed two floors and realized this was hopeless (ten more floors to her father's office). She rammed the emergency bar of the exit door and tumbled sideways as she rounded the corridor back to the elevator door.

She heard it. Ding.

Standing at the door, lungs burning, she saw the doors begin to slide open. She took a step, hesitated and willed herself to move. Claustrophobia was her Achilles heel. She steeled herself and entered the elevator. Eyes searching everywhere, she strode to the rear and turned sharply. The elevator became sweltering; the air so thick Josie could hardly breathe. Beads of perspiration dappled her forehead. Her blouse, equally damp with sweat, matted against the small of her back.

The devil was in the details and in an instant her world became obsessed with details: the sibilant hiss of the closing elevator door, the blinding-harsh overhead lighting, the jolt of the compartment and the creak of cables as it rose.

Third floor. Fourth floor . . . Sixth floor.

The soft hum of the ventilation fan.

She wasn't alone after all. There in the corner, next to the control panel, stood a dignified little man. She took him in with a glance. His black overcoat was tailored; his complexion was pasty with a trace of pink like a baby's cheeks-no, more like an elf, with gray wisps of fine hair. His hands rested upon an ebony walking stick with an ornate silver handle. As he rocked on the balls of his tiny feet, he whistled the Disney song "Heigh-Ho."

"Floor please?" he said, turning with an innocuous but naughty smile.

"Twelfth floor, please?" she replied calmly, returning his grin. Two can play this game, she thought.

The surrounding walls seemed to crush in toward her like the plates of a hydraulic press.

Ninth floor.

Tenth.

Shrugging his diminutive shoulders, he lisped, "These old buildings and old elevators require patience." His watery little eyes stared, studying her, drinking her in.

... Are you a patient person, young lady? You appear somewhat distraught. Can you relish this moment, the ecstasy of doubt? The intensity of the unknown? Can you? You little Hmeshe Kurve(hometown whore)!

She heard the words, but couldn't believe her eyes. His lips never moved. No-just that impish little smile. It must be my nerves, she thought. Then her eyes zoomed in on the walking stick. Yes, it was the same. Just like the one the old man had carried when he brushed past her in the doorway to Tateh's office. Same man, same stick?

Just as she was about to answer the elevator shuddered to a stop. The doors opened and in walked a bosomy dowager with her consort tucked beneath her arm: a miniature French poodle, followed by a gaggle of students. The room shrunk around Josie now. The thought of sharing this tiny compartment with this press of bodies terrified her.

She peered over the top of the old dame's wide-brimmed hat, stealing a glimpse of the little man. He no longer looked old and fragile but her instincts told her it was defiantly somehow the same man. Had to be.

Her hand moved to the fanny pack around her waist; she slid her hand into the Velcro pouch that held her weapon. The cold gunmetal bolstered her courage and bridled her phobia.

Eleventh floor.

She felt something on her wrist, something wet.

Plop . . .

She glanced down. There, against her skin, a tiny blotch of red, and then another. Josie shook as the honed point of a blade ran between her shoulder blades. She looked up. A dark stain was flowering on the ceiling tile of the elevator cab.

Plop . . .

A droplet landed on a young, female student's nose. She raised her hand to wipe it away. The girl looked down and screamed.

Twelfth floor.

Like toppling dominos, the first the students, then the dowager, and finally her poodle, fell into panic. A chorus of screams erupted, the poodle threw back its head howling . . . bodies pushing and shoving each other . . . moving in a wave toward the door. Frenzy.

Ding.

Thirteenth floor.

Josie pushed and scrambled upward. Using the cab's handrail as a foothold, she reached up and pulled open the overhead trap-door. There, suspended from the steel cables--a body ....

copyright2007 by rdweber all rights revserved.

THE VOYNICH PROPHECY: AN OMEGA FORCE THRILLER

FOR SOME, IT’S AN ELEGANT ENIGMA …
The past:
For centuries, the Voynich manuscript has remained a mystery. The Lost Magical Diary of C. G. Jung holds the key to unlocking its secrets. In 1940 on board the Orient Express, Jung encounters the Nazi leader of the Vril Society, who is hell-bent on harnessing its powers and whose motto is “Not all good comes from above.”
THE KEY TO FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH
The present:
On a failed mission deep with the Syrian Desert, Major Brody Devlin and his special ops team—the OMEGA FORCE, encounter a horrific discovery, bizarre experiments in genetic engineering.
On a dig in the Middle East, Dr. Blair Kelly—a beautiful but tough-as-nails archeologist—rescues Wendy, a young orphan, from the clutches of a mad assassin, al-Dajjal.
Together with a secret agent, Blair dives into an ancient quest to solve the puzzle of the Voynich manuscript. But the answer found in the lost diary of Carl Jung unlocks a dramatic childhood secret and reveals her strange bond with the child.
FOR OTHERS, IT’S A CURSE … THE DEVIL’S LOOKING-GLASS
Back in London when Blair’s brother—an alchemist—and Wendy are kidnapped, she and Devlin are plunged into an evil conspiracy of Neo-Nazis. Wendy and the Lost Boys, are being held prisoner at Eden School, where they are examined as unique specimens, the fountainhead of a new master race.
In a daring commando raid on the British Museum, the Voynich manuscript and the mysterious Crystal Skulls are stolen. Using Blair as a decoy, Devlin and his team dive headlong into an ancient quest that dates back to the Nazi Occult Bureau.

"SOLOMON'S KEY" CODIS--THE FBI'S COMBINED DNA INDEX SYSTEM HAS FOUND A MATCH. A LINK BETWEEN THE PAST AND THE PRESENT. A LINK BETWEEN AN ANCIENT ROYAL BLOODLINE AND THE WORLD'S FOREMOST TERRORIST!
MEANWHILE, THE TEMPLARS VOW REVENGE AGAINST THE NEWLY ELECTED POPE!
Foreign rights sold to Cyprus,Russia,Bulgaria ...

"DEVIL IN DISGUISE" IN A CHANCE MEETING WITH THE "KING" OF ROCK 'N' ROLL A YOUNG BOY DISCOVERS THE KEY TO A SERIES OF MURDERS PLAGUEING HIS SMALL TOWN.

EDITOR of "THE BLACK SPIRAL: TWISTED TALES OF TERROR"
PSYCHOLOGICAL CUTTING-EDGE TERROR WITH A WICKED TWIST!
A TURN OF THE SCREW!
F. Paul Wilson, Ramsey Campbell, Mort Castle,Tim Lebbon,Tina L. Jens,Robert Weinberg, Nancy Kilpatrick,Sephera Giron,Thomas Deja,J. Knight, these along with other masters of suspense plunge you into their corkscrew world of hateful revenge, uncertain fate, and finally--panic. You drift deeper and deeper, tumbling into "THE BLACK SPIRAL."

In twenty maximum-fear-factor tales of suspense you will encounter: Elvis rising from the grave to wreak havoc on a rap group who�s been sampling his songs; the uncertainty of crossing over into the shadowy world of the near death experience; a writer who finds himself hunted like a character in the pages of his own screenplay; a young couple who think they've found their dream home,that is, until they learn of its blood-soaked past; a seductive vixen who uses her voluptuous body as bait as she prowls the Goth scene's nightlife looking for fresh meat, leading to an orgiastic night that guarantees eternal life for Vanessa and her all-consuming passions; lust-filled ghosts who covet and seduce unsuspecting women as they sleep;a beautiful, hard-driving femme fatale who's on the run in the dusty heart of the Arizona Desert and races the devil for pink slips, and a serpent-handling, traveling preacher man who gets more than he bargained for when he unwittingly makes a pact with old "Mr. Scratch."

These stories are at once eerie and haunting, chilling and nightmarishly brilliant. Guaranteed to prickle your skin with gooseflesh, and keep you reading until the wee hours of dawn.

THE BLACK SPIRAL: TWISTED TALES OF TERROR

A FINGERNAILS-ON-THE-BLACKBOARD THRILLFEST !

Teasers:
Robert Weinberg and Tina L.Jens "ELVIS CAN'T DANCE"

Gnashing his teeth, Elvis pushed open the lid of his coffin and sat up. Angrily, he reached over and shut off the nearby radio, cutting off the song in mid-play. There was a limit to what even the dead could stand. And a rap group sampling his songs was two steps over the line.

F.Paul Wilson"CUTS"

LA screenwriter Milo Johnson is having a bad day. The studio is busting his chops over his latest adaptation of a horror novel. More sex and violence they say. And even worse, he awakens to find his body riddled with abrasions and welts. Before his doctor can make a psychiatric referral for self-mutilation, Milo discovers the awful truth ... revenge is the dish best eaten cold.

Tim Lebbon "FELL SWOOP"

Jack groaned and raised himself up on one elbow, closing his eyes to try to purge his mind of hallucination and pain. When he opened them again the man was still there, hands resting on knees, long hair hanging over one shoulder in a ponytail. His eyes were black and he was staring directly at Jack.
"Wake up," the naked man said. "It�s going to be a hell of a day."
... and Jack turned and ran back down the sideroad he had emerged from, seeking the sightless, soundless blank oblivion of the previous night.
"I'll find you," Rook had said. The stranger who wore his face.

Richard Weber "DEAD HEAT"

If looks could kill, they'd look like Madison Chase; blonde, appealing, deadly:

As the speedometer needle shivered past ninety, Madison squinted anxiously through the bug-splattered windshield of the stolen Shelby Mustang Cobra. The tour bus loomed on her right...

The driver turned toward her, sunlight glinting off his Ray-Bans, and suddenly pulled hard left. The bus careened across the centerline-- pummeling the side of the muscle car with a glancing blow.

Her teeth shook with the force of the collision.

Tortured sheet metal shrieked and buckled.

As the steering wheel was nearly ripped from Madison's hands, she wrestled it and held tight as the pony car lurched onto the shoulder, kicking up gravel that sprayed noisily against the undercarriage. The steering wheel shook, sending bone-numbing vibrations up her arms.
Time and the world blurred into slow motion.

Don't hit the brakes, foot off the gas, her mind coached matter-of-factly as experience overruled panic.

Regaining control, Madison hitched the wheel to the right and plunged back onto the blacktop. She stood on the gas, double-clutching through the gears, sending all 390-ft. lbs. of torque to the rear axle which caused the Mustang�s tail end to whip violently as she closed the distance in seconds.

Frantically, her eyes searched the dash gauges. They read normal. "Good boy, Frank," she said, praising the Cobra's stamina. "Now let's frag their ass!"
As she tucked the Mustang tight on their butt and eased off the gas, the throaty bark of the dual exhaust empowered her. With unblinking eyes, she took in the red custom-painted letters scrawled across the back of the bus that read:
LEGION

"SOLOMON'S KEY: A CONSPIRACY THRILLER
NEW THRILLER: CODIS,FBI'S DNA INDEX,LINKS AL-QAEDA TERRORIST WHO IS STALKING THE NEWLY ELECTED POPE WITH AN ANCIENT ROYAL BLOODLINE. SOLOMON'S KEY ...
SOLOMON'S KEY: is a hard-boiled stew laced with gritty cop-shop and action.
Nancy Kilpatrick
author of "The Power of the Blood " series
and "The Goth Bible" new from St. Martin's

"Secret societies, an ancient book that renders people mad, deadly games of erotica and murder...all are woven together for a page turning journey into the ultimate evil."

"Weber leads his readers down a treacherous path of conspiracy, terror, and suspense with a firm hand and engaging prose."

--Sephera Giron, CURSE (Leisure 2004) THE BIRDS AND THE BEES

RICHARD D. WEBER was formerly a U.S. Foreign Service Officer, Special Agent in Charge of Dignitary Protection with the U.S. Department of State's (DSS) Diplomatic Security Service. The unit responsible for the protection of the late Princess Diana and Prince Charles, the Secretary of State, The Prime Minister of Israel, and Saudi Arabia's and Jordan's ambassadors to name but a few. He has traveled extensively and roamed the hallowed halls of Foggy Bottom, various embassies, and the Pentagon. His last position was Deputy Assistant Regional Director with the U.S. Department of Justice.
He graduated from the Foreign Service Institute and the Treasury Department's Criminal Investigator Training Center with honors.
Currently, he is an adjutant teacher of creative writing.
Member of MWA and HWA.

SOLOMON'S KEY and THE VOYNICH PROPHECY, ALSO DEVIL IN DISGUISE.
RIGHTS OFFERINGS:

"DEVIL IN DISGUISE"
Travel back to the summer of 1964. A time when your transistor radio and a dog named Elvis were a boy's best friend. A time when the country and the small town of Beaver River, Wisconsin were on the verge of change. And twelve-year-old Robbie Donner was also on the verge of change. In an effort to discover the identity of a killer who has been stalking his small town he enlists an unlikely community of allies that includes the King of Rock 'n' Roll
"Part of me was still a kid in Toyland. But another part of me thirsted for drag-strip babes with long fake eyelashes and bullet bras that jutted from beneath tight sweaters. Thirsted for adventure: fast souped-up cars and cruising the gut, sneaking a smoke with your buddies-whatever grown-ups had told you not to do. Robbie Donner struggles to understand life, struggles to understand the forces of good and evil. He encounters hate, prejudice, and finally the ultimate evil--murder.
"Death drove a '64 candy-apple red GTO convertible. Its lake pipes roared as it sped up the gravel drive leaving a wake of dust as its signature. Chad Horne's left hand gripped the steering wheel tightly as his right hand flicked open a Zippo lighter filled with gasoline and brought it to the "Lucky Strike" cigarette dangling from his lip.
LSMFT--Lucky Strike Means Fine Tobacco. "

copyright2007 by rdweber all rights reserved.