Weloming Tim Standish and his book - The Sterling Directive - to my blog.

 Today I'm welcoming Tim Standish and his book - The Sterling Directive - to my blog as part of the blog tour hosted by The Coffee Pot Book Club (founded by Mary Anne Yarde)

 Delighted to share an excerpt with you all, but I'll introduce the book.

The Sterling Directive

It is 1896. In an alternative history where Babbage’s difference engines have become commonplace, Captain Charles Maddox, wrongly convicted of a murder and newly arrested for treason, is rescued from execution by a covert agency called the Map Room. 

Maddox is given the choice of taking his chances with the authorities or joining the Map Room as an agent and helping them uncover a possible conspiracy surrounding the 1888 Ripper murders. Seeing little choice, Maddox accepts the offer and joins the team of fellow agents Church and Green. With help from the Map Room team, Maddox (now Agent Sterling) and Church investigate the Ripper murders and uncover a closely guarded conspiracy deep within the British Government. Success depends on the two of them quickly forging a successful partnership as agents and following the trail wherever, and to whomever, it leads. 

An espionage thriller set in an alternative late 19th-century London.

Publication Date: 20 August 2020

Publisher: Unbound

Page Length: 304 pages

Genre: Alt-historical thriller

You can purchase the book via -

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1789650852/

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1789650852/

Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/1789650852/

Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/1789650852/

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-sterling-directive-tim-standish/1137267348?ean=9781789650860

Waterstones: https://www.waterstones.com/book/the-sterling-directive/tim-standish/9781789650853

Audio: https://www.waterstones.com/audiobook/the-sterling-directive/tim-standish/gordon-griffin/9781004016792

Now for the excerpt -

The room was square, the floor paved with the same stones as the hallway, the walls whitewashed. By contrast to the corridor it was quite warm and brightly lit by a variety of electric lamps positioned on a tall set of metal shelves against the back wall. Against the left-hand wall was a rough trestle table, its surface crammed with cylinders, punch cards, wiring and assorted bits of semi-identifiable technology. Taking up most of the rest of the room, so that there was barely space to walk between it and the table, was a relatively new-looking analytical engine, wires and cables draped away from it in every direction.

Bracketed to the wall in the centre of the table was a larger and more modern version of the kinetic display I had seen in Cooper’s and sitting in front of it was a slight figure in shirt sleeves and braces, engrossed in soldering something to the side of a telegraph encoder. His long white hair was archaically ribboned tight at the nape of his neck, and at first I thought him decrepitly old, then, as he stopped what he was doing and pushed himself back from the desk on a wheeled chair, I realised he was much younger.

And then she turned around, and I realised that it was a young woman, no more than twenty years old, and my first thought was to wonder where her parents had got to. Tilting back in the chair, she shifted a set of bug-eyed goggles up onto her head and regarded us both with a look that gave the impression that, on a list of things she would rather be doing, engaging with us would not have featured highly. She had a slim face and the kind of dainty, girlish features more in keeping with a society salon than a cellar full of technological odds and ends.

‘What do you want?’ Her voice was high, her tone exasperated, her accent pure deb.

‘Patience. This is Sterling. Needs his Bertie sorting.’ ‘Pleased to meet you.’ I held out my hand.

Rolling her eyes, she gave my hand a perfunctory shake and dug out a wire-festooned helmet from amongst the clutter scattered across the desk. She flicked switches on the engine which spun into life and the familiar clatter of a teletype started up. ‘Grab a chair from somewhere.’ She pointed over her shoulder towards the back of the room. I waited until she was back at the desk before I attempted to squeeze past. I found a folding canvas stool, one of several stacked by the shelves, and sat down at the desk on the side nearest the door. The screen in front of Patience flickered, strings of words and numbers rip- pling upwards. She leaned over and settled the helmet on my head then, seemingly satisfied, returned to the keyboard. ‘Be two minutes to mount it.’

‘Getting slow, Patience, used to be quicker.’

‘Give it a rest, Church, why don’t you?’ Patience said in an uninterested voice, still staring intently at the screen in front of her. ‘Everything’s so shuttered up now even connecting takes a genius. Too many tappers trying to steal stuff. Apparently.’ She shook her head, her eyes and mouth wide in exaggerated horror. ‘Shocking.’ She leaned forward to inspect the screen, one hand hovering over the keyboard in front of her, the other on a black dial set into a small box. ‘Which is why…’ She clicked the dial round, tapped keys, paused, tapped some more. ‘We have to make a slight detour to get to where we want to be.’

‘And where is that?’ I asked.

For the first time since we had entered the room the frown vanished, and a grin darted across her pale, elfin face. ‘At this very moment … a census branch office in Tenby transmit-ting a batch of regular updates to the central records depot in Neath, where we are pausing briefly to indulge in some diabolical evildoing!’ She ended her explanation with a passable imitation of a pantomime villain’s laugh, then flicked the dial to a different position. I felt dots of pressure across my head as the helmet took its measurements. She watched the screen carefully, typing a series of entries.

‘What kind of evildoing, exactly?’ I asked her.

She didn’t look round. ‘One. We are removing every descriptor or distinguishing feature of you from your public record so that it is impossible to identify you. Two. I am replacing all of that information with new values that in no way resemble you. Three. I am keeping a copy of your real data here so that I can produce an endless stream of false but highly believable identities for you.’ She pressed the keyboard one last time and swivelled in the chair. ‘And, voila, you are now invisible. Thank you. Thank you very much.’ She raised her hands and nodded gently, a modest conjuror accustomed to the roar of her audience.

Tim Standish

Tim Standish grew up in England, Scotland and Egypt. Following a degree in Psychology, his career has included teaching English in Spain, working as a researcher on an early computer games project, and working with groups and individuals on business planning, teamworking and personal development.
He has travelled extensively throughout his life and has always valued the importance of a good book to get through long flights and long waits in airports. With a personal preference for historical and science fiction as well as the occasional thriller, he had an idea for a book that would blend all three and The Sterling Directive was created.

When not working or writing, Tim enjoys long walks under big skies and is never one to pass up a jaunt across a field in search of an obscure historic site. He has recently discovered the more-exciting-than-you-would-think world of overly-complicated board games.

You can connect with the author via these platforms -

Twitter: https://twitter.com/timstandishUK

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/54755325-the-sterling-directive

You can learn more about the book and the author by visiting the other blogs on this tour.

That's it for now.

Till the next time.

Take care Zoe