About the Book:
The Forgotten are six Americans who did not come home at the end of the Vietnam War. Kept hidden in a remote camp in the jungle near the Laotian/Vietnamese border, their captor – a People’s Army of Vietnam lieutenant colonel – has them converting raw opium into morphine base. His goal: ransom them back to the Americans for millions years after the war ended.
Before she married Randy, Janet Pulaski was an anti-war activist and a member of the Students for A Democratic Society’s Action Wing. After he’s shot down, she’s sent to Cuba to learn how to be an assassin and makes an interesting life style choice.
When the U.S. learns of their existence in 1982, two men, one a former POW and the other a CIA operative want the POWs dead. Their existence could send one to jail and the other to a firing squad.
Forgotten by Marc Liebman is a great read. It’s one of those stories that grabs hold on page 1 and takes you on a rollercoaster ride. The plot is amazing, something quite unique, and is full of twists and turns.
Anne-Marie Reynolds for Readers Favorite
Read an Excerpt:
The blacked-out sedan slid to a stop outside the storefront with the four service logos that indicated it was a U.S. Armed Forces Recruiting Station. The car’s passenger guessed the desk light was left on by accident by one of the recruiters when he left for the day.
Despite the all black attire, a passerby would have easily identified the figure as a woman. She had a mason jar in each hand and a brick under her armpit. Each jar had a rag sticking out of the lid and was carefully put down on the cement. The woman stopped about five feet from the large picture window where the light from inside the recruiting station faded out and the shadows began.
She hurled the brick underhand like a softball pitcher. The plate glass window made a satisfying crack before the shattering glass left a gaping hole. With a butane lighter, the woman lit the first mason jar and lobbed it into the recruiting center. It shattered on one of the steel desks, spreading an exploding mixture of soap and gasoline.
The second jar landed to the left of where the first one hit. By the time the woman got back in the car, the recruiting station was a blazing inferno.
Fifteen minutes later, the stolen Ford Fairlane slid to a stop in a shopping mall parking lot, well away from the stores. In one practiced movement, the bomber pulled a .45 caliber pistol out of a shoulder holster and put it to the temple of the driver. Brain, blood and bone splattered the driver’s side window.
Satisfied, the bomber (and now the shooter), walked across the lot to another car, a steel gray Volvo 123S with red leather seats, unlocked it, and drove away. …
After her alarm went off at seven, Julia watched a breathless TV commentator’s top of the hour story on the firebombing of a military recruiting station in Northbrook, Illinois. His report said two Marines sergeants, both Vietnam veterans, were burned to death. ….
Satisfied with her night’s work, Julia Amy Lucas turned off the TV. She just turned twenty-one and this was her first act as a member of the Revolutionary Wing of the Students for A Democratic Society. What surprised her was how much she liked the killing.