Costco Connection - September 2006

book excerpt

Fated thrills

Corruption and deceit confound the

hero of Brad Meltzer’s new potboiler

AUTHOR BRAD MELTZER is the man behind several New York Times bestsellers, including The Tenth Justice, Dead Even, The First Counsel, The Millionaires and The Zero Game. He is also one of the co-creators of the TV show Jack & Bobby—and is the author of the critically acclaimed comic book Identity Crisis. His new thriller, The Book of Fate, is available this month in most Costco warehouses.

Following is a Q&A with Meltzer about The Book of Fate, along with an excerpt from the book.

he liked one of the novels, and consented when I asked to see what his life was like. As for former President Clinton, I’d met him when The Tenth Justice was published, so I was happy when he signed off on me visiting his staff in Harlem. These visits provided details for the book that make you think, “That’s exactly how it is.” C

Excerpt

Q: Describe The Book of Fate in your own words.

A: All books are a reflection of the time they’re written in. The Book of Fate is a reflection of our current world: a world where we all search for heroes and—especially after 9/11—where we realize that the super-perfect idealized hero doesn’t really exist anymore. In World War II, we were a country of super-men. Now we’re a country of spider-men: people who want to save the day and do it all perfectly, even though we realize we’re all a bit scared and terrified like teenagers inside.

The Book of Fate is actually about the loss of power and the struggles we all have when we think we haven’t reached our personal potential.

Q: What’s the best detail you picked up while
researching The Book of Fate?
A: All of the Freemason details hidden in the
city streets of the nation’s capital. Two hun-
dred years ago, George Washington and the
Freemasons marked the city of Washington,
D.C. To this day, no one knows why. When
you see what they did in the pages of the
book and then add to that all of the other
people who have been Freemasons—
Winston Churchill, John Wayne, Houdini, 15
U.S. presidents—that’s what started me into
this world.

Q: Former Presidents George H.W. Bush and Bill Clinton both helped with the research for The Book of Fate. How’d that come about? A: It came from a simple letter I received from former President Bush. He wrote to say

The Costco Connection SEPTEMBER 2006

The Book of Fate

by Brad Meltzer

Six minutes from now, one of us would be dead. That was our fate. None of us knew it was coming.

“Ron, hold up!” I called out, chasing after the middle-aged man in the navy-blue suit. As I ran, the smothering Florida heat glued my shirt to my chest.

Ignoring me, Ron Boyle darted up the tarmac, passing Air Force One on our right and the eighteen cars of the motorcade that idled in a single-file line on our left. As deputy chief of staff, he was always in a rush. That’s what happens when you work for the most powerful man in the world. I don’t say that lightly. Our boss was the Commander in Chief. The President of the United States. And when he wanted something, it was my job to get it. Right now President Leland “The Lion” Manning wanted Boyle to stay calm. Some tasks were beyond even me.

Picking up speed as he weaved through the crowd of staffers and press making their way to their assigned cars, Boyle blew past a shiny black Chevy Suburban packed with Secret Service agents and the ambulance that carried extra pints of the President’s blood. Earlier today, Boyle was supposed to have a fif-teen-minute sit-down with the President on Air Force One. Because of my scheduling error, he was now down to a three-minute drive-by briefing sometime this afternoon. To say he was annoyed would be like calling the Great Depression a bad day at the office.

“Ron!” I said again, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to apologize. “Just wait. I wanted to—”

He spun around wildly, slapping my hand out of the way. Thin and pointy-nosed with a thick mustache designed to offset both, Boyle had graying hair, olive skin, and striking brown eyes with a splash of light blue in each iris. As he leaned forward, his cat’s eyes glared down at me. “Don’t touch me again unless you’re shaking my hand,” he threatened as a flick of spit hit me in the cheek.

Gritting my teeth, I wiped it away with the back of my hand. Sure, the scheduling hiccup was my fault, but that’s still no reason t—

“Now, what the hell’s so damn important, Wes, or is this another vital reminder that when we’re eating with the President, we need to give you our lunch orders at least an hour in advance?” he added, loud enough so a few Secret Service agents turned.

Any other twenty-three-year-old would’ve taken a verbal swing. I kept my cool. That’s the job of the President’s aide . . . a.k.a. the body person . . . a.k.a. the butt-boy. Get the President what he wants; keep the machine humming.