Now that you’re intrigued by The Shiro Project, let’s see what’s up with it’s predecessor.
Are Hitler’s atrocities really over? For depressive Wall Street trader Jeremy Corbin, absolute truths become undeniable lies overnight. He finds out his long-lost father is dead, he discovers his boss’s real identity, and he ends up boarding a plane to Zurich. He has a Nazi medallion in his pocket, a hot CIA bodyguard next to him, and a clearly dangerous Mossad agent on his tail. What was his father investigating? Why was his mother assassinated? Why are unknown sides fighting over him with automatic weapons? Can the conspiracy be stopped?
Inspiration for The Bleiberg Project
Where did you get the idea for The Bleiberg Project?
The whole idea came to while I was driving to my office, listening to the news. A pharmaceutical company was doing research on an orphan disease that touched fewer than a hundred kids in Europe. A man said that the study was being ended because the budget was 50,000 euros short. I was stunned. These companies make tons of money, amazing profits, and 50,000 euros is a drop in the ocean. When I got to my office, I started looking into the subject and found articles establishing links between Nazi and Japanese scientists during WWII and pharmaceutical companies. I also found information about how Allied governments were interested in the results of immoral and incredibly cruel human experiments. Through my research, I realized the world we live in rose up from the ashes of war, and was built on the corpses of 60 million victims. I wanted to write about it, using entertainment to make it more bearable.
What about your recurring hero?
The real hero of the Consortium thriller series came to me after reading and watching testimonials of Simone Lagrange, a woman who survived the Nazi death camps. Behind the entertainment, The Bleiberg Project, and the whole series, pays tribute to the victims of World War II, be they members of the resistance, or of course, victims of the Shoah. During my research, I found amazing, incredible stories, lived by ordinary, mostly anonymous heroes. After spending three years digging into madness and cruelty, you really need those heroes if you want to keep believing in mankind.
Excerpt (note, there’s strong language):
“Besides work and getting high, what do you do all day?”
No answer. You’re out of luck, pal. I’m pig-headed. “The journey will seem shorter if we talk, don’t you think?”
He sighs. “When I’m not on an assignment, I paint.” I can’t help laughing. “You think that’s funny?”
“I’m picturing you on a stool with your palette and brush, gazing at a green valley or a snowy mountaintop. Sorry, but with your look and build, it’s funny!”
“If you’re just going to make fun of me, the trip is going to seem very, very long.” He clams up.
“There’s no harm in a little fun. OK, I’ll stop,” I snort, laughing even louder. Why do giggling fits always hit at inappropriate times?
“What about you? Besides driving home from clubs dead drunk, what do you do?”
Bastard. That’s below the belt. On second thought, I guess I deserved it. “I try to survive. I thought about blowing my brains out, but I’m too much of a coward. So I drink. I smoke like a chimney. Every day, I destroy myself a little bit more.”
“Suicide isn’t a sign of bravery, but of giving up. We all make mistakes. You don’t judge somebody by the number of blows they can give.”
“What do you judge somebody by, Mr. Freud?”
“The number of blows they can take.”
His words hit home. “You’ve taken a lot, right?” I ask. A long, long beat.
“More than you can ever imagine.”
Why am I not surprised? This guy’s been around the block. I’d bet my life on it. “How do you do it?”
“Blowing guys away like that. How do you do it?”
“Who said it was easy?” He sighs heavily. A long awkward silence.
Hmmmm. Thought provoking and not for the modest or easily upset.
See you next time!