“Pulpit duty Sam!” called Major Jack Larson. It was August 1915. Shit! I lowered Ransome’s biography of Oscar Wilde. “Orders. Sorry.” Nicotine-stained fingers tossed me a small envelope containing white powder. - With cocaine surging through my brain, our BE9 experimental biplane roared upwards, leaving Farnborough far below. Before long, the English Channel sparkled, silver … Continue reading A Design for Death
