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Douglas E. Richards
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright (c) 2010 by Douglas E. Richards
Published by Paragon Press, 2011
ParagonPressSF@gmail.com
ISBN: 978-0-9826184-8-6
All rights reserved. With the exception of excerpts for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system.
First Edition
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Douglas E. Richards is the author of a science fiction series that has won rave reviews in Asimov’s Science Fiction magazine, Kirkus, School Library Journal, Odyssey Magazine, and numerous others. In 2010, in recognition of his work, he was selected to be a “special guest” at San Diego Comic-Con International, along with such icons as Stan Lee, Ray Bradbury, and Rick Riordan. Douglas has a master’s degree in molecular biology and has authored a wide variety of popular science pieces for National Geographic, the BBC, the Australian Broadcasting Corporation, Earth and Sky, Today’s Parent, and many others.
“What is good? All that heightens the feeling of power in man, the will to power, power itself. What is bad? All that is born of weakness. What is happiness? The feeling that power is growing, that resistance is overcome.”
—Friedrich Nietzsche, Philosopher (1844-1900)
PROLOGUE
Bill Callan extended his silenced Ruger .45 and crept soundlessly toward the woman calling herself Pamela Saeks. She was seated at an old wooden desk with her back to him, busily manipulating an expensive laptop computer. She was undeniably cute, reflected Callan, not for the first time. But he liked his women on the sleazy side, and her look was too wholesome for his taste—even though her appearance was probably the only thing wholesome about her. And she was too smart for his liking as well. Far too smart.
Her driver’s license pegged her at twenty-seven, but she looked younger, as if she had just finished college. Except for her eyes. There was a maturity there, a street savvy, far beyond her actual age or appearance that suggested this soft-looking girl had seen her share of hard times.
Why did she need to hire two mercenaries to protect her? Not bodyguards, but mercenaries. And how was she able to afford them without any visible means of support? She had fed them a story about having been the girlfriend of a mobster who wasn’t prepared to let her go, but Callan hadn’t bought it for a second. So he had made a study of her. And sure enough, his investigation had hit pay dirt. Pay dirt far richer than he could ever have imagined.
The girl was so engrossed in the computer she was completely oblivious to Callan’s approach. He cleared his throat and she spun around, startled. “Oh,” she said in relief, noticing it was him, but her relief was short-lived as she saw the gun pointed at her, ominously fitted with a silencer. “What’s going on, Bill?” she said anxiously. And while she kept her face passive, Callan had an unmistakable sense that her agile mind was racing; evaluating these new circumstances and weighing possibilities.
“You need to come with me,” said Callan evenly. And then, raising his eyebrows he added, “Kira.”
Her eyes widened for just an instant before she caught herself. “What the hell is going on?” she demanded. “Why are you pointing that at me? And why did you call me Kira?”
“Because that’s your real name,” he said simply. “Kira Miller.”
She shook her head in annoyance. “If this is your idea of a joke, Bill, it isn’t funny.”
Callan ignored her. “Catch,” he said, tossing her a set of car keys. She snatched them from the air with athletic ease, her gaze never wavering from his.
“I took the liberty of removing the pepper spray from your key ring,” he told her. “Let’s go. You’re driving.”
“Where’s Jason?” she asked.
“He’s