"Ritual murder and secret societies lead our investigators on a deadly chase."
Reviewed by Shellie Surles
Posted March 26, 2015
Inspector Antoine Marcus goes to an embassy party and to
see a friend while on vacation and winds up being thrown
into the investigation of a murder. Jade Zewinski is the
head of security at the French Embassy and when her close
friend is killed while at party she must find out who did
Jade is sent back to France while the murder is covered
up as an accident. Yet even though the French government
is covering up the murder, they want it solved and Jade
is partnered with Antoine Marcus to find out who did it.
Jade's friend was a Freemason and so is Marcus, he is
determined to find out who killed a sister.
As the investigation begins the secret societies come out
in droves. The Freemasons, the Knights Templar's, Thule,
a racist society that predate the Nazi's and their
assassins. The excitement and adventure as well as
insight and researched information on the groups is well
done in SHADOW RITUAL.
I really enjoyed the story line and characters as well as
the way the secret societies were presented. Giacometti
and Rauenne have a hit with SHADOW RITUAL and the
potential for more exciting stories including their lead
characters Marcus and Zewinski.
An electrifying thriller about the rise of extremism. Two
ritual murdersâ€”one in Rome and one in Jerusalemâ€”rekindles
ancient rivalry between modern-day secret societies for
knowledge lost at the fall of the Third Reich. Detective
Antoine Marcas unwillingly teams up with the strong-
Jade Zewinski to chase Neo-Nazi assassins across Europe.
They must unravel an arcane mystery, sparked by
from newly revealed KGB files. Inspired from the true
of mysterious Freemason files thought to hold a terrible
secret, stolen by the SS in 1940, recovered by the Red
in 1945 and returned half a century later. First in a
successful series that has sold over 1.5 million copies
France and is translated into seventeen languages.
ExcerptSophie Dawes scurried across the large room, stumbling
more than once because only the outside lights
illuminated the space. She gasped each time she hit
something. Fear constricted her blood vessels.
The library entrance was just over there. Maybe, just
maybe she could escape. She turned the handle, using all
her strength. In vain. The elaborately carved wooden door
remained shut. Exhausted from her sprint, Sophie
collapsed on the floor.
She heard soft footsteps coming toward her. The person
was moving along the fresco-covered wall. Sophie could
hear the din of the party in the ground-floor reception
room. She took a deep breath and crept toward a window.
â€śItâ€™s no use.â€ť The voice was firm, definitive.?
Paralyzed by fear, Sophie looked up slowly. In front of
her stood a young blonde woman wearing a strange smile.
She was holding a telescopic baton with a metal tip.
The voice rang out again. â€śWhere are the documents?â€ť
â€śWhat documents? I donâ€™t know what youâ€™re talking about.
Please, let me go,â€ť Sophie pleaded.?
â€śDonâ€™t act stupid,â€ť the woman said, using her baton to
slowly lift Sophieâ€™s skirt. â€śWhat you found is none of
your business. You are just an archivist. I only need to
know where the papers are.â€ť
A wave of panic ran through Sophie. She felt stripped
â€śYou were hired as an archivist a year ago, right after
your thesis at the Sorbonne. That was quite a
presentation you made. The jury really liked it, although
you looked a little stiff in your brand-new suit. Letâ€™s
see, what else can I tell you? Oh yes, you were supposed
to go to Jerusalem tomorrow.â€ť
â€śThat canâ€™t be,â€ť Sophie moaned. You canâ€™t...â€ť
â€śBut it is. Are you sure you donâ€™t want to tell me
anything? I can go on. Your thesis director found you
that job. He has many friends, or should I say brothers?â€ť
Sophie tried to get up, but the baton came down on her.
She cried out in pain and clutched her shoulder.
â€śQuiet, or Iâ€™ll break your other shoulder blade.â€ť
â€śWhere are they?â€ť
â€śI donâ€™t know,â€ť Sophie cried out. â€śI donâ€™t know
The womanâ€™s voice became more sinister. â€śYou shouldnâ€™t
lie,â€ť she whispered. â€śPerhaps I have not made myself
She swung the black ebony instrument in the air and
brought it down on Sophieâ€™s neck. Sophie lost all the
feeling in her legs.
The voice was singsong now. â€śYou cannot move anymore, but
you can still talk. This is your last chance.â€ť
Sophie Dawes knew that the final blow would be fatal if
she kept silent. She would die right here. Although she
was just above a room filled with more than a hundred
guests, no one would take notice, and no one would help.
â€śAt the Hilton. My room, number 326. Please donâ€™t hurt
me,â€ť she said, staring into her torturerâ€™s almond-shaped
eyes. They were keen and distant. Sophie had fallen for
this woman at the party. She had introduced herself as
Helen and told Sophie that she was studying for an
advanced degree in art history. They had talked with
passion about Renaissance painters. Sophie thought she
was graceful and exciting. She couldnâ€™t resist when the
beautiful blonde suggested that they go someplace quiet,
far from the crowd, to explore the frescos.
The two women had slipped upstairs as the uninterested
security guards looked on. The nightmare had begun as
soon as Helen closed the door behind them. The blonde had
pulled her close as if to kiss her. Then Sophie saw the
small black instrument, felt the electric shock, and fell
to the floor. The woman then lifted her onto a sofa.
Sophie had come to quickly. She kicked her attacker in
the ribs and ran toward the library.
Now Sophie had lost. She prayed that her attacker would
just leave. It wasnâ€™t fair. She was only twenty-eight.
Helen smiled. Her expression looked affectionate, and
Sophie felt relief.
â€śThank you. Your death will be quicker.â€ť?The angel of
death kissed Sophie gently on the forehead and swung the
baton.?Sophie heard it coming and lifted a hand to shield
her face. Her fingers broke under the blow. She
collapsed, her eyebrow split open. Her blood flowing onto
the polished floor.
Below her, a quartet was playing selections from an
opera. The sounds of the party rose through the
floorboards and slipped along the ancient walls, filling
the private chambers and gilded sitting rooms.
Sophie recognized the Donizetti aria, â€śUna furtive
lagrima,â€ť just as she understood the full significance of
the three blows: one to the shoulder, one to the neck,
and one to the forehead.
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