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Table of Contents
About The Book
“Readers will devour the intricacies of this thrilling crime novel and will hurriedly turn the pages until its denouement. VERDICT: For teen fans of Stieg Larsson’s Millennium series and de la Motte’s Game trilogy.” —School Library Journal
“With the breakneck pace of the trilogy but a more mature narrative command, de la Motte deftly spins out these divergent strands, until the intricate outlines of a deadly spider’s web finally become visible—and inescapable.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
In the first of two new action-packed thrillers by the internationally bestselling author of the Game trilogy, MemoRandom takes you deep inside the world of police intelligence—where secrecy, betrayal, and deadly competition reign supreme.
David Sarac is a handler at the Intelligence Unit of the Stockholm Police Force, identifying, recruiting, and wrangling anyone who can support the police in their battle against organized crime. And David is very good at what he does: manipulation, bribes, and threats—anything goes, so long as he delivers. Other agents can do nothing but watch jealously as his top-secret, high-level informant, Janus, rockets David to success.
But after David suffers a stroke during a high-speed car chase, crashing violently into the wall of a tunnel, he wakes up in a hospital with no memory at all of Janus or the past two years of his life. David only knows that he has to reconnect with Janus to protect himself and his informants before outside forces bring the whole network crashing down. Fortunately, he has his supportive friends and colleagues to help him rebuild his life…or does he?
From the award-winning Swedish author who has worked as a police officer and IT security consultant, MemoRandom is a stunning thriller and look inside the secret intelligence community, where you never know who’s on your side.
“With the breakneck pace of the trilogy but a more mature narrative command, de la Motte deftly spins out these divergent strands, until the intricate outlines of a deadly spider’s web finally become visible—and inescapable.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
In the first of two new action-packed thrillers by the internationally bestselling author of the Game trilogy, MemoRandom takes you deep inside the world of police intelligence—where secrecy, betrayal, and deadly competition reign supreme.
David Sarac is a handler at the Intelligence Unit of the Stockholm Police Force, identifying, recruiting, and wrangling anyone who can support the police in their battle against organized crime. And David is very good at what he does: manipulation, bribes, and threats—anything goes, so long as he delivers. Other agents can do nothing but watch jealously as his top-secret, high-level informant, Janus, rockets David to success.
But after David suffers a stroke during a high-speed car chase, crashing violently into the wall of a tunnel, he wakes up in a hospital with no memory at all of Janus or the past two years of his life. David only knows that he has to reconnect with Janus to protect himself and his informants before outside forces bring the whole network crashing down. Fortunately, he has his supportive friends and colleagues to help him rebuild his life…or does he?
From the award-winning Swedish author who has worked as a police officer and IT security consultant, MemoRandom is a stunning thriller and look inside the secret intelligence community, where you never know who’s on your side.
Excerpt
MemoRandom PROLOGUE Saturday, November 23
Blue lights . . . that’s his first lucid thought after he opens his eyes.
He can’t have been unconscious for more than a few seconds, a tiny micropause in his head. But the world seems so strange, so unfamiliar. As if he weren’t quite awake yet.
Blue reflections are dancing around him. In the rearview mirror, bouncing off the concrete walls, the roof, the wet road surface, even off the shiny plastic details of the dashboard.
A car. He’s in the driver’s seat of a car, going through a long tunnel.
The pain catches up with him. He has a vague memory of it from before he blacked out. A brilliant, ice-blue welding arc cutting straight through the left-hand side of his skull and turning his thoughts into thick sludge.
He can even identify the way it smells.
Metal, plastic, electricity.
Something’s happening to his body, something serious, threatening his very existence, but weirdly he doesn’t feel particularly frightened. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, feels the soft leather against the palms of his hands. A pleasant, reassuring sensation. For a moment he almost gives in to it and lets go, tracing those smooth molecules all the way back into unconsciousness.
Instead he squeezes the wheel as hard as he can and tries to get his aching head to explain what is happening to him.
“David Sarac.”
“Your name is David Sarac, and . . .”
And what?
The car is still driving through the tunnel, and one of the many incomprehensible instruments on the dashboard must be telling him that he’s going too fast, way too fast.
He tries to lift his foot from the accelerator pedal but his leg refuses to obey him. In fact he can’t actually feel his legs at all. The pain is growing increasingly intense, yet in an odd way simultaneously more remote. He realizes that his body is in the process of shutting down, abandoning any process that isn’t essential to life support until the meltdown in his head is under control.
“Your name is David Sarac,” he mutters to himself.
“David Sarac.”
Various noises are crackling from the speakers: music, dialing tones, fractured, agitated voices talking over each other.
He looks in the rearview mirror. And for a moment he imagines he can see movement, a dark silhouette. Is there someone sitting in the backseat, someone who could help him?
He tries to open his mouth and sees the silhouette in the mirror do the same. He can see stubble, a tormented but familiar face. He realizes what that means. There’s no one else there, he’s all alone.
The light in the rearview mirror is blinding him, making his eyes water. The voices on the radio are still babbling, louder now—even more agitated.
The shutdown of his body is speeding up. It’s spreading from his legs and up toward his chest.
“Police!” one of the radio voices yells. The word forces its way in and soon fills the whole of his consciousness.
Police.
Police.
Police.
He looks away from the rearview mirror and laboriously turns his head an inch or so. The effort makes him groan with pain.
“Your name is David Sarac.”
And?
Some distance ahead he can see the rear lights of another car. Alongside them is a large warning sign, an obstruction of some sort, and an exit ramp. The rear lights are suddenly glowing bright red.
He ought to turn the wheel, follow the car ahead of him out of the tunnel. His every instinct tells him that would be the sensible thing to do. But the connection to his arms seems to be on the way to shutting down as well, because all he can manage is a brief, jerky movement.
The obstruction is getting closer, a large concrete barrier dividing the two tubes of the tunnel. The reflective signs are shimmering in the glare of the car’s headlights. He tries to look a few seconds into the future and work out whether he’s in danger of a collision. But his brain is no longer working the way it normally does.
The shutdown reaches his face, making his chin drop.
The distance to the barrier is still shrinking.
“Police.”
The word is back, even more insistent this time, and suddenly he realizes why. He’s the police; the blue lights are coming from his own car.
His name is David Sarac. He’s a police officer. And . . . ?
The pain in his head eases long enough for him to be able to piece together a coherent chain of thought. What is he doing here? Who is he chasing? Or is he the one being chased?
The lights in the rearview mirror are getting closer and closer. Burning into his head.
Fear overwhelms him, sending his pulse racing. The ice-blue pain returns, even stronger this time. His eyelids flutter; all the noise around him fades away into the distance. He tries to remain conscious, fighting the shutdown process. But there’s no longer anything he can do.
A brief jolt shakes the car. But he hardly notices it. The shutdown process is almost complete and he is more or less unconscious again. Free from pain, fear, and confusion. All that remains is a stubborn, scarcely noticeable signal in his tortured brain. An electrical impulse passing between two nerve cells that refuses to let itself be shut down—not until it’s completed its task.
Just before his car crashes into the concrete barrier, the second before the vehicle goes from being an object with clearly defined parameters to a warped heap of scrap metal, the impulse finally reaches its target. In a single, crystal-clear moment he suddenly remembers everything.
Why he is in this car. What it’s all about.
Faces, names, places, amounts.
The reason why all of them, every last one of them, must die.
All because of him. Because of the secret . . .
An immense feeling of relief courses through his body. Followed by regret.
His name is David Sarac. He is a police officer.
And he’s done something unforgivable.
Blue lights . . . that’s his first lucid thought after he opens his eyes.
He can’t have been unconscious for more than a few seconds, a tiny micropause in his head. But the world seems so strange, so unfamiliar. As if he weren’t quite awake yet.
Blue reflections are dancing around him. In the rearview mirror, bouncing off the concrete walls, the roof, the wet road surface, even off the shiny plastic details of the dashboard.
A car. He’s in the driver’s seat of a car, going through a long tunnel.
The pain catches up with him. He has a vague memory of it from before he blacked out. A brilliant, ice-blue welding arc cutting straight through the left-hand side of his skull and turning his thoughts into thick sludge.
He can even identify the way it smells.
Metal, plastic, electricity.
Something’s happening to his body, something serious, threatening his very existence, but weirdly he doesn’t feel particularly frightened. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, feels the soft leather against the palms of his hands. A pleasant, reassuring sensation. For a moment he almost gives in to it and lets go, tracing those smooth molecules all the way back into unconsciousness.
Instead he squeezes the wheel as hard as he can and tries to get his aching head to explain what is happening to him.
“David Sarac.”
“Your name is David Sarac, and . . .”
And what?
The car is still driving through the tunnel, and one of the many incomprehensible instruments on the dashboard must be telling him that he’s going too fast, way too fast.
He tries to lift his foot from the accelerator pedal but his leg refuses to obey him. In fact he can’t actually feel his legs at all. The pain is growing increasingly intense, yet in an odd way simultaneously more remote. He realizes that his body is in the process of shutting down, abandoning any process that isn’t essential to life support until the meltdown in his head is under control.
“Your name is David Sarac,” he mutters to himself.
“David Sarac.”
Various noises are crackling from the speakers: music, dialing tones, fractured, agitated voices talking over each other.
He looks in the rearview mirror. And for a moment he imagines he can see movement, a dark silhouette. Is there someone sitting in the backseat, someone who could help him?
He tries to open his mouth and sees the silhouette in the mirror do the same. He can see stubble, a tormented but familiar face. He realizes what that means. There’s no one else there, he’s all alone.
The light in the rearview mirror is blinding him, making his eyes water. The voices on the radio are still babbling, louder now—even more agitated.
The shutdown of his body is speeding up. It’s spreading from his legs and up toward his chest.
“Police!” one of the radio voices yells. The word forces its way in and soon fills the whole of his consciousness.
Police.
Police.
Police.
He looks away from the rearview mirror and laboriously turns his head an inch or so. The effort makes him groan with pain.
“Your name is David Sarac.”
And?
Some distance ahead he can see the rear lights of another car. Alongside them is a large warning sign, an obstruction of some sort, and an exit ramp. The rear lights are suddenly glowing bright red.
He ought to turn the wheel, follow the car ahead of him out of the tunnel. His every instinct tells him that would be the sensible thing to do. But the connection to his arms seems to be on the way to shutting down as well, because all he can manage is a brief, jerky movement.
The obstruction is getting closer, a large concrete barrier dividing the two tubes of the tunnel. The reflective signs are shimmering in the glare of the car’s headlights. He tries to look a few seconds into the future and work out whether he’s in danger of a collision. But his brain is no longer working the way it normally does.
The shutdown reaches his face, making his chin drop.
The distance to the barrier is still shrinking.
“Police.”
The word is back, even more insistent this time, and suddenly he realizes why. He’s the police; the blue lights are coming from his own car.
His name is David Sarac. He’s a police officer. And . . . ?
The pain in his head eases long enough for him to be able to piece together a coherent chain of thought. What is he doing here? Who is he chasing? Or is he the one being chased?
The lights in the rearview mirror are getting closer and closer. Burning into his head.
Fear overwhelms him, sending his pulse racing. The ice-blue pain returns, even stronger this time. His eyelids flutter; all the noise around him fades away into the distance. He tries to remain conscious, fighting the shutdown process. But there’s no longer anything he can do.
A brief jolt shakes the car. But he hardly notices it. The shutdown process is almost complete and he is more or less unconscious again. Free from pain, fear, and confusion. All that remains is a stubborn, scarcely noticeable signal in his tortured brain. An electrical impulse passing between two nerve cells that refuses to let itself be shut down—not until it’s completed its task.
Just before his car crashes into the concrete barrier, the second before the vehicle goes from being an object with clearly defined parameters to a warped heap of scrap metal, the impulse finally reaches its target. In a single, crystal-clear moment he suddenly remembers everything.
Why he is in this car. What it’s all about.
Faces, names, places, amounts.
The reason why all of them, every last one of them, must die.
All because of him. Because of the secret . . .
An immense feeling of relief courses through his body. Followed by regret.
His name is David Sarac. He is a police officer.
And he’s done something unforgivable.
About The Author
Photograph by Jeff Richt
Anders de la Motte, a former police officer, made his debut in 2010 with the award-winning thriller Game and has since then been one of Sweden’s most beloved and popular crime writers. He is the author of several acclaimed and bestselling crime fiction series, among them the suspenseful Skåne Quartet. Published in 2022, The Mountain King is the first bestselling installment in his new Leo Asker series.
Product Details
- Publisher: Atria/Emily Bestler Books (December 1, 2015)
- Length: 448 pages
- ISBN13: 9781476788067
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Raves and Reviews
“Exciting first in a thriller trilogy…relentless pacing leads to a stunning finale.”
– Publishers Weekly
“A taut thriller that will leave the reader excited for the next book in the series.”
– Kirkus Reviews
“A high voltage, high tech thriller of a trilogy…fast paced and full of surprises…a suspenseful and intelligent read.”
– The Novel Pursuit
“An action-filled thriller that makes good use of an unreliable narrator—in this case, a man desperate to root out his own misdeeds. An intriguing premise and a compelling lead character.”
– Booklist
“With the breakneck pace of the [Game] trilogy but a more mature narrative command, de la Motte deftly spins out these divergent strands, until the intricate outlines of a deadly spider’s web finally become visible – and inescapable.”
– Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“For all the book's twists and turns, de la Motte is completely at ease in thickening and expanding the plot. He never forces the action, which is rare in a spy thriller, instead tightening the web in which Sarac seems to be caught. The cast of characters is nicely varied; part of the pleasure is seeing through the bad guys before the protagonist does. Following up his popular Game Trilogy (Bubble, 2014, etc.), de la Motte keeps the reader guessing in this tale of an amnesiac cop and an informant whose very existence we sometimes doubt.”
– Kirkus Reviews
“Anders de la Motte is a master of the red herring. Just when you think you've figured it out, a new twist turns everything upside down. I'm normally not a big fan of amnesia plots but Anders de la Mott plays it to perfection in MEMORANDOM … a fast paced and thrilling tale in which nothing is ever quite as it seems.”
– Fresh Fiction
“MemoRandom cements de la Motte’s reputation as a master of thrills. Readers unfamiliar with the author are sure to track down his previously lauded Game trilogy.”
– Killer Nashville
“You simply have to read this excellent novel which is absolutely jam packed with exciting twists and turns...My verdict - highly recommended – a must.”
– The Crime Warp
Resources and Downloads
High Resolution Images
- Book Cover Image (jpg): MemoRandom Trade Paperback 9781476788067
- Author Photo (jpg): Anders de la Motte Photograph by Jeff Richt(0.1 MB)
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