|
Excerpts from Novels:
(Please scroll down to desired title.)
Excerpt: Youthanasia (2009)
The Senator…pushed himself to a standing position and strode slowly to the side window with the stunning view of fall foliage and, in the distance, the Washington Monument. With hands folded behind him, he looked out the window and said, “These millions of brave men and women—casualties of war—sacrificed willingly so that our country would survive. Do you know why?”
Ford had no idea how to answer the man.
The Senator turned his head to Ford. “Of course you know why. Because we knew the enemy: the British, the Prussians, the Japanese, the Nazis…whatever. In each conflict we fought for our very survival.”
He turned back to the window. “Today we have a very different enemy. An enemy that we can’t see…that we refuse to see.”
He paused, looking off into the distance for several seconds. Then he turned and locked in on Ford’s eyes. “The enemy, Dr. Ford, is us!”
Ford caught his breath.
“That’s right,” he continued, his eyes boring into Ford. “We’re the enemy—our self-consumed nation. Especially the youngsters. They’re too selfish to propagate. They despise the military. They don’t vote. And they resent an older generation that lives off their taxes.”
“They resent your generation,” Ford retorted, “because you’ve created the mess—unnecessary wars, pandering to big business, representing yourselves, not the people. Young people don’t vote because they’re smart enough to know it won’t matter.”
“Blame whatever you want, but my generation no longer recognizes America. We see a young generation that shirks responsibility and treats us as a burden. We had to take action…drastic action.”
[Home Book Descrip. Reviews Orders]
[Top]
Excerpt: Judgment Day (2006)
Being left behind did not bother Roxanne so much as the fact that she did not know the purpose of Glenn’s trip. It was a “secret” he had said with his boyish grin, suggesting he might be picking up a surprise for her in the City.
But Roxanne remained unconvinced. She had overheard her husband’s conversation with Dawson. They would take the Gulfstream 7, the larger of two Markley jets hangared at the Ukiah airport. It had a cross-country range and could carry over a dozen passengers. Why not use the smaller Learjet? Why use the Gulfstream on a quick trip for only two people?
Does Glenn know? she fretted silently. Did he find out?
She winced at a fleeting pang of guilt.
But Roxanne shook the tortured emotions from her head. She returned her attention to the pounding surf below. The early morning darkness was being chased away by the slowly rising sun. She glanced at the green digits of the bedside clock. It was half-past seven. Glenn would be home soon.
A wave of relief washed over her body.
She jumped from the bed, shedding the flannel pajamas as she strode to the dressing room adjacent to the bath. Rummaging through a number of choices, she selected a full-length satin nightgown with a slit cut to the thigh. She slipped it on over her head and examined herself in the full-length mirror.
The pale-green gown complemented Roxanne’s ivory complexion and long dark-red hair. From her jewelry chest she pulled out the diamond choker from Paris. It never failed to turn Glenn on…especially when it remained the only item of apparel.
She struck a provocative pose, exposing one long leg while peering seductively into the mirror. With a wicked grin, Roxanne turned to run back toward the bed.
But something caused her to stop short. Inside the dressing room, on the wall, was one of the control panels for the home’s security system. The bright red display indicated the alarm was armed. Roxanne frowned. Glenn could never remember the entry code. She would have to run down to let him in…spoiling the mood. No. She wanted him to find her propped up in bed, with one shapely leg exposed, and a flimsy satin fabric barely concealing her breasts.
That will teach him to leave me behind!
She punched in the disarm code. After all, it was almost daylight.
She turned once again and ran to the bed. She propped up the pillows and threw back the covers. Placing her back against the pillows and extending her legs, she lifted one knee brazenly through the long slit of the nightgown. Then she picked up a novel from her bed stand and attached the tiny battery-powered reading lamp.
The pounding surf subsided temporarily, and Roxanne was certain she heard the muffled click of the front door. She smiled and buried her nose in the novel, pretending to read. Instead she pictured in her mind her tall, handsome, sandy-haired husband walking through the bedroom door. He would be wearing his black leather flight jacket.
She could smell the leather and feel the hard body underneath, as he rushed to the bed and crushed her beneath him. She could feel his lips on hers and his sensitive hands caressing every inch of her body.
Roxanne’s pulse quickened. She lifted her exposed knee another inch, revealing a little more of the creamy thigh. She waited, barely breathing, purposely avoiding any glances in the direction of the bedroom doorway.
* * * * * *
The dark figure inserted a key into the door lock then turned to the keypad on the right. Hesitantly, a gloved index finger extended toward the numbered keys. Abruptly, the finger poised a few inches from the keypad.
The red light above the pad had gone out. The green light next to it was lit.
A thin smile. The timing was perfect.
The dark figure unlocked the door and walked in. There was no hesitation. Closing the door behind, the figure turned to the left and eyed the stairway.
On an automatic timer, the Christmas tree in the great room sprang to life behind the intruder. Flickering spots of light and shadow reflected from the walls around. The distraction was ignored.
The dark figure walked softly on rubber-soled shoes toward the short staircase that led to the upper level…and the master bedroom suite. After two steps the figure hesitated, regarding the home’s main circuit breaker panel on the left wall. A moment later the lights went out.
Then…fingers flexing inside tight black leather gloves…the dark figure resumed its path, slowly ascending the steps to the upper level. A black ski mask was pulled from a jacket pocket and stretched over the head. Hiding the face did not matter. But the unseen would cause terror…and fuel the heat that was already building with each step.
At the top of the stairs there was a pause to listen. Then the shadowy figure slipped silently down the darkened hall to the master bedroom door.
It would be a quick Christmas morning surprise…but not at all what the beautiful redheaded creature in the bedroom was expecting.
[Home Reviews Orders]
[Top]
Excerpt: Murder Almighty (2005)
“Mi benedi, Padre—Bless me, Father…” the shadowy figure recited in Italian, “for I have sinned.”
The Roman collar of the penitent could be seen through the separating screen by the aged Italian cleric seated in the dimly lit center chamber of the confessional. The ancient church of Santa Anna d’Illuminata in Rome was deserted…except for the third man, kneeling in the near total darkness of the other penitent chamber.
As the elderly confessor listened carefully to the words of the young priest who had come to him tortured with guilt that evening, the man in the third chamber pressed his ear against the thin partition that separated him from the other two.
Bruno Cascio had not come to the church of Santa Anna to have his confession heard.
As Cascio listened to the conversation, he heard the words he had expected—Santo Padre, the Holy Father. To be certain of his next move, he repeated in his mind what the penitent priest in the opposite chamber had said—I have killed the Holy Father!
Cascio did not listen to the rest of the confession. He already knew about the sophisticated undetectable poison that had been used, and the way it had been delivered. Cascio was too busy attaching the chunk of plastique explosive to the bottom of the partition before him. With a penlight he adjusted the fuse and quietly departed the confessional.
Quickly looking around to be sure there were no witnesses, Bruno Cascio walked briskly to the front vestibule and through the large wooden doors out into the darkened streets of the rundown neighborhood near Rome’s main railroad station. The only noises at this hour came from the clattering of his leather-soled shoes across the stone pavement.
By the time he had crossed the street and turned the corner, the electronic fuse had nearly expired in the confessional chamber he had vacated.
Cascio could envision the penitent priest lowering his tear-soaked face to accept the absolution of the elderly confessor, while he recited in Italian the words of his Act of Contrition, “O Dio mio…Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee—”
Bruno Cascio saw the flash of light that instantly illuminated the dark side street. A split-second later he heard the thunderous blast.
He did not look back.
Bruno Cascio was already thinking about his next target.
[Home Reviews Orders]
[Top]
Excerpt: Einstein's Tunnel (2004)
The surroundings were surprisingly dark. Only the solitary incandescent light of a gooseneck lamp illuminated the small office. Seated behind the desk, across from her, was the instantly recognizable figure of Albert Einstein. His long gray hair was tousled, and he puffed slowly on a large briarwood pipe. As Andrea blinked with surprise at the abrupt change in her surroundings, she felt her hand rise instinctively to her face in an expression of astonishment. Then she realized that it was not her hand. And then she became aware that this body was not her body. The clothing was unfamiliar as was the feel of her extremities; the curve of her spine; the padding of her buttocks on the hard chair; the ample bosom.
It was then that she realized she was no longer Andrea Martin. At that moment Andrea was experiencing the body and mind of her grandmother, Diana Sutton. This was Diana at twenty-three years. And this was the meeting with Professor Einstein at the University of Wisconsin that Andrea had hoped to link with. A sudden surge of excitement filled her, and she blurted in a strange voice, "Professor Einstein!"
Removing the pipe for a moment, Einstein smiled beneath his heavy gray moustache, and his eyes crinkled as he said, "Diana, I think we have a visitor."
Diana's face remained expressionless as Andrea's mind sought its bearings. For several seconds Andrea searched through Diana's memories, recalling quickly the conversation with Einstein that had just transpired. He had been telling Diana that she would someday learn of his intervention plan -- the intervention in 1939 that would de-rail the Nazi's atomic bomb program.
"Professor Einstein, you're right," the young lady announced. "It's Diana's granddaughter -- Andrea Martin. It appears we've been successful."
"This is indeed curious," the great man said, as he took a few moments to regard more closely the pretty young lady before him.
"I've wondered how we would meet," he continued after a while, "but I was certain that we would. Please, tell me about yourself...Andrea. Should I call you 'Andrea'?"
"Please do, Professor Einstein," she replied. "I'm Diana's granddaughter. I live in the year 2001. We've achieved telepathic time travel, just as you envisioned back in 1939."
Einstein puffed on his pipe for a few moments, continuing to regard Diana with obvious glee. "And why did you join me today, Andrea?" he asked as he slipped the pipe from his mouth. The sparkle in his eye erased any hint of intimidation.
"My grandmother -- Diana -- told us the story of her meeting with you on this date -- October 13, 1942. She said you had a strategy for intervening in the 1939 time line. She said you wanted to do something that couldn't be undone by some other time traveler."
"And you are here to learn that strategy?" Einstein asked.
"Yes. You were just discussing this topic with Diana. Isn't that right?"
The large head of tousled gray hair wagged for a few moments, as Einstein chuckled. He removed his pipe and set it down in a pipe stand and swiveled in his chair to face Diana and cross his legs. "You're absolutely right young lady. I am so impressed. This can't be your first telepathic time excursion?"
"No, it's my second. The first was a test of the equipment -- a short jump into the future. Would you like to know how we've done this?"
Shaking his head vigorously, Einstein replied, "No. No. I am so very curious, I admit. But I don't think it would be good for me to know too much about the future. It is enough that I learned about the previous interference of time travelers in 1939. I know that we are following a time line that was not supposed to be -- and that we hope to change. I don't want to know much more -- with one exception. Is it true that the Nazis will win the war with the atomic bomb? And will the world suffer horribly with Nazi domination?"
"Yes, Professor Einstein. I'm sorry to say that is true. And it's not just the Nazis--"
"Please. No more," Einstein commanded as he put up a hand, palm forward. "That is all I want to know."
"I have so many questions for you, Professor Einstein, but I don't know how long I can sustain telepathic control. Can you...please...tell me about your plan?"
Indicating no apparent feeling of urgency, Einstein reached for his pipe, removed it from the holder and returned it to his mouth. He shifted his gaze back to the young lady while puffing for several seconds. Finally he said, without removing the pipe, "I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint you, my dear." Then he removed the pipe from his mouth and said, "I can't tell you the plan."
"What?" Andrea exclaimed. "You promised us!"
[Home Reviews Orders]
[Top]
Excerpt: Crisis on Flight 101 (2003)
It was just as he rolled his chair backward to seat himself in front of the computer that he heard a rustling sound behind him. Whirling around, instantly alert, Shane was just quick enough to see a tall, slender figure clothed in a black shirt and slacks with a black knit cap emerge from behind the open door and streak through the doorway. Without hesitation, Shane lunged after the shadowy figure and managed to catch up just as it attempted to open the door to the main hallway.
Recognizing instantly that he was considerably bigger and stronger than the figure that he now grasped by the shoulders from behind, Shane shoved the intruder against the wall and used his body to pin the figure there while reaching down to immobilize his hands. It was then that Shane realized with a shock that the intruder was not a "him" but a "her." The faint aroma of perfume, along with the slender wrists and hands and slight figure, told him that he was dealing with a female intruder. More confident now that the intruder would not escape his grasp, Shane whirled her around to look at her face.
"Andrea?" he gasped, as the familiar face of his postdoctoral research associate peered back at him from under the black knit cap that hid her golden blonde tresses.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked angrily. "What's going on here?"
Her blue eyes stared back at him like two cubes of ice. Her taut face, tightly pressed lips, and firmly clenched jaw told Shane that she was not about to say anything.
After holding her securely for a few moments, with their faces only inches apart, and Shane's dark stare attempting to burn through her stone façade, he stepped back and wrenched her roughly away from the wall. Holding her arms behind her, he began marching her back to his office. His mind was a confused jumble. Here he had taken prisoner the woman who had very recently provided the warm and tender loving that had been such a welcome solace from his breakup with Sarah and the tragic loss of his close friend. Yet, now, he didn't know who she was or what this was all about.
When he had closed the door behind them, and sat Andrea down in the wooden chair at the far end of his desk, Tony reclined in his chair, strategically placed between Andrea and the doorway. Feeling securely in control, Shane began his interrogation.
"Andrea...talk to me! Whatever it is, I'll try to understand," he began, not knowing where he was heading.
With her permed blonde hair now wet from perspiration, Andrea was able to conceal her expression by looking down and letting the curly wet strands obscure her face. Frustrated by her silence and lack of reaction, Shane reached over, grabbed her by the chin, and jerked her face upright so that he could look into her eyes. Still as cold as ice, Andrea stared back with a grim determination that Shane could not believe. Was this the same person who had shared his bed and soothed his soul barely twenty-four hours earlier? Surely, he couldn't be that bad a judge of character. Surely, the real Andrea was buried there. If only he could reach her.
[Home Reviews Orders]
[Top]
Excerpt: The StarSight Project (2002)
November...the near future.
Like a monstrous sea-serpent...smooth, black, and sleek...the Russian nuclear submarine, Skibirsk, knifed silently through the dark mist blanketing the inky Barents Sea...steadfastly pursuing a course which would soon leave Murmansk far behind. With binoculars raised, Captain Yuri Kirschnikov stood tall in the tower next to his first officer, Captain Second Rank Anatoly Vladimirov...gazing silently into the void. With just a sliver of moonlight disturbing the darkness, only the fleeting reflections of the wavelets stirred up by the stiff November night breezes provided some detail of the monotonous seascape ahead. Proceeding at a modest fifteen knots, the Skibirsk was like a slinking black panther, strolling purposefully and confidently through the tall grass...with rippling muscles signaling the potential for high-speed deadly pursuit at any moment.
Despite the cool sea spray and the frigid air dancing through the precisely groomed salt and pepper beard gracing his rugged face, tiny beads of perspiration could be seen on Captain Kirschnikov's forehead. At fifty-four years, a career naval officer, he had not imagined that he would be embarking on this kind of mission. A suicide mission, his colleagues would call it...if they knew. But, they did not. Only Kirschnikov could anticipate the horrible events that he would set in motion.
Staring blankly through the binoculars, his mind could picture only the long, thick, deadly projectile installed in the pre-launch chamber below deck. Prominently dispersed over its entire body were the bold markings reserved for dummy missiles...those with harmless lead and sawdust mock warheads. Only Kirschnikov knew that, despite the innocuous appearance, this device was destined to throw a great nation into chaos. It would not come as a cataclysmic explosion that might level huge structures and vaporize living creatures. But the nuclear event would produce unexpected and unparalleled horror. The goal of the fanatical, depraved minds, which had devised this insane plot, was not to inflict material damage, but to strike terror into the hearts and minds of the American people. And surely that effect would be accomplished by this demonic plan.
Shivering involuntarily as his mind's eye envisioned the horrific events his actions would cause, Captain Kirschnikov reminded himself that there was no turning back. His was the crucial role that would put into play the final piece of this carefully orchestrated attack. The reward for this action would be too great...and the penalty for failure so unthinkable...that Kirschnikov could not, would not, consider avoiding this responsibility. They chose well...those bastards, he thought...when they recruited me for this horrible deed. Lowering the binoculars, finally, he turned around and followed his first officer down from the tower...taking one last breath of the cool, salty air he would not taste again until this horrible deed was done.
[Home Reviews Orders]
[Top]
|
