Here's a snippet from the soon-to-be-published A THOUSAND ENEMIES, the second Nathan Monsarrat espionage thriller. Enjoy!

Sanhedrin walked north before turning toward the river. Between West End Avenue and Riverside Drive, he entered an art deco diner decorated with faded patriotic colors and rusted chrome. In a booth at the rear, a lone diner sat on a red cushion patched with blue tape, cleaning his manicured fingernails with the tip of a steak knife.

On the Formica table, a thick ceramic plate held a crust of apple pie floating in an à la mode pool of melted vanilla ice cream. Brown coffee stains mottled the white glaze of a matching ceramic mug. Strains of Frankie Valli crooned from a tabletop juke box.

Sanhedrin slid onto the empty bench. “I like this diner. It’s so Hopper.”

Kirill Nikolayevich Ozerov wore a bespoke grey three piece suit, a tailored white shirt, hand lasted black tassel loafers, and a hand stitched regimental silk tie. A thick bracelet of 24 karat gold links circled his right wrist. A diamond pavé watch adorned his left wrist. Heavy gold rings with oversized jewels covered the prison tattoos on the knuckles of his hands. He dropped the knife onto the Formica and shook Sanhedrin’s hand. “I did not know you are a biker, Felix.”

Unbidden, an old woman with rheumy eyes shuffled to their table with a mug and a tin pitcher of milk. A moment later, she returned with a carafe of black coffee and filled their cups.

“I like to let loose occasionally, feel the open road beneath my wheels.”

Despite the two decades since his arrival in the United States from his native Russia, Ozerov spoke in a strong southern Ural accent. “You ride a motorcycle in the city?”

“Heaven forbid, Kirill. Only a suicidal idiot would ride a motorcycle on this island.”

Ozerov spoke as if addressing a tolerated relative. “You are simply in disguise today?”

“Hide in plain sight, I always say,” Sanhedrin agreed.