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FREE Excerpt from KND Thriller of The Week: Paul Kyriazi’s McKnight’s Memory: A Romantic Thriller
Unanimous ★★★★★5 Star Reviews

On Friday we announced that McKnight’s Memory: A Romantic Thriller by Paul Kyriazi is our Thriller of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the thriller, mystery, and suspense categories: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!

Now we’re back to offer our weekly free Thriller excerpt:

McKnight’s Memory

by Paul Kyriazi

McKnight
5.0 stars – 11 Reviews
Or FREE with Learn More
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:
CIA agent James McKnight has three problems…amnesia…the Mafia …and his addiction to the ultimate woman. Can he trust her?
Includes a free link to download the 3.7 hr. audio-book narrated by Frank Sinatra Jr. Performed by Robert Culp, Nancy Kwan, David Hedison, Henry Silva Alan Young, Gary Lockwood, Edd Byrnes, Don Stroud, H.M. Wynant & Barbara Leigh.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

5 – CARLA

“It’s looking good, Mr. McKnight. How’re the headaches?”

“Just mild ones, Doc,” McKnight answered, sitting in Dr. Tolliver’s office. “Not bad, I guess, considering.”

“Good. And how’s the memory?” Tolliver asked. “Anything?”

“No, nothing. Not a God-damned thing. I remember general facts, TV commercials, historical dates, stuff like that. But nothing about my life, nothing about myself.”

“I’m sure it’s only temporary. Give it a few more days, a week maximum. The memories will start, one by one. Slowly, and then increasing quickly….like popcorn.”

“Yeah,” McKnight breathed out a chuckle. “Popcorn….terrific.”

“Like I’ve explained to Mr. Bishop, you have psychogenic amnesia which means that except for your past, your mind is fully functional, so that it will be just a matter of re-introducing yourself to your life.”

“How would I do that?”

“It’s not as difficult as you might think. Friends, photos, work records, and other documents would fill in the blanks nicely.”

“It sounds good, doctor. “I hope so.”

“Mr. Bishop is signing you out now, so you can leave with him with none of the usual discharge hassles.”

“Good. And thank you.”

“Let’s see what happens in a few days and then I’ll check you over again.”

“Right.”

Bishop was there to meet McKnight as he stepped out of the elevator into the hospital lobby. “Here we go Jimbo,” Bishop said, as he guided McKnight to the front exit. “A few more steps and you’re outta here.”

“Yeah and none too soon for me. Enough of this hospital.”

“Front door’s right over here. I’ll walk you out and let you go on your own from there.”

“Whoa! Wait a minute. Let me go where? Haven’t you forgotten something? Not remembering who I am is only one of my problems. I don’t know where I live. I don’t know this city, or how to get around.”

“Not to worry. That’s all been taken care of.”

“Then what’s the plan? Do I get a couple of days of freedom and then get creamed by the director of the CIA, whoever he is?”

“Hey, don’t worry about that now. It’s not going to be as bad as you think. He’ll ask you a few questions, you give him a few answers, and that should take care of it….hopefully.”

“What if I don’t know the answers by then? What if he thinks my memory loss is a lie? Just something I’m using as an excuse to cover up my mistake in Columbia.”

“Look, you may have exceeded your authority slightly. But you didn’t break any laws, so he can’t take your pension away from you. Perhaps he could pressure you to retire, but you’ve been talking about retiring for a while, so what the hell, it’s no big deal. Take the pension and run. But your memory will probably be coming back in the next couple of days, like the Doc said, so don’t sweat it.”

“Until it does come back, I am sweating it.”

“Okay, here we go, back into the real world.”

Once outside Bishop pointed ahead and asked, “Well, how do you like her?”

“Who? What are you talking about?” McKnight said, looking around.

“Look over there.”

“The limousine?”

“Yeah. It’s all yours for the rest of the day.”

“It’s nice, but to tell you the truth, for the last few days I was hoping for something….a little more feminine.”

“Ah, so you do remember something. You forgot everything but your woman. Is that it?

“I remember the photo in my wallet, and that’s all. And since she hasn’t visited me here or even phoned, I was hoping she’d meet me here.”

“Well, just keep your eyes on the limo, pal.”

McKnight saw the limo driver open the passenger door. A female figure stepped out. She had black hair framing a flawless Asian face that was sensual beyond any description McKnight could think of. Seeing McKnight, she smiled and waved. Bishop eyed McKnight, watching him take in a large breath of air.

“So how about it? Remember her?”

“She’s beautiful.”

“And she’s all yours. You take it from here, buddy. I’ll call you later.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Bishop gave Carla a quick wave and then turned and went back into the hospital.

McKnight wasn’t sure of what to do, but didn’t have to do anything as Carla ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad to see you, Jim,” she said hugging him tightly. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Pretty good. How are you doing?”

“I’m just happy to see you, that’s all. But this hospital thing had me worried,” she said releasing her grip on him and standing back.

“What did they tell you?”

“Nothing, as usual,” she shrugged. “When you didn’t return on Friday, like you said, I called your office. They said that you would be spending a couple of days in the hospital for a checkup. That’s all. I called the hospital, but you weren’t registered, so I just waited. Then Bishop called today and said a limousine would pick me up and take me to you.”

McKnight tried hard not to stare at this stranger that was more beautiful than the photo in his wallet. “I wondered why you didn’t call.”

“I wondered the same thing about you. Come on,” she said taking his hand. “Let’s get you back home.”

They began walking towards the limo. “So you don’t know anything about what happened?” he asked her.

“Just that you were going out of town for a couple of days, like you told me. What did happen?”

The limo driver had the door open for them. “Well….get in. I’ll tell you what I know……which isn’t much.”

Carla slid into the limo seat making room for McKnight. “What’s this on the side of your head?” she said, gesturing to his bandage.

“A slight wound, or so they tell me. I picked it up in Columbia.”

“Is it okay to talk about where you’ve been? You never used to talk about your job.”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t told not to. But since it’s the only thing in my life right now that I do remember, I’ll talk about it with you. Maybe you can fill me in on some things.”

The limo driver got behind the wheel. “Where to, sir?”

“Ah….oh I don’t know,” McKnight said.

“Take us back home,” Carla said with authority. “And give us some privacy please.”

“Yes ma’am,” the driver said hitting the button to roll up the window that separated him from the passenger area.

As the car pulled out into traffic Carla turned in her seat to face McKnight. “Is there a problem, Jim?” she asked with great concern in her voice. “You seem unsure of yourself and your voice is a little hoarse. But there’s something else. Are you in trouble?”

“I am unsure of myself,” he answered quietly. “And my voice probably sounds hoarse because of all the dust I ate overseas. Is that window sound proof?”

“Yeah, pretty much. You can talk.”

“Well, there does seem to be a slight problem. But it’s difficult…..difficult…,” he said as his voice trailed off.

“You don’t have to talk about it now, whenever you’re ready.”

“It’s not that,” he said, turning more to face her. “I mean it’s difficult to explain, because I don’t understand it myself. But I’ll make it short and simple, which is what my memory is now, short and simple.”

“Go on. You know you can trust me.”

“Do I?”

“What do you mean, Jim?”

“Do I know you, is the question, because here it is.” He took a breath, thought a second and then said, “I was on a job out of the country, in Columbia in fact. I got grazed in the head by a bullet, which caused this wound, but that’s healing, so no problem. But the thing is this; right now I have a personal life history of one day in Columbia and two nights in the hospital.”

“What do you mean?” she asked shaking her head slightly.

“Meaning, I lost my memory. I can’t remember my past, I can’t remember my job. I can’t remember anything.”

“What about me? You do remember me don’t you?”

“I want to remember you, believe me. I’m trying hard right this instant to remember you. But I can’t. That’s the worst of it. I don’t remember you.”

“That explains the worried expression on your face. I’ve never seen that expression. What did the doctors tell you?”

“Not much, except I should be fine in a few days. You know, once I get around familiar things.”

“Good. Let’s believe that the doctors know what they’re talking about. We’ll be home soon. We’ll relax and I’ll nurse you back to health.”

“That sounds good,” he said in a more positive tone. “Just remember that I don’t remember you at all, so I’m a little….uncomfortable.”

“That’s nice actually,” Carla smiled sweetly. “Kind of like a first date.”

“That’s a good way to put it. What was our first date, by the way?”

“Your condominium for three days.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“I wasn’t….and neither were you.”

 

6 – THE NEANDERTHAL MAN

“Well here it is,” Carla said, as she and McKnight entered his condo. “Welcome back.”

“I live here?” McKnight asked looking around at the plush furnishings.

“Sure. Does it look familiar?”

“No, I’m sorry to say.” McKnight walked through the living room to the large window. “But it looks expensive.”

“You can afford it.”

“Am I renting or do I own it.”

“You said you own it, so I guess you do.”

“That’s sounds just fine, because I like it, and what a view. That’s the Washington Monument over there.”

“Well at least you remember something.”

“Everyone knows the monuments.” McKnight turned and looked at Carla. He tried to remember her. She seemed familiar, but no recognition came. Her beauty held his gaze fixed.

“You’re staring at me,” she said, but not really minding.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Was I? I didn’t realize it.”

“Yes, you were, but I rather liked it,” she smiled. “You haven’t looked at me like that for a long time.”

“What’s a long time?”

“A month or so,” she said approaching him.

“Oh, that is long,” he said, unknowingly taking a step back.

“You make love to me all the time, but it’s been that long since you really looked at me.”

“Make love….Yeah….Well, this knowing you, but yet not knowing you, has got me feeling really weird.” He stepped over to the black leather sofa and sat down. “I was hoping that you and this place would bring it all back to me, but I think it’s going to take more than that. Some kind of image my mind remembers.”

“You know, I just had a thought,” she said pointing to him. “I think I can give you that image….images.”

“Oh…really?”

“Yes, just a minute,” she said, turning and heading over to a closet. “Let me get something.”

“What is it? Do you want me to put on some of my other clothes?”

“No, better than that.” Carla said, opening the door of the closet and bending down. “Here, I’ve got it. It’s all right here inside this envelope.”

“What is?”

Carla sat down on the sofa next to McKnight. “Your past history. Well actually, our history.”

“Say, speaking of history, how long have we been together?”

“About three months,” she said opening the large envelope. “Okay, let’s take a look. We took these photos on our trip to Florida two months ago.”

McKnight took some of the photos from her. “Hmm. Who took all of these?”

“We did. And some strangers took some of us together. So how about it? Do you remember Florida?”

“Only that it was discovered by Ponce de Leon when he was searching for the fountain of youth. A quest I wouldn’t mind going on, by the way.”

“Why’s that?” Carla chuckled.

“I woke up a few days ago for what felt like the first time and I was already fifty-six years old.”

“You never minded your age before,” she said sincerely.

“That’s probably because I had a past behind me. Now I have no history except the past two days. It doesn’t seem fair, you know?”

“Well, I’m about fifteen years behind you, and I don’t like my age any more than you.”

“Well you shouldn’t mind it…,” McKnight said looking into her dark eyes. “.…being that you look about thirty to me.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, then changed her tone back to the matter at hand. “So how about these photos? Do anything for you?”

“Only that I look a little different than what I see in the mirror.”

“Of course. You were relaxed down there. You’re all tensed up now and need a shave.”

“Oh…..well….ah….” He took his eyes off of her and looked down at the photos in his hand. “You know it gives me a weird feeling to see photos of myself at places I’ve been, but with no memory whatsoever connected to them.”

“I think you should just relax and forget all that for now.” She took the photos from him, put them back in the envelope and stood up. “Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m fine. Are you?”

“No. But I didn’t get much sleep, waiting for you. How about a shave, a bath and a nap?”

“Ah….yeah. I hardly slept at all in the hospital,” he said feeling his two day beard. “That might be a good idea.”

“Good. You clean up, I’ll make a couple of phone calls and join you soon, huh?”

“Okay.”

In the bedroom, after a shave and shower, McKnight’s naked body was greeted by cool white satin sheets, a far cry from the rough textured cotton sheets that the hospital had to offer. That was his last thought when sleep overtook him.

The sound and motion of the bed covers woke him. A hint of perfume as well as the sound of skin sliding on satin filled the air.

“Still sleepy?” Carla whispered, sliding her body behind him.

McKnight rolled to his back to face her. “No. I’m awake.”

“Good. I was hoping you were.” Carla put her arm over his chest. “It’s been over a week and I’ve missed you.”

“If I could remember you, I’m sure that I would have missed you, too.”

“Well, let’s not worry about that now.” Carla positioned herself to face him. “Let’s just believe that after a few days you’ll be all right. We’re here….and that’s all that matters.”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“Kiss me now, remember me later.”

McKnight became lost in the satin sheets and Carla’s satin skin. The hypnotic sound of Carla’s breathing, moaning, and whispered endearments filled his ears.

Was it after thirty minutes, or an hour, or two hours later when Carla cried out and went limp in his arms? He couldn’t tell. She had moved him into a timeless state for a dreamlike period of time. And then, as he held her he quickly followed her to sleep.

With his conscious mind at bay, McKnight’s subconscious brought him another dream. He found himself sitting at a kitchen table in a home he didn’t recognize. A woman put down a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. It wasn’t Carla. And it wasn’t anyone he recognized. She looked to be about fifty and someone who had been at least cute looking in the past, but had obviously stopped caring about what she looked like years ago.

He was in the middle of a conversation with her, one that McKnight didn’t know how to respond to. But dreams have a way of pushing you into the situation, and this dream was no exception.

“While you’re eating,” the woman said standing over him with the frying pan, “maybe you can explain why we’re not going on vacation this year, as if it matters anymore.”

“It’s just that I have other plans,” McKnight heard the words coming out of his mouth. “Plans that are important to my job.”

“Job?” she repeated with disgust. “I don’t call that your job. I call that your problem.”

McKnight stared at the eggs on his plate. “Do we have to go through this same old song and dance every time I sit down to eat?”

“Song and dance is about all we have left,” she said setting the frying pan back on the stove. “I mean, if we don’t even take vacations anymore, then what’s the use? This isn’t living. This is you working and me as a house keeper.”

“I know. But just see me through this time, and things will change, I promise. This is an important time for me.”

“And what about for me?” she asked moving to the front of the table to look McKnight in the eye. “When’s my important time? When do I get something out of life? I’m just on a merry-go-round of dishes, cleaning, shopping, cooking, and more cleaning. I’d be doing better by working at a hotel or restaurant. I mean, I might as well get paid for this”.

As she talked McKnight turned and looked at the kitchen door, just as the three bandits from Columbia walked in, their wounds still bleeding.

Morales was the first to speak. “Hey Señor. Do you want us to help her shut the hell up? I mean, you must be sick of this shit, no?”

“Yeah,” Jose agreed. “Let’s pull out our cannons and shoot the bitch.”

Edwardo was all for it. ”Si, como no?”

“What the hell?” McKnight said, still seated. “Hey, aren’t you guys dead?”

Si, jefe,” Morales answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “Your friend in the helicopter killed us pretty good. But that was not fair, a rifle from out of the sky. Hijo, I thought God was killing us.”

“Well, you had it coming don’t you think?” McKnight said. “So why don’t you hombres turn around and get the hell out of here.”

The woman looked around the room in bewilderment. “Who are you talking to?”

“You don’t see these guys?’

“You’re the one that’s seeing things,” she said. “Now what’s going on with you? Are you going crazy, because that’s all that’s left for you.? Go crazy and give up on the real world.”

“Hey, jefe,” Morales groaned. “Tell her to shut the hell up or we will.”

“Stay out of it,” McKnight ordered.

“What? Stay out of what?” she asked in frustration. “You know you’re not making any sense.”

Hijo, enough of this shit,” Morales yelled. “I can’t stand it. I don’t know how you can.”

The three bandits pulled out their weapons, aimed them at the woman and fired. The woman took all three bullets simultaneously sending her flying across the kitchen, up onto the sink, where she crashed into a pile of dishes and then bounced to the floor dead.

Santa Lucia,” Morales laughed. “She really puts on a show.” The other two bandits joined in on the joke.

“Sorry,” Morales said, turning to the still seated McKnight. “But now it’s your turn, jefe.”

“Wait a minute,” McKnight said, standing up. “You guys aren’t real. You’re dead. This is a dream, isn’t it?”

“For us it is,” Morales said, woefully. “For you, it’s a nightmare.”

The bandits turned their weapons on McKnight. They fired.

“Oh…Jesus…” McKnight managed.

The feel of satin, the smell of perfume and the sound of Carla breathing next to his face told him that he had awakened, and none too soon at that.

He now had no intention of going back to sleep until he put some distance between him and that nightmare. The clock on the night stand read 2:17.

“Coffee, that’s the ticket,” McKnight whispered to himself. He felt his way to the bedroom door, not bothering to search for his clothes, and headed down the hallway to the kitchen. There was just enough ambient light coming through the window for him to see.

Not wanting to sting his eyes with a blast of strong light, he decided to brew his coffee in the relaxing atmosphere of the semi-darkness. But before beginning the task his nude body felt a cool breeze suddenly hit him as if a door or window had just been opened. Perhaps Carla had gotten up. He looked into the living room and saw the curtain covering the sliding glass door that led to the terrace, blowing, pushed by a breeze coming from the outside.

He had just passed through the living room on the way to the kitchen and nothing had been moving, not the curtain, not anything. And he hadn’t felt any kind of breeze at all.

Then he saw it, the shiny black double barrel of a shotgun protruding under the curtain. The gun barrel began to slowly lift the curtain, as someone began to enter.

McKnight’s mind started racing. Am I dreaming? The answer came back, no. Is there any chance that this is a mistake and not a dangerous intruder? The answer came back; Shotgun? Balcony? Two a.m.? No, not a mistake, a real intruder, a home invasion. He knew for sure that this was a life or death situation. And not just his life, like it had been on that dirt road in Columbia, it was also Carla’s life as well.

McKnight knew he had to kill or be killed. The intruder had a shotgun, no chance to subdue him. His only chance to survive was to kill him quickly, before the shotgun could come into play. His best defense would be surprise, but that opportunity would be gone in seconds.

Adrenaline pumped through his heart. I can do it he convinced himself. I’m James McKnight. Time to put my CIA training to work, even though I can’t remember it. But it has to come back to me in this situation.

He grabbed the frying pan from the stove and a carving knife from its holder on the drain. He quickly moved into the living room stalking his prey like a naked Neanderthal, teflon coated club in hand, ready to protect his mate’s cave.

Just as the enemy stuck his head under the curtain, McKnight swung his arm with all of his strength in an upward back-handed motion, catching the large man in the face with the edge of the frying pan, shattering his nose. The man dropped the shotgun as if it were on fire.

McKnight followed through with the carving knife that struck dead center into the man’s solar plexus. The man fell out onto the terrace, bumping into another man. McKnight heard the second man groan as the first man hit him. McKnight dropped the frying pan and scooped up the dropped double barrel shotgun. He inserted two fingers into the trigger guard as he held the gun at hip level and aimed at the shadow behind the blowing curtain. He pulled both triggers at once. The second man went flying back onto the balcony where he stopped, wedged between two struts of the terrace guard railing. The white curtain stuck to the man’s body and started turning red.

McKnight turned the spent shotgun around and gripped it with both hands like a club. He crept closer to the balcony making sure the second man was spent as well.

Carla had woken up when she heard the first sounds of the altercation. Now in the silence, she slowly moved down the hall too terrified to think about clothing. She reached the living room and turned on the light. What she saw made her stomach sick. But then a warm feeling started building just below there, and moved down to her thighs. She basked in the raw power of seeing her naked lover spayed with blood and standing victoriously over his slaughtered enemies, club in hand.

McKnight turned to look at Carla and sensed what was happening to her. He let the primal energy well up in him.

These are the times, times of terror, and all out victory, that brings the flood of memory flowing back into amnesia victims minds. McKnight could feel that this might be the moment for him. As he waited for the memory of his life to come back to him, he took a deep breath and looked at his vanquished would-be assassins. He then turned his gaze back over to his naked mate that he had so valiantly protected. And now for the first time since he had awakened in Columbia, he felt alive, really alive. But his past was still a blank. And his mate’s face that was now perspiring with violent eroticism was still a mystery.

 

7 – WALKING ON GLASS

“A shotgun with a backup man,” Bishop said, looking down at the bodies. He and Lyedecker had arrived forty-five minutes after McKnight called him. “A professional hit.”

“A professional attempt you mean,” Lyedecker corrected him. He turned to McKnight and Carla who were now dressed in street clothes. “Looks like you turned your apartment into your own personal slaughterhouse, McKnight.”

“Well, Agent Lyedecker, like you told me on the jet, I just did what was necessary.”

“You sure the hell did,” Bishop said, as the broken glass crunched beneath his shoes. “What did you do to that one? We’re going to have to pry him out of the railing with a crowbar.”

McKnight shrugged his shoulders. “Shotgun blast, I guess.”

“You guess?” Lyedecker smirked. “You’re the one that did all this.”

“What the hell did you expect him to do?” Carla asked, annoyed. “They’re the ones that broke in here.”

Bishop took a closer look at the man on the balcony. “This other one’s got a broken nose.”

“I hit him with that frying pan before I stabbed him,” McKnight said, matter-of-factly.

Bishop turned to face McKnight. “Stabbed him? Frying pan? Where’s your field piece?”

“If you’re talking about my pistol, I guess it’s still back in Columbia lying on the road.”

Bishop walked over to McKnight. “You’ve got a backup piece, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” McKnight said.

“He’s got a pistol in the dresser,” Carla offered.

“Oh, good. Could you get it for us, Carla?”

“Sure,” she said and headed to the bedroom.

“Better for him to have used a pistol than a frying pan,” he told her as he watched her walk away. “A bullet hurts a lot less.”

McKnight, finished with his nonchalant act, asked Bishop seriously, “Who the hell are these guys anyway, breaking in here like that? If I hadn’t woken up, I’d be dead now, and probably Carla, too.”

“Yeah,” Bishop said softly, “her too, maybe.” Bishop walked back over to the two dead men. Lyedecker was now checking their pockets looking for identification. “They look to be, and probably will turn out to be, freelance hit men, hired by the Franco Masenetti crime organization.” Bishop looked back at McKnight, “Does that name ring a bell?”

“No, no bell. Nothing rings bells for me, yet. Should I know that name?”

“I’ll say you should,” Bishop said. “They’ve been after you for the last six months or so. There’s a contract out on you because of all the heat you and the agency have been putting on them these last two years.” Bishop walked back over to McKnight. “When you couldn’t connect Masenetti himself with the several murders that he ordered, you crossed the line into D.E.A. territory and tried to get him for drug trafficking. That was part of the reason you were in Columbia. And to make matters worse, you were able to get Masenetti’s son convicted of selling drugs. He’s in prison now, so I guess Masenetti figures it’s payback time.”

Carla returned from the bedroom with a pistol in a shoulder holster. “Here it is. It’s already loaded, I think.”

Bishop took it from Carla. “Thanks,” and then handed it to McKnight. “Here you go, Jimbo. You’d better keep this with you.”

“Why? I seem to be doing all right with kitchen utensils,” McKnight bragged to further impress Carla.

Bishop gave him only a slight chuckle. “You’ll save the next guys a lot of pain if you just shoot them.”

“You think there’s going to be more ‘guys’?”

“Probably not, but you know the saying about better to have a gun and not need it, than to need a gun and not have it.”

“I don’t know the saying, but I’ve found out it’s true.”

“Okay,” Bishop said sharply to make Lyedecker snap to attention, “the next order of business is to get you two out of here and into a hotel for safety.”

McKnight nodded in agreement. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Lyedecker,” Bishop said, “Would you drive the two of them to some out-of-the-way hotel?”

“I guess I can handle that.”

“Well….,” McKnight said, “I think I’d like to do that myself. Just to be sure, no one knows where we are. And I mean nobody.”

“You can trust me, McKnight,” Lyedecker said. “We’re on the same team, or haven’t you noticed?”

“I know that, Agent Lyedecker, but I’d feel better doing it alone, just me and Carla.”

“Which way do you want it, Bishop?” Lyedecker asked his boss.

“Yeah…okay….sure, Jimbo. You and Carla can take off by yourself. And get a room without a balcony.”

“I’m way ahead of you.”

“Okay, good enough. But call me after you check in. And don’t use a credit card, use cash, and another name.”

“Don’t worry. I’m starting to get the hang of this.”

“I bet you are, Jimbo. I just bet you are.”

McKnight and Carla checked into a Sheraton Hotel. Carla slept, but McKnight couldn’t. He had phoned Bishop when they checked in. Bishop had assured him that he would start solving problems, too many for Bishop to explain to him at that time. But he promised to call back in the morning for a status report.

At eight A.M. the phone rang. McKnight grabbed the phone quickly, sat up and move to the edge of the bed. “Hello, George Custer here.”

“Hey, Jimbo,” came Bishop’s voice. “You figure on making a last stand at the Little Big Sheraton?”

“You know your history all right,” McKnight said.

“How are the two of you managing?”

“Television, room service, and sleep, you’ve got me leading a first class life.”

“Look Jim, we’ve identified those two hitters that paid you a visit last night. They were definitely from the Masenetti organization.”

“Do you think they’ll send more?”

“Well, maybe. But you’ll be safe where you are now.”

“I can’t stay in this hotel room prison all my life, can I?”

“You won’t have to,” Bishop assured him. “We’re working on something now.”

“And that would be?”

“We’re talking a possible deal with Masenetti, maybe negotiating a truce.”

“How are you planning to manage that?”

“Well, it won’t be easy. But we can offer him some money, immunity for past crimes, something like that. And also, he’ll do anything to get his son released from prison.”

“The CIA would do that for me?”

“Since you are CIA, it’s possible. We’d have to call in a few favors, but you’ve got friends upstairs, Jim.”

“Even after I bungled that mission in Columbia?”

“Hey, don’t worry about that. I think the director will go easy on you. Just answer his questions truthfully and you’ll do all right.”

“And what if I don’t remember the answers?”

“Oh yeah,” Bishop said, his voice going into a whisper. “How’s that going?”

“I still can’t remember a blessed thing, and I don’t think I ever will. I can’t even remember Carla.”

“And how is it going with her?”

“Ah….she’s sticking with me. And I’m trying to adjust to her as a stranger.”

“Well, just enjoy the adjustment and hang in there a while longer,” Bishop encouraged. “We’ll talk as soon as we can make some progress.”

“Right,” McKnight said frustrated, but added, “Thanks.”

“Take care,” Bishop said and then hung up.

McKnight hung up the phone and turned back to the bed where he saw that Carla had awakened and had been listening. “What did he have to say?” she asked.

“He’s working on some sort of plan to get Masenetti to call off his dogs.”

“Good,” she said and leaned back onto the pillow. “Maybe you can get him to replace the balcony door before we return.”

“Good idea.”

“You didn’t get enough sleep, Jim. Neither did I, for that matter. Come back to bed.”

“Yeah, maybe I can sleep.” McKnight moved back into the bed.

“How are you feeling?” Carla asked moving the covers back over him.

“The same.”

“Still can’t remember anything?”

“Regular stuff, but no personal stuff.”

“How about me?” she said moving closer to him.

“Some kind of distant memory, but all in all you’re still a stranger.”

She put her arm around him. “And…..Are you enjoying sleeping with a stranger?”

“It’s heaven. Makes all of this other craziness, almost worthwhile.”

“Almost worth worthwhile?” she whispered sweetly.

“I didn’t mean that you aren’t worth this. You are.”

“Move closer.”

McKnight did.

“Now try to make it all worthwhile.”

 

8 – CABIN FEVER

McKnight and Carla slept until noon. When they awoke they ordered room service. Soon after eating, McKnight started pacing the floor like the hunted animal he was.

“I think the hotel is going to charge us for the rut you’re wearing in the carpet.” Carla mused.

McKnight stopped and faced her. “What? Oh….sorry.”

Just then the phone rang. “Good news, I hope,” Carla said.

McKnight moved to the phone. “Yes, maybe it is.” He picked it up. “General Custer.”

“Hey, Jimbo,” came Bishop’s voice. “Are you okay?”

“Sure. Everything’s fine,” McKnight said. “I got some sleep. What’s up?”

“Look, we contacted Masenetti. He’s been living in a suite at Caesars Palace in Atlantic City for the last few weeks. It’s his alibi while this contract is out on you. But anyway, after talking with him, he’s called a temporary cease fire, as it were, until we can negotiate a truce.”

“Sounds good.”

“Yes, it looks promising. Just hold on for another couple of days and I think we can bring you home.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” McKnight said. “I’m becoming a little stir crazy.”

“Cabin fever has got you only after just one night?”

“Sure has.”

“Even with your playmate there?”

“Yes, even so.”

After a long pause, Bishop said, “You know, there’s a large shopping mall just a few blocks from where you are. I guess it would be all right if you walked around there for a while, go shopping, grab an Orange Julius, you know. It’s called the Eastmont Mall.”

“That would be great. Are you sure it’s safe.”

“Sure, no problem, ”Bishop said. “Nobody knows you’re there anyway, and like I said there’s a cease fire. And besides, we’re going to straighten out everything with Masenetti for sure.”

“Are you going to release his son from prison?”

“I don’t think it will have to come to that, but it’ll be something like a reduced sentence and special treatment. You know, make his cell look like the Holiday Inn, or something. That should satisfy Masenetti. His son would be home in a couple of years.”

“Sounds good.” McKnight looked at Carla as he told Bishop, “We might just go out and celebrate, Orange Julius and all.”

“Good. Have a good time,” Bishop said. “Talk to you soon.”

“Right.” McKnight hung up the phone and looked at Carla who had been listening intently. ”Well, things are moving forward.”

“It sounded like good news,” pouring herself another cup of coffee.

“Yes, Masentti’s called off the contract while they negotiate an early release for his son. We can return home in a day or two.”

“And what about the balcony door?” she asked out of the blue.

McKnight chuckled. “Are you serious?”

“I am,” she said with a smile, but a serious tone. “ When we get home, I don’t want to be stepping over broken glass, blood, and chalk marks.”

“I’ll be sure to mention it in the next phone call,” McKnight assured her with a grin. “So what do you say? Shall we walk around the mall? Go shopping for some celebration gift for you?”

“Better get a celebration gift for Bishop, Carla said half-seriously. “I didn’t do anything but keep you company.”

McKnight made sure his tone was serious. “The best company I ever had.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“So let’s hit the mall, shall we?”

Carla hesitated, and then touched the side of her forehead with her fingertips. “I think I’d like to stay here. I’ve acquired a slight headache, watching you pacing for the last hour.”

“Oh…I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault really,” she said giving a half-smile. “Anyway, I just want to take a long bubble bath and let it disappear.”

“Do you want me to bring you something for it? Aspirin or Tylenol?”

“No. I’m not one for medicine. A bath should do the trick. It usually does.”

“Okay, we’ll just relax here.”

“No….it’s okay,” she said slowly. “You take a walk. Stretch your legs….go window shopping….maybe find a good book. I’ll expect you back in a couple of hours.”

“Well, if you think that’s okay, maybe just an hour.”

“Sure, relax….unwind. I’ll be fine when you get back.”

“Uh” McKnight glanced over at the pistol and shoulder holster on the lamp table. “I suppose I should take the pistol and shoulder holster.”

Carla shook her head as she thought about it and then said, “You think you should? I mean if Bishop said it was safe. Maybe guns and amnesia doesn’t mix.”

“Well….have a gun and not need it is best, you know…..so….”

“….Okay. Maybe it’s a good idea.”

“Sure,” McKnight said grabbing the shoulder holster and pistol. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Just make some noise when you come in, so you don’t startle me in the bathtub.”

“What if I intend to startle you in the tub?” he said putting on the shoulder holster.

“That’ll be just fine. Just see that you make some noise first before you come anywhere near the bathtub,” she smiled.

McKnight chuckled as he headed to the door. “Right you are. Can I pick anything up for you?”

“Sure. You can bring me back a surprise.”

McKnight stopped and turned back to her. “What sort of surprise?”

“If I knew, then it wouldn’t be a surprise would it? Beside little girls like it when their fathers return and the anticipation of what they might bring them.”

“Oh? Am I a father figure for you?”

“Maybe, in part. Anyway, I do feel protected with you.”

“I’m glad you feel that way. I like protecting you.” He turned and opened the door. “Well…..see you soon.”

Continued….

Click on the title below to download the entire book and keep reading

McKnight’s Memory: A Romantic Thriller

CIA agent James McKnight has three problems…amnesia…the Mafia …and his addiction to the ultimate woman.
McKnight’s Memory by Paul Kyriazi
★★★★★5-Star Romantic Thriller

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McKnight’s Memory

by Paul Kyriazi

McKnight
5.0 stars – 11 Reviews
Or FREE with Learn More
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled

Here’s the set-up:

CIA agent James McKnight has three problems…amnesia…the Mafia …and his addiction to the ultimate woman. Can he trust her?

Includes a free link to download the 3.7 hr. audio-book narrated by Frank Sinatra Jr. Performed by Robert Culp, Nancy Kwan, David Hedison, Henry Silva Alan Young, Gary Lockwood, Edd Byrnes, Don Stroud, H.M. Wynant & Barbara Leigh.

5-star Amazon reviews:

“”McKnight’s Memory,” is a fast-moving action/mystery, very well written and directed…”

“This eBook is packed with mystery, mixed with action, suspense, and drama from the beginning to the end. The author grabs your attention and does not let it go until the last sentence…”

About the author:

Paul Kyriazi directed six feature films including ‘Omega Cop’ starring Adam ‘Batman’ West & Stuart Whitman, plus documentaries and travelogues.

He produced his novels ‘McKnight’s Memory’ & ‘Rock Star Rising’ as full-cast audio-books with Rod Taylor, Robert Culp, Russ Tamblyn, George Chakiris, Nancy Kwan, James Darren, Edd Byrnes, Henry Silva, Alan Young & Frank Sinatra Jr.

Paul created the original ‘How to Live the James Bond Lifestyle’ taught at The Learning Annex & SpyFest, now expanded for 2012 on Kindle.

He has a BA in Film from San Francisco State University. His techniscope movie ‘Death Machines’ opened in 50 theaters in Los Angeles. His panavision movie ‘Weapons of Death’ broke a house attendance record in New York.

“I wanted to make movies since seeing ‘The Making of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea’ on Disneyland TV. So it all started with Kirk Douglas and a giant squid.”

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The Vanished Ones (A San Francisco Thriller Book 1)

by N.V. Sumner

The Vanished Ones (A San Francisco Thriller Book 1)
4.9 stars – 18 Reviews
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Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

N.V. Sumner brings you the first book in the Li Chen series, The Vanished Ones, winner of the 2014 Indie Excellence Book Awards.

From her office in the SOMA district of San Francisco, missing children investigator, Li Chen, receives an early morning phone call. A successful architect and her young child have vanished. The only trace: the mother’s fingerprints found during a drug raid over ninety miles away. The only witness: a disturbed woman with a link to the victims who appears out of nowhere and claims a sadistic cult leader is the kidnapper. With memories of her missing twin sister stirring, Li buries herself in the case, one that puts her unique and highly specialized skills to the test and could ultimately end her life.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

ONE

SUNDAY 8:47 P.M.

 

THE WOMAN SHIELDED the child from the downpour, hugging her beloved before placing the toddler in her car seat and buckling her in. She slipped into the driver’s seat with a slight foreboding. After driving a few miles through the neighborhood, set among lofty sequoias and families of deer, her gunmetal-gray sedan began to rattle and cough as she entered a secluded part of Sir Francis Drake Boulevard. Surrounded by trees and darkness, she felt the rumblings of panic rise in her. She glanced at her cell phone and realized she had no reception. She was alone, and she felt it like a deep ache. As she rounded a corner, the car lurched angrily and began to sputter.

“Shit,” she whispered, slowly maneuvering the sedan to the side of the road. Once stopped, she turned the ignition over and over, hearing only a slight ticking with each futile attempt. A minute later, a dark SUV with heavily tinted windows pulled up next to her. She rolled down her window, dodging the raindrops that forced their way inside.

“Need some help?” asked a middle-aged man with a thick goatee and disordered eyebrows.

“I think so… My car won’t turn on. It was running perfectly fine a few minutes ago, and suddenly it just died.”

“Pop the hood, and I’ll take a look.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Happy to help a woman in distress.” He tipped his Stetson forward.

He parked in front of her, hood to hood, and jumped out of his SUV. He appeared more fully in the headlights, his bristly facial hair glistening as the rain fell hard on him. He then disappeared behind the rising hood of her car. Five or six minutes went by without a word from the stranger.

“Find anything?” she yelled over the howling wind.

No response. Her heart pumped a little faster. She stuck her head out the window, trying to get a look, but rain flew into her eyes, forcing her back into the car.

“Hello? Can you tell me what’s wrong with the car?” she hollered again as she flicked water from her face.

Silence.

She looked back and said to the little girl, “I’ll be right back, honey.” The tot was half asleep, hugging a stuffed bear. The woman struggled to push the door open against the strong gale. When she stood, she was met with a deluge. Shivering, she pulled her hood over her head.

“Hello, sir,” she said again as she walked to the front of her car.

The mysterious man was nowhere to be seen. She looked back inside her car to find her little girl now fully asleep, and she let out a deep sigh of relief. An ominous warning crept across her skin though she did not understand why. She zipped her jacket up farther.

“Sir, where are you?”

The man did not answer back.

She cautiously walked toward the rear of his car. The rear gate had been lifted open. She could hear nothing but the tempest whipping in unison with her worry. She stopped and looked back at her little girl once more. But remembering her phone was of no help and she was marooned on a dark, desolate road, she walked on. As she came around the corner to the back of the man’s car, she found him standing frozen, as if in a trance, seemingly unbothered by the water pouring off the front of his hat.

“Uh, hi. Did you figure out what’s wrong with my car?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly.

The man said nothing while staring intensely at her. The woman nervously shifted her weight from left to right as she wiped rain from her face.

“Maybe I’ll just go back to the car and wait for you.”

“Do you believe in fate?” the man asked.

With a quizzical look, she replied, “I don’t know what you mean, and I’m really cold, so I’m going to wait for you back inside my car. I appreciate your help.” As she spoke, she instinctively stepped backward.

“I mean, do you believe we, you and me, were meant to meet?” he asked with a nefarious smirk.

Her neck tightened, and she began to bite her nails. She had no idea what the man was talking about. She peered down the street, hoping to see another car’s headlights.

Something doesnt feel right.

“Sir, I appreciate your help—really, I do—but I’m going back inside my car.”

She turned quickly and walked back to her sedan. As she opened the driver’s door, she let out a tortured scream.

“Oh my God, where is she? Where’s my little girl!”

She whipped around and found the man standing before her. He grabbed the back of her head and pressed a damp rag hard against her nose and mouth.

 

MONDAY 6:47 A.M.

 

The tranquil morning sat silent and still. The sun stretched its rays through the fog, longing to be seen. Li Chen, principal and CEO of Industry, Inc., sat at the desk in her San Francisco office, peering steadily out the small oval window at the thick brume saturating the air. She had started her business after moving from Virginia six years ago. To the untrained, she was a specialist in missing-children cases. But her skills went far beyond those of an ordinary private investigator.

Back east, she had worked at the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children in Alexandria as a staff analyst in the Exploited Child Division. Li found great satisfaction in her work at the Center, but as a staff analyst, she had spent most of her time in an office, reviewing data and trying to identify unknown victims of child pornography. No doubt her work was important, but she wanted, needed, to be on the front lines. Her thoughts were constantly hijacked by the image of wrapping her hands around the necks of those sick perpetrators.

With her eyes fixed on the droplets sliding down the window, she was happy to see the storm had finally let up after drenching the ground throughout the night. She could only take so much rain although she loved the typical overcast San Francisco weather. Pulling her eyes from the window, she glanced at her e-mails and noticed a one-liner from her mom asking how she was doing. She suddenly felt as if all the world’s problems were swirling through her. She let out a long sigh as she sent a brief reply, the kind sent to someone who only asked to be polite.

Li was generally happy, but lately a slight melancholy reigned. It wasn’t depression—she knew what that felt like. The past few months had been more of a funk, like the sun’s warmth veiled by a thick marine layer. She always thought she’d be a mom by age thirty, with two kids and a two-story house with a large yard. Instead, she had one unshared wall, two litter boxes, and an antechamber balcony. She cringed, recalling the Barnes & Noble outing where she’d picked up a book with pictures of kittens on the cover and actually thought, This would be so cute on my coffee table. To detox, she bought a John Steinbeck novel and went dancing with friends. She glared at her manpellent cats, Maw and Paw, for two days. In response, Paw pooped on the floor as if to say, “I won’t take any shit from you, missy.”

While sinking into her office chair, she took a bite of a blueberry muffin and washed it down with a lukewarm vanilla latte, feeling the caffeine igniting every nerve in her sinewy frame. Li knew she needed to eat better and over the past year had been trying to better her diet. As she grew up, her parents had been strict about food, sugar never a part of the menu. As a kid, she knew nothing different and couldn’t understand why her friends made fun of her kale and tofu lunches. Unfortunately, surrounded by a multitude of fast-food restaurants, her vitamin-packed diet was tossed aside her first year of college. Li, along with all her friends, lived on sugary cereal and ramen noodles, nothing an eighteen-year-old body couldn’t handle. Lately though, she’d been feeling really run down and was sure the packaged food had something to do with it. Im not twenty anymore; its time to get serious about eating healthy. Next week definitely next week.

Savoring the velvety morning, she took another sip of coffee and glanced at the clock as the phone gave a half ring, as if it were not quite awake either.

“Li Chen,” she declared into the receiver as she rolled her eyes. She was sure it was a telemarketer with a relentless passion about whatever goddamn thing was being sold.

The line was silent.

“Hello, is someone there?” she demanded.

“Hey, it’s me,” whispered the soft voice on the other end, lifting Li’s spirit.

“Hi, sweetie…” She paused with the realization that Angie never got up before eight in the morning and then said, “It’s not even seven. Are you okay?” As the question spilled out, Li became aware of a slight thumping in her chest.

“No, I’m not okay, not at all,” Angie murmured, timid and breathless.

“What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

As fear rose in her, Li’s mouth felt like an arid wasteland. Her right leg shook up and down in rhythm with her rapid pulse. In an attempt to steady herself, she rested a hand on her knee.

“It’s Matti and Kendall. They’re missing, Li. I don’t know where they are. What am I going to do? I’m so scared!” she cried.

“What are you talking about, Ange? What happened?” Li’s stomach twisted as Angie’s words propelled her back in time to the day her sister, Yulin, went missing. Li was suddenly feeling the same dread she had felt, sitting in her father’s car that fateful morning.

“I don’t know.” Angie pushed her words out between sobs, stumbling on every other syllable. “Police aren’t sure. Matti called me around f-five o’clock yes-s-terday afternoon and said she was taking Kendall to the park then to her mom’s house for a visit. I-I started worrying when they weren’t home by ten and called Georgia. Sh-she said they had left about nine. The police found Matti’s car about two thirty this morning, near Mount Tam. They searched the entire area for hours but have no idea what happened. What am I going to do? They’re my life. I can’t lose them,” she whimpered.

Li felt light-headed and queasy as she tried to make sense of Angie’s words. “I’m at the office. I’ll leave now, run home, and grab my car. Everything will be okay, Ange. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay. Hurry, please.”

Li immediately took a cab back to her flat in Noe Valley. Her condo was on the top floor of a three-unit building with a panoramic view of the city. She’d purchased the unit a year after receiving an unexpected check from a client whose daughter Li helped find. The unit’s decor was mostly modern, with a few strategically placed antique pieces that provided a sophisticated yet warm atmosphere for dinner parties or a night in front of the fire, with a good book. A dark-gray herringbone couch leaned against the north wall, the perfect location from which to take in the expansive city view, the lights from the Bay Bridge shimmering in the distance. For a more intimate experience, a plush red chair playfully filled a small space next to a wall of windows, Li’s favorite morning spot, where she spent time sipping coffee while watching the sun rise. Li’s bedroom brought out her feminine side, with blossoming pinks and yellows and tasteful flower prints. The walk-in closet was filled with an array of designer clothes. Most days, Li wore the latest fashion, but at night, as soon as she stepped through the front door, couture turned into comfort.

As she gathered her purse and keys, sudden nausea sent her to a nearby chair. She sat back and took a few deep gulps of air until the turbulence passed. Before heading out, she was grabbing an apple out of the mostly empty fruit bowl and a strawberry yogurt out of the refrigerator when her phone rang. Glancing down at the number, she felt a weight lift a little as she answered it.

“Honey, hi. I’m so glad you called. Where are you?” She tried to keep her voice steady.

Her boyfriend, Jackson, replied, “Hi, babe. I’m at home. Where are you? I called the office, thought you were working today.”

“Yeah, I was, but I just got some really bad news. Matti and Kendall are missing. Police found Matti’s car early this morning near Mount Tam.”

“What! What happened? Are you okay?”

“Not really, but I’m going into work mode. I don’t really know what else to do.”

“I’m so sorry… How’s Angie?”

“Not good. She called me an hour ago. I’ve never heard her so scared. She doesn’t know much of anything.” Li felt a lump rising in her throat and heat burning in her eyes.

“Do you want me to come over?”

“Thanks, honey, but no. I’m going over to Angie’s right now.”

“I could go with you.” He paused. “I’m here for you. I hope you know that by now.”

“I know, and you are so great. But I need to be with Angie alone right now. I think it will be easier for her to talk if we’re alone. I am so grateful for you in my life, Jackson. I hope you know that. I’ll call you later.”

Li hung up, grabbed her car keys and snack, and left.

TWO

MONDAY 8:33 A.M.

 

 

 

TRAFFIC WAS LIGHT on Highway 101 as Li drove over the Golden Gate Bridge, heading north. She had crossed the iconic landmark hundreds of times, but each felt like the first. Li often thought of the lives lost, the hopeless ones standing on the famous edge. She wondered what filled their minds as they let go of the railing and tumbled toward the frigid waters below.

Once the International Orange was no longer visible, Li’s dark-gray Audi wound its way through the hills of Sausalito and down through Mill Valley, her nerves on high alert as she sped down Tiburon Boulevard. Every stoplight loomed like death. Li made her way past Main Street, lined with boutique shops and restaurants. In the summer, the town hosted a street fair, complete with face painting for the little ones. Along the waterfront sat Sam’s Cafe, a popular drinking spot for those hoping to catch a tan while sipping on pear cider as the boats sailed into the marina.

Li arrived at Angie’s Cape Cod–style house perched on a hilltop above the tiny town of Tiburon, an affluent suburb docked about twenty minutes outside San Francisco. Matti and Angie had bought the seaside delight overlooking Angel Island a few years prior. Like so many thirty-somethings, they fled the urban life for fresh air, sun, and ample parking. Li felt an earthquake of fear rumbling inside her. She wasn’t sure whether to run or stay seated and she was uncertain when it would stop. She parked in the driveway but couldn’t get her legs to move. Parched, she took a sip of water and hoisted herself out of the car. Her feet felt numb on the pavement, as if they were someone else’s. Her head spun from worry and the large quantity of caffeine she had consumed earlier. Trying to ground herself before making her way to the house, she stood up and took a long, deep breath.

Angie opened the front door before Li got up the steps to the porch. She was holding onto the door knob as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. The bottom of Li’s heart fell away as their eyes met. Angie’s luminous sparkle was lost behind shock and anguish.

The look was all too familiar to Li, the same one she had seen on her mother.

Angie’s statuesque body seemed small and contracted. She had cut her hair short since the last time Li had seen her. Their visits had been fewer since Angie left San Francisco. Prior to Angie’s move to Tiburon, she and Matti had spent many evenings at Li’s place. Even though Li’s diet was, at times, about as complicated as the kid’s menu at Denny’s, she was a genius in the kitchen and often made elaborate dinners for her friends. Angie’s hair was still blond but now spiky with a subtle femininity softening her sharp nose. The dark crescents under her eyes glistened below spidery lashes glued together by tears and the faint trace of mascara. The lines around her eyes were deeper, more serious, and her olive skin looked drawn and thin. Angie was not a classic beauty, but she had a presence that drew people in. When she was with Angie, Li always knew, felt deeply, that she would be okay.

Aware of her awkward movement, Li reached out and pulled Angie to her anyway. Li always felt like an impostor when it came to emotions. She was good at fixing, not so good at feeling. Even with her discomfort, Li wrapped her arms around her distraught friend, knowing Angie should be held with love. She wasn’t sure she was doing it right. It felt wobbly, like when she played in her mother’s high heels as a little girl.

“We’ll find them,” Li whispered. “It’s going to be okay.”

A familiarity grabbed hold of Li’s senses as she held her best friend, and she was suddenly flooded with memories of college. Images whirled in her mind: the kitchen of their tiny, one-room apartment in Berkeley, part of an old, dilapidated house with intermittent heat and leaky pipes; the one bedroom separated by a movable screen. Despite its disrepair, they made it their home with purple velvet curtains and a menagerie of space heaters. Li remembered furiously cramming for an economics exam while Angie prepared her famous lasagna. She cooked dinner for the two of them almost every night and always made sure the apartment was clean. Angie had grown up with five younger sisters and was thrust into a parental role at a young age. Her mother and father loved them all and did the best they could, but raising six girls in a small town in Maine was a challenge. As the oldest, Angie took on a lot of responsibilities, becoming a motherly figure to her siblings. She continued in her caretaking role after she left home for college, and Li was the happy recipient.

The young women met in the dorms during their first year at UC Berkeley. They were both a little timid, being so far from home, so they spent most of their time together, drinking coffee, studying, and talking about how they were each going to change the world. Even though they were the same age, Angie felt like a wise, older sister to Li. During the difficult times, Li found great solace when she was with Angie. Throughout their college years, Angie spent countless nights sitting by Li’s side while talking Li through a panic attack. When Li told her about Yulin’s kidnapping, Angie didn’t say “I’m sorry” or “That’s awful” or any of the usual remarks people say when told of that sort of unthinkable tragedy. She simply wrapped her arms around Li, held on to her tightly, and cried.

“Come in,” she whispered as she turned toward the hallway leading to the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to stop crying.” She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. The air in the house stood still as if it, too, were grieving.

“Ange, it’s okay… of course it’s okay. I can’t believe what’s happened.”

They walked down a narrow hallway toward the kitchen. Photographs of the joyous family lined the walls, quick bursts of time captured so as not to be left behind. Li turned away.

Once in the kitchen, Angie went straight to the coffee pot and poured two cups, dropping a sugar cube and a dash of cream in Li’s, her usual. Li leaned against the counter, too nervous to sit, wincing as she lightly bumped her head on the cabinet overhead.

“Have you heard any more from the police?” Li sipped her drink then quickly pulled her lips from the cup, cringing as the hot liquid seared her tongue.

“Nothing since this morning. They’ll be here in a few minutes. I don’t know what to do.” Angie began pacing the slate tile floor.

Li felt helpless too. She had no idea how to comfort her shaken friend. “Tell me what happened. When did you last talk to Matti?”

Angie nodded as she wiped her nose with her sleeve again. “She called me on her cell around five yesterday. I was still at work. She said she was taking Kendall to the park for an hour, and then they were going over to Georgia’s house for dinner. She said she would be home around nine, nine thirty.”

“What park? Do they have a usual one around here?”

“I’m not sure which one they went to. There are a few different parks near our house and one near Georgia’s house. But I don’t understand why they were near Mt. Tam,” she said. “I don’t know why they would have been over there and so late in the evening.”

“Have you talked to Georgia? Did she say anything about how Matti was acting?”

“She was at the police station with me all morning. She was her usual rude self, interjecting something mean and patronizing as much as possible. I can’t believe Matti’s related to her.” She sniffled while rolling the plastic end of her sweatshirt string between her fingers. “She said Matti seemed fine, said she went over there with Kendall as planned, had a salad, and left around nine or so. She said nothing seemed out of the ordinary.”

Li paused as her gaze caught a photo of Kendall and Angie on the refrigerator. She quickly wiped her eyes dry and took another large gulp of coffee, burning her tongue once again.

A heavy rap on the front door interrupted their conversation. Li followed Angie back down the hallway, standing behind her as Angie opened the door. A female detective stood outside with her younger male partner. She looked like Sharon Gless from Cagney and Lacey.

“Hi, Ms. Longstead. I’m Detective Stinson; this is Detective Lark. We spoke this morning on the phone. May we come in?”

The woman was tall, at least five foot ten, with stringy hair, dark circles under her eyes, and a large nose that took up much of her face. Her deep voice was steady but soft, the kind you would use with a small child who had fallen off a bike. It was clear she ran the show and Detective Lark was there only to help when asked. He stood behind her, staring blankly ahead. Lark was unattractive, plump, with no hair and eyes set too close together. He wore light-brown pants and a rumpled shirt. He looked like the kind of cop who would have a drinking problem in five years.

“Yes, come in.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Angie asked the detectives.

Both declined as they sat on the couch. Angie settled in a white leather chair facing them. Li balanced on the arm, wanting to be close to her friend.

“I’m really sorry, and I know this is difficult,” Detective Stinson started, “but I need to ask you some questions.” She pulled out a pad of paper from her small shoulder bag, flipped over the cover, and looked back up at Angie.

“Of course. Go ahead,” Angie answered.

“I was looking at the statement you gave to the police earlier. I’m wondering, did Mathilda work?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“Just gathering information at this point. Sometimes the things we think are unimportant or irrelevant turn out to be the break in a case. Did she have any issues with anyone at work? Any arguments, that sort of thing?”

“No, not that I know of. She loves her work. She owns her own landscape architecture firm. It’s called Urban Renewal. Everyone likes her… loves her, really.” Angie’s head dropped down.

“When we’re done talking, I want you to write down every person you know. Every friend, every co-worker, every family member. I know you already gave some names earlier, but more might come to you.”

“Okay, sure. Anything you need. Please, just find them.”

The detective gave her a slight smile and then quickly looked down at her pad. “Now, I know this is hard, but can you tell me, is there anyone you know that would want to hurt her or her daughter?”

“She’s my daughter too!” Angie snapped. “She’s our daughter. We had her together.”

“Of course, please forgive me,” Detective Stinson replied in a gentler tone. Detective Lark remained quiet while taking notes. The light bounced off his rounded head, reminding Li of Charlie Brown.

“No, nobody. Matti is kind and warm. She’s a wonderful person. Kendall is just a little girl. She’s only five years old. Who would want to hurt her?” Without thinking, Li picked up Angie’s hand and held it tightly.

“How about Mathilda’s family? Any problems, discord, that sort of thing?”

“Her mom, Georgia, is not the most pleasant person, but she loves Matti and Kendall. Matti’s an only child, and I don’t know about any cousins or other family. Matti never mentioned problems with anyone.”

“Please forgive me for asking this. Is it possible she took off with Kendall?”

“What? No, no, not at all!” Angie bellowed. “Matti is a wonderful mother and wife. She is happy and successful. She would never just take off, and she would never kidnap our daughter. She loves this family more than anything.”

“I’m sorry. Please understand I have to ask,” Detective Stinson said in an apologetic voice. Li could sympathize with the detective, having been in her position many times. She was grateful she wasn’t the one having to ask such questions.

The detective continued. “I know this is difficult, but we came up with a possible lead.”

“What? What did you find?” Angie’s voice crumbled.

“We found Mathilda’s prints on her car, which of course is not a surprise. Unfortunately, we didn’t find any other prints. We then ran her prints through our system, which is routine, and a match came up to another crime scene.”

Angie’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? Matti has never been in trouble with the law.”

The detective took a sharp breath. “When we ran her prints, a match came up to a drug raid up in Stockton. The police found a crystal methamphetamine lab in the basement. Mathilda’s fingerprints matched prints that were found there.”

“I don’t understand. Matti has never done drugs, and she certainly wasn’t involved with crystal meth. You don’t know her. If you did, you would see how absurd that sounds. Plus, I don’t think she’s ever even been to Stockton.”

“When was the raid?” Li asked.

“I believe it was about a month ago. I haven’t seen the full report yet.”

“Well, you need to have your lab check those prints again. There is no way they are Matti’s,” Angie demanded, a crispness to her words.

“I understand, and I’m really sorry to upset you. There’s something else.”

“What? Tell me, what else is there?” Angie barked.

“We found drug paraphernalia in Mathilda’s car: needles, syringes, and something that appears to be a methamphetamine pipe. They were found in the glove compartment, hidden behind some maps, in a black zipper bag. We are having our narcotics team check it out now.”

“That isn’t possible. Matti has never done drugs. You don’t know her. She is a health nut. She doesn’t drink alcohol, except once a year on our anniversary. She’s never smoked a cigarette a day in her life. She works out daily, sometimes twice a day. In fact, she just finished a half-marathon in San Francisco about two weeks ago. Does that sound like someone involved in drugs? This has to be some kind of mistake.”

“I’m sure we will get to the bottom of it,” Stinson replied.

The detective continued her inquiry about Matti, her habits and recent activities, Angie becoming more and more upset with each probe. Finally, Stinson admitted the police had no other leads and were in the process of conducting further interviews.

“We don’t yet know what happened, but usually in these cases, someone known to the victim is involved. Rarely are kidnappings random when it involves an adult. As I mentioned, we searched the entire car for fingerprints, but I’ll have them do a second sweep, just to be sure we didn’t miss anything.”

“Did you find her cell phone in the car?” Li asked.

“No, so far we haven’t found her phone, but we will check her cell records. I will let you know if we find anything or have any questions. Does she have a home computer?”

“Yes, it’s in the office,” Angie replied.

“I’ll send someone over to take a look at it, probably this afternoon. We may find something crucial on it.”

Li looked over at Angie, whose eyes were distant, as if contemplating something heavy. Li watched her friend, who had been struck with the unexpectedness of a plane crash, and mourned silently.

“If you think of anything, please call me,” Detective Stinson requested and handed Angie her card as she and her partner walked to the door. Her sidekick stayed silent.

Angie shut the door behind them and leaned her forehead against it. Li rubbed her friend’s back as Angie dropped her head in her hands and cried clear rivers that were cold and unmanageable.

“Ange, you need some rest. You’ve been up all night, and you look exhausted.”

“I know I should sleep, but I’m afraid that when I wake up, they’ll tell me they are dead.” She turned around and wiped her eyes dry. “What is going on, Li? Why did they find her fingerprints in a drug lab?”

“I don’t know, honey. It’s probably just a mistake.”

“I guess, but why was she carrying needles and drug pipes in her car?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Li put her hands on her solemn friend’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Ange, I will do everything in my power to make sure we find them alive. Now, please lie down and get some rest. You are no good exhausted like this.”

“Okay. You’re probably right. I’m not sure I can sleep, but I’ll try. My parents’ flight just landed. They should be here in about an hour. Will you stay until they get here?”

“Of course, sweetie. I will do anything for you. If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a peek at Matti’s computer before the police search it.”

“Do whatever you need to do. Just find them… please. Hand me a paper and pen, and I’ll write down her e-mail password.”

Li tucked Angie in bed and read her passages from The Prophet. As soon as Angie fell asleep, Li trudged downstairs to the office and opened Matti’s computer. She logged on to her e-mail account and sighed at the four hundred messages in Matti’s inbox. She slogged through them, annoyed at the large amount of spam. Finding nothing salient, she logged out, closed the window, and looked on the computer’s desktop. Tucked away in the top right corner was a folder labeled “Personal.” Li unconsciously looked around the room, as if Matti was going to walk in at any moment and scold her for going through her private things. She clicked on the folder and found receipts from a woman named Leslie Dunston, MFT. Having been to one herself, Li immediately recognized the initials as one of a licensed clinical therapist. Li found bills dating back three months. Matti had been seeing the therapist once a week. Li wondered why she was seeing Dunston. Matti always seemed so together. However, with the new information from Stinson, Li wasn’t so sure.

She opened up a web search engine, typed in the therapist’s name, and saw that Dunston treated a number of disorders but mainly specialized in Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. She then went back to the desktop folder and opened up a document titled “meds” and found bills for two medications, Diazepam and Zoloft, used to treat anxiety and depression. From the dates on the bills, it appeared Matti had been taking the prescription drugs for at least two months. Li waded through the rest of the documents and other folders on the computer but found nothing else of importance.

“Matti, what is going on? What happened to you?” Li whispered as she closed the computer and sat with a heavy heart.

THREE

 

EVERYWHERE WAS PITCH black, like the darkest night of winter. Her temples throbbed as she stretched to pull her eyes open. She was extremely thirsty, parched in a way she’d never felt before. The cold, hard floor and her crusty lips reminded her of the harshness of her situation. She tried to sit up, but her arms were held down tightly with some kind of restraint. She remained still, the mental haze clearing with each breath.

Jesus, where the fuck am I?

Then the realization that she was lying trapped in total darkness began to take hold, roots of terror digging deep into her psyche. In a frenzy, she whipped her head around, looking for any bit of light. The sudden movement caused the world to spin and tumble. She turned to the side and retched, vomit sticking to the side of her face as it dripped out of her mouth. Forgetting that her wrists were pinned down, she tried to pull her right hand up to her mouth to wipe her lips, and the roughness of the rope cut into her skin.

Her blood pressure rose, and sweat beaded along her hairline. In vain, she tried to pull her right leg up but knew it, too, was tied down. Her breath quickened, her mind racing so fast she couldn’t catch hold of any thought.

“H-hello,” she whispered in a weak voice, wondering how long she’d been out. Swallowing what little saliva remained in her barren mouth, she tried again, this time a little louder. “Hello, is someone there?”

Nothing. No sound at all. Absolutely nothing but deafening silence.

Continued….

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The Vanished Ones

67% price cut! Meet Li Chen, missing children investigator, and the case that could ultimately end her life… The Vanished Ones by N.V. Sumner

On Friday we announced that The Vanished Ones by N.V. Sumner is our Thriller of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the thriller, mystery, and suspense categories: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!

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The Vanished Ones (A San Francisco Thriller Book 1)

by N.V. Sumner

The Vanished Ones (A San Francisco Thriller Book 1)
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N.V. Sumner brings you the first book in the Li Chen series, The Vanished Ones, winner of the 2014 Indie Excellence Book Awards.From her office in the SOMA district of San Francisco, missing children investigator, Li Chen, receives an early morning phone call. A successful architect and her young child have vanished. The only trace: the mother’s fingerprints found during a drug raid over ninety miles away. The only witness: a disturbed woman with a link to the victims who appears out of nowhere and claims a sadistic cult leader is the kidnapper. With memories of her missing twin sister stirring, Li buries herself in the case, one that puts her unique and highly specialized skills to the test and could ultimately end her life.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

ONE

SUNDAY 8:47 P.M.

 

 

 

THE WOMAN SHIELDED the child from the downpour, hugging her beloved before placing the toddler in her car seat and buckling her in. She slipped into the driver’s seat with a slight foreboding. After driving a few miles through the neighborhood, set among lofty sequoias and families of deer, her gunmetal-gray sedan began to rattle and cough as she entered a secluded part of Sir Francis Drake Boulevard. Surrounded by trees and darkness, she felt the rumblings of panic rise in her. She glanced at her cell phone and realized she had no reception. She was alone, and she felt it like a deep ache. As she rounded a corner, the car lurched angrily and began to sputter.

“Shit,” she whispered, slowly maneuvering the sedan to the side of the road. Once stopped, she turned the ignition over and over, hearing only a slight ticking with each futile attempt. A minute later, a dark SUV with heavily tinted windows pulled up next to her. She rolled down her window, dodging the raindrops that forced their way inside.

“Need some help?” asked a middle-aged man with a thick goatee and disordered eyebrows.

“I think so… My car won’t turn on. It was running perfectly fine a few minutes ago, and suddenly it just died.”

“Pop the hood, and I’ll take a look.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Happy to help a woman in distress.” He tipped his Stetson forward.

He parked in front of her, hood to hood, and jumped out of his SUV. He appeared more fully in the headlights, his bristly facial hair glistening as the rain fell hard on him. He then disappeared behind the rising hood of her car. Five or six minutes went by without a word from the stranger.

“Find anything?” she yelled over the howling wind.

No response. Her heart pumped a little faster. She stuck her head out the window, trying to get a look, but rain flew into her eyes, forcing her back into the car.

“Hello? Can you tell me what’s wrong with the car?” she hollered again as she flicked water from her face.

Silence.

She looked back and said to the little girl, “I’ll be right back, honey.” The tot was half asleep, hugging a stuffed bear. The woman struggled to push the door open against the strong gale. When she stood, she was met with a deluge. Shivering, she pulled her hood over her head.

“Hello, sir,” she said again as she walked to the front of her car.

The mysterious man was nowhere to be seen. She looked back inside her car to find her little girl now fully asleep, and she let out a deep sigh of relief. An ominous warning crept across her skin though she did not understand why. She zipped her jacket up farther.

“Sir, where are you?”

The man did not answer back.

She cautiously walked toward the rear of his car. The rear gate had been lifted open. She could hear nothing but the tempest whipping in unison with her worry. She stopped and looked back at her little girl once more. But remembering her phone was of no help and she was marooned on a dark, desolate road, she walked on. As she came around the corner to the back of the man’s car, she found him standing frozen, as if in a trance, seemingly unbothered by the water pouring off the front of his hat.

“Uh, hi. Did you figure out what’s wrong with my car?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly.

The man said nothing while staring intensely at her. The woman nervously shifted her weight from left to right as she wiped rain from her face.

“Maybe I’ll just go back to the car and wait for you.”

“Do you believe in fate?” the man asked.

With a quizzical look, she replied, “I don’t know what you mean, and I’m really cold, so I’m going to wait for you back inside my car. I appreciate your help.” As she spoke, she instinctively stepped backward.

“I mean, do you believe we, you and me, were meant to meet?” he asked with a nefarious smirk.

Her neck tightened, and she began to bite her nails. She had no idea what the man was talking about. She peered down the street, hoping to see another car’s headlights.

Something doesnt feel right.

“Sir, I appreciate your help—really, I do—but I’m going back inside my car.”

She turned quickly and walked back to her sedan. As she opened the driver’s door, she let out a tortured scream.

“Oh my God, where is she? Where’s my little girl!”

She whipped around and found the man standing before her. He grabbed the back of her head and pressed a damp rag hard against her nose and mouth.

 

MONDAY 6:47 A.M.

 

The tranquil morning sat silent and still. The sun stretched its rays through the fog, longing to be seen. Li Chen, principal and CEO of Industry, Inc., sat at the desk in her San Francisco office, peering steadily out the small oval window at the thick brume saturating the air. She had started her business after moving from Virginia six years ago. To the untrained, she was a specialist in missing-children cases. But her skills went far beyond those of an ordinary private investigator.

Back east, she had worked at the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children in Alexandria as a staff analyst in the Exploited Child Division. Li found great satisfaction in her work at the Center, but as a staff analyst, she had spent most of her time in an office, reviewing data and trying to identify unknown victims of child pornography. No doubt her work was important, but she wanted, needed, to be on the front lines. Her thoughts were constantly hijacked by the image of wrapping her hands around the necks of those sick perpetrators.

With her eyes fixed on the droplets sliding down the window, she was happy to see the storm had finally let up after drenching the ground throughout the night. She could only take so much rain although she loved the typical overcast San Francisco weather. Pulling her eyes from the window, she glanced at her e-mails and noticed a one-liner from her mom asking how she was doing. She suddenly felt as if all the world’s problems were swirling through her. She let out a long sigh as she sent a brief reply, the kind sent to someone who only asked to be polite.

Li was generally happy, but lately a slight melancholy reigned. It wasn’t depression—she knew what that felt like. The past few months had been more of a funk, like the sun’s warmth veiled by a thick marine layer. She always thought she’d be a mom by age thirty, with two kids and a two-story house with a large yard. Instead, she had one unshared wall, two litter boxes, and an antechamber balcony. She cringed, recalling the Barnes & Noble outing where she’d picked up a book with pictures of kittens on the cover and actually thought, This would be so cute on my coffee table. To detox, she bought a John Steinbeck novel and went dancing with friends. She glared at her manpellent cats, Maw and Paw, for two days. In response, Paw pooped on the floor as if to say, “I won’t take any shit from you, missy.”

While sinking into her office chair, she took a bite of a blueberry muffin and washed it down with a lukewarm vanilla latte, feeling the caffeine igniting every nerve in her sinewy frame. Li knew she needed to eat better and over the past year had been trying to better her diet. As she grew up, her parents had been strict about food, sugar never a part of the menu. As a kid, she knew nothing different and couldn’t understand why her friends made fun of her kale and tofu lunches. Unfortunately, surrounded by a multitude of fast-food restaurants, her vitamin-packed diet was tossed aside her first year of college. Li, along with all her friends, lived on sugary cereal and ramen noodles, nothing an eighteen-year-old body couldn’t handle. Lately though, she’d been feeling really run down and was sure the packaged food had something to do with it. Im not twenty anymore; its time to get serious about eating healthy. Next week definitely next week.

Savoring the velvety morning, she took another sip of coffee and glanced at the clock as the phone gave a half ring, as if it were not quite awake either.

“Li Chen,” she declared into the receiver as she rolled her eyes. She was sure it was a telemarketer with a relentless passion about whatever goddamn thing was being sold.

The line was silent.

“Hello, is someone there?” she demanded.

“Hey, it’s me,” whispered the soft voice on the other end, lifting Li’s spirit.

“Hi, sweetie…” She paused with the realization that Angie never got up before eight in the morning and then said, “It’s not even seven. Are you okay?” As the question spilled out, Li became aware of a slight thumping in her chest.

“No, I’m not okay, not at all,” Angie murmured, timid and breathless.

“What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

As fear rose in her, Li’s mouth felt like an arid wasteland. Her right leg shook up and down in rhythm with her rapid pulse. In an attempt to steady herself, she rested a hand on her knee.

“It’s Matti and Kendall. They’re missing, Li. I don’t know where they are. What am I going to do? I’m so scared!” she cried.

“What are you talking about, Ange? What happened?” Li’s stomach twisted as Angie’s words propelled her back in time to the day her sister, Yulin, went missing. Li was suddenly feeling the same dread she had felt, sitting in her father’s car that fateful morning.

“I don’t know.” Angie pushed her words out between sobs, stumbling on every other syllable. “Police aren’t sure. Matti called me around f-five o’clock yes-s-terday afternoon and said she was taking Kendall to the park then to her mom’s house for a visit. I-I started worrying when they weren’t home by ten and called Georgia. Sh-she said they had left about nine. The police found Matti’s car about two thirty this morning, near Mount Tam. They searched the entire area for hours but have no idea what happened. What am I going to do? They’re my life. I can’t lose them,” she whimpered.

Li felt light-headed and queasy as she tried to make sense of Angie’s words. “I’m at the office. I’ll leave now, run home, and grab my car. Everything will be okay, Ange. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay. Hurry, please.”

Li immediately took a cab back to her flat in Noe Valley. Her condo was on the top floor of a three-unit building with a panoramic view of the city. She’d purchased the unit a year after receiving an unexpected check from a client whose daughter Li helped find. The unit’s decor was mostly modern, with a few strategically placed antique pieces that provided a sophisticated yet warm atmosphere for dinner parties or a night in front of the fire, with a good book. A dark-gray herringbone couch leaned against the north wall, the perfect location from which to take in the expansive city view, the lights from the Bay Bridge shimmering in the distance. For a more intimate experience, a plush red chair playfully filled a small space next to a wall of windows, Li’s favorite morning spot, where she spent time sipping coffee while watching the sun rise. Li’s bedroom brought out her feminine side, with blossoming pinks and yellows and tasteful flower prints. The walk-in closet was filled with an array of designer clothes. Most days, Li wore the latest fashion, but at night, as soon as she stepped through the front door, couture turned into comfort.

As she gathered her purse and keys, sudden nausea sent her to a nearby chair. She sat back and took a few deep gulps of air until the turbulence passed. Before heading out, she was grabbing an apple out of the mostly empty fruit bowl and a strawberry yogurt out of the refrigerator when her phone rang. Glancing down at the number, she felt a weight lift a little as she answered it.

“Honey, hi. I’m so glad you called. Where are you?” She tried to keep her voice steady.

Her boyfriend, Jackson, replied, “Hi, babe. I’m at home. Where are you? I called the office, thought you were working today.”

“Yeah, I was, but I just got some really bad news. Matti and Kendall are missing. Police found Matti’s car early this morning near Mount Tam.”

“What! What happened? Are you okay?”

“Not really, but I’m going into work mode. I don’t really know what else to do.”

“I’m so sorry… How’s Angie?”

“Not good. She called me an hour ago. I’ve never heard her so scared. She doesn’t know much of anything.” Li felt a lump rising in her throat and heat burning in her eyes.

“Do you want me to come over?”

“Thanks, honey, but no. I’m going over to Angie’s right now.”

“I could go with you.” He paused. “I’m here for you. I hope you know that by now.”

“I know, and you are so great. But I need to be with Angie alone right now. I think it will be easier for her to talk if we’re alone. I am so grateful for you in my life, Jackson. I hope you know that. I’ll call you later.”

Li hung up, grabbed her car keys and snack, and left.

TWO

MONDAY 8:33 A.M.

 

 

 

TRAFFIC WAS LIGHT on Highway 101 as Li drove over the Golden Gate Bridge, heading north. She had crossed the iconic landmark hundreds of times, but each felt like the first. Li often thought of the lives lost, the hopeless ones standing on the famous edge. She wondered what filled their minds as they let go of the railing and tumbled toward the frigid waters below.

Once the International Orange was no longer visible, Li’s dark-gray Audi wound its way through the hills of Sausalito and down through Mill Valley, her nerves on high alert as she sped down Tiburon Boulevard. Every stoplight loomed like death. Li made her way past Main Street, lined with boutique shops and restaurants. In the summer, the town hosted a street fair, complete with face painting for the little ones. Along the waterfront sat Sam’s Cafe, a popular drinking spot for those hoping to catch a tan while sipping on pear cider as the boats sailed into the marina.

Li arrived at Angie’s Cape Cod–style house perched on a hilltop above the tiny town of Tiburon, an affluent suburb docked about twenty minutes outside San Francisco. Matti and Angie had bought the seaside delight overlooking Angel Island a few years prior. Like so many thirty-somethings, they fled the urban life for fresh air, sun, and ample parking. Li felt an earthquake of fear rumbling inside her. She wasn’t sure whether to run or stay seated and she was uncertain when it would stop. She parked in the driveway but couldn’t get her legs to move. Parched, she took a sip of water and hoisted herself out of the car. Her feet felt numb on the pavement, as if they were someone else’s. Her head spun from worry and the large quantity of caffeine she had consumed earlier. Trying to ground herself before making her way to the house, she stood up and took a long, deep breath.

Angie opened the front door before Li got up the steps to the porch. She was holding onto the door knob as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. The bottom of Li’s heart fell away as their eyes met. Angie’s luminous sparkle was lost behind shock and anguish.

The look was all too familiar to Li, the same one she had seen on her mother.

Angie’s statuesque body seemed small and contracted. She had cut her hair short since the last time Li had seen her. Their visits had been fewer since Angie left San Francisco. Prior to Angie’s move to Tiburon, she and Matti had spent many evenings at Li’s place. Even though Li’s diet was, at times, about as complicated as the kid’s menu at Denny’s, she was a genius in the kitchen and often made elaborate dinners for her friends. Angie’s hair was still blond but now spiky with a subtle femininity softening her sharp nose. The dark crescents under her eyes glistened below spidery lashes glued together by tears and the faint trace of mascara. The lines around her eyes were deeper, more serious, and her olive skin looked drawn and thin. Angie was not a classic beauty, but she had a presence that drew people in. When she was with Angie, Li always knew, felt deeply, that she would be okay.

Aware of her awkward movement, Li reached out and pulled Angie to her anyway. Li always felt like an impostor when it came to emotions. She was good at fixing, not so good at feeling. Even with her discomfort, Li wrapped her arms around her distraught friend, knowing Angie should be held with love. She wasn’t sure she was doing it right. It felt wobbly, like when she played in her mother’s high heels as a little girl.

“We’ll find them,” Li whispered. “It’s going to be okay.”

A familiarity grabbed hold of Li’s senses as she held her best friend, and she was suddenly flooded with memories of college. Images whirled in her mind: the kitchen of their tiny, one-room apartment in Berkeley, part of an old, dilapidated house with intermittent heat and leaky pipes; the one bedroom separated by a movable screen. Despite its disrepair, they made it their home with purple velvet curtains and a menagerie of space heaters. Li remembered furiously cramming for an economics exam while Angie prepared her famous lasagna. She cooked dinner for the two of them almost every night and always made sure the apartment was clean. Angie had grown up with five younger sisters and was thrust into a parental role at a young age. Her mother and father loved them all and did the best they could, but raising six girls in a small town in Maine was a challenge. As the oldest, Angie took on a lot of responsibilities, becoming a motherly figure to her siblings. She continued in her caretaking role after she left home for college, and Li was the happy recipient.

The young women met in the dorms during their first year at UC Berkeley. They were both a little timid, being so far from home, so they spent most of their time together, drinking coffee, studying, and talking about how they were each going to change the world. Even though they were the same age, Angie felt like a wise, older sister to Li. During the difficult times, Li found great solace when she was with Angie. Throughout their college years, Angie spent countless nights sitting by Li’s side while talking Li through a panic attack. When Li told her about Yulin’s kidnapping, Angie didn’t say “I’m sorry” or “That’s awful” or any of the usual remarks people say when told of that sort of unthinkable tragedy. She simply wrapped her arms around Li, held on to her tightly, and cried.

“Come in,” she whispered as she turned toward the hallway leading to the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to stop crying.” She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. The air in the house stood still as if it, too, were grieving.

“Ange, it’s okay… of course it’s okay. I can’t believe what’s happened.”

They walked down a narrow hallway toward the kitchen. Photographs of the joyous family lined the walls, quick bursts of time captured so as not to be left behind. Li turned away.

Once in the kitchen, Angie went straight to the coffee pot and poured two cups, dropping a sugar cube and a dash of cream in Li’s, her usual. Li leaned against the counter, too nervous to sit, wincing as she lightly bumped her head on the cabinet overhead.

“Have you heard any more from the police?” Li sipped her drink then quickly pulled her lips from the cup, cringing as the hot liquid seared her tongue.

“Nothing since this morning. They’ll be here in a few minutes. I don’t know what to do.” Angie began pacing the slate tile floor.

Li felt helpless too. She had no idea how to comfort her shaken friend. “Tell me what happened. When did you last talk to Matti?”

Angie nodded as she wiped her nose with her sleeve again. “She called me on her cell around five yesterday. I was still at work. She said she was taking Kendall to the park for an hour, and then they were going over to Georgia’s house for dinner. She said she would be home around nine, nine thirty.”

“What park? Do they have a usual one around here?”

“I’m not sure which one they went to. There are a few different parks near our house and one near Georgia’s house. But I don’t understand why they were near Mt. Tam,” she said. “I don’t know why they would have been over there and so late in the evening.”

“Have you talked to Georgia? Did she say anything about how Matti was acting?”

“She was at the police station with me all morning. She was her usual rude self, interjecting something mean and patronizing as much as possible. I can’t believe Matti’s related to her.” She sniffled while rolling the plastic end of her sweatshirt string between her fingers. “She said Matti seemed fine, said she went over there with Kendall as planned, had a salad, and left around nine or so. She said nothing seemed out of the ordinary.”

Li paused as her gaze caught a photo of Kendall and Angie on the refrigerator. She quickly wiped her eyes dry and took another large gulp of coffee, burning her tongue once again.

A heavy rap on the front door interrupted their conversation. Li followed Angie back down the hallway, standing behind her as Angie opened the door. A female detective stood outside with her younger male partner. She looked like Sharon Gless from Cagney and Lacey.

“Hi, Ms. Longstead. I’m Detective Stinson; this is Detective Lark. We spoke this morning on the phone. May we come in?”

The woman was tall, at least five foot ten, with stringy hair, dark circles under her eyes, and a large nose that took up much of her face. Her deep voice was steady but soft, the kind you would use with a small child who had fallen off a bike. It was clear she ran the show and Detective Lark was there only to help when asked. He stood behind her, staring blankly ahead. Lark was unattractive, plump, with no hair and eyes set too close together. He wore light-brown pants and a rumpled shirt. He looked like the kind of cop who would have a drinking problem in five years.

“Yes, come in.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Angie asked the detectives.

Both declined as they sat on the couch. Angie settled in a white leather chair facing them. Li balanced on the arm, wanting to be close to her friend.

“I’m really sorry, and I know this is difficult,” Detective Stinson started, “but I need to ask you some questions.” She pulled out a pad of paper from her small shoulder bag, flipped over the cover, and looked back up at Angie.

“Of course. Go ahead,” Angie answered.

“I was looking at the statement you gave to the police earlier. I’m wondering, did Mathilda work?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“Just gathering information at this point. Sometimes the things we think are unimportant or irrelevant turn out to be the break in a case. Did she have any issues with anyone at work? Any arguments, that sort of thing?”

“No, not that I know of. She loves her work. She owns her own landscape architecture firm. It’s called Urban Renewal. Everyone likes her… loves her, really.” Angie’s head dropped down.

“When we’re done talking, I want you to write down every person you know. Every friend, every co-worker, every family member. I know you already gave some names earlier, but more might come to you.”

“Okay, sure. Anything you need. Please, just find them.”

The detective gave her a slight smile and then quickly looked down at her pad. “Now, I know this is hard, but can you tell me, is there anyone you know that would want to hurt her or her daughter?”

“She’s my daughter too!” Angie snapped. “She’s our daughter. We had her together.”

“Of course, please forgive me,” Detective Stinson replied in a gentler tone. Detective Lark remained quiet while taking notes. The light bounced off his rounded head, reminding Li of Charlie Brown.

“No, nobody. Matti is kind and warm. She’s a wonderful person. Kendall is just a little girl. She’s only five years old. Who would want to hurt her?” Without thinking, Li picked up Angie’s hand and held it tightly.

“How about Mathilda’s family? Any problems, discord, that sort of thing?”

“Her mom, Georgia, is not the most pleasant person, but she loves Matti and Kendall. Matti’s an only child, and I don’t know about any cousins or other family. Matti never mentioned problems with anyone.”

“Please forgive me for asking this. Is it possible she took off with Kendall?”

“What? No, no, not at all!” Angie bellowed. “Matti is a wonderful mother and wife. She is happy and successful. She would never just take off, and she would never kidnap our daughter. She loves this family more than anything.”

“I’m sorry. Please understand I have to ask,” Detective Stinson said in an apologetic voice. Li could sympathize with the detective, having been in her position many times. She was grateful she wasn’t the one having to ask such questions.

The detective continued. “I know this is difficult, but we came up with a possible lead.”

“What? What did you find?” Angie’s voice crumbled.

“We found Mathilda’s prints on her car, which of course is not a surprise. Unfortunately, we didn’t find any other prints. We then ran her prints through our system, which is routine, and a match came up to another crime scene.”

Angie’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? Matti has never been in trouble with the law.”

The detective took a sharp breath. “When we ran her prints, a match came up to a drug raid up in Stockton. The police found a crystal methamphetamine lab in the basement. Mathilda’s fingerprints matched prints that were found there.”

“I don’t understand. Matti has never done drugs, and she certainly wasn’t involved with crystal meth. You don’t know her. If you did, you would see how absurd that sounds. Plus, I don’t think she’s ever even been to Stockton.”

“When was the raid?” Li asked.

“I believe it was about a month ago. I haven’t seen the full report yet.”

“Well, you need to have your lab check those prints again. There is no way they are Matti’s,” Angie demanded, a crispness to her words.

“I understand, and I’m really sorry to upset you. There’s something else.”

“What? Tell me, what else is there?” Angie barked.

“We found drug paraphernalia in Mathilda’s car: needles, syringes, and something that appears to be a methamphetamine pipe. They were found in the glove compartment, hidden behind some maps, in a black zipper bag. We are having our narcotics team check it out now.”

“That isn’t possible. Matti has never done drugs. You don’t know her. She is a health nut. She doesn’t drink alcohol, except once a year on our anniversary. She’s never smoked a cigarette a day in her life. She works out daily, sometimes twice a day. In fact, she just finished a half-marathon in San Francisco about two weeks ago. Does that sound like someone involved in drugs? This has to be some kind of mistake.”

“I’m sure we will get to the bottom of it,” Stinson replied.

The detective continued her inquiry about Matti, her habits and recent activities, Angie becoming more and more upset with each probe. Finally, Stinson admitted the police had no other leads and were in the process of conducting further interviews.

“We don’t yet know what happened, but usually in these cases, someone known to the victim is involved. Rarely are kidnappings random when it involves an adult. As I mentioned, we searched the entire car for fingerprints, but I’ll have them do a second sweep, just to be sure we didn’t miss anything.”

“Did you find her cell phone in the car?” Li asked.

“No, so far we haven’t found her phone, but we will check her cell records. I will let you know if we find anything or have any questions. Does she have a home computer?”

“Yes, it’s in the office,” Angie replied.

“I’ll send someone over to take a look at it, probably this afternoon. We may find something crucial on it.”

Li looked over at Angie, whose eyes were distant, as if contemplating something heavy. Li watched her friend, who had been struck with the unexpectedness of a plane crash, and mourned silently.

“If you think of anything, please call me,” Detective Stinson requested and handed Angie her card as she and her partner walked to the door. Her sidekick stayed silent.

Angie shut the door behind them and leaned her forehead against it. Li rubbed her friend’s back as Angie dropped her head in her hands and cried clear rivers that were cold and unmanageable.

“Ange, you need some rest. You’ve been up all night, and you look exhausted.”

“I know I should sleep, but I’m afraid that when I wake up, they’ll tell me they are dead.” She turned around and wiped her eyes dry. “What is going on, Li? Why did they find her fingerprints in a drug lab?”

“I don’t know, honey. It’s probably just a mistake.”

“I guess, but why was she carrying needles and drug pipes in her car?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Li put her hands on her solemn friend’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Ange, I will do everything in my power to make sure we find them alive. Now, please lie down and get some rest. You are no good exhausted like this.”

“Okay. You’re probably right. I’m not sure I can sleep, but I’ll try. My parents’ flight just landed. They should be here in about an hour. Will you stay until they get here?”

“Of course, sweetie. I will do anything for you. If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a peek at Matti’s computer before the police search it.”

“Do whatever you need to do. Just find them… please. Hand me a paper and pen, and I’ll write down her e-mail password.”

Li tucked Angie in bed and read her passages from The Prophet. As soon as Angie fell asleep, Li trudged downstairs to the office and opened Matti’s computer. She logged on to her e-mail account and sighed at the four hundred messages in Matti’s inbox. She slogged through them, annoyed at the large amount of spam. Finding nothing salient, she logged out, closed the window, and looked on the computer’s desktop. Tucked away in the top right corner was a folder labeled “Personal.” Li unconsciously looked around the room, as if Matti was going to walk in at any moment and scold her for going through her private things. She clicked on the folder and found receipts from a woman named Leslie Dunston, MFT. Having been to one herself, Li immediately recognized the initials as one of a licensed clinical therapist. Li found bills dating back three months. Matti had been seeing the therapist once a week. Li wondered why she was seeing Dunston. Matti always seemed so together. However, with the new information from Stinson, Li wasn’t so sure.

She opened up a web search engine, typed in the therapist’s name, and saw that Dunston treated a number of disorders but mainly specialized in Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. She then went back to the desktop folder and opened up a document titled “meds” and found bills for two medications, Diazepam and Zoloft, used to treat anxiety and depression. From the dates on the bills, it appeared Matti had been taking the prescription drugs for at least two months. Li waded through the rest of the documents and other folders on the computer but found nothing else of importance.

“Matti, what is going on? What happened to you?” Li whispered as she closed the computer and sat with a heavy heart.

THREE

 

 

 

EVERYWHERE WAS PITCH black, like the darkest night of winter. Her temples throbbed as she stretched to pull her eyes open. She was extremely thirsty, parched in a way she’d never felt before. The cold, hard floor and her crusty lips reminded her of the harshness of her situation. She tried to sit up, but her arms were held down tightly with some kind of restraint. She remained still, the mental haze clearing with each breath.

Jesus, where the fuck am I?

Then the realization that she was lying trapped in total darkness began to take hold, roots of terror digging deep into her psyche. In a frenzy, she whipped her head around, looking for any bit of light. The sudden movement caused the world to spin and tumble. She turned to the side and retched, vomit sticking to the side of her face as it dripped out of her mouth. Forgetting that her wrists were pinned down, she tried to pull her right hand up to her mouth to wipe her lips, and the roughness of the rope cut into her skin.

Her blood pressure rose, and sweat beaded along her hairline. In vain, she tried to pull her right leg up but knew it, too, was tied down. Her breath quickened, her mind racing so fast she couldn’t catch hold of any thought.

“H-hello,” she whispered in a weak voice, wondering how long she’d been out. Swallowing what little saliva remained in her barren mouth, she tried again, this time a little louder. “Hello, is someone there?”

Nothing. No sound at all. Absolutely nothing but deafening silence.

Continued….

Click on the title below to download the entire book and keep reading

The Vanished Ones

It’s unanimous! 4.9 stars on straight rave reviews!
The Vanished Ones (A San Francisco Thriller) by N.V. Sumner

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The Vanished Ones (A San Francisco Thriller Book 1)

by N.V. Sumner

The Vanished Ones (A San Francisco Thriller Book 1)
4.9 stars – 18 Reviews
Or FREE with Learn More
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled

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N.V. Sumner brings you the first book in the Li Chen series, The Vanished Ones, winner of the 2014 Indie Excellence Book Awards.

From her office in the SOMA district of San Francisco, missing children investigator, Li Chen, receives an early morning phone call. A successful architect and her young child have vanished. The only trace: the mother’s fingerprints found during a drug raid over ninety miles away. The only witness: a disturbed woman with a link to the victims who appears out of nowhere and claims a sadistic cult leader is the kidnapper. With memories of her missing twin sister stirring, Li buries herself in the case, one that puts her unique and highly specialized skills to the test and could ultimately end her life.

The hunt for missing children continues in Hunters Point, coming Fall 2015.
Reviews

“The Vanished Ones moves deftly from a child’s kidnapping to an investigator’s own family issues, creating connections and insights that tie both together. It pairs mystery with psychology and creates moments and scenes that join past and present together; from memories of Yulin (her vanished sister) to searches which all too often result in evidence of murder. All this, wrapped in the cloak of a satisfying mystery and thriller, makes The Vanished Ones a special recommendation for readers who want more psychological depth than casual investigative probes usually offer.”  –D. Donovan, eBook Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

“The brightly, though at times garishly, painted cast of characters is eclectic and ranges from supportive and nurturing to unimaginably evil. THE VANISHED ONES is much more than the mystery it first seems, taking the reader on a ride that twists and shocks relentlessly as the protagonist, Li, scrambles to save her friends while the world around her unravels.” –Kat Toland, IndieReader

Click here to visit N.V. Sumner’s Amazon author page

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SECTOR 64: Ambush

by Dean M. Cole

SECTOR 64: Ambush
4.8 stars – 33 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled

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**Huffington Post – IndieReader Best of 2014**

Ever wonder what would happen to present-day Earth if a friendly alien race took humanity under its wing? What happens when their enemy becomes ours? X-Files meet Independence Day when incredible events thrust Air Force Captains Jake Giard and Sandra Fitzpatrick into a decades-long global conspiracy to integrate humanity into a galactic government. However, as Jake finishes indoctrination into the program, it renders present-day Earth a disposable pawn in a galactic civil war. Unknown aliens with a dark secret raid the planet. Within and even below Washington DC, Captain Giard and two wingmen fight through a post-apocalyptic hell, struggling to comprehend the enigmatic aftermath of the first attack. On the West Coast, Sandy’s squadron smashes against the invading aliens. Thrown to ground, Captain Fitzpatrick wades through blazing infernos and demented looters in a desperate attempt to save her family. Finally, with the fate of the world in the balance, both captains must take the battle to the enemy–humanity’s very survival hanging on their success.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

Part I

 

“We stand now at the turning point between two eras. Behind us is a past to which we can never return …”

― Arthur C. Clarke

CHAPTER ONE

 

Two fighter jets sliced through the night air. A crescent moon, thin as an orange peel, cast a dim glow across the Nevada desert five thousand feet below the F-22s. Even under the waning crescent, the bright desert reminded Jake of a Spaghetti Western’s night scene. As if filmed during the day with a dark filter to simulate night, the excess visual detail seemed out of temporal place.

“Papa Two-One, this is Lima Two-Four, over.”

Air Force Captain Jake Giard scanned his fighter’s computer-generated engine indications and then keyed his radio’s transmit trigger. “Lima Two-Four, this is Papa Two-One. Go ahead.”

The radio crackled to life again as his wingman replied. “Roger, Two-One. Come up internal.”

Jake nodded and switched his radio selector to the ship-to-ship laser communication terminal. The autonomous system formed a virtual fiber optic link that allowed data to stream between the two fighters. A secure internal communication link piggybacked on the data stream. Unlike a radio signal, the laser beam couldn’t be intercepted. So, fighter crews often used it like a cell phone for air to air communication.

“Hey, Vic. What’s up?”

Over Nellis Air Force Base’s remote desert training area, they flew a tight, echelon-left formation. From his position just behind Vic’s left wing, Jake studied the moonlit silhouette of his wingman’s stealthy single-seat fighter.

“Uh … thanks for doing this. I know you didn’t have to take a flight this late.”

Jake smiled under his oxygen mask. “It’s not like I had anything better to do at three o’clock on a Sunday morning.” The truth was, he had plenty he could be doing. However, the junior pilot was having trouble completing his unit indoctrination training. Having already failed one checkride, Victor was struggling with the high workload of the unit’s close air support scenarios. Jake had volunteered to take him out for additional iterations. However, in preparation for a combat deployment, the squadron’s fighter wings were in high gear, training around the clock. So, Victor’s additional period had been relegated to oh-dark-thirty in the middle of the weekend.

“Yeah right,” Vic said. “I’m sure you’d rather be on a night training flight than partying a Las Vegas Saturday night away with Sandy.”

“Wow, you’re right,” Jake joked. He broke his fighter into a left bank and rolled away from Vic’s jet. “I’m outta here.”

“Hey … I was just kidding,” Vic said.

Having dropped below Victor’s line of sight, Jake rolled his fighter level and passed under his wingman’s aircraft. Emerging on Victor’s right, Jake pulled alongside. In the moon’s soft light, he could see the back of his helmet as Vic searched the sky to his left.

“Over here,” Jake said with a chuckle. When the young man’s head snapped right, Jake barrel-rolled his fighter over Vic, the maneuver’s wide arc carrying him clear of his wingman. It ended with Jake parked off of his wingman’s left wing, back where he had started. “This sure as hell beats working for a living. Doesn’t it?”

Vic laughed. “When my alarm went off at two AM, it kind of felt like work.” Then his tone took on a serious note. “Did you see that report on the news tonight?”

“That report? Can you be a little more specific?”

“Sorry. They found more Russian surface-to-air missiles in Afghanistan.”

Frustrated his attempt at levity had failed to distract the young officer from his unending worries, Jake looked across to his wingman and shook his head. I know where this is headed.

Fresh out of flight training, Lieutenant Victor Croft had never been in combat. Last week, the man’s jittery nerves had kicked into hyperdrive when their squadron received orders to deploy to Afghanistan’s Bagram Airfield at the end of the month. Renewed Taliban activity, coupled with enhanced weapons supplied by Iran, had NATO forces reeling.

“I’m sure they’ll have it worked out by the time we get in-country,” Jake said. He felt guilty playing down the threat. In the last year, the Taliban had employed Russian S-300 antiaircraft missiles with devastating results.

“Maybe,” Vic said dubiously. “I haven’t slept since the meeting.”

Jake remembered the white pallor he’d seen on Vic’s face following their deployment brief. Wide, frightened eyes stared from the young pilot’s light-skinned ginger face. Drained of blood, Victor’s skin glowed through his closely cropped red hair.

“Be calm, grasshopper,” Jake said. He hoped the poor imitation of a Japanese sensei would allay Vic’s continuing apprehension. “You’ll be fine, your training will take over once you’re in combat, trust me.”

“Trust you?” Vic asked. The humor in the lieutenant’s voice was good.

Victor thickened his soft hillbilly accent in the way that endeared him with comrades—and also won him favor with the Las Vegas ladies frequenting Nellis Air Force Base’s officers’ club. “Why, because you’re from the government, and you’re here to help me?”

Exaggerating his own Texan accent, Jake said, “Oh yeah, I forgot, you Appalachians don’t cotton to us governmental types.”

Victor laughed. “Yep, us hillbillies have a special place in our heart for outsiders. Now, squeal like a pig, boy.”

Jake’s laughter broke as a tremendous shockwave, coupled with a blinding flash, rocked his fighter. Overtaking them from behind, a bright ring of lights had rocketed between the two aircraft.

“Shit! What the hell was that?” Jake said. Recovering from the shock, he adjusted the controls, reining in his battered fighter.

“I don’t know. It must be doing Mach four or better—” Victor faltered as the object broke right. “What the hell?”

Bolting right, it made a ninety-degree turn, changing direction in an instant. One moment it was rocketing away from them, the next it blazed eastward at the same tremendous rate without curving.

“Holy shit, nothing can take those Gs,” Vic said, thunderstruck.

“Oh my god,” Jake whispered. Blinking, he tried to clear his eyes. That’s not possible.

As if it had no mass or weight, the strange object made several more instantaneous course changes. Varying from slight angles, to complete course reversals, the maneuvers kept it near their two-ship formation.

Its zigzagging path circled the fighters twice. Then it stopped for a few moments. Matching their velocity and vector, it parked a mile off Lieutenant Croft’s right wing. A moment later, it snapped to within one hundred meters of Victor’s side of the formation, closing the mile-wide gap in less than a second.

“Whoa,” Vic said with a shaky voice. His fighter jinked away from the object.

“Easy, buddy,” Jake said. Jerking his F-22 left, he narrowly avoided colliding with his wingman. “I’m still right here.”

“Sorry,” Vic said.

“I’ve got nothing on radar.” Jake paused, taking a deep breath to reel in his emotions. “When it was in front of us, I couldn’t see it on infrared either.”

“Hey, I see something,” Vic said, panting. “There’s a shadow.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “You’re right! I see it against the background.”

“Yeah, that’s how I spotted it.”

Gliding above the distant horizon, the ring of lights had dark voids protruding above and below. A brief eclipse of the background stars provided the only visual evidence.

“So, it’s not some kind of…” Jake paused, searching for words. “Energy source. It must have mass, it’s gotta be a ship of some sort.” Studying it, he paused, then shook his head. “But I’ve never seen anything move like that.”

“If this is one of ours, it’s way beyond anything my physics professor knew about,” Victor said.

Looking across his wingman’s fighter gave Jake a chance to estimate the ship’s size. Judging by the shadow, it was as tall as it was wide. Like a pregnant frisbee, it was broadest across its middle, where the ring of lights still rotated. Horizontally, it was roughly as long as the F-22, making it just over sixty feet wide.

“What the hell is it,” Vic asked.

“No idea,” Jake said. He couldn’t see the skin, but the silhouette’s bottom was round, and it looked like the top came to a point. “This is incredible…” As Jake spoke, the ship started closing the gap. “Hey, be careful, it’s getting closer!”

“Roger,” Vic said.

Jake’s heart raced as he focused on the ship’s middle. “Those lights…” He faltered, unable to conjure an adequate description.

“I know,” Vic said. He sounded as mystified as Jake felt.

A horizontal, pulsing ring of multicolored light seemed to rotate in the air around the object’s midsection. As the ship neared Victor’s fighter, Jake got a clearer view of its structure. As if radiating from the ship’s center, the glowing rays only extended a foot or two from the ship’s skin, but he couldn’t see any fixtures generating the energy. “I don’t see the source of the lights. They look like … raw energy.” Watching the strange ship flying in formation with his wingman was both surreal and somehow familiar.

“I wish he’d pull up front again. My gun camera can’t slew that far to the side,” Vic said.

Recognition smacked Jake. “Hey, it looks like they want an escort.”

“You’re right,” Vic said, then shouted, “Jake! Do you have your iPhone?”

“Yeah!”

Concentrating on flying his fighter while keeping an eye on the strange ship, he dug blindly through the bag he’d tucked into the small map pouch next to his right leg. There it is. Yanking out the phone, he turned it on—a clear violation of Air Force regulations. I think they’ll forgive this one.

“Got it! I’ll take a couple of quick shots, then drop back and see if I can capture it with my gun-camera.”

“Sounds good, just get it on something.”

Staring at the phone’s glowing, white boot-up apple, he shook the phone and growled, “Come on!”

Outside, the ship slid closer. When it parked a few feet off Vic’s right wing, his fighter lurched.

Jake dropped the phone. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. It feels like my right wing is trying to stall—” Victor’s voice cut out as the buffeting rocked his fighter left and right. Broken by turbulence-induced grunts, Victor’s voice came over the radio. “The stick is … beating up … the inside of my thighs.”

He banked left to give Victor space. “Get away from the ship.”

“I don’t know … if I can hold on,” Victor said. His voice strained as he fought to control the fighter.

Jake threw his transponder into the emergency position, alerting Air Traffic Control. Ears ringing, his pulse raced in response to the adrenaline dumping into his system. “Get the hell out of there!”

A crescendo of static rose in Jake’s helmet.

Chopped and modulated by the communication laser’s failing efforts to maintain connection, Lieutenant Croft’s panic-stricken voice broke through the cacophony, “… systems … going down … damn warning light … flashing … day, mayday, may—”

Jake switched back to their assigned radio frequency and keyed the mic. “Lima Two-Four …”

Static.

“Victor, come in …”

Louder static.

The faint glow from Victor’s engines faded, then extinguished. His fighter started losing altitude.

Jake’s mounting alarm ratcheted another notch. Slamming both throttles to idle, placing his fighter in a rapid descent, Jake tried to keep up with his plunging wingman.

The external position lights on both fighters began dimming. The static increased to an earsplitting level, and then it died. Jake’s cockpit darkened as all its electronics faded to black. All electrical energy seemed to drain from both F-22s.

Switching radios to emergency, he toggled the mic. “Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Air Force Two-One-Five!”

No side-tone.

Shit, the radio isn’t transmitting!

He switched back to the air-to-air frequency. “Lima Two-Four, this is Papa Two-One. Come in, Vic!”

Still no side-tone, he couldn’t even hear his own voice. A quick check showed his helmet was still plugged into its socket.

Then, to Jake’s horror, both fighters started drifting toward one another. “Oh shit,” he whispered. He pulled against the stick, but the unresponsive electronic flight controls refused to budge.

Drifting toward Lieutenant Croft’s fighter, Jake’s ship started an uncommanded slow roll to the right. He yanked and jerked the stick left. Nothing. Without electricity, they couldn’t respond. Jake reached for his ejection handles and froze. Already rolling through ninety degrees, his cockpit was aimed at his wingman’s fighter. If he punched out now, he’d shoot into the top of Victor’s airplane.

He watched helplessly as his ship rolled inverted. His F-22’s dim shadow fell across Vic’s fighter. For a surreal moment, the two stared face to face across the narrowing gap as both struggled with their unresponsive flight controls.

An unnatural glow caught Jake’s attention. The mysterious ship’s multicolored ring of rotating light brightened and then flared as it rocketed away—the only evidence of its departure direction lay in the fading image burned across his retina.

“What the hell?”

Instrument lights flared back to life, and his F-22 snap-rolled left as, power restored, the electronic flight controls responded to Jake’s desperate tugging. As he rolled away, he saw the ship’s blazing departure throw Victor’s aircraft into a flat spin.

“Shit!” Jake screamed. He flipped his Raptor over, trying to keep his wingman in sight, but the night quickly swallowed the still blacked-out fighter.

He checked the radio. It was back online. “Come in, Victor!”

No reply.

“You’re running out of time! Eject! Get the hell out of there, Lieutenant!” he ordered. As if trying to will the event into existence, Jake visualized his small-framed friend yanking on the jettison handle.

Switching back to the emergency radio, he transmitted, “Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Air Force Two-One-Five!”

“Air Force Two-One-Five, this is Nellis Radio. Please state the nature of your emergency,” replied the air traffic controller, her voice maddeningly calm.

Before he could reply, night turned day in a brilliant explosion as Victor and his F-22 slammed into the desert floor.

“No!” Jake screamed.
#

Tires barked as his fighter touched down. Jake extended the airbrake. The fighter decelerated. Heavy hearted and in an anguished mental fog, he struggled through the after-landing checks.

“Air Force Two-One-Five, proceed to the end of Runway Two-One-Right, right on taxiway Alpha, left onto the ramp. A security police detail is waiting to pick you up.”

Security police? They’re not normally involved in crash investigations.

“Uh … roger, Nellis Tower, Runway Two-One-Right, right on Alpha, to the ramp,” Jake repeated. His tone was flat, dutiful. Finishing his landing rollout, he saw the promised security detail’s flashing lights ahead on the right.

He finished the after-landing checks. What happened to you, buddy? Why didn’t you eject?

Hoping to spot his downed wingman, he had remained on scene. Jake had made multiple low passes, searching the small, speed-blurred patch of desert his landing lights illuminated. All the while, he’d monitored the frequency of Victor’s portable emergency radio. In spite of numerous calls from Jake, it remained silent.

The post-crash fire had raged for thirty minutes, only faltering after it consumed the cache of jet fuel and combustible metals. When the rescue helicopter arrived, its crew performed an extensive search. After an additional thirty minutes, they reported: “No sign of ejection.”

Out of fuel and hope, Captain Giard finally obeyed air traffic control’s incessant orders and returned to base.

Now that he’d landed, Jake slowed his F-22. Reaching the end of the runway, he turned right onto taxiway alpha as instructed by air traffic control. Ahead, the swarm of security police vehicles generated a myriad of flashing lights. The strobing red, blue, and amber colors reflecting off every surface of his cockpit were an unwelcome reminder of the ship’s strange lights.

Turning left onto the south end of the ramp, he nosed the fighter into the U-shaped formation of vehicles. Locking the parking brake, he finished the after-landing checks.

Ground support personnel, casting nervous looks at the assembled security police vehicles, hooked up the ground power unit. With the GPU connected and powering the aircraft, he received a thumbs-up from an airman that looked ready to bolt. Jake acknowledged the clearance and killed the fighter’s engines. To his surprise, the airman did bolt.

As Jake’s canopy rose, a security police squad, weapons drawn, stormed the plane. Jake was looking down the muzzles of eight M-16 automatic rifles.

“What the hell is this?” he shouted over the whine of the ground power unit’s turbine exhaust.

“Out of the plane, sir!” screamed a large sergeant. The noncommissioned officer was pointing his Beretta nine-millimeter pistol at Jake’s head.

Overwhelmed by the night’s events, Jake stared incredulously at the armed squad. Shaking his head in resigned capitulation, he unbuckled his safety harness and unplugged his helmet. Climbing from the cockpit, he started backing down the boarding ladder. Halfway to the ground, he was ripped from the metal steps and thrown face-down onto the ramp. He could feel several muzzles pressed into his back.

“What the fuck!” Jake yelled. His breath lifted a small dust cloud from the tarmac, its asphalt surface warm against his face.

“Don’t fucking move, Captain.”

He continued to struggle. “I haven’t done anything. This is bullshit!”

The cold steel muzzle of a large caliber pistol pressed against the back of his neck.

Jake stopped struggling.

The sergeant, now calm and inches from his ear, said, “Captain, I have my orders, and they don’t come from any higher, and they don’t get any more serious than this. I assure you, this is not bullshit.”

The muzzle lifted from his neck.

“Now, are we done here?”

Panting, Jake nodded.

In less than five seconds, the sergeant cuffed him and dragged him to his feet. “Thank you, sir.” Grabbing Jake’s left elbow, he led him to a security police cruiser. The sergeant opened the door, stuffed him in the back, and slammed it.

Jake stared out in confused disbelief. “What the hell did we stumble into, Vic?”

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

Exhausted eyes stared back from the interrogation-room’s one-way mirror.

“Damn it, Captain, what were you doing in that area?” The voice echoed off the tiled floors and walls. With only a four-legged rectangular table and two metal chairs occupying its center, the room offered little sound absorption.

Turning from his reflection, Jake locked eyes with the major. For what felt like the hundredth time, he said, “Sir, as I’ve been telling you for the last twelve hours, Range Control assigned us that training area.”

For the hundredth time, the major stared back, unblinking and unbelieving.

Knuckles rasped against the room’s single door.

With a disgusted sigh, the major shook his head and turned toward it. “Come!”

The door creaked open. A nervous Air Force airman stuck his head into the room.

Major Tinsdale glared at him. “Damn it! I left clear instructions that I was not to be disturbed.”

“Sorry, sir. You have a call from a General Tannehill. I tried to tell him you were busy—”

“No, no, no, I’ll take it,” the major said standing, all annoyance evaporating. “Just sit there, Captain, I’ll be back.” Grabbing his notepad, he strode angrily from the room.

The airman nodded at Captain Giard and followed the major out.

Hearing the door lock, Jake turned back to his image in the mirror. A steady dripping sound emanated from a floor drain at the room’s center. The ticking second hand of an old government issue wall-clock, hanging over the door, added its maddening rhythm to the staccato dripping noise.

Studying his weary face in the one-way interrogation room mirror, Jake tried to make sense of the situation. It was obvious they knew the two of them had encountered the ship. However, every time he tried to bring it up, the major redirected him. Tinsdale kept returning to the subject of airspace and timelines. It’s as if he thinks we conspired to be there at that particular time.

Given nothing to eat and only enough fluids to keep him awake, Jake didn’t think they’d let him free anytime soon, if ever.

Jake heard the major shouting unintelligible commands as he came down the hall.

The door flew open, and in a storm, Major Tinsdale erupted into the interrogation-room. Throwing a stack of papers on the desk in front of Jake, Tinsdale paused, took a deep breath, and sat across from him, head hanging down.

To Jake’s surprise, the major looked up with a contrite expression.

“Captain, I owe you an apology.”

Stunned, Jake sat back, trying to understand the rapid reversal. Was this some kind of interrogation technique? Was the major propping Jake up, just so he could knock him back down?

Reading the distrust, the major raised his hands, palms facing Jake. “It’s ok, Captain. I give you my word, this is not a trick.”

“Then what the hell is going on?” he asked. Belatedly, he added, “Sir.”

“Apparently, you have friends in high places.”

His confusion doubled. “What?”

The major shook his head. “You’ll be briefed later.” He pointed to the stack of papers. “But, before you can leave, you have to sign these.”
#

Lying in bed, gazing at the ceiling, Captain Jake Giard ran fingers through his short dark hair. His entire body ached with a bone-deep exhaustion. He hadn’t slept in the eighteen hours since the disastrous encounter.

Jake knew sleep wouldn’t be the restful reprieve from reality he needed. Only a dark prison waited—a place where he would relive the freakish encounter and the loss of his young friend, ad nauseam.

Shifting, he propped another pillow under his head and looked outside. The city’s uncountable sodium-vapor streetlights set his bedroom walls awash with an orange glow. The drawn curtains of his window revealed a beautiful panorama. Viewed from his east Las Vegas apartment on the side of Sunrise Mountain, the city lights painted across the valley below twinkled like a sea of chipped orange glass beads. From Jake’s remote vantage point, the buildings and lights of the Vegas Strip constituted a small portion of the scintillating mural painted across his bedroom window.

The cool, crisp springtime breeze ruffled the curtains, creating a welcome distraction. Jake felt his body relaxing as a coyote’s howl drifted down from the desert mountainside. A lonely sound, it matched the darkness of his mood.

His body jerked with a waking spasm as a jet engine’s distant roar drowned out the coyote’s wail, claiming dominance over the night air. Muffled by distance, the airplane’s din rolled like thunder off the surrounding mountains.

“Great,” he muttered.

Frustrated and exhausted, Jake slid out of bed and stepped across the cool tiles. Pushing the billowing curtain out of the way, he walked to the center of the wide window, intending to close it. Movement in his peripheral vision drew his attention. Two miles to the north, on Nellis Air Force Base Runway Three-Left, two hundred feet from where he’d been accosted by the Base’s Security Police, Jake could just make out the twin, fiery-blue jet-plumes of an F-22 Raptor on a takeoff roll.

The solo fighter was a poignant reminder.

“Damn it! What happened to you, Vic?”

He slammed the glass pane shut. Snapping the curtains closed, he turned and walked back to the bed. Collapsing backward onto its soft surface, Jake stared through the ceiling.

What the hell was that thing?

“I can’t even tell anybody about your death,” he said to the empty room. He shook his head sardonically. Great! The UFO contactee is talking to his dead friend. “Wonderful.”

The day spent in the interrogation room had left Jake confused and questioning his decision to reveal the appearance of the strange ship. Not that Major Tinsdale had allowed any elaboration on the subject.

He was under strict orders not to mention the event to anyone. He knew it was standard protocol not to discuss aspects of a mishap during an investigation, but these orders encompassed everything: personnel, equipment, aircraft, and timelines—before and after the accident.

Ordered to act as if the flight had been cancelled, he was not to discuss the night’s events, nor mention Lieutenant Croft’s status. Since when did a man’s death become a status?

Not that he’d had the opportunity to talk with anyone. Under virtual house arrest, Jake had been instructed not to leave his home. Relieved from duty, he was to spend the remainder of the day and subsequent night resting. Major Tinsdale told him to expect additional instructions the following morning. However, he wasn’t sure how that information would arrive. Perfectly functional the previous day, neither his iPhone nor his home phone worked now. Even his Internet was down. Also, a nondescript Government-Issue sedan sat parked out front, its occupant hidden in shadow.

The mortgage-like stack of documents he’d signed promised forfeiture of his left nut and first born should he ever discuss any aspect of the night’s events.

A metallic chime yanked Jake from his thoughts. It was the doorbell. He checked his watch: 10 p.m.

Rocked by a sudden epiphany, he sat bolt upright on the mattress. “Sandy!”

He jumped out of bed and scrambled to the closet, searching blindly for his robe. Can’t believe I forgot.

The doorbell rang again.

“I’m coming!” he yelled. Sliding to a stop on the tiled foyer, he opened the door.

His girlfriend, Captain Sandra Fitzpatrick, pointed an admonishing finger. “You’d better not be starting without me—” Seeing his face, she stopped. “Oh my god, baby. What happened?”

Looking into her deep blue eyes, he felt the day’s tumultuous stress drain from his body. “I love you.”

Eyes softening and stepping through the door, she enveloped him in her sensuous arms. “That’s not an answer, but I’ll accept it for now.”

“Thank you.” He nodded toward her embrace. “By the way, that’s my job.”

Ever the competitor, she raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m allowed to comfort you.”

Jake gave her a meaningful look. After a moment she capitulated, allowing him to wrap her up in his strong arms. Fiercely independent since their first meeting in Air Force flight school, Sandy was loath to let anyone do anything for her. As an Air Force fighter pilot, it was a character trait that had served her well. It was only during their private moments that she lowered the ever-present shield and exposed her soft feminine side to Jake.

Melting into him, she snuggled her cheek into his chest. Her limpid blue eyes stared deeply into his. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby,” he reassured her.

She leaned back in his arms. “So, what happened to you this morning? You didn’t call or text me after your flight.”

“My phone went on the fritz,” he said, only half-lying.

“Your home phone too? Both of your phones are going straight to voicemail. I didn’t know your home number had voicemail.”

“It does now.” Apparently.

“How was your flight?”

Unwilling to lie outright, he changed the subject, guiding her toward the bedroom. “I thought you were coming here so I could help you relax.”

The previous night—only a few hours before his and Vic’s fateful flight—Sandy had complained that the next day’s schedule included a grueling twelve-hour battery of tests on a new F-22 avionics configuration.

Sweeping her up, he carried her the remaining distance to the bedroom.

Sandy wrapped her arms around his neck.

Jake smiled. In a French accent, he whispered, “Mon amour, your velocity-induced accelerated stall has firewalled my adiabatic lapse rate.”

“Oh, I love it when you whisper dirty pilot talk to me.”

Laying her gently on the bed, Jake grasped the top of her flightsuit’s full body-length central zipper. Drawing it down, he slowly exposed her heaving breasts, then her dimpled abs, and finally the top of her lace panties. With a devilish grin, he said, “There’s my favorite landing strip.”

“It better be your only landing strip, Captain,” Sandy said. She playfully reached between his legs. Looking into his eyes with a mischievous smile, she said, “I have the ball, the hook is down.”

“Ease up on the navy crap, or the hook might retract.”

“Yeah right,” she said, laughing. Still holding his member, she pulled him into bed.
#

WOMP, WOMP, WOMP.

The sound drilled into Jake’s brain. Again, he reached for the fighter’s instrument panel, pressing and then punching the cancel button in a futile effort to reset the incessant alert blaring from the flashing master-caution panel.

WOMP, WOMP, WOMP.

Frustration mounted as the fighter’s computer still wouldn’t accept his inputs.

My friend is dead, and now my fighter is dying too.

WOMP, WOMP, WOMP.

Even the alert sounds wrong … oh shit.

Dragging himself from the nightmare, his arm rose from the sheets and fell on the alarm clock.

The noise continued.

With a start, Jake realized it was his home phone that was ringing. He’d left the handset in the living room. “Guess it’s working now.”

Sandy stirred, mumbled something unintelligible, and went back to sleep.

After a quick kiss to the top of her head, he leapt from the bed. Sprinting through the living room and sliding to a stop in front of the phone, he checked the number.

No name displayed, but he recognized the area code: 202. From his many calls to the area’s Air Force offices, he knew it very well. Washington D.C. This should be it.

After a hesitation, he answered. “Hello.”

“Is this Captain Jake Giard?” asked a feminine voice.

“Uh … yes. Who’s calling?”

“This is the Pentagon’s office of Air Force Tactical Operations, Planning, and Development. Please hold for Captain Allison.”

Before he could protest, inane elevator music told him she’d already placed him on hold. He was usually happy to hear from his old combat wingman. However, this morning he worried the line would be tied up when the real call came. Hurry up, Richard.

While waiting, Jake thought about the last time he’d seen his and Sandy’s old flight school buddy, Richard Allison. He’d been in a hospital bed, only five hours after a near brush with death.

In spite of his impatience, he found himself wondering how Richard was handling ground duty. If only that bullet hadn’t found its way into his engine.
#

— Twelve Months Earlier —

 

“Target is fifteen kilometers at two-seven-niner degrees. Estimate entry into Maverick missile range in thirty seconds,” Jake said to his wingman.

“Roger, Gunslinger One-Three. Gunslinger Two-Six has visual on the target, now at heading: two-seven-eight, range: eleven kilometers. Target acquisition complete, missile armed,” said Captain Richard Allison.

As Richard called out his target data, Jake, from his position off of the right wing of Richard’s ground-attack configured fighter jet, was completing the same process for his target.

“I have lock-on, launching now,” Richard said.

The Maverick missile roared as it left the FA-16, rapidly accelerating toward an ill-fated anti-aircraft missile launcher.

A shudder passed through Jake’s fighter as his missile also ripped into the night sky. “Second missile is on the way.”

The Mavericks bore down on the two anti-aircraft weapons. A brilliant flash illuminated the desert as the missiles struck their targets, detonating the warheads and rocket fuel on both launchers. The fireballs incinerated everything within two hundred meters.

“That should do the trick,” Richard said.

“Roger, Gunslinger Two-Six. Let’s do a quick BDA and head home.”

“Roger, keep in tight,” Richard replied as he turned inbound.

Beginning his post attack Battle Damage Assessment, Jake scanned the infrared display. After a few seconds, he smiled. “Scratch two more SA sixes.”

“That’s two less Surface-to-Air Missile launchers to dodge. I wish the Pakistani’s would stop this crap from crossing the—” Captain Allison’s radio transmission cut out mid-sentence as a stream of tracers sliced through the darkness directly in front of the two aircraft.

“Break left!” Jake screamed.

With the bright orange tracers slicing between the two fighters, Jake banked his fighter hard right, narrowly avoiding the wall of lead.

“Crap! That was close,” Jake said. “Must have been a Zeus.” It was the common nickname for Russia’s deadly four-barreled ZSU 23-4 anti-aircraft gun. Good thing he missed. That rate of fire with high explosive shells… The thought sent an involuntary shudder down Jake’s spine.

“I’m hit, I’m hit!” Richard screamed over the radio.

“Oh shit!” Jake said. He toggled his radio. “Gunslinger Two-Six, how bad are you hit? Is it flyable, over?”

No reply.

“Gunslinger Two-Six, Richard, what is your situa—” a bright explosion flashed from the direction Richard had turned. To his relief, Jake saw the silhouette of a parachute canopy briefly outlined by the light of the exploding fighter jet.

Rolling his aircraft to bring weapons on the ZSU, Jake jumped into the job of protecting his wingman.

Another burst of fire shredded the night. Like flaming orange basketballs, a new volley of explosive twenty-three millimeter shells rose from the desert floor, blindly seeking out his aircraft. Apparently, the weapon’s operator knew not to turn on his radar. That mistake would attract Jake’s HARM radar seeking missile. Still, his initial success against Richard’s aircraft had made the enemy gunner overconfident. His odds of repeating the original feat were nil. Firing again into the screaming darkness merely supplied Jake with a bright orange dotted line pointing to the source of his friend’s demise.

His last Maverick missile locked onto the anti-aircraft gun’s infrared silhouette. Lifting the guard, Jake fingered the missile launch trigger. “Bye, bye.” With a pull, he launched the missile. It rapidly accelerated toward, and then destroyed the ZSU in a brilliant explosion, briefly bringing daylight to another small patch of desert.

“Good shooting, Gunslinger One-Three,” Jake heard over the emergency frequency.

He breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of his downed wingman’s voice. “Keep your transmissions to a minimum, Two-Six. After all my hard work, I don’t want a load of artillery raining down on you. What’s your condition?”

“I’ll live, but this is Indian country, so hurry with the cavalry already,” Richard said. Apprehension seeped through his humorous façade.
#

Jake heard an electronic click as the inane hold music ended. “How the hell are you, buddy?” Richard asked.

Leaning against the bar top separating the apartment’s kitchen from its dining room, Jake looked at the ceiling. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I’ve been better. Sorry I haven’t called, things have been … crazy here. How’s the leg?”

“It’s better. As a matter of fact, I just returned to flight status.”

“Listen, Richard, I’ve got—”

Not pausing to let Jake finish, Richard kept speaking. “In the meantime, I’ve been assigned to a special unit in the Pentagon. Actually, that’s why I’m calling.”

“I’m sorry, Richard, I have something going on here. As much as I’d love to catch up—”

“I understand,” he interrupted again. “I’ve been watching your situation develop. We need to talk.”

“Richard … wait, what do you mean? What do you know?” Jake asked, confused.

“I’d rather not discuss it over the—”

Jake’s frustration boiled over. “Damn it, Richard, nobody wants to discuss this thing. Every time I try to bring up details, they cut me off. I haven’t been able to tell anyone what really happened!” Lowering his voice, he looked toward the bedroom. “I haven’t even told Sandy.”

Richard ignored Jake’s rant. “You’re meeting me in DC tonight.”

What the hell? How can Richard be involved in this? After an extended pause, Jake said, “Okay.”

“I’ll tell you more tonight. You’re booked on a noon flight out of McCarran. An e-ticket is waiting for you at the United counter.”

“Okay, Richard,” Jake said. His mind reeled. “I’ll … see you tonight.”

“Good, tell the lovely and talented Captain Fitzpatrick hello for me. And, tell her she’s still the second best fighter pilot I know.”

“You bet,” Jake said. He grinned in spite of the confusion. “It’s quite chivalrous of you to place yourself third.”

“In your dreams, buddy,” Richard said through a laugh.

Continued….

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SECTOR 64: Ambush

FREE Excerpt from Huffington Post – IndieReader Best of 2014 sci-fi thriller! SECTOR 64: Ambush by Dean M. Cole

On Friday we announced that SECTOR 64: Ambush by Dean M. Cole is our Thriller of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the thriller, mystery, and suspense categories: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!

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SECTOR 64: Ambush

by Dean M. Cole

SECTOR 64: Ambush
4.8 stars – 33 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:
**Huffington Post – IndieReader Best of 2014**
Ever wonder what would happen to present-day Earth if a friendly alien race took humanity under its wing? What happens when their enemy becomes ours? X-Files meet Independence Day when incredible events thrust Air Force Captains Jake Giard and Sandra Fitzpatrick into a decades-long global conspiracy to integrate humanity into a galactic government. However, as Jake finishes indoctrination into the program, it renders present-day Earth a disposable pawn in a galactic civil war. Unknown aliens with a dark secret raid the planet. Within and even below Washington DC, Captain Giard and two wingmen fight through a post-apocalyptic hell, struggling to comprehend the enigmatic aftermath of the first attack. On the West Coast, Sandy’s squadron smashes against the invading aliens. Thrown to ground, Captain Fitzpatrick wades through blazing infernos and demented looters in a desperate attempt to save her family. Finally, with the fate of the world in the balance, both captains must take the battle to the enemy–humanity’s very survival hanging on their success.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

Part I

 

“We stand now at the turning point between two eras. Behind us is a past to which we can never return …”

― Arthur C. Clarke

CHAPTER ONE

 

Two fighter jets sliced through the night air. A crescent moon, thin as an orange peel, cast a dim glow across the Nevada desert five thousand feet below the F-22s. Even under the waning crescent, the bright desert reminded Jake of a Spaghetti Western’s night scene. As if filmed during the day with a dark filter to simulate night, the excess visual detail seemed out of temporal place.

“Papa Two-One, this is Lima Two-Four, over.”

Air Force Captain Jake Giard scanned his fighter’s computer-generated engine indications and then keyed his radio’s transmit trigger. “Lima Two-Four, this is Papa Two-One. Go ahead.”

The radio crackled to life again as his wingman replied. “Roger, Two-One. Come up internal.”

Jake nodded and switched his radio selector to the ship-to-ship laser communication terminal. The autonomous system formed a virtual fiber optic link that allowed data to stream between the two fighters. A secure internal communication link piggybacked on the data stream. Unlike a radio signal, the laser beam couldn’t be intercepted. So, fighter crews often used it like a cell phone for air to air communication.

“Hey, Vic. What’s up?”

Over Nellis Air Force Base’s remote desert training area, they flew a tight, echelon-left formation. From his position just behind Vic’s left wing, Jake studied the moonlit silhouette of his wingman’s stealthy single-seat fighter.

“Uh … thanks for doing this. I know you didn’t have to take a flight this late.”

Jake smiled under his oxygen mask. “It’s not like I had anything better to do at three o’clock on a Sunday morning.” The truth was, he had plenty he could be doing. However, the junior pilot was having trouble completing his unit indoctrination training. Having already failed one checkride, Victor was struggling with the high workload of the unit’s close air support scenarios. Jake had volunteered to take him out for additional iterations. However, in preparation for a combat deployment, the squadron’s fighter wings were in high gear, training around the clock. So, Victor’s additional period had been relegated to oh-dark-thirty in the middle of the weekend.

“Yeah right,” Vic said. “I’m sure you’d rather be on a night training flight than partying a Las Vegas Saturday night away with Sandy.”

“Wow, you’re right,” Jake joked. He broke his fighter into a left bank and rolled away from Vic’s jet. “I’m outta here.”

“Hey … I was just kidding,” Vic said.

Having dropped below Victor’s line of sight, Jake rolled his fighter level and passed under his wingman’s aircraft. Emerging on Victor’s right, Jake pulled alongside. In the moon’s soft light, he could see the back of his helmet as Vic searched the sky to his left.

“Over here,” Jake said with a chuckle. When the young man’s head snapped right, Jake barrel-rolled his fighter over Vic, the maneuver’s wide arc carrying him clear of his wingman. It ended with Jake parked off of his wingman’s left wing, back where he had started. “This sure as hell beats working for a living. Doesn’t it?”

Vic laughed. “When my alarm went off at two AM, it kind of felt like work.” Then his tone took on a serious note. “Did you see that report on the news tonight?”

“That report? Can you be a little more specific?”

“Sorry. They found more Russian surface-to-air missiles in Afghanistan.”

Frustrated his attempt at levity had failed to distract the young officer from his unending worries, Jake looked across to his wingman and shook his head. I know where this is headed.

Fresh out of flight training, Lieutenant Victor Croft had never been in combat. Last week, the man’s jittery nerves had kicked into hyperdrive when their squadron received orders to deploy to Afghanistan’s Bagram Airfield at the end of the month. Renewed Taliban activity, coupled with enhanced weapons supplied by Iran, had NATO forces reeling.

“I’m sure they’ll have it worked out by the time we get in-country,” Jake said. He felt guilty playing down the threat. In the last year, the Taliban had employed Russian S-300 antiaircraft missiles with devastating results.

“Maybe,” Vic said dubiously. “I haven’t slept since the meeting.”

Jake remembered the white pallor he’d seen on Vic’s face following their deployment brief. Wide, frightened eyes stared from the young pilot’s light-skinned ginger face. Drained of blood, Victor’s skin glowed through his closely cropped red hair.

“Be calm, grasshopper,” Jake said. He hoped the poor imitation of a Japanese sensei would allay Vic’s continuing apprehension. “You’ll be fine, your training will take over once you’re in combat, trust me.”

“Trust you?” Vic asked. The humor in the lieutenant’s voice was good.

Victor thickened his soft hillbilly accent in the way that endeared him with comrades—and also won him favor with the Las Vegas ladies frequenting Nellis Air Force Base’s officers’ club. “Why, because you’re from the government, and you’re here to help me?”

Exaggerating his own Texan accent, Jake said, “Oh yeah, I forgot, you Appalachians don’t cotton to us governmental types.”

Victor laughed. “Yep, us hillbillies have a special place in our heart for outsiders. Now, squeal like a pig, boy.”

Jake’s laughter broke as a tremendous shockwave, coupled with a blinding flash, rocked his fighter. Overtaking them from behind, a bright ring of lights had rocketed between the two aircraft.

“Shit! What the hell was that?” Jake said. Recovering from the shock, he adjusted the controls, reining in his battered fighter.

“I don’t know. It must be doing Mach four or better—” Victor faltered as the object broke right. “What the hell?”

Bolting right, it made a ninety-degree turn, changing direction in an instant. One moment it was rocketing away from them, the next it blazed eastward at the same tremendous rate without curving.

“Holy shit, nothing can take those Gs,” Vic said, thunderstruck.

“Oh my god,” Jake whispered. Blinking, he tried to clear his eyes. That’s not possible.

As if it had no mass or weight, the strange object made several more instantaneous course changes. Varying from slight angles, to complete course reversals, the maneuvers kept it near their two-ship formation.

Its zigzagging path circled the fighters twice. Then it stopped for a few moments. Matching their velocity and vector, it parked a mile off Lieutenant Croft’s right wing. A moment later, it snapped to within one hundred meters of Victor’s side of the formation, closing the mile-wide gap in less than a second.

“Whoa,” Vic said with a shaky voice. His fighter jinked away from the object.

“Easy, buddy,” Jake said. Jerking his F-22 left, he narrowly avoided colliding with his wingman. “I’m still right here.”

“Sorry,” Vic said.

“I’ve got nothing on radar.” Jake paused, taking a deep breath to reel in his emotions. “When it was in front of us, I couldn’t see it on infrared either.”

“Hey, I see something,” Vic said, panting. “There’s a shadow.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “You’re right! I see it against the background.”

“Yeah, that’s how I spotted it.”

Gliding above the distant horizon, the ring of lights had dark voids protruding above and below. A brief eclipse of the background stars provided the only visual evidence.

“So, it’s not some kind of…” Jake paused, searching for words. “Energy source. It must have mass, it’s gotta be a ship of some sort.” Studying it, he paused, then shook his head. “But I’ve never seen anything move like that.”

“If this is one of ours, it’s way beyond anything my physics professor knew about,” Victor said.

Looking across his wingman’s fighter gave Jake a chance to estimate the ship’s size. Judging by the shadow, it was as tall as it was wide. Like a pregnant frisbee, it was broadest across its middle, where the ring of lights still rotated. Horizontally, it was roughly as long as the F-22, making it just over sixty feet wide.

“What the hell is it,” Vic asked.

“No idea,” Jake said. He couldn’t see the skin, but the silhouette’s bottom was round, and it looked like the top came to a point. “This is incredible…” As Jake spoke, the ship started closing the gap. “Hey, be careful, it’s getting closer!”

“Roger,” Vic said.

Jake’s heart raced as he focused on the ship’s middle. “Those lights…” He faltered, unable to conjure an adequate description.

“I know,” Vic said. He sounded as mystified as Jake felt.

A horizontal, pulsing ring of multicolored light seemed to rotate in the air around the object’s midsection. As the ship neared Victor’s fighter, Jake got a clearer view of its structure. As if radiating from the ship’s center, the glowing rays only extended a foot or two from the ship’s skin, but he couldn’t see any fixtures generating the energy. “I don’t see the source of the lights. They look like … raw energy.” Watching the strange ship flying in formation with his wingman was both surreal and somehow familiar.

“I wish he’d pull up front again. My gun camera can’t slew that far to the side,” Vic said.

Recognition smacked Jake. “Hey, it looks like they want an escort.”

“You’re right,” Vic said, then shouted, “Jake! Do you have your iPhone?”

“Yeah!”

Concentrating on flying his fighter while keeping an eye on the strange ship, he dug blindly through the bag he’d tucked into the small map pouch next to his right leg. There it is. Yanking out the phone, he turned it on—a clear violation of Air Force regulations. I think they’ll forgive this one.

“Got it! I’ll take a couple of quick shots, then drop back and see if I can capture it with my gun-camera.”

“Sounds good, just get it on something.”

Staring at the phone’s glowing, white boot-up apple, he shook the phone and growled, “Come on!”

Outside, the ship slid closer. When it parked a few feet off Vic’s right wing, his fighter lurched.

Jake dropped the phone. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. It feels like my right wing is trying to stall—” Victor’s voice cut out as the buffeting rocked his fighter left and right. Broken by turbulence-induced grunts, Victor’s voice came over the radio. “The stick is … beating up … the inside of my thighs.”

He banked left to give Victor space. “Get away from the ship.”

“I don’t know … if I can hold on,” Victor said. His voice strained as he fought to control the fighter.

Jake threw his transponder into the emergency position, alerting Air Traffic Control. Ears ringing, his pulse raced in response to the adrenaline dumping into his system. “Get the hell out of there!”

A crescendo of static rose in Jake’s helmet.

Chopped and modulated by the communication laser’s failing efforts to maintain connection, Lieutenant Croft’s panic-stricken voice broke through the cacophony, “… systems … going down … damn warning light … flashing … day, mayday, may—”

Jake switched back to their assigned radio frequency and keyed the mic. “Lima Two-Four …”

Static.

“Victor, come in …”

Louder static.

The faint glow from Victor’s engines faded, then extinguished. His fighter started losing altitude.

Jake’s mounting alarm ratcheted another notch. Slamming both throttles to idle, placing his fighter in a rapid descent, Jake tried to keep up with his plunging wingman.

The external position lights on both fighters began dimming. The static increased to an earsplitting level, and then it died. Jake’s cockpit darkened as all its electronics faded to black. All electrical energy seemed to drain from both F-22s.

Switching radios to emergency, he toggled the mic. “Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Air Force Two-One-Five!”

No side-tone.

Shit, the radio isn’t transmitting!

He switched back to the air-to-air frequency. “Lima Two-Four, this is Papa Two-One. Come in, Vic!”

Still no side-tone, he couldn’t even hear his own voice. A quick check showed his helmet was still plugged into its socket.

Then, to Jake’s horror, both fighters started drifting toward one another. “Oh shit,” he whispered. He pulled against the stick, but the unresponsive electronic flight controls refused to budge.

Drifting toward Lieutenant Croft’s fighter, Jake’s ship started an uncommanded slow roll to the right. He yanked and jerked the stick left. Nothing. Without electricity, they couldn’t respond. Jake reached for his ejection handles and froze. Already rolling through ninety degrees, his cockpit was aimed at his wingman’s fighter. If he punched out now, he’d shoot into the top of Victor’s airplane.

He watched helplessly as his ship rolled inverted. His F-22’s dim shadow fell across Vic’s fighter. For a surreal moment, the two stared face to face across the narrowing gap as both struggled with their unresponsive flight controls.

An unnatural glow caught Jake’s attention. The mysterious ship’s multicolored ring of rotating light brightened and then flared as it rocketed away—the only evidence of its departure direction lay in the fading image burned across his retina.

“What the hell?”

Instrument lights flared back to life, and his F-22 snap-rolled left as, power restored, the electronic flight controls responded to Jake’s desperate tugging. As he rolled away, he saw the ship’s blazing departure throw Victor’s aircraft into a flat spin.

“Shit!” Jake screamed. He flipped his Raptor over, trying to keep his wingman in sight, but the night quickly swallowed the still blacked-out fighter.

He checked the radio. It was back online. “Come in, Victor!”

No reply.

“You’re running out of time! Eject! Get the hell out of there, Lieutenant!” he ordered. As if trying to will the event into existence, Jake visualized his small-framed friend yanking on the jettison handle.

Switching back to the emergency radio, he transmitted, “Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Air Force Two-One-Five!”

“Air Force Two-One-Five, this is Nellis Radio. Please state the nature of your emergency,” replied the air traffic controller, her voice maddeningly calm.

Before he could reply, night turned day in a brilliant explosion as Victor and his F-22 slammed into the desert floor.

“No!” Jake screamed.
#

Tires barked as his fighter touched down. Jake extended the airbrake. The fighter decelerated. Heavy hearted and in an anguished mental fog, he struggled through the after-landing checks.

“Air Force Two-One-Five, proceed to the end of Runway Two-One-Right, right on taxiway Alpha, left onto the ramp. A security police detail is waiting to pick you up.”

Security police? They’re not normally involved in crash investigations.

“Uh … roger, Nellis Tower, Runway Two-One-Right, right on Alpha, to the ramp,” Jake repeated. His tone was flat, dutiful. Finishing his landing rollout, he saw the promised security detail’s flashing lights ahead on the right.

He finished the after-landing checks. What happened to you, buddy? Why didn’t you eject?

Hoping to spot his downed wingman, he had remained on scene. Jake had made multiple low passes, searching the small, speed-blurred patch of desert his landing lights illuminated. All the while, he’d monitored the frequency of Victor’s portable emergency radio. In spite of numerous calls from Jake, it remained silent.

The post-crash fire had raged for thirty minutes, only faltering after it consumed the cache of jet fuel and combustible metals. When the rescue helicopter arrived, its crew performed an extensive search. After an additional thirty minutes, they reported: “No sign of ejection.”

Out of fuel and hope, Captain Giard finally obeyed air traffic control’s incessant orders and returned to base.

Now that he’d landed, Jake slowed his F-22. Reaching the end of the runway, he turned right onto taxiway alpha as instructed by air traffic control. Ahead, the swarm of security police vehicles generated a myriad of flashing lights. The strobing red, blue, and amber colors reflecting off every surface of his cockpit were an unwelcome reminder of the ship’s strange lights.

Turning left onto the south end of the ramp, he nosed the fighter into the U-shaped formation of vehicles. Locking the parking brake, he finished the after-landing checks.

Ground support personnel, casting nervous looks at the assembled security police vehicles, hooked up the ground power unit. With the GPU connected and powering the aircraft, he received a thumbs-up from an airman that looked ready to bolt. Jake acknowledged the clearance and killed the fighter’s engines. To his surprise, the airman did bolt.

As Jake’s canopy rose, a security police squad, weapons drawn, stormed the plane. Jake was looking down the muzzles of eight M-16 automatic rifles.

“What the hell is this?” he shouted over the whine of the ground power unit’s turbine exhaust.

“Out of the plane, sir!” screamed a large sergeant. The noncommissioned officer was pointing his Beretta nine-millimeter pistol at Jake’s head.

Overwhelmed by the night’s events, Jake stared incredulously at the armed squad. Shaking his head in resigned capitulation, he unbuckled his safety harness and unplugged his helmet. Climbing from the cockpit, he started backing down the boarding ladder. Halfway to the ground, he was ripped from the metal steps and thrown face-down onto the ramp. He could feel several muzzles pressed into his back.

“What the fuck!” Jake yelled. His breath lifted a small dust cloud from the tarmac, its asphalt surface warm against his face.

“Don’t fucking move, Captain.”

He continued to struggle. “I haven’t done anything. This is bullshit!”

The cold steel muzzle of a large caliber pistol pressed against the back of his neck.

Jake stopped struggling.

The sergeant, now calm and inches from his ear, said, “Captain, I have my orders, and they don’t come from any higher, and they don’t get any more serious than this. I assure you, this is not bullshit.”

The muzzle lifted from his neck.

“Now, are we done here?”

Panting, Jake nodded.

In less than five seconds, the sergeant cuffed him and dragged him to his feet. “Thank you, sir.” Grabbing Jake’s left elbow, he led him to a security police cruiser. The sergeant opened the door, stuffed him in the back, and slammed it.

Jake stared out in confused disbelief. “What the hell did we stumble into, Vic?”

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

Exhausted eyes stared back from the interrogation-room’s one-way mirror.

“Damn it, Captain, what were you doing in that area?” The voice echoed off the tiled floors and walls. With only a four-legged rectangular table and two metal chairs occupying its center, the room offered little sound absorption.

Turning from his reflection, Jake locked eyes with the major. For what felt like the hundredth time, he said, “Sir, as I’ve been telling you for the last twelve hours, Range Control assigned us that training area.”

For the hundredth time, the major stared back, unblinking and unbelieving.

Knuckles rasped against the room’s single door.

With a disgusted sigh, the major shook his head and turned toward it. “Come!”

The door creaked open. A nervous Air Force airman stuck his head into the room.

Major Tinsdale glared at him. “Damn it! I left clear instructions that I was not to be disturbed.”

“Sorry, sir. You have a call from a General Tannehill. I tried to tell him you were busy—”

“No, no, no, I’ll take it,” the major said standing, all annoyance evaporating. “Just sit there, Captain, I’ll be back.” Grabbing his notepad, he strode angrily from the room.

The airman nodded at Captain Giard and followed the major out.

Hearing the door lock, Jake turned back to his image in the mirror. A steady dripping sound emanated from a floor drain at the room’s center. The ticking second hand of an old government issue wall-clock, hanging over the door, added its maddening rhythm to the staccato dripping noise.

Studying his weary face in the one-way interrogation room mirror, Jake tried to make sense of the situation. It was obvious they knew the two of them had encountered the ship. However, every time he tried to bring it up, the major redirected him. Tinsdale kept returning to the subject of airspace and timelines. It’s as if he thinks we conspired to be there at that particular time.

Given nothing to eat and only enough fluids to keep him awake, Jake didn’t think they’d let him free anytime soon, if ever.

Jake heard the major shouting unintelligible commands as he came down the hall.

The door flew open, and in a storm, Major Tinsdale erupted into the interrogation-room. Throwing a stack of papers on the desk in front of Jake, Tinsdale paused, took a deep breath, and sat across from him, head hanging down.

To Jake’s surprise, the major looked up with a contrite expression.

“Captain, I owe you an apology.”

Stunned, Jake sat back, trying to understand the rapid reversal. Was this some kind of interrogation technique? Was the major propping Jake up, just so he could knock him back down?

Reading the distrust, the major raised his hands, palms facing Jake. “It’s ok, Captain. I give you my word, this is not a trick.”

“Then what the hell is going on?” he asked. Belatedly, he added, “Sir.”

“Apparently, you have friends in high places.”

His confusion doubled. “What?”

The major shook his head. “You’ll be briefed later.” He pointed to the stack of papers. “But, before you can leave, you have to sign these.”
#

Lying in bed, gazing at the ceiling, Captain Jake Giard ran fingers through his short dark hair. His entire body ached with a bone-deep exhaustion. He hadn’t slept in the eighteen hours since the disastrous encounter.

Jake knew sleep wouldn’t be the restful reprieve from reality he needed. Only a dark prison waited—a place where he would relive the freakish encounter and the loss of his young friend, ad nauseam.

Shifting, he propped another pillow under his head and looked outside. The city’s uncountable sodium-vapor streetlights set his bedroom walls awash with an orange glow. The drawn curtains of his window revealed a beautiful panorama. Viewed from his east Las Vegas apartment on the side of Sunrise Mountain, the city lights painted across the valley below twinkled like a sea of chipped orange glass beads. From Jake’s remote vantage point, the buildings and lights of the Vegas Strip constituted a small portion of the scintillating mural painted across his bedroom window.

The cool, crisp springtime breeze ruffled the curtains, creating a welcome distraction. Jake felt his body relaxing as a coyote’s howl drifted down from the desert mountainside. A lonely sound, it matched the darkness of his mood.

His body jerked with a waking spasm as a jet engine’s distant roar drowned out the coyote’s wail, claiming dominance over the night air. Muffled by distance, the airplane’s din rolled like thunder off the surrounding mountains.

“Great,” he muttered.

Frustrated and exhausted, Jake slid out of bed and stepped across the cool tiles. Pushing the billowing curtain out of the way, he walked to the center of the wide window, intending to close it. Movement in his peripheral vision drew his attention. Two miles to the north, on Nellis Air Force Base Runway Three-Left, two hundred feet from where he’d been accosted by the Base’s Security Police, Jake could just make out the twin, fiery-blue jet-plumes of an F-22 Raptor on a takeoff roll.

The solo fighter was a poignant reminder.

“Damn it! What happened to you, Vic?”

He slammed the glass pane shut. Snapping the curtains closed, he turned and walked back to the bed. Collapsing backward onto its soft surface, Jake stared through the ceiling.

What the hell was that thing?

“I can’t even tell anybody about your death,” he said to the empty room. He shook his head sardonically. Great! The UFO contactee is talking to his dead friend. “Wonderful.”

The day spent in the interrogation room had left Jake confused and questioning his decision to reveal the appearance of the strange ship. Not that Major Tinsdale had allowed any elaboration on the subject.

He was under strict orders not to mention the event to anyone. He knew it was standard protocol not to discuss aspects of a mishap during an investigation, but these orders encompassed everything: personnel, equipment, aircraft, and timelines—before and after the accident.

Ordered to act as if the flight had been cancelled, he was not to discuss the night’s events, nor mention Lieutenant Croft’s status. Since when did a man’s death become a status?

Not that he’d had the opportunity to talk with anyone. Under virtual house arrest, Jake had been instructed not to leave his home. Relieved from duty, he was to spend the remainder of the day and subsequent night resting. Major Tinsdale told him to expect additional instructions the following morning. However, he wasn’t sure how that information would arrive. Perfectly functional the previous day, neither his iPhone nor his home phone worked now. Even his Internet was down. Also, a nondescript Government-Issue sedan sat parked out front, its occupant hidden in shadow.

The mortgage-like stack of documents he’d signed promised forfeiture of his left nut and first born should he ever discuss any aspect of the night’s events.

A metallic chime yanked Jake from his thoughts. It was the doorbell. He checked his watch: 10 p.m.

Rocked by a sudden epiphany, he sat bolt upright on the mattress. “Sandy!”

He jumped out of bed and scrambled to the closet, searching blindly for his robe. Can’t believe I forgot.

The doorbell rang again.

“I’m coming!” he yelled. Sliding to a stop on the tiled foyer, he opened the door.

His girlfriend, Captain Sandra Fitzpatrick, pointed an admonishing finger. “You’d better not be starting without me—” Seeing his face, she stopped. “Oh my god, baby. What happened?”

Looking into her deep blue eyes, he felt the day’s tumultuous stress drain from his body. “I love you.”

Eyes softening and stepping through the door, she enveloped him in her sensuous arms. “That’s not an answer, but I’ll accept it for now.”

“Thank you.” He nodded toward her embrace. “By the way, that’s my job.”

Ever the competitor, she raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m allowed to comfort you.”

Jake gave her a meaningful look. After a moment she capitulated, allowing him to wrap her up in his strong arms. Fiercely independent since their first meeting in Air Force flight school, Sandy was loath to let anyone do anything for her. As an Air Force fighter pilot, it was a character trait that had served her well. It was only during their private moments that she lowered the ever-present shield and exposed her soft feminine side to Jake.

Melting into him, she snuggled her cheek into his chest. Her limpid blue eyes stared deeply into his. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby,” he reassured her.

She leaned back in his arms. “So, what happened to you this morning? You didn’t call or text me after your flight.”

“My phone went on the fritz,” he said, only half-lying.

“Your home phone too? Both of your phones are going straight to voicemail. I didn’t know your home number had voicemail.”

“It does now.” Apparently.

“How was your flight?”

Unwilling to lie outright, he changed the subject, guiding her toward the bedroom. “I thought you were coming here so I could help you relax.”

The previous night—only a few hours before his and Vic’s fateful flight—Sandy had complained that the next day’s schedule included a grueling twelve-hour battery of tests on a new F-22 avionics configuration.

Sweeping her up, he carried her the remaining distance to the bedroom.

Sandy wrapped her arms around his neck.

Jake smiled. In a French accent, he whispered, “Mon amour, your velocity-induced accelerated stall has firewalled my adiabatic lapse rate.”

“Oh, I love it when you whisper dirty pilot talk to me.”

Laying her gently on the bed, Jake grasped the top of her flightsuit’s full body-length central zipper. Drawing it down, he slowly exposed her heaving breasts, then her dimpled abs, and finally the top of her lace panties. With a devilish grin, he said, “There’s my favorite landing strip.”

“It better be your only landing strip, Captain,” Sandy said. She playfully reached between his legs. Looking into his eyes with a mischievous smile, she said, “I have the ball, the hook is down.”

“Ease up on the navy crap, or the hook might retract.”

“Yeah right,” she said, laughing. Still holding his member, she pulled him into bed.
#

WOMP, WOMP, WOMP.

The sound drilled into Jake’s brain. Again, he reached for the fighter’s instrument panel, pressing and then punching the cancel button in a futile effort to reset the incessant alert blaring from the flashing master-caution panel.

WOMP, WOMP, WOMP.

Frustration mounted as the fighter’s computer still wouldn’t accept his inputs.

My friend is dead, and now my fighter is dying too.

WOMP, WOMP, WOMP.

Even the alert sounds wrong … oh shit.

Dragging himself from the nightmare, his arm rose from the sheets and fell on the alarm clock.

The noise continued.

With a start, Jake realized it was his home phone that was ringing. He’d left the handset in the living room. “Guess it’s working now.”

Sandy stirred, mumbled something unintelligible, and went back to sleep.

After a quick kiss to the top of her head, he leapt from the bed. Sprinting through the living room and sliding to a stop in front of the phone, he checked the number.

No name displayed, but he recognized the area code: 202. From his many calls to the area’s Air Force offices, he knew it very well. Washington D.C. This should be it.

After a hesitation, he answered. “Hello.”

“Is this Captain Jake Giard?” asked a feminine voice.

“Uh … yes. Who’s calling?”

“This is the Pentagon’s office of Air Force Tactical Operations, Planning, and Development. Please hold for Captain Allison.”

Before he could protest, inane elevator music told him she’d already placed him on hold. He was usually happy to hear from his old combat wingman. However, this morning he worried the line would be tied up when the real call came. Hurry up, Richard.

While waiting, Jake thought about the last time he’d seen his and Sandy’s old flight school buddy, Richard Allison. He’d been in a hospital bed, only five hours after a near brush with death.

In spite of his impatience, he found himself wondering how Richard was handling ground duty. If only that bullet hadn’t found its way into his engine.
#

— Twelve Months Earlier —

 

“Target is fifteen kilometers at two-seven-niner degrees. Estimate entry into Maverick missile range in thirty seconds,” Jake said to his wingman.

“Roger, Gunslinger One-Three. Gunslinger Two-Six has visual on the target, now at heading: two-seven-eight, range: eleven kilometers. Target acquisition complete, missile armed,” said Captain Richard Allison.

As Richard called out his target data, Jake, from his position off of the right wing of Richard’s ground-attack configured fighter jet, was completing the same process for his target.

“I have lock-on, launching now,” Richard said.

The Maverick missile roared as it left the FA-16, rapidly accelerating toward an ill-fated anti-aircraft missile launcher.

A shudder passed through Jake’s fighter as his missile also ripped into the night sky. “Second missile is on the way.”

The Mavericks bore down on the two anti-aircraft weapons. A brilliant flash illuminated the desert as the missiles struck their targets, detonating the warheads and rocket fuel on both launchers. The fireballs incinerated everything within two hundred meters.

“That should do the trick,” Richard said.

“Roger, Gunslinger Two-Six. Let’s do a quick BDA and head home.”

“Roger, keep in tight,” Richard replied as he turned inbound.

Beginning his post attack Battle Damage Assessment, Jake scanned the infrared display. After a few seconds, he smiled. “Scratch two more SA sixes.”

“That’s two less Surface-to-Air Missile launchers to dodge. I wish the Pakistani’s would stop this crap from crossing the—” Captain Allison’s radio transmission cut out mid-sentence as a stream of tracers sliced through the darkness directly in front of the two aircraft.

“Break left!” Jake screamed.

With the bright orange tracers slicing between the two fighters, Jake banked his fighter hard right, narrowly avoiding the wall of lead.

“Crap! That was close,” Jake said. “Must have been a Zeus.” It was the common nickname for Russia’s deadly four-barreled ZSU 23-4 anti-aircraft gun. Good thing he missed. That rate of fire with high explosive shells… The thought sent an involuntary shudder down Jake’s spine.

“I’m hit, I’m hit!” Richard screamed over the radio.

“Oh shit!” Jake said. He toggled his radio. “Gunslinger Two-Six, how bad are you hit? Is it flyable, over?”

No reply.

“Gunslinger Two-Six, Richard, what is your situa—” a bright explosion flashed from the direction Richard had turned. To his relief, Jake saw the silhouette of a parachute canopy briefly outlined by the light of the exploding fighter jet.

Rolling his aircraft to bring weapons on the ZSU, Jake jumped into the job of protecting his wingman.

Another burst of fire shredded the night. Like flaming orange basketballs, a new volley of explosive twenty-three millimeter shells rose from the desert floor, blindly seeking out his aircraft. Apparently, the weapon’s operator knew not to turn on his radar. That mistake would attract Jake’s HARM radar seeking missile. Still, his initial success against Richard’s aircraft had made the enemy gunner overconfident. His odds of repeating the original feat were nil. Firing again into the screaming darkness merely supplied Jake with a bright orange dotted line pointing to the source of his friend’s demise.

His last Maverick missile locked onto the anti-aircraft gun’s infrared silhouette. Lifting the guard, Jake fingered the missile launch trigger. “Bye, bye.” With a pull, he launched the missile. It rapidly accelerated toward, and then destroyed the ZSU in a brilliant explosion, briefly bringing daylight to another small patch of desert.

“Good shooting, Gunslinger One-Three,” Jake heard over the emergency frequency.

He breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of his downed wingman’s voice. “Keep your transmissions to a minimum, Two-Six. After all my hard work, I don’t want a load of artillery raining down on you. What’s your condition?”

“I’ll live, but this is Indian country, so hurry with the cavalry already,” Richard said. Apprehension seeped through his humorous façade.
#

Jake heard an electronic click as the inane hold music ended. “How the hell are you, buddy?” Richard asked.

Leaning against the bar top separating the apartment’s kitchen from its dining room, Jake looked at the ceiling. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I’ve been better. Sorry I haven’t called, things have been … crazy here. How’s the leg?”

“It’s better. As a matter of fact, I just returned to flight status.”

“Listen, Richard, I’ve got—”

Not pausing to let Jake finish, Richard kept speaking. “In the meantime, I’ve been assigned to a special unit in the Pentagon. Actually, that’s why I’m calling.”

“I’m sorry, Richard, I have something going on here. As much as I’d love to catch up—”

“I understand,” he interrupted again. “I’ve been watching your situation develop. We need to talk.”

“Richard … wait, what do you mean? What do you know?” Jake asked, confused.

“I’d rather not discuss it over the—”

Jake’s frustration boiled over. “Damn it, Richard, nobody wants to discuss this thing. Every time I try to bring up details, they cut me off. I haven’t been able to tell anyone what really happened!” Lowering his voice, he looked toward the bedroom. “I haven’t even told Sandy.”

Richard ignored Jake’s rant. “You’re meeting me in DC tonight.”

What the hell? How can Richard be involved in this? After an extended pause, Jake said, “Okay.”

“I’ll tell you more tonight. You’re booked on a noon flight out of McCarran. An e-ticket is waiting for you at the United counter.”

“Okay, Richard,” Jake said. His mind reeled. “I’ll … see you tonight.”

“Good, tell the lovely and talented Captain Fitzpatrick hello for me. And, tell her she’s still the second best fighter pilot I know.”

“You bet,” Jake said. He grinned in spite of the confusion. “It’s quite chivalrous of you to place yourself third.”

“In your dreams, buddy,” Richard said through a laugh.

Continued….

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SECTOR 64: Ambush