Title: The Silver King
Subtitle: A Novel
Description: Editorial Reviews

Review
"His pixilism is a sort of 21st century, digital metaphor that has similarities to French Impressionist paintings. Each sentence represents an idea, image or treatment of the big picture."
--Redding Pilot, May 2010

"The retention of dignity is a recurring theme in Lentz's novels. There is always one major conflict -- the position of the individual against a great, antagonistic force."
--Lewisboro Ledger, May 2010

"Lentz's approach to writing is soul driven."
--The Weston Forum, May 2010 

Product Description
The Silver King portrays the intrigue within the underground movement of the Contras seeking the first democracy for Nicaragua. This miracle of freedom is shaped by Sheridan Quince, an American pilot and fisherman, who aspires to catch-and-release a world-record tarpon, or silver king, with a fly rod in the Caribbean Sea. After meeting at the Key Largo Bar in San Jose, Costa Rica, Elsa Paraiso leads him underground into the power struggle between the US-backed Contras and Sandinistas, financed by the USSR. The players are Ronald Reagan, Oliver North, Fidel Castro, Oscar Arias, Daniel Ortega and Violeta Chamorro, who seeks election as one of the first women Presidents of a nation in the Western Hemisphere. The Silver King is a tale of political power plays and high finance among the tropical rainforests, beaches and money centers of Central America. The story traverses San Jose, the Caribbean, Panama and Managua under siege. The Silver King chronicles the genesis of democracy in our time. It is a worthy tale about the value of a free society to a nation of four million people gripped in a desperate struggle to build one. 

About the Author
Born in Woburn, Massachusetts, David B. Lentz graduated from Bates College and has written professionally for more than 35 years for global, financial corporations. He has lived in Boston's Back Bay, the Garden District of New Orleans and Philadelphia's Main Line. Currently, he resides with his family in Greenwich, CT. In addition to this novel, Lentz has published a book of poetry, Old Greenwich Odes; two stage plays, Bloomsday and AmericA, Inc.; and five literary novels - For the Beauty of the Earth, AmericA, Inc., Bloomsday, Bourbon Street and The Day Trader. He has served Bates College as an Alumnus-in-Admissions, Stamford-Greenwich Literacy Volunteers of America, Healing the Children (Board), Midnight Run for New York City Homeless, Hurricane Katrina JazzAid: New Orleans (Founder): Hope + Heroes Children's Cancer Foundation, St. Baldrick's Foundation for Children's Cancer Research and as a Volunteer in St. Paul's Chapel at Ground Zero. Lentz is a Member of the Academy of American Poets. 

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

San Jose Siren 

Sheridan rode with Elsa in her car from the Key Largo Bar to the outskirts of San Jose and parked at her contemporary, Spanish townhouse of white adobe with a red clay tile roof and a tropical garden. 

Elsa's living room with marble floors and oil paintings in the style of the Impressionists housed a jacuzzi and a wet bar. She had decorated the interior with white wicker furniture. It opened into a center courtyard graced with wrought iron furniture and wild palms. 

Sheridan admired an exquisite oil portrait of the head and shoulders of a kind woman with tender, radiant blue eyes. 

"The portrait looks like a Velazquez," he said. 

"You admire Velazquez?" she asked. 

"Yes. I saw his work at The Prado in Madrid." 

"This artist wanted to paint a larger portrait of my mother. He said that she had lovely hands. But she declined." 

"Why?" 

"She thought the portrait would become too vast. Too difficult to move. And someday her son-in-law would object to the display of so large a picture of la vieja. After she was gone." 

"Of the old one?" 

"Yes. She was a great lady. Modest and sweet." 

"You have your mother's eyes." 

She opened a bottle of Dom Perignon. They sat upon her couch, sipping extra brut champagne and listening to the sweet saxophone jazz of Gato Barbieri. 

"I brought you here for a reason you may not expect," she said. 

"Isn't it dangerous bringing home a stranger?" 

"You do not seem dangerous," she replied. "Adventurous, perhaps. But I see no malice. Am I right?" 

"Yes." 

"I could read it in your face. When I saw you with your Gulfstream II at the aeropuerto. And in conversation at the Key Largo. About releasing the tarpon after you catch them. Your face lacks malice in the eyes." They drank champagne and smiled at each other silently. 

"I want to ask you a question," she said. 

"Shoot." 

"Do you consider yourself a loyal American?" 

"Absolutely," he said. "Why?" 

"I want to offer you a generous sum of cash, " she said. "For a project that suits you perfectly." 

"What, in God's name?" 

"Our Freedom Fighters need weapons. We have access to the weapons outside Nicaragua. But we lack the means to deliver them to the Contras," she said. 

"Who are we?" he asked. 

"We are a group from Nicaragua who supports the Contras. We have succeeded in raising money from private citizens in the United States. Mostly Texas and Florida. We want to stop communism in Nicaragua," she explained. "The Sandinistas have destroyed a way of life that is precious to us. They have taken away our freedom. We want life to be normal. To live without fear." 

"So you enlist men from the Key Largo? " he asked. 

"I went to the Key Largo to find you. After I saw you at the aeropuerto," she said. "It is where Norteamericano men go. When they are alone in San Jose." 

"This is not my war," he said. "And I am not a mercenary." 

"My father lives in Managua, which is an armed camp. My brother is a Contra. He lives like a pauper in the jungles and mountains. He fights the Sandinistas in the heat and rain among the snakes and mosquitoes. With the spirit of a tarpon. But he lacks weapons and ammunition to defend himself. And medicine. It is very tragic." 

"War always is." 

"We are no longer free. Do you understand what that means? To lose your freedom? Your way of life?" Sheridan listened pensively to Elsa's touching appeal. 

"What do you want?" Sheridan asked. 

"Make flights to Nicaragua," she explained. "Over the next month. Once per week. In our plane." 

"Why would I even consider doing this?" 

"The money is good..." 

"I don't need money," Sheridan said. "And what you ask involves risk." 

"Many Americans, who support us financially, do not want a communist country near the Texas border," she said. "Communism in Nicaragua is closer than it was in Vietnam." 

"I've already fought a war for my country." 

"Your father lives in Costa Rica." 

"Yes," he said. "But the fighting is isolated to Nicaragua. And Costa Rica is neutral." 

"Do you think the communists will stop at Nicaragua? They build a fortress in my country. They are very ambitious men intent upon expanding their power. Perhaps, they desire Costa Rica next. In ten years you may look across the Rio Grande. And stare into the malicious eyes and teeth of communism. As we do. Here and now." 

"It won't happen." 

"Can you afford that risk?" she said. "The domino theory... " 

"That's a theory of feathers. Tied together by Generals. And tossed to the American public. Like a dry fly to a trout." 

"Our friends in the U.S. donate money. But cannot do more. Because your Congress has cut off funds to the Contras." 

"Through the Boland Amendments." 

"Yes. Our American friends do not want to take the chance that communism could succeed in Central America. Panama and Cuba already belong to the communists. And Nicaragua," she explained. 

"Communism will never expand into North America." 

"Your country has abandoned us. And the ground we have sacrificed so much to gain is quickly becoming lost," she pleaded. 

"I understand what you're saying. And I sympathize," he said warmly. 

"I think you already know the reasons why you should help us," she said. "They are the same reasons your brothers fought in Vietnam." 

"In my generation hundreds of thousands of noble, young men were killed, maimed and scarred for life. For what?" 

"Then I shall give you two more reasons," she said. "It would be an adventure. Based in nobility. In the life or death of my country. Of our way of life." 

"Hmmm. And what's your second reason?" he asked. 

"Me." 

"You?" 

"We may have an opportunity to get to know each other very well," she said. 

"You are a dangerous woman," he responded. 

"Isn't that what you want?" 

--This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.