I’m happy to be welcoming Brian Fitzgerald to Novel Kicks as we shine a light on his book, Body Language. 

When Alan Wright learns his ex-wife Andrea leapt to her death only hours after getting remarried to a man he hates, he’s heartbroken. When he receives a package in the mail two days after her death, filled with the documents she’d used to plan that wedding, he’s hurt and angry. And when he learns that Andrea’s bizarre last wishes require him to spread her ashes over a lake outside a small village in Africa, he’s beyond resentful. But love, loyalty and the uncanny power of human connection win out, sending Wright back into the volatile stew of hope and cynicism that is aid work in the poorest parts of the world. In the teeming city of Kinshasa and the remote villages of the Congo he not only rediscovers his love for Andrea, he comes to understand that buried in the strange details of the wedding itself were subtle clues she’d left for him. Those clues point him to a plan to unleash genetic engineering in a way so reckless that its failure could mean the end of all human life, while its success could leave the fundamental definition of humanity in the hands of small team of scientists and the government that supported them.

Body Language travels with breakneck speed from the glittering research labs of Cambridge Massachusetts to the darkest corners of the Democratic Republic of Congo. It’s a story of the modern power of science, money and greed pitted against the eternal strength of human connection, love and altruism, reaching across the boundaries of death itself.

Brian has shared an extract with us today. We hope you enjoy. 

*****beginning of extract*****

One

Andrea uncrossed her long legs. The skin below her short dress was tanned from years in the African sun. On one calf a series of thin white scars showed where the inevitable wounds from jungle life had been left to heal undressed. She crossed her legs the opposite way and drummed her fingers on the soft arm of the plush white leather couch. The bald man sitting on the identical couch opposite her ignored these shows of impatience. He kept his gaze lowered to the glass coffee table between them, intent on his work. Andrea watched the reflection of the ceiling lights ripple unevenly across his shaved scalp as he turned his head back and forth, scanning the pile of documents laid out on the table. From time to time, he’d hold a page to the light in his thick, crooked fingers. He seemed to be looking for faint markings or perhaps for some sort of invisible ink. This amused Andrea in some small way. She knew it was all for show. His cryptography expert had already told him the documents were free from any codes or cyphers. Some of the pages he inspected were printouts from a computer, and some were handwritten in Andrea’s hasty, childlike penmanship.

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