MEET THE FIRST NON-COSTUMED SUPERHERO: CHARLES LEE JACKSON II'S "THE EMPEROR"!

"Costumed superheroes, fast-paced action, and plots that will knock your  socks off! The 'Emperor' novels are fun, snappy, and a reflection of  the pulp fiction that readers have read and loved for decades. Jackson couples original characters with seductive situations that will have you  on the edge of your seat."
–J. D. Crayne, author, How to Bonk a Zombie.

Are you a fan of Superman, Captain America, the Flash, the Avengers. Doc Savage, and other superheroes? Then prepare to enter a world of adventure and danger, the world of a hero unequaled since the days of the movie serials, of comic books, and the yellowed pages of the pulp magazines. 

He could leap tall buildings, if he wanted to. He is nearly invulnerable, but doesn't like to show off. He is super-strong, super-smart, super-fast. But he'd rather wine and dine beautiful women than pummel bad guys.

But watch out, bad guys. Once he gets you in his sights…   

He's the Emperor, the world's first non-costumed superhero. Born in an underground comic in the 1960s, he's now featured in his own series of pulp novels.

A debonair crimefighter, head of an intrepid band of adventurers, the Emperor fights evil where ever it may arise. Able to pass unsuspected through any security or fortification, he has outwitted and outfought the cleverest and most deadly enemies. The Emperor’s exploits put those of James Bond, Jack Reacher, and those two men from U.N.C.L.E. to shame.   

Book One, The Emperor's Gambit, showcases four amazing adventures of The Emperor, as he and his able corps of agents fight international criminals, foreign terrorists, space aliens, and a madman with the gloves Thor used to wield Mjolnir, his mighty hammer! 

Don't miss this underground pulp and comic book sensation–now in book form. For forty years, Charles Lee Jackson II has been producing a body of work unprecedented in the annals of pulp magazines and comics. He has garnered a fanatic body of followers and admirers–but his work has never been made available to a mass audience before! Begin the adventure here, with the first volume of stories featuring Jackson's legendary cliffhanger hero in his fight against the forces of evil.

"Combines the best of heady 60s and 70s spy adventure with the breakneck pace and scale of the great Republic serials, with a wry sense of good humor that rivals Napoleon Solo's best lines."
–Steve Latshaw, screenwriter, Stan Lee's Lightspeed, and director, Return of the Killer Shrews.

Click here to buy Book One, The Emperor's Gambit, for Kindle only 99 cents.

Click here to read a free sample chapter of The Emperor's Gambit.

AND DON'T MISS...

FREE SAMPLE CHAPTER "THE EMPERORS GAMBIT" 1ST ADVENTURE OF THE 1ST NON-COSTUMED SUPER HERO!

    "Combines the best of heady 60s and 70s spy adventure with the breakneck pace and scale of the great Republic serials, with a wry sense of good humor that rival's Napoleon Solo's best lines." - Steve Latshaw, screenwriter Stan Lee's Lightspeed, director Return of the Killer Shrews.

THE EMPEROR'S GAMBIT

Charles Lee Jackson, II

ISBN 9781615085002
Copyright 2013 by CLJII

Dedicated to the memory of
DONALD HAMILTON
Who handed me the key

BOOK I

   IT WAS GOING to be one of those mornings. Federal agent Max Decker crouched in the shadows, cold, wet, and thoroughly alert. He'd been on the trail of a gang of jewel thieves since about two AM, and had been led to King Harbor, Redondo Beach, California. When the three crooks had ditched their car and run around the end of the security fence, Deck had cut straight across to head them off.

   He'd located a waiting speedboat at the end of a service pier, and had ducked down behind a row of oil drums Now, as he heard their approaching footsteps, he touched the "send" button on his wristwatch radio, whispering, "Agent Two to Harrison. Stand...." Something was wrong – there was no joy on the circuit, no hiss of the electromagnetic spectrum. "...Harrison?" The call to his back-up wasn't getting through. And he couldn't wait. As the three burglars clambered into their boat, Deck darted from concealment.

   The boat roared away from the pier, leaving Decker still in pursuit. Making a desperate leap, Max caught a trailing sheet, and was dragged through the water, spray erupting in his face.

   Fighting against the backwash, Deck pulled himself forward, grasping fingers catching the stern rail. But as he rolled over the gunwale, one of the burglars spotted him.

   As the man moved in on him, Deck slugged him, knocking him back into the man at the wheel. The boat sharply ported its helm, and Deck lost his footing.

   The third crook came 'round out of the front seat, bringing up a pistol. Seeing a partially loose cleat on the rail beside him, Deck wrenched it free, and hurled it.

   The metal cleat struck the gun just as the man fired. The wild shot went straight through the back of the man at the wheel.

   Unaware of this, Decker leaped at the gunman, and the two struggled for the pistol while the boat ran wild. Spotting the pouch of stolen jewels on the front seat, Deck slugged his foe as hard as he could manage, and made a grab for the swag while the other man was stunned.

   Reaching over the front seat, Deck saw that the boat was headed straight for the breakwater. A sidewise glance revealed the fate of the pilot.

   Lashing out, Deck kicked the gunman in the face, and, jewel pouch to hand, launched himself over the side.

   With no one at the wheel, the speedboat careened ahead, smashing into flinders against the rocky breakwater in a flash of fire!

   "...IT TOOK ME twenty minutes to swim to shore," Deck explained, a little later that morning, in my office. My office being on the top floor of a building surmounted by the emblem of my studio, CLJII Pictures.

   He was still damp, and looked very worried.

   "…And your radio failed to work, huh?" I said.

   "It gets worse," he replied. "I got to Harrison, and his radio didn't work either – and when I tried to call my office on the 'phone, there was so much static it was useless.

   "Which is why I came over here. I figured if anybody knew what the problem was, it'd be... The Emperor."

 

 

THE EMPEROR CROSSES THE DEADLINE

Chapter One

DEADLY SILENCE

   HOLLYWOOD WAS JUST waking up outside the studio, that bright clear Spring Monday morning in nineteen seventy-six. In those hectic days, The Empire ran a middling sized motion-picture studio, a few blocks north of Hollywood Boulevard near Gower. A broad central avenue ran through the place, with an office building on one side and three Sound Stages on the other. Behind the stages was a small back lot with a shallow lake. Beyond the lake were a wooded glade and a mock-up of part of Bronson Canyon.

   Now, if you're wondering why a federal agent would be turning to a movie producer for help, it's easy to explain. Though my main job is entertaining people, I've long had a sideline as a champion of Justice.

   My name is Charles Lee Jackson, the Second, also known, as the above dialogue indicates, as "The Emperor", originally a reflection of the entertainment empire I was building, but also an apt name, given my special aptitudes. I had a disability as a child, and overcoming that disability was only a start for me; for, as a friend once told me, anything worth doing is worth overdoing. I worked at it very hard, as much to shame those who told me I never could as to improve myself. And I really did overdo it, at least as far as some people are concerned. I've become very smart, very fast, somewhat bullet-proof, and a little magical. My only real shortcoming is my modesty.

   Seriously, I decided that if I had the power to help others and crush crime, I really ought to use that power to do so. In the course of this I've made a lot of like-minded friends and gained enough respect that people like Max Decker would turn to me.

   As for the movie part, my friends in the trouble-busting game have graciously allowed me to recreate some of their adventures. I used to make movies about them; these days I'm a little too busy, so I stick to prose.

   BUT IN THOSE by-gone days of the 'seventies, my little studio doubled as a headquarters for the people I called "Swashbucklers" and whom others called "J-Men", Justice Men (and woman), free-lance crimefighters.

   Though we didn't know it yet, everybody else was aware of the problem onto which Max Decker had stumbled. We, however, were just getting started. In those days, on my lapel I wore an insignia with my company logotype, my signature in red on a silver background in a blue ellipse. But it wasn't just a badge, it was a two-way radio. "Richmond?" I addressed my radio operator. Working from a secret location, never seen by the public, he'd been with me a decade, and never failed to be on the job when anyone radioed or telephoned. But this time, there was no response. "...Richmond?" Nope, no answer. I picked up the office 'phone and dialed nine-nine-nine.

   "Richmond, why aren't—" the static was awful. I asided to Deck, "Jeez, you're right, I can barely hear him...." Back into the telephone: "Why aren't you answering the wireless? ...Oh." I cradled the receiver.

   "Richmond says he's been off the air since about four AM. The satellite microwave beamer faded out in the last half hour."

   "Which means?" Deck asked.

   "Which means that there must be what amounts to a world-wide radio blackout – and enough static on the 'phone lines to close down all communications in the world."

   Decker blinked. "Any idea who could be doing it?"

   I mused a moment. "Continent-Eight doesn't have the technology – they tried something like this a few years ago, on a very limited scale, and it didn't work." Continent-Eight being a world-wide organization of criminals, our most frequent opponents, about whom you'll learn more in time.

   "Hmmm," Deck considered at length, "it shouldn't affect the telegraph lines…."

   "That's an idea. Once the word gets out, or actually, doesn't get out, I expect some of our compatriots will turn up here, but if not, I'll get the word out one way or another and maybe we can learn something about what's going on out there."

   "OUT THERE", THINGS were popping. Over at LA International Airport, the RADAR was out, and the runways were being frantically cleared as a jumbo seven-forty-seven made its approach. The pilot, running on Visual Flight Rules, was trying to land the crate by the seat of his pants….

   …At Station Twelve of the aforementioned Continent-Eight, the Communications Chief was trying to comply with a request from Maskman, one of the people in charge. Tall and broad-shouldered, his identity was concealed by a steel helmet.

   "Sorry, Leader Four. I can't connect you with Station One. We have white noise on all channels."

   Maskman – whose only link to the outside world was his radio – could barely hear her speaking. "What? I can't hear you – I've got white noise on my radio." He tapped his pocket communicator, but it didn't help….

   …In the south of England, an old retired officer from the lancers was annoyed. His butler was having trouble tuning in the BBC broadcast.

   "Sorry, sir. The Home Service seems to not be on the air today."

   "Dash it all," the old gentleman complained. "Whatever happened to reliability? Whatever happened to pride in your work?

   "That's the second time in twenty years."

   A STURDILY BUILT fellow entered my office without an introduction from the girl in the outer office. It was my partner, David McDaniel. Dave, author of an assortment of spy novels and SF stories, was also a proficient marksman who sometimes joined me on my adventures. At the studio, he mostly practiced his favorite trade, as Director of Photography and Key Film Editor. Additionally, he kept an eye on things on the set until I arrived to take over the Director's chair.

   Presumably, he had come up to report on the morning's studio activity. Radio or no, Production would go right along – at least unless the static interfered with the Nagra sound recorders.

   "See?" I said, "They're floating in already. Max Decker, you remember my right-hand man, David McDaniel?" Max waved a greeting.

   "Hiya, Siya," Dave responded, "Hi, Deck." He brushed a stray lock of his pale brown hair away from his green eyes and said, "I was just down on the set. Robin's supervising the swing gang down on stage B. …Who's floating in?"

   "Nobody in particular, just Swashbucklers in general. I've got a feeling we've got a big problem ahead."

   "Bob and Bill expected?" Dave asked. He referred to our comrades in film and arms, Robert Short and William Mills, who not only worked on stunts, effects, and music for CLJII Pictures, but also lent their fists and brains to the fight for Justice.

   "Well," I explained, "Robert is up at Vasquez Rocks with the Effects crew placing charges for tomorrow's location shoot. Lord knows where William has gotten himself to... But I assume they'll both be along sometime today."

   The door opened again, and my Executive Secretary stepped in. Heather McKenzie, beautiful, smart, with pretty blue-green eyes and soft light brown, almost blonde, hair, had been with me for several years, handling everything from a Continent-Eight attack to stalling off no-talent Hollywood bimbettes looking for work.

   "Sire? There's a woman outside to see you." It was a familiar situation, though not one often brought to my attention.

   "Only one?" quipped McDaniel.

   "Well," McKenzie allowed, "there are about a dozen waiting... but this one seemed special."

   The girl in question had poked her head in. Seeing who she was, I said, "She certainly is!"

   She came running to my open arms. "Uncle Sire," she cried.

   "Illenya Petrina," I greeted her.

   As we hugged, I remembered our last meeting – which had also been our first. Visiting a Soviet science conference, to which I had been invited as someone who represented the West and did not represent US foreign policy, I had met Pyotr Vostok, a member of a science group I won't name, and had been invited to stay at his home. There I was introduced to his pretty teen-aged daughter, who, having shown the aptitude, was already working with her father. Like all pretty teenage girls, she was quite taken with me.

   That had been nineteen seventy-three, and she'd done an excellent job of growing up in the interim. Even having her blonde hair pulled into a severe bun in the back didn't detract from her milky complexion and bright blue eyes; and the plain sweater and skirt and boots she wore didn't hide her attractive figure.

   McKenzie gave her the eye and turned on a heel, leaving.

   "It is good to see you again," Illenya told me, "and I wish that was my only reason for coming." She indicated the others in the room. "May I speak freely?"

   "Yes." I introduced the gentlemen, and ushered the girl to a sofa.

   "My country has sent me to ask you to once again help with a difficult situation; to ask you to oversee the decommissioning of Utrennaya Zvyozdochka as a gesture of peace to the western nations."

   Not many things catch me off guard. This did. "You mean Utrennaya Zvyozdochka still exists?"

   Deck, surprised at my sudden concern, asked, "What's this 'Utrennaya' whasis?"

   "Utrennaya Zvyozdochka," McDaniel thought a moment. "That's Russian for... 'Morning Star'."

   "That's right," I said. "A very poetic name for something quite the contrary.

   "It's a leftover from the frantic 'fifties: an automatic nuclear retaliatory base located in the Caucasus. It launches a strike automatically unless countermanded every twelve hours by a coded radio signal!"

   Deck, who had leaned back against my desk, jumped to attention. "Say what? But… that would mean—"

   "Exactly. And from her calm demeanor, I doubt Illenya knows that there's a world-wide radio blackout!"

   The Russian gasped. "What is this?"

   I explained what we believed about the interference.

   She blanched. "But if Moskva cannot radio the base, the computer will assume that Russka has been destroyed!"

   "Yes," I added, "and blast the US to atomic rubble in retaliation! Unless we can get there in time and stop it!"

   I turned to Max Decker. This re-stacked the cards. "This is far more important than the radio blackout itself. The whole world could be doomed! You hold down the fort here. I'll be back."

   I headed for the side door, the one that led straight to the inner courtyard. "Illenya – come with me – quick!!"

   I breezed past McKenzie, who, having overheard the whole story, was returning from her office. McDaniel joined her as I left. She remarked, "If he's not back in a few hours, the whole world could be doomed."

   David nodded absently. "Maybe we should run and hide.

   "...As soon as we figure out where."

   RESTING IN A launching cradle in a courtyard beyond sound stage A was a singular aircraft. Designed like a scaled-down Concorde, with swept-back delta wings and a droop nose, His Majesty's – well, My – Ship Skystar was the only 'plane of its kind. The entire underside of the fuselage was lined with plates made of CL-arium, a unique metal the properties of which include the ability to screen out the force of gravity itself. Since I'd discovered it and found a way to synthesize it, I got to name it. I told you modesty wasn't one of my strong points.

   As Illenya strapped herself in, I fired up the twin Rolls-Royce engines. The ship trembled against the docking clamps, until I touched the button that blew them free.

   Skystar shot into the heavens at tremendous speed. With an effective weight of only a few pounds, the engines could push the massive craft well beyond the speed of sound. We'd be over the Soviet Union in a couple of hours.

   Lining up on magnetic north, I pushed back from the control panel. George could fly it from here. I needed more info from Illenya.

   "Do you know the details of how 'Morningstar' is set up?"

   "No, no details," she said. "I was just to ask you to meet with our people and watch so that your President would be assured of our sincerity."

   "He's not my President," I pointed out. "Without the schematics, and with so little time to spare, I may have to do this the hard way."

   "Hard way?"

   "Rockets don't fly very well if you've beaten them to pulp with your bare hands."

   FAR BELOW, MY friends watched the tiny black speck that was Skystar disappear into the northern sky. McDaniel's trained eye spotted something else, though. He pointed and asked, "What's that?"

   The others saw it too, a tiny gleam of light racing across the heavens, doing something all but impossible: catching up with Skystar!

   Then the glint vanished, but a moment later something happened to prove that it had not been an optical illusion.

   As something flashed past my field of vision, Skystar was rocked by a tremendous explosion!!

   The port engine was wrecked, and the whole ship lurched over. Illenya, who had released her seat belt, was thrown across the cabin. Falling myself, I got under her and kept her from harm.

   With the starboard engine still going full blast, the ship began to loop into a left-handed spin, zooming out-of-control around the sky.

   I made a dive for an access panel – closer than the controls at the moment – and cut the engines. Skystar continued its caper across the heavens, but at least it gained a modicum of stability.

   Now going to the control console, I flipped the switch to allow for individual control of the CL-arium plates. By rocking the application of gravity, I hoped to straighten out the ship. The problem with gravity manipulation is that inertia doesn't like to play along.

   Presently I had us on a straight course. By letting gravity pull on the tail assembly, I slowed our forward motion. Then I set all the panels at point zero zero five of one G and let Skystar float toward the ground. Below was the Antelope Valley, with plenty of acceptable touchdown points.

   I glanced back toward Hollywood, musing, "They're going to be somewhat surprised down on the ground when they see what hit us."

   Illenya, whose hair had come undone in the shaking, was busily fixing it, but stopped to ask, "You saw something? What did it look like?"

   I had a sketch pad handy, and put my pen to it, drawing a distinctive shape, with highlighting and everything. Illenya recognized it. Anyone would.

 

Click here to buy Book One, The Emperor's Gambit, for Kindle only 99 cents.

Emperor Forerunners: The Saint - See Him in a Wonderful Illustration for a 1936 Simon Templar Magazine Story

Leslie Charters' immortal Robin Hood of crime, Simon Templar, otherwise known as The Saint, was one of Emperor associate David McDaniel's favorite fictional adventurers. The hero of a series of novels and short stories, as well as several radio, television and movie series, the Saint has been portrayed by such memorable actors as Vincent Price, George Sanders, Roger Moore, and Val Kilmer. The Saint was a big an influence on Charles Lee Jackson II's writing mentor McDaniel, the critically-acclaimed Man from U.N.C.L.E. novelist. And, Jackson, the creator of the Emperor and Emperorverse, acknowledges there is a more than a dash of of that same swashbuckling spirit in the Emperor's makeup.

"Leslie Charteris is one of my favorite authors, and 'the Saint' -- Simon Templar -- a favorite character. Though I didn't do it consciously, some of the literary Saint's characteristics and history have influenced my style of adventuring as The Emperor. (In fact, it was only a few years ago that I realized one huge parallel between Simon and CL -- each originally had a merry band of confreres working with him on adventures, but each later more often worked alone or with a partner or two -- usually a woman -- on adventures.) The Emperor certainly owes a tip of his crown to the Saint."

And here's that Tip of the Crown, a lavish illustration of the Saint in a train car, taking an interest in two people who have been swindled out of their life savings by a millionaire, from a 1936 issue of The American Magazine.

 You can see a much bigger image of this illustration at our Facebook page, The Emperor's Amazing Adventures.

If you're a fan of the Saint, try Charles Lee Jackson II's daredevil hero, the Emperor.  Start now with the first book, The Emperor's Gambit. 

"Nonstop action. Thriller fans will love it."
--Joe Vadalma, author of The Chronicles of Morgaine the Witch.

The Emperor's Gambit in paper for only $8.09. 

The Emperor's Gambit in Kindle for only $2.99.


From FuturesPast Editions

Blonde Bombshells Newest in The Emperor's Secret Files to be Released in Paperback - Only $8.09 at Amazon

"Blonde Bombshells *IS* fun. It reminds me a lot of early pulp fiction."
        -J. D. Crayne, author of The Invisible Encounter and Saturn Stolen!

When the going gets tough - the good guys call in two tough superheroines!

In this installment of underground comic book and pulp magazine sensation Charles Lee Jackson II's adventures of "The Emperor," two women join The Emperor's battle for justice and peace. Newly released from the Emperor's Secret Files, this book tells the stories of the... Blonde Bombshells!

One woman has amazing powers beyond ordinary men, the other is a school girl just learning that her father was a costumed crime-fighter of the past. Former astronaut Helia Laurel has a secret identity so secret she herself doesn't know that she is also the fantastic Solara, while young Alison Carlsonn tries to earn the right to become a new hero, Shooting Star.

When young Alison Carlsonn discovers that her father had been a costumed crime-fighter of a generation ago, she thinks she’s found herself a career. But when she learns her father is being held hostage by a master criminal, she must become a “Phoenix from Santa Fe”. Helia Laurel wakes to find herself confined in a hospital bed, uncertain of her own identity, and terrorized by the very people who should be helping her, one of whom is about to bring about “The Return of Solara”. Released from hospital, Helia Laurel find she has much of her life to recover, but that it must wait, because Continent-Eight, the Executive of Crime, is plotting evil once again, the blonde bombshell must hurtle into action, as “Solara Strikes Back”. Hoping to win approval of her plan to become a modern-day Swashbuckler, Alison Carlsonn visits The Emperor but finds herself in a life-and-death situation in a bank hold-up, as “Allie Goes to Hollywood”.

Welcome to the Emperorverse, a creation of comic book and pulp magazine creator Charles Lee Jackson II. His Emperorverse is a world born of international spies, space aliens, mad scientists, colorful villains, costumed heroes, secret agents, spacemen, and even the cowboys of yesteryear, all engaged in the wildest and woolliest adventures you’ve ever read. It's an amazing and unequaled creative tapestry, woven into a complex, interrelated web that snares the imagination.

Already available as an ebook, Blonde Bombshells is now available in paperback from Amazon, and to celebrate we are lowering its already low price of $9.99 by almost two dollars - to $8.09.

Get Blonde Bombshells in paperback for only $8.09.

Get Blonde Bombshells in ebook for only $3.99
 

And to celebrate the opening of this blog, we are dropping the price of the Kindle edition of the first Emperor novel, The Emperor's Gambit at Amazon to $2.99.

Get The Emperor's Gambit in paper for only $8.09.

Get The Emperor's Gambit in Kindle for only $2.99.