The Impossible Trinity

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Synopsis; The Impossible Trinity

Max Winter was forced out of the Navy SEALs due to a head injury that left him with the inability to recognize faces – a dangerous condition for a man with so many enemies. In an attempt to live the rest of his life in obscurity, Winter operates a struggling bookshop, The Antiquarian, while holding together his fragile relationship with his love interest, Debra Shapiro. But all this is put at risk when his brother and seventeen others are killed during a heist at The World Bank and Winter is accused of being the mastermind. Before Winter is arrested he strikes out on his own to solve the case and is shocked at what he uncovers.

What did Ken Bruen say about this book? "David, your novel blew me to hell and gone and is just wonderful. A dizzy exhilarating slice of utter art. Love it, Ken"


Former Navy SEAL struggles with his inability to recognize faces as he is confronted by an enemy from his past.

 What readers are saying:

***** This, over the top review, from Ken Bruen, the noir crime writer of more than 30 novels and a half dozen movies read; The Impossible Trinity and said, "David, your novel blew me to hell and gone and is just wonderful. A dizzy exhilarating slice of utter art. Loved it, Ken" (Mr. Bruen posted this review on FaceBook; David Byck Novels)

***** "I found the pace of the book relentless, with Max (and the reader, that is me) barely able to breathe and think once he stepped into the foyer of the World Bank. It's a non-stop exhilarating ride of a story, so much so that I had to stop reading it hours before I went to bed as my adrenaline was too high to allow me to sleep. It's a debut that is worthy of the best of its kind. " - Serena, KL, Malaysia

***** Fast moving action. An easy read. Love the expression " Fear is a four letter word, The key to life. Use it to your advantage" - Jonathan Muhiudeen, author of: "Salt in the Rainbow"

***** The pace of a high octane video game. And as believable as one. But you will love this compelling read for its wicked humour, contemporary themes and outrageous action. The author clearly had fun writing it. - Alan H. 



Max Winter stepped from the taxi, pushed his way through the angry crowd of protesters and entered the World Bank, already thirteen years late for this meeting.

Inside, he cleared security and crossed into the main hall. The place looked like an airport. Under its glass canopy a swarm of people moved in all directions, purpose in their strides. He scanned the faces around him, and searched for James. Alongside the far wall eight pairs of eyes fell upon him. They looked down or away when Winter returned their attention.

He moved against the human flow toward the center of the atrium and stopped at a red velvet rope that coiled itself around a reverential display. Protected inside lay a jeweled Fabergé egg. He glanced at the information stand which stated the egg was an extravagant gift from Alexander III to his wife on Easter, 1885. Winter recalled the recent newsreels of how the Russian president demanded the national treasure be returned to its homeland. Obviously it had not.

Winter stepped around the display and continued his search. He started in a counter-clockwise rotation and made his way around the hall. He reached the entrance, stopped and scanned the faces as they passed. People of all colors and sizes sped by but none resembled James.  

For a second time he noticed the eight men. Unlike most visitors, they remained stationary, silent, eyes trained on the entrance.


Winter needed to find his brother and get to the bottom of his cryptic message. The sound of James’ voice had been welcomed but Winter knew something was terribly wrong. James was stubborn and would find it difficult to let go of thirteen years of silence. For him to have called, he had to have been desperate.

A flick of his wrist and Winter noted the morning was slipping away. As soon as he put James at ease he needed to return to the bookshop. A special edition was due to arrive. It, too, was important. It could possibly save him from financial disaster.

Before Winter continued his search he looked for others who were discomforted by the eight men and their strange behavior.

He found none.

Max shrugged it off and blamed his uneasiness on nerves; the idea his brother may be in trouble had set him on edge. The edginess made him feel defensive, and feeling defensive brought on memories of his past life, a life where eight suspicious men meant something. Fortunately, that life was seven years gone.

He stepped back into the flow and continued to comb the crowd for his brother.

At six-foot-four Winter’s height was an advantage but it did not guarantee he would spy his brother in the crowded atrium. Alongside the elevators, a single set of stairs led him to a loft that overhung the grand hall. Halfway up he stopped on a small landing, inched his way to the rail and took in the view.

Down below, as though somehow connected, the eight men straightened their posture and stood at attention. Winter followed their gaze to a bearded man clearing the metal detector, heading for the main hall. Coincidence is something Winter’s gut never tolerated and these men were not going to change his mind. All nine looked alike; their sandy blonde hair sitting against pale sharp features. Eastern Europeans. Likely, Russians. By the way they dressed they were born stateside. Possibly Canada. One thing for certain - they looked out of place.

Winter turned away from the nine men and their ominous behavior. He wanted his gut to be wrong. He could not afford to be caught up in a public incident. He needed to remain anonymous, to stay under the radar, out of reach of the ever-vigilant media. He had spent the last seven years maintaining a low profile - something most people would call hiding out.

He wanted to keep it that way.

At the rail Winter went back two hours to when he listened to the voicemail James had left on his cell phone. What kind of trouble would cause his brother to break more than a decade of silence? It was not only the idea James called that troubled him, nor the urgency in his brother’s tone. It was more than that. It was the fear in his voice that concerned him. Full blown, unadulterated fear. Something he thought their father had taught them to embrace years ago.

Fear is a four letter word. The key to life. Use it to your advantage.

Winter returned his attention to the scene below. The bearded Russian marched at a brisk pace in the direction of the hall’s center court, head down; also trying to go unnoticed. At the far side of the hall one of his eight countrymen struck out in his direction.

The sound of footsteps descending the stairs behind him drew Max’s attention from the two men below to the activity over his shoulder. A group of

three men reached the mezzanine and continued down the stairs to the main hall. Winter recognized the one as the outspoken Ohioan, Senator Henry Voice.

He returned his focus to the Russians below. Like opposing trains on separate rails, the distance between the two men narrowed. Neither acknowledged the other. The bearded man must have seen his comrade raise his hand and slip it under his jacket but if he did it had no affect. His his gait remained steady and his course did not waver.  

Business types, government servants, and dignitaries shuffled across the hall. Two more men entered the fray. Winter knew the look. Their gray suits and authoritative stares gave them up as the law. They both carried the relaxed posture of someone who could fill the place with as many different badges as they needed. But they were not local police.  

Winter focused on their clothes. Their suits were meant to keep them cool during the day and warm against the possible chill of an early June evening. At this time of year the fabric would be too warm for the southern states or the west coast. The cut was neither New York fashion, nor Midwest rugged. It was D.C. conservative. They were local Federal boys.

Both Feds staked a position inside the space between the entrance and the security station. They, too, searched for someone. The older one pushed onto his toes and scanned the crowd. He locked onto the back of the bearded Russian, nudged his partner, and made a gesture for him to follow.

At the bottom of the stairs, Senator Henry Voice made the last step onto the ground floor, stopped, turned, and continued his conversation with the gentlemen who had accompanied him down.

Winter gripped the rail tight. The part of himself he tried to ignore knew what was about to happen, and self-preservation kicked in. It advised him to safeguard his anonymity, and his survival instincts caused him to shoot a glance at the main entrance, but his feet did not move. He was not going anywhere.

         Moments before the Russians collided, the screech of a metal detector was heard. Winter’s attention broke to the security desk. The two Federal agents flashed their badges, raised their voices, and argued with the guards.

In the center of the hall the two men slowed, turned sideways, and passed one another. In that tiny moment, the bearded Russian accepted something small from the other. Their bodies were too close for Winter to see what it was.

The bearded man tore his eyes from the agitated lawmen, turned forward and slammed into a deliveryman who crossed his path. A gun shook loose from his grip, crashed to the floor and danced across the skin-colored marble.

An old woman with bluish-grey hair the consistency of cotton candy stood stationary, rummaging through her handbag, minding her business. The gun bumped against her dainty shoe and came to rest. She jumped back and Winter opened his mouth to yell a warning but he was too late. The woman screamed in panic.

Even to a man like Winter, the bearded man’s reaction was shocking.