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Synopsis

Embark on a gripping journey of sacrifice and self-discovery in The Asymmetric Man, a thrilling tale set against the tumultuous backdrop of the Vietnam War. Follow Blake, a young recruit turned undercover agent, as he navigates the treacherous world of espionage, survival and forbidden love. From war-ravaged Saigon to seemingly impenetrable jungle and the tranquillity of a Buddhist monastery, this riveting novel explores the power of recognising and embracing one’s true calling, no matter the cost.

Extract

In this extract Blake Carter, a Cambridge University undergraduate fluent in several Oriental languages, is offered the opportunity to work for MI6 after graduation, with the prospect of working overseas in the Far East.

CHAPTER 1

Cambridge

March 1966.  

Blake stood for a moment, and looking up at the word HUMILITATIS carved in stone above the archway leading into Caius College. He walked through the gate and across Tree Court towards the south west corner of the quad and an ancient solid oak door. He pushed it open and its hinges creaked. In the gloomy hallway that stretched before him, there was a dark wooden staircase whose intricately carved balustrade gave off a faint smell of furniture polish. As he walked upstairs the steps groaned beneath his feet and he reflected that students like himself had been using the University, and this college, for more than seven hundred years. He wondered how many others had found the conventions stifling, although it had not taken him long to learn to get around them and turn them to his own advantage. 

Blake made his way to Professor Dodds’ rooms on the second floor. This was only the second time he’d been invited; the first was after they’d been introduced, two years ago. They usually met in The Rose and Crown, a quiet back street pub. He knocked on the dark oak door and a few moments later it creaked open.

‘Good evening, Professor.’

‘Ah, Blake, do come in,’ said Dodds, with a hint of awkwardness. ‘You’re on time, I see. That’s good, shows good manners.’ 

The front of his shirt had slipped out of his trousers and his tie was stained with remnants of food and gravy still wet from dinner. Blake recognised the same smell of roast beef he’d noticed last time. Dodds often appeared to be scatterbrained, rambling from one subject to another, but Blake had learnt that his appearance and distracted manner hid a sharp mind. He followed Dodds into the living room, a dark space with heavy wooden panelling; it was just as he remembered. There was a medium-sized dining table with four upright chairs ranged round it, a two-seater sofa and two leather armchairs. Against the far wall were two sets of tall bookcases stuffed full of books, with layers of books arranged horizontally on top of the upright ones. Two photographs of the Professor in his colourful gowns were displayed in silver frames on top of one bookcase. Document folders and sheets of paper were piled high on almost every surface. Removing his Cantonese/English dictionary from the pocket of his canvas jacket, Blake was ready for another evening of their usual academic conversations, but as he stepped further into the room, he saw a stranger in a grey suit sitting on the sofa, drink in hand.

‘This is the young man I was telling you about, Gerry. Blake Carter. Blake, this is Mr Benson,’ said Dodds. The stranger rose to his feet, and held out his hand.

‘Good evening, sir,’ said Blake, shaking hands.

‘A pleasure to meet you.’ Benson’s voice was rich and clear. He was tall and lean, his sharp blue eyes shining like beacons. 

‘Make yourselves comfortable. Gin and tonic, Blake?’ said Dodds, turning away towards a small cupboard used as a drinks cabinet.

‘Yes, please.’ 

Dodds poured Blake’s drink and handed it to him.

‘Just a minute, let me move some of those out of the way.’ He lifted a pile of documents from the seat of an armchair and made space for Blake to sit down. Benson returned to his seat on the sofa while Dodds sat on the other leather armchair, both of which had seen better days. ‘I’ve made some comments on the Chinese article about hydroelectric dams. Now where did I put it?’ Abruptly Dodds got up and put his drink on a small table beside his chair. He then did a tour of the room, rifling through different piles of documents and ending up at a pile on a footstool. Picking up a buff-coloured folder, he studied its contents. ‘Ah, here it is,’ he said, handed it to Blake and sat down again. 

‘Thanks.’

‘Well, Blake, how are you getting on with the Thai translation?’ asked Dodds.

‘Almost halfway through,’ said Blake.

‘Good, good.’

‘Ah,’ said Benson, ‘Doddsy here has been telling me he’s employed you to do translations for him.’

‘Yes.’

‘Translations? You’re reading Natural Sciences, aren’t you? Not much to do with Oriental languages I would have thought.’

Blake wondered where the line of questioning was leading and who Benson was; it seemed unlikely this was just a chance meeting. He shuffled in his seat. 

‘I was raised in the Far East,’ he said.

‘Ah, I see. So how did you come across Doddsy?’

Blake felt as if he was being quizzed, but Benson’s manner was friendly. 

‘I asked the Department of Asian Studies to recommend someone who could help me practise, so I wouldn’t forget it all. They put me in touch with Professor Dodds.’

‘Glad to be of assistance,’ said Dodds piously.