Bobo's Raid

Monday morning Clarkson is on the hotel roof top, the sun already hot on his back. Around 8:30 the balcony door opens at Bobrowski’s room. A waiter wheels a food cart out before him. With a practiced flourish the man snaps a table cloth and places it on the table top. Placing the plates and silverware on the table first, he brings the silver domed food platters from inside the cart. Checking the table to be certain everything is in place, the waiter goes back into the room pushing the cart.

Ally and Fay are the first two people to appear. Clarkson brings the rifle up and sets it on the roof’s ledge. The women are pouring coffee into cups and beckoning the men to the table. Clarkson pulls the rifle stock to his cheek. Two men come out on the balcony. Clive sits with his back to Clarkson. Reggie sits across from Clive.

Claire Fairthorpe rushes back to her room to get her Walther pistol specially equipped with a silencer. The fat man rises from the bed and grabs her wrist. “Come back to bed my sweet little dumpling, I am ready for you again.”

Claire yanks her wrist from his grip and takes the pistol from a dresser drawer. Turning back toward the man Claire points the pistol at him. “Do not be here when I return, you fill me with disgust.”

He puts his hands up defensively and turns away. Claire grabs her purse and rushes from the room. At the cab stand in front of her hotel she steps in front of a couple and slams the door closed. She yells at the cab driver, “Get me to the Harbor Hotel now!”

Throwing money to the driver when they arrive at the hotel she bolts from the cab. Facing toward the front of the hotel she sees two wings of the building that jut out from the center rooms. She knows where Bobrowski’s room is but now must decide which of the wings Clarkson would choose. She rushes to her right.

“Son of a bitch,” mutters Clarkson. Clive’s head is in the way of his shot. Clarkson takes the rifle down and moves further out to his right. The shot will have to be at an angle he did not foresee. Laying the rifle on the ledge he puts a blanket down to kneel on. Looking through the scope he brings the center of the crosshairs to bear on the left side of Reggie’s head.

Claire reaches the roof top of the building’s wing she chose. Opening the door to the roof slowly, she looks through the gap. Not seeing anyone she goes through the door. The roof is empty, no one is at the ledge overlooking the rooms below. “Damn it! Wrong wing.” Fairthorpe runs back to the door.

Ally and Fay are putting the food on plates and setting the plates before the men. Clarkson waits for the women to sit down. With the women settled he pulls the rifle’s stock into his shoulder and sights through the scope. Ally’s head is just forward bending toward her food. Reggie’s head is perfectly in the crosshairs. Clarkson takes a deep breath.

1928 England Count Reginald Bobrowski, dazed and bloody, sits down heavily. The speed record beast he was driving steams and groans, broken, on the beach after the drive chain snapped nearly decapitating the Count. Bobrowski is the son of a wealthy Polish Count and an American heiress. He lives in England with his wife Alexandra whose pet name for the Count is Bobo. The Count dabbles in racing cars and managing his mother’s business interests. On a lark he and his friend Clive Parry-Jones take their wives on a journey to the sands of the Sahara. After returning from the nearly disastrous trip, Reggie meets a sinister Mr. S. Mr. S is the head of a secret government department in London. S orders Reggie on a trip back to the Sahara to spy on a German expedition London thinks is seeking oil for their future war effort. Reggie and Clive buy a Citroen Kegresse ambulance from the Polish army to convert into a lightly armored desert traveler. The truck has a rubber half-track drive system the men modified to effortlessly cross the endless Sahara sand. The men survive a harrowing trip by sea to Algeria to find more intrigue in their base at Ouargla. Mr. S sends a cunning, brutally deceptive female agent, Claire Fairthorpe, to control Reggie’s every move. With forces beyond their control Reggie and Clive try to puzzle who is after what. The Germans roam the desert leaving death and angry Berbers in their wake. Fairthorpe has an agenda of her own. Count Bobrowski is caught in the crosshairs of both factions. Bobo’s sense of fair play may be his undoing. Is Reggie just a rich lay-a-about fop or can he and his friend, Clive, get the job done? Follow a gritty tale of murder and deceit across the desert-plain as the Count dodges death to seek the truth.
Passion is a sustaining element in my life. Passion for living, for producing good work, and for expanding my abilities. After a forty-year career of professionally racing sports cars, writing became a passion. As an avid follower of American history and early auto racing, I have combined the two in my novels.