This is One Sphere that's Seriously Out of Round
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Author: Kyle Mills
Title: Sphere of Influence Genre: thriller Take one burnt-out but unconventional FBI agent. Add an ambitious but unprincipled CIA spook. Mix together with a shadowy, world-class criminal; leaven with a handful of al Qaeda terrorists and a dash or two of corrupt Latin American and Asian bureaucrats, then bake in an elaborate plot to restructure the world's heroin markets. Sounds like a winner, right? Not if everything comes out half-baked, which is exactly what happened to this same plot in Kyle Mills' Sphere of Influence. The Plot's Already Thick CIA agent Jonathan Drake has hatched a plot worthy of a Mission Impossible team. Anyone have an self-immolating CD-ROM with him? As near as can be ascertained from careful study of the text, Drake's plan is to covertly arrange for al Qaeda to become dependent on the Afghani heroin trade for operating funds (in the post-Osama days), then yank the rug out from under them - thereby crippling the terrorists' network for lack of cash. To implement his nefarious scheme, Drake has enlisted the aid of a Mafia don and one of the world's most powerful (yet least-known) criminals, Christian Volkof. Just how Drake plans to manipulate the fanatic fundamentalist head of al Qaeda, the spaghetti sauce-soaked capo, the criminal mastermind Volkof, a gaggle of despotic Asian poppy purveyors, and much of the Mexican government all by his lonesome remains a complete mystery (though I'd sure like to have his frequent flyer miles) When an advance group of al Qaeda's drug mules smuggles a "boutique" rocket launcher (with an undisclosed number of rockets) into the US, along with a few million dollars worth of "product," the FBI finally gets involved. Of course, the curiosity of the Feebs is piqued only when the band of wacky Arab wannabe frat boys publishes a picture of themselves and their scary toy, accompanied by a generalized threat to "rain fire on the infidels." Then, the Bureau gets involved in a big way. Enter Our Hero, Looking Bored Meanwhile, in the Phoenix office of the FBI, Special Agent in Charge Mark Beamon twiddles his thumbs and watches what was once a fun job morph into a mountain of paperwork. Mark's an old-fashioned agent, an "action" kind of guy; one who always gets results. So it comes as no surprise when his old runnin' buddy Laura Vilechi - the agent in charge of locating the al Qaeda rocket launcher - draws him surreptitiously into her investigation. Beamon poses as the infamous (though nonexistent) Nicholai - a kind of "go-to" guy for the underworld - to make a connection with Carlo Gasta, a birdbrain who inherited his father's underworld empire. In a series of double-, triple, quadruple- and maybe even quintuple-crosses, Gasta gets nabbed after offing some of the Afghan drug runners. In the confusing aftermath, Volkof locates and contracts with Nicholai (who, you may remember, is actually a deep-cover FBI agent) to perform a few miscellaneous duties related to the operation of his businesses. For three million dollars... As the FBI desperately seeks the rockets that have all of America fearing impending death from the sky, Vilechi's boss somehow finds time to grind a personal axe with Beamon. Beamon shuttles around the world in Volkof's planes (accompanied by the boss's beautiful employees), dines on his chef's haute cuisine, and sleeps in imperial suites Volkof has rented; yet still finds time to juggle not one, not two, but three cell phones. And no one ever notices all the bulges in his pockets or figures out that a cell phone with a flag-motif faceplate that plays "The Star-Spangled Banner" is his line to the FBI... As the plot spins dizzyingly out of control, Nicholai, err, Beamon and Volkof terminate the CIA connection, but go ahead and implement the original plan - I think. And, of course, the hero is able to help his friend locate the bad guys and their nasty toys - I think. And, of course, everything turns out just hunky-dory, with Beamon's pension safe and his FBI position reinstated, although what happened to the thirteen - or was it sixteen? - million dollars Beamon received from Volkof for his "duties" remains a mystery - I think. No! It's a Series! My little local library has only the one book by Kyle Mills on its shelves, but a quick online check turned up two or three other Mills books featuring not only Beamon, but Vilechi as well. Whoa! That's a relief! I had thought that the two characters were amazingly flat for protagonists, but now I see that we were expected to have read all the previous books in the series. Sure, I'll rush right out and buy them all tomorrow - NOT! Even with several other books under his belt, Mills certainly could have built a little back story for his characters - such as, just who the heck is this Sherry and what's her history with Beamon? That Mills does a poor job of building characters is obvious: even those characters unique (one assumes) to this book are pure cardboard. We have little description of their mannerisms, their motivations, their backgrounds, their strengths and weaknesses. About all we can figure out from the back story on Volkof is that he's been a criminal since his teens and, though not well educated, loves learning. His employees, at least those he allows near him, are universally young, intelligent, educated, and attractive. There's the beautiful Nubian pilot, Tegla; the drop-dead gorgeous polyglot assistant Elizabeth; the handsome young mathematician-turned-assistant, Joseph. All of 'em loyal to a fault, all of 'em world-class in every conceivable way. Kind of makes you want to be a master criminal so that you, too, can associate with the cream of the crop. Meanwhile, the rest of the criminals - garden-variety drug lords, corrupt politicians, mercenaries - and most of the law enforcement officials (except Beamon and Vilechi) are complete bozos, ruled by greed, gonads, or graft. More's the pity - sure hope not all his books are like this. Skip It So we're left with a muddy, tangled, and completely unbelievable plot about a muddy, tangled and completely unbelievable scheme. It's a plot peopled by characters who - with the possible exception of Volkof - most of us would avoid the way we change seats to avoid that mumbling bag lady on our bus to work. It's a work so insulting to the intelligence that it comes as a surprise that anyone could even finish it. Take my advice, dear readers, this is one book that you should surely pass up. Even if you're in an airport in Khartoum and this is the only English-language book available for the 99-hour trip home, opt instead to spend ninety of the hours learning French, and then read Sartre in the original text. Trust me, you'd be much happier in the long run. all content copyright © 2014 by scmrak
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