title: A President in Peril (Snap Malek Mystery)
author: Robert Goldsborough
description: The 1948 presidential campaign is not going well for Harry Truman. With Dewey solidly ahead and third-party candidate Strom Thurmond expected to siphon off much of the traditionally Democratic southern vote, Trumans prospects look dim. Snap Malek, a Truman backer, covers the police beat for Deweys most ardent media supporter, the Chicago Tribune. On a slow news day, Malek receives an anonymous call from a man representing the New Reich, an anti-Semitic group with plans to assassinate Truman on an upcoming Chicago campaign stop (Truman was the first world leader to officially recognize Israel). Malek immediately takes the information to his connection with the Chicago police. The plan is to keep the threat under wraps, but that gets tough when the group begins killing random citizens and demands that the Tribune give it a forum. The fourth Malek mystery builds on its base of detailed historical context and on Goldsboroughs 21 years of experience at the Tribune. Clever plotting and a well-developed protagonist close the deal. A solid historical series that deserves a wider audience. --Wes Lukowsky
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  BATTLEGROUND
  
  
  Stephen King
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mr. Renshaw?”
  
  
  The desk clerk’s voice caught him halfway to the elevator, and Renshaw turned
  back impatiently, shifting his flight bag from one hand to the other. The
  envelope in his coat pocket, stuffed with twenties and fifties, crackled
  heavily. The job had gone well and the pay had been excellent—even after the
  Organization’s 15 percent finder’s fee had been skimmed off the top. Now all
  he wanted was a hot shower and a gin and tonic and sleep.
  
  
  “What is it?”
  
  
  “Package, sir. Would you sign the slip?”
  
  
  Renshaw signed and looked thoughtfully at the rectangular package. His name
  and the building’s address were written on the gummed label in a spiky
  backhand script that seemed familiar. He rocked the package on the imitation-
  marble surface of the desk, and something clanked faintly inside.
  
  
  “Should I have that sent up, Mr. Renshaw?”
  
  
  “No, I’ve got it.” It was about eighteen inches on a side and fitted clumsily
  under his arm. 