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    First Stringers: Eyes That Do Not See
    First Stringers: Eyes That Do Not See
    First Stringers: Eyes That Do Not See
    Ebook671 pages11 hours

    First Stringers: Eyes That Do Not See

    By Gerald M. Weinberg

    3/5

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    About this ebook

    What happens if the physicists' String Theory is correct, and the "real" universe is nothing more than a human mental construct?

    And what happens to the half-dozen young adults who, through an accident on their common day of conception, can mentally pull the strings of the universe?

    And what if each of their rule-shattering powers is accompanied by a deformity shunned by society?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGerald M. Weinberg
    Release dateAug 12, 2010
    ISBN9781452317403
    First Stringers: Eyes That Do Not See
    Author

    Gerald M. Weinberg

    Gerald M. Weinberg (Jerry) writes "nerd novels," such as The Aremac Project, Aremac Power, First Stringers, Second Stringers, The Hands of God, Freshman Murders, and Mistress of Molecules—about how brilliant people produce quality work. His novels may be found as eBooks at or on Kindle. Before taking up his science fiction career, he published books on human behavior, including Weinberg on Writing: The Fieldstone Method, The Psychology of Computer Programming, Perfect Software and Other Fallacies, and an Introduction to General Systems Thinking. He also wrote books on leadership including Becoming a Technical Leader, The Secrets of Consulting (Foreword by Virginia Satir), More Secrets of Consulting, and the four-volume Quality Software Management series. He incorporates his knowledge of science, engineering, and human behavior into all of writing and consulting work (with writers, hi-tech researchers, and software engineers). Early in his career, he was the architect for the Mercury Project's space tracking network and designer of the world's first multiprogrammed operating system. Winner of the Warnier Prize and the Stevens Award for his writing on software quality, he is also a charter member of the Computing Hall of Fame in San Diego and the University of Nebraska Hall of Fame. The book, The Gift of Time (Fiona Charles, ed.) honors his work for his 75th birthday. His website and blogs may be found at http://www.geraldmweinberg.com.

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    Reviews for First Stringers

    3/5

    55 ratings24 reviews

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    • 1/5
      Very light-weight read with rather too many typos and grammatical mistakes.I think I might have enjoyed this when I was in my very early teens and my critical faculties were undeveloped, but now ... its just incredibly simplistic and lacking in depth. As another reviewer pointed out X-men with disabilities and probably better as a cartoon.The plot is typical of its genre - bunch of kids with special talents overcome obstacles put in their way by government and the bad guys to come together and discover they are stronger together than on their own.
    • 1/5
      I feel slightly guilty about this review. I could not get into the book at all and abandoned it only a few chapters in. This is, I think, a failing on my part - since I could not see how the characters were due to interact, nor find anything compelling about them, I simply stopped reading. It may be that I will try to pick this up again at a later date, but I cannot see myself doing so right now.
    • 2/5
      Ember Wells is a blind young woman who is on a mission to rid herself of her overly protective father, so she can lead an independent life. She is, despite her disability, a seemingly ordinary girl. That is, until we learn that she has a secret super power. There are (at least) five more like her. The science explanation for Ember’s and her friends’ secret talents is a bit fuzzy (that they are “pulling the strings of the universe”), but it is exposed so succinctly and swiftly that it does not detract from the plot. After spending the first half of the novel getting to know each other and marveling at each others’ hidden powers and secret talents, they spend the other half fighting bad guys who want to use them for their own purposes. It should come as no surprise that this is a completely plot-driven novel. Every element, from setting to characterization, serves the purposes of plot. This is X-men with disabled heroes; the storyline and its characters seem appropriate for a teenage audience. There is practically no subtext to this story; what you read literally is what you get. The writing is direct and to the point, like a newspaper article, and there is so much dialogue sometimes you wonder if you’re reading a screenplay instead of a novel.Fiction writers are compelled to heed that now clichéd writing advice to omit unnecessary words, but that certainly does not mean that you dispense with every form of description or word elaboration that gives deeper significance to your story or depth to your characters. There’s something about the sentence “Joe [the dog] obeyed like the obedience champion he was” (p. 139) that feels off: it conveys possibly necessary information, but it does so in such an awkward way that the paragraph would have been better without it.There’s a serious lack of precise description, especially when it comes to characters. For example, when describing the clerk who assisted Ember and Bolton at the court where they went to get married, this is how the narrator describes her: “the only person Bolton saw was the clerk herself. They found her sitting clerk-like”. Clerk-like? What does that mean? This goes on in many more passages.On the other hand, the author manages the characters’ magical traits in a very matter-of-fact way, without giving the reader the opportunity to doubt whatever it is he is reading.Gerald M. Weinberg is one of the founding members of Book View Café, “an author cooperative” whose main purpose is to bring their work directly to their readers through the internet, thereby dispensing with the big publishing houses. However, this novel could have greatly benefitted from some serious proofreading and editing. It is plagued with all kinds of mistakes: grammar, punctuation, spelling, typos. In its 137 chapters every single one of them has at least one mistake; many have two or more. Two stars.
    • 2/5
      This book was just okay for me. The title caught my eye and I thought I was going to learn a bit about string theory (I’m no scientist but ever since I started watching that TV show The Big Bang Theory I’ve wanted to learn more about physics and the theories they mention so I at least kind of know what’s going on). Unfortunately, the book was a real let-down in that aspect. I can’t tell you anymore about string theory now, after having read the book, than before I did. I’m not saying I was expecting to get a full scientific explanation from a work of fiction, but still, it seems like the author would’ve explained it just a little bit for us.The premise was also very interesting in the beginning, but again, I ended up feeling shortchanged. Superheroes with handicaps like blindness, Down syndrome, and a crippled leg? Heck yes, that sounds fascinating! But again, the author didn’t take the time to explain much about their disabilities, and I wanted more of a back story for each of them. I guess I was expecting something more along the lines of X-Men Origins, where you get to know the character personally so that you appreciate their struggle that much more. Other than that, the thing that bothered me the most about this book was the format. I didn’t realize it was an ebook until after I won it (that was my bad, I admit). When I downloaded the book to my iPhone and tried to zoom in and make the font larger so that I could actually see it, it would just zoom in on one section of a page at a time which made reading nearly impossible. I ended up having to read it on my laptop in small sections because my eyes would start hurting from concentrating on the bright screen for so long. I had never had a problem with any other ebook not zooming in so that I could read it on my phone, so that was just a huge disappointment. I won’t be requesting ebooks anymore.So, the book only gets 2 stars because of the shoddy plot development, an extraordinary number of typos and grammatical errors (which is a pet peeve), and a super annoying reading format.
    • 3/5
      This book has a lot of potential, even though the premise isn't the most original - several young people discover that they have special abilities and band together to fight an evil organization that seeks to exploit them. What's interesting is that each of them suffers from a handicap, for example blindness, a crippled leg or Down syndrome.While the book managed to keep me interested until the end and definitely has some enjoyable moments, it also suffers from a few shortcomings. First, the scinetific explanation for the superpowers doesn't go any further than a diffuse connection to string theory ("pulling at the strings of the universe") which is a bit disappointing, especially since string theory is even referenced in the title.A few times I felt that certain scenes could have been shortened or just plain cut without hurting the plot. There were also some loose ends that are never picked up again and at the end there were too many questions left unanswered for my taste.Overall, in my opinion this isn't a bad book, but it would have profitted from a good editor (and perhaps a bit more proofreading).
    • 4/5
      I liked this book .. it is interesting and engaging.though i must admit its starts on a slow pace and picks up gradually and also its a little too long,which at some places could have been cut short. The story is overall good. There are portions of humor, sorrow, pain and thrill -- that make you want to keep reading, but there are some portions that can be a bit confusing .. such as when does ART hop into the scene and move out is a bit off. There were also few grammatical mistakes which kind of break the flow.People interested in the supernatural and mutant powers would like the story.
    • 1/5
      I almost never fail to finish a book, just like I almost never walk out of a movie or turn it off before the end. But something about this book - or, perhaps, everything about it - made reading it past a third of the way through seem like a chore I had no interest in.The plot has a lot of promise - young adults, all possessing both a physical handicap and a somewhat magical/bending the laws of physics extra ability. However, the execution is ridiculously poor. As other reviewers have pointed out, Weinberg's descriptive language is either repetitive and unhelpful, or over the top. His descriptions of his characters' emotions and affairs made me roll my eyes. Beyond the style issues, the egregious typos and spelling and grammar errors make me doubt the seemingly promising idea of a group of authors publishing immediately to an online community. It seems that the editorial protections granted by a print publishing house haven't yet made their way to this form of publication.
    • 3/5
      People with disabilities in this word also have special abilities. These aren't the heroes yo expect, but as the story progresses, these abilities get them into a bit of trouble.
    • 5/5
      I really liked this book! The concept of people with disabilities and special powers, all born almost at the same time, was very interesting. I especially liked the character of George. The book is rather well written and it never got boring, but I was a bit disappointed with the ending.But I'm looking forward to reading the second book about the Stringers!
    • 4/5
      Disabled mutants trying to find a place in the world without presenting themselves to it. Each individual holds a unique ability, but at a cost. Blind, deaf, down's syndrome, crippled, something is sacrificed. Certainly not poster children for mutants or even superheroes, these young adults must find both each other and themselves while somehow avoiding those who'd exploit them.That was a good read. A little hard to get into at parts but well written. I really like the idea that holding that much power requires some form of sacrifice. Sort of a balanced trade instead of having everything handed to you on a platter. The author isn't squeamish about describing his crippled heroes, nor does he go overboard creating superhumans. I recommend this to anyone who'd like a different approach to superpowers and doesn't mind a long read.
    • 2/5
      Note to ebook producers: when generating the ePub version, be sure not to disable the feature that allows the reader to control font size. This did not work on my Kobo.I struggled through the first 3 chapters and did not find anything that would justify more eyestrain. Too bad -- the other reviews make this book sound somewhat interesting.
    • 3/5
      An interesting book, sort of "Heroes", the TV series, but in a grittier format. By making the individuals all have some form of disability, it adds a level of humanity to them as they fight their own inner doubts about themselves and each other. Each has their own special ability, and like other books of this type, a suspension of belief is needed. In fact, they say themselves that they don't know themselves why they can do what they do, just that they can. Throw in some evil-doers with big plans, and you have a nicely paced story. I didn't look to get much out this on a cerebral level, and found that held up, but as escapism, it was worthwhile. It seemed to me there will be a sequel in the offing, based on the ending, and it might be fun to see how their powers and usage grow and refine. All in all, a fun read but could have been more cohesive.
    • 3/5
      The concept of a group of individuals with the power to manipulate reality is interesting and delicate. It has been handled with care here particularly by juxtaposing these great abilities with normally crippling disabilities. Also important in the success of this story are the characters. They are a collection of misfits who are compelling because they have no desire to be all powerful and/or take over the world. The reader quickly empathizes with the characters in their struggles.First Stringers was a pretty quick read, but the plot seemed more ideally to fit a series of short stories rather than a novel. Three distinct parts were evident and though all parts were strongly related, there were distinct conclusions and consecutive lulls after the first two parts. The final part included a great deal of action and served as a tense, exciting climax, but the ending was too abrupt with not enough resolution to satisfy the reader. In addition to the uneven pacing the book was riddled with typos that distracted from the story. In my opinion the concept of this story seemed to have great potential, but the execution fell a little short.I felt that this novel was directed at more of a YA reading level. Though the characters are all purportedly adults due to their relatively sheltered lives and disabilities many of them behave much like teenagers. It is largely a novel about self discovery, control, and independence which resonates more strongly with a slightly younger crowd. Adult concepts occasionally arise, but they are often tangential or background to the current events handled by the group.The focus is more on the characters and their internal struggles rather than their abilities and therefore their abilities seem more like magic than science, especially considering there is little to no explanation regarding the origin of their powers offered. Though the characters are able to accomplish a lot due to their level-headedness during conflicts, not much is made of the intellect and theories set up early on. Overall I did enjoy the story and found myself thinking about it after I had put it down. If you don’t get bogged down wanting an explanation for how the powers work/why they got the powers or fill in some of the explanations on your own, First Stringers is a pretty enjoyable read.
    • 4/5
      I am only half way done with this book and I absalutly love it well worth the read!
    • 4/5
      Worth the read and i enjoyed the different perspective from someone who is handicapped. The author wrote in such a way that i found it easy to get into character.
    • 2/5
      Ember, Bolton, George, and Gina were all born disabled – and they were all born with the power to manipulate the fabric of reality. They need to find each other and grow comfortable with their powers so they can defeat the group that wants to use them for its own ends.This book was filled with elements that I love (near-future science fiction; characters hunted for their special powers; disabled characters who narrate their own lives and aren't magically cured at the end), but it fell flat for me. I never really felt connected to the characters. They had potential; I liked Ember, Bolton, and Alandra well enough, and even George and Gina, who I disliked most of the time, had some sympathetic aspects. But I never felt like I got to know them well enough to feel involved in the story. The plot also seemed uneven, with most of the action crammed into the end. That said, the premise was intriguing, and the characters definitely had the potential to be strong and engaging. A lot of times the first book in a series is a lot rougher around the edges than its sequels; maybe this will turn out to be one of those.
    • 3/5
      The book began quite engagingly. But half way through, I totally lost interest in it. It seemed to jump from the personal self-exploration to a wider thriller genre. But the whole thing had an amateurish feel to it as if it needed a good editor and rewrite. I couldn't be bothered reading the second half and wouldn't really recommend the first half to anyone!
    • 1/5
      "First Stringers: Eyes That Do Not See" contained promise within the concept and potential story lines, unfortunately, the execution falls short and leaves the reader disappointed at many points along the way.This is a story where the characters have the ability to manipulate the quantum strings to affect their environment. The concept sounds wonderful, but the author fails to fully understand quantum mechanics by limiting the characters to only have control over certain realms of their environment. Since quantum mechanics takes place at the subatomic level, a character would not be limited to elemental restrictions (i.e., have only the ability to make fire, or only the ability to alter chemical compounds). Because of this, the story comes off as a poor copy of The X-Men, rather than an individual work of its own.Also, the overall writing is amateurish and in many places elementary-level. The characters are too naïve to their powers considering they've all been aware of them for years by the time the novel begins, and conversations contain clunky dialogue that are not only difficult to read but awkward to speak. Descriptions are not always appropriate to the scene context. The author has a tendency to over-describe a room of no significance, while failing to mention key elements during important scenes. The plot is over-simplified, predictable, and clichéd.I would suggest that experienced science fiction readers steer clear of this book, but there's no doubt they probably won't get far into it before tossing it to the "donate" pile anyway. If you have nothing else to read, and you don't mind the above distractions, then you can probably make your way through this story and enjoy it for a semi-entertaining distraction from the real world. Otherwise, I'd suggest the author take this one back and give it a serious rewrite.
    • 3/5
      This book was an interesting read that always kept me wondering what would happen next. The book focus's on a group of young adults who were born with deformities but also special powers. As they find each other and their lives become integrated you can see the character's growing, although sometimes their stereotypes getting a little grating. Because they are complex people, however, you can care for them and care about what happens to them. On occasion the shifts in point of view can be disorienting but it doesn't take long for the author to tie the new views into the progressing storyline. The start of the book is wonderfully written but the end feels a bit rushed as if the author was trying to fit into a page or word count. This book could perhaps have been two separate stories. The ending leaves lots of room for a sequel. I enjoyed the read overall and if a sequel is released I hope to read it as well!
    • 3/5
      An entertaining book based on an interesting premise. However, the writing could have used a little work - the characters seems a little one dimensional and the plot seemed to get lost at times. However, the storyline was interesting enough that I will likely read the next book in the series.
    • 3/5
      Enjoyable, but don't expect anything deep or profound. I was disappointed in the inaccuracy in the human gestation period, and the treatment of pentagon security procedures. It made it more difficult to regard the intentional removes from reality as plausible. It also seemed to jump from trying to understand themselves better to the fight with the big bad guys, without really answering any questions. It almost felt like the author was trying to rush the end, tying up loose-ends with a quick and dirty answer to keep within a page limit. I did like the addition of the disabilities to counter-act the extra abilities, but that was one of those issues that was never explained, nor did anyone seem to care.
    • 3/5
      First Stringers is an engaging read but sadly does not fulfil its early promise. I like the characters, particularly George, and the first few chapters are exciting and enticing. The problem is that we don't seem to get beyond the superficial levels of both plot and characters. It's not often that I would ask for more exposition and character background but I think this book needs it. I care about the characters and wanted to know much more about how they turned out. I see that there is a sequel and will probably read it, so in one way, job done as a writer but I do hope that Weinberg can get the touches of really good writing he shows to coalesce into the book this could have been. I like the sextet but I miss the rest of the orchestra.
    • 3/5
      This Scooby Gang has special powers, granted to them by a toxic cloud which gave in one way, and took in some others. The lame, the blind, and the developmentally challenged can play the strings of 'string theory' to bend the universe to their will. I liked the restraints placed on the individuals - unlimited powers can actually be quite boring - and I'm curious to see what other members of the group are uncovered next. However, I was still a little skeptical that the villain was defeated so easily, just because they were a group of wackjobs with an apocalyptic ideology - they still outnumbered the gang AND had serious weapons.
    • 4/5
      I found this an interesting read, if a tad confusing in places. The characters were a nicely diverse mix, and the handicap in tradeoff for phenomenal powers was a nice hook. The one thing that bothered me about that was once they discovered their powers, there seemed to be no comparative cost to the heroes. They could only improve and fine tune their skills without any seeming drawbacks. A couple of the characters tried to be sympathetic and mostly failed, but the rest were pretty likable. I felt like there were some elements of the plot that jumped around and left me struggling to keep up, and in other places I got a bit bogged down in technobabble.Even so, it was an enjoyable read, finished within a couple days. Sometimes making magic out of science doesn't work so well, but this book does a pretty good job of presenting a case for it.

    Book preview

    First Stringers - Gerald M. Weinberg

    FIRST STRINGERS

    EYES THAT CANNOT SEE

    by

    Gerald M. Weinberg

    SMASHWORDS EDITION

    * * * * *

    PUBLISHED BY:

    Gerald M. Weinberg on Smashwords

    First Stringers: Eyes that Cannot See

    Copyright © 2011 by Gerald M. Weinberg

    All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

    * * * * *

    FIRST STRINGERS

    EYES THAT CANNOT SEE

    * * * * *

    Contents

    (To my protagonist, Ember, who insisted all chapter titles be movie titles.)

    Chapter 1. Escape from L.A.

    Chapter 2. Twins of Evil

    Chapter 3. Santa Fe

    Chapter 4. Runaway

    Chapter 5. Weird Woman

    Chapter 6. Genius at Work

    Chapter 7. Escape

    Chapter 8. Smart Money

    Chapter 9. Casino Royale

    Chapter 10. The Cheat

    Chapter 11. Meeting at Midnight

    Chapter 12. Her First Romance

    Chapter 13. I Confess

    Chapter 14. Mystery of the Wax Museum

    Chapter 15. Let's Do It Again

    Chapter 16. Eyes of Fire

    Chapter 17. The Girl Most Likely To...

    Chapter 18. In Search of the Castaways

    Chapter 19. Gotcha!

    Chapter 20. Grand Exit

    Chapter 21. Running Scared

    Chapter 22. One Dark Night

    Chapter 23. Gas!

    Chapter 24. The Match Maker

    Chapter 25. Taken

    Chapter 26. Unwilling Lovers

    Chapter 27. Someone's Watching Me!

    Chapter 28. She Had to Choose

    Chapter 29. Nick of Time

    Chapter 30. The Tin Star

    Chapter 31. The Uninvited

    Chapter 32. The Night the World Exploded

    Chapter 33. She'll Be Wearing Pink Pyjamas.

    Chapter 34. Friends and Lovers

    Chapter 35. Double Confession

    Chapter 36. Black Widow

    Chapter 37. My Bodyguard

    Chapter 38. I Married a Witch

    Chapter 39. Corruption

    Chapter 40. The Third Man

    Chapter 41. Bedazzled

    Chapter 42. Compulsion

    Chapter 43. The Girl and Her Trust

    Chapter 44. The Mind Benders

    Chapter 45. For a Few Dollars More

    Chapter 46. You've got mail!

    Chapter 47. Real Genius

    Chapter 48. O Brother, Where Art Thou?

    Chapter 49. Stranger Than Fiction

    Chapter 50. Who Can Kill a Child?

    Chapter 51. Too Hot to Handle

    Chapter 52. Red Heat

    Chapter 53. Return of the Bad Men

    Chapter 54. A Nightmare on Elm Street

    Chapter 55. On Dangerous Ground

    Chapter 56. Scream For Help

    Chapter 57. A Lady Takes a Chance

    Chapter 58. Cause For Alarm!

    Chapter 59. Girl, Interrupted

    Chapter 60. Fantastic Four

    Chapter 61. Clear and Present Danger

    Chapter 62. True Confession

    Chapter 63. Take a Girl Like You

    Chapter 64. Freaks

    Chapter 65. Rich and Strange

    Chapter 66. Enemy at the Gates

    Chapter 67. Danger! Women at Work

    Chapter 68. The Unholy Four

    Chapter 69. There Was a Little Girl

    Chapter 70. To Catch a Thief

    Chapter 71. Young and Innocent

    Chapter 72. Let Him Have It

    Chapter 73. Warning Sign

    Chapter 74. That Certain Woman

    Chapter 75. Ashes and Diamonds

    Chapter 76. What Dreams May Come

    Chapter 77. The Easiest Way

    Chapter 78. The Big Sleep

    Chapter 79. Cairo

    Chapter 80. Ruthless Sabotage

    Chapter 81. Bad Dreams

    Chapter 82. Good Guys Wear Black

    Chapter 83. Big Business Girl

    Chapter 84. The Opposite of Sex

    Chapter 85. She Wouldn't Say Yes

    Chapter 86. Hands Across the Table

    Chapter 87. Quintet

    Chapter 88. Project X

    Chapter 89. North by Northwest

    Chapter 90. The Miracle Woman

    Chapter 91. The Locked Door

    Chapter 92. Sisters

    Chapter 93. The Richest Girl in the World

    Chapter 94. Sick Girl

    Chapter 95. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

    Chapter 96. Canyon Passage

    Chapter 97. Before Dawn

    Chapter 98. Just Before Dawn

    Chapter 99. A Matter of Life and Death

    Chapter 100. Avalanche

    Chapter 101. No Way Out

    Chapter 102. Sitting Target

    Chapter 103. Die Another Day

    Chapter 104. The Great Escape

    Chapter 105. Gone With the Wind

    Chapter 106. Funny Girl

    Chapter 107. Emma

    Chapter 108. The End of the Affair

    Chapter 109. Another Language

    Chapter 110. Stop Me Before I Kill!

    Chapter 111. Man in the Vault

    Chapter 112. The Trip

    Chapter 113. The Wrecker

    Chapter 114. Step By Step

    Chapter 115. The Crush

    Chapter 116. Earth Girls Are Easy

    Chapter 117. The Negotiator

    Chapter 118. Bamboozled

    Chapter 119. The Rock

    Chapter 120. Stronger Than Desire

    Chapter 121. There's Nothing Out There

    Chapter 122. Supergirl

    Chapter 123. The Secret Place

    Chapter 124. His Kind of Woman

    Chapter 125. Trapped

    Chapter 126. Shake Hands with the Devil

    Chapter 127. Safe in Hell

    Chapter 128. The Virgin Queen

    Chapter 129. Something Wicked This Way Comes

    Chapter 130. Somewhere I'll Find You

    Chapter 131. The Premature Burial

    Chapter 132. No Blade of Grass

    Chapter 133. The Secret Six

    Chapter 134. Race for Life

    Chapter 135. The Second Arrival

    Chapter 136. It's Love I'm After

    Chapter 1. Escape from L.A.

    Ember slipped out the servants' entrance, her shoes safely tucked in her duffel, careful to make no loud tapping sounds with her sonic cane. Hearing nothing but the distant strains of Stars and Stripes Forever and feeling the warmth of the July sun on her face, she notched up her courage.

    There's no way I'm going to spend the rest of my life in some horrid convent. Or cached safely away until he can marry me off to the highest bidder in some movie deal. I'll be gone before he can hide me away from the world.

    She shuddered at the thought, then pushed it aside. Guided by the sweet, fresh lemony scent of verbena, she concealed herself behind the waxy rhododendron leaves. Even though she had successfully hidden here on her last three escape attempts, she tucked her limbs tightly so nothing would show for the sighted people. Then she waited, her mouth tasting like dry straw. What will I miss here? It's my neighborhood, but I hardly know the neighbors.

    Everything was quiet except for the fluttering of the neighbor's flag and the chattering of little birds. After a few more minutes, she heard the sound of a vehicle turning onto the cul-de-sac. She pressed her lips together, straining to interpret the sound. It's definitely not a truck, she reasoned, not on this holiday. No, it's not one of the local fancy cars, either. Everyone's away. And none of them have an engine knock. It has to be the taxi.

    Something brushed against her leg. Squirrel? Rabbit?

    I hope the taxi company is as close-mouthed as they were when I checked them out. Last time, it was too easy for Art to track me through the taxi company.

    Again, something scraped against her bare foot. She yanked back her foot, but the thing held on. Ugh, it could be a snake. She shook her foot, then heard a whine, a sort of yip-yip squeak. Not a wild animal. A little dog, like Mrs. Braithwaite's long-haired Chihuahua. Oh, yes, you're wearing a ribbon.

    Wussie? she whispered. Is that you? Go home, Wussie. I love you, but your Mama wants you.

    The dog stayed. I shouldn't have said I loved him. Not now, Wussie. My taxi is coming.

    Instead of leaving, the dog pressed harder against the leg of her jeans. She felt a wet spot near her ankle.

    Bad dog, Wussie. What have you been into? She touched the wet spot and brought her fingers to her nose. The metallic smell was unmistakeable. Blood.

    Poor thing. You're hurt. Go home now. Right away. To your Mama.

    But Wussie held on. His whining grew louder. That sound is going to give me away. Besides, I can't leave him here if he's bleeding. Even if I miss my cab. Come on, Wussie. I'll take you home.

    She bent down to pick up the injured pet. For her efforts, a sharp bite. Darn. That really hurts. But I have to stay quiet.

    She ignored the bite by pinching her lip with her teeth. She picked up the dog. Good thing he only weighs five pounds. Leaves one hand free.

    She pressed his furry body to her chest. I just hope he can't bite me again from this position. I have to get him home.

    He squirmed, but remained silent as she used her cane to probe her way across the lawn. She found her way to the front steps of Mrs. Braithwaite's house next door. She couldn't find the bell, so she rapped on the door with her stick. If they see me, they see me. Too bad. I'll have to re-plan my escape, but there's no way I can just leave him like this.

    Ember hadn't expected Silvia Braithwaite to answer the door herself. Still, she was a bit surprised by the accent of the young lady who opened the door. Could be Guadeloupe, with that French undertone. I've known Haitians, but this isn't the same.

    Ember tried to hand over the dog. Is this yours? I think he's hurt. Bleeding.

    Oui, Madame. You have saved heem. I am Chantal. I am Madame Braithwaite's maid. She is elsewhere. But I am able to care for Monsieur Wussie.

    Chantal seemed distraught, which might have been why Monsieur Wussie refused to leave Ember's hands. Rather than injure herself further struggling to rid herself of her patient, she allowed Chantal to lead her to the powder room adjoining the vestibule. In spite of the squirming and whining, the two women managed to wash off enough blood for Chantal to pronounce that the wound wasn't serious.

    Monsieur Wussie was sufficiently eager to be dry that he allowed Chantal to take him. Ember turned to leave, but Chantal restrained her with a light touch on the shoulder. But you are injured aussi, Madame. Come here. I will clean your wound.

    That won't be necessary, said Ember. She touched her wrist. Warm, sticky, liquid. Well, maybe if you have Band-Aids handy. But quickly. I'm waiting for a taxi.

    Oh, the taxi, he is already arrived. In front.

    Oh, no. And it will take at least an hour if I have to call another one. Is it still there?

    Oui, Madame. But the driver, he is returning to his position. Perhaps to leave.

    Can you stop him?

    I will try. Chantal left Ember hugging a towel and one damp long-haired Chihuahua.

    After an agonizing hour that was probably no more than two minutes, Chantal returned. He waits, but you must pay. I hope that arrangement is satisfaisant.

    Tres satisfaisant, said Ember, switching to the language in which the girl would be more comfortable.

    Crossing the lawn was a risk, but necessary. The grass tickled her bare toes as she advanced across the broad expanse, waving to the driver when she heard the sound of his door opening. Feeling her way, unassisted, into the back seat, she announced her destination, then held her breath until they rounded the second corner. Now, she thought, they won't be able to see me. Goodbye Beverly Hills.

    The taxi was less well insulated than her father's limousine, allowing her to enjoy the medley of traffic sounds until the driver dropped her at the Seal Beach Starlite Motel, out of L.A. and miles from home. She paid the driver from her tiny stash but refused his help. On her own, she located the motel's half-open front door by the raucous sound of a blaring game show. The office door stuck and the hinges needed oil, but Ember opened it with a solid yank. Warm, humid air accosted her face. Mildew, fresh paint, and garlic assaulted her nose.

    She found the counter with her hand and rang the bell. The desk clerk sounded annoyed to be taken away from the television set droning from somewhere behind him. He spoke with an Israeli accent—like Oded Fehr, she thought, in The Mummy Returns.

    She could barely understand the man, but when she switched to Hebrew, paid cash, and gave a false name, he replied in Hebrew and didn't ask for identification. She was relieved. My real ID would make it possible for one of Daddy's hired detectives to trace me. If Art didn't find me first, the way he usually does.

    Overall, she was satisfied with the transaction. That was good practice at making friends. Speak to them in their own language. I need that if I'm ever going to have any friends.

    Ember allowed the desk clerk to show her to her room and guide her to its features, including an air-conditioner that sounded like an industrial strength coffee-grinder. When he left, she tore the plastic wrap off the single bathroom glass and turned on the tap. The water tasted strongly of rust—to Ember, the exotic savor of freedom. The room smelled faintly of a blend of various human body fluids, and when she pulled back the bedspread, her fingers felt two crusty spots of some dried foreign matter on the spread. She suppressed a shudder of disgust. Deal with it, girl. Nobody said freedom would be tidy.

    She logged onto her computer and listened for news of young, tall, skinny, blind blondes—missing daughters of famous movie producers. Hearing none, she closed the lid and prepared to enjoy the first night of her life utterly on her own. Maybe the reporters, at least, give me credit for being of age, even if Daddy's expensive lawyers convinced their back-pocket judge to make me his legal ward. Well, as long as he doesn't know where I am, I'm nobody's ward.

    She yawned and stretched. Stop waffling, girl. Time for dinner.

    She examined the phone, but couldn't find the room-service number. She dialed zero for the front desk, but gave up after a dozen rings and decided a face-to-face was the needed approach. She had no trouble navigating to the front desk, but when she asked the desk clerk how to reach room service, he laughed. What's so funny? she asked, in Hebrew.

    Probably because she spoke his language, he quickly turned serious and explained to her that room service was something not found in low-end motels. But the pizza place up the block delivers. Any extras you want—ten dollars for a large. Including delivery?

    He paused for a moment, seeming to check whether she understood. I doubt if they're strictly kosher, though.

    That's okay, she said. Are there other restaurants nearby?

    He suggested a few alternatives. She thanked him and opened the door. She stood in the doorway for a moment. The cool air spoke of the beach—the keen tang of salt and the penetrating scent of rotting sea creatures. She focused her attention on the ocean's voice—the rise and fall of coarse whispers, the ebb and flow of soft crashing sound—and let its messages show her the direction of the beach.

    The restaurant street ran parallel to the beach. From her left, she picked up the slightly off fragrance of cooking oil. If the food isn't that good, I don't have to eat at all. That would be a new experience. Except when I was sick, I don't think I ever missed a meal. Today, I don't have to be sick. I can choose the meal I eat—or choose not to dine at all.

    She chose to eat. The deep-fry smell led her into a fish-and-chips shop. Not exactly dining, but it sure does smell good. She emerged with paper-wrapped meal in one hand, a forbidden Coke in the other, and her white cane tucked under one arm. While ordering, she had refused three friendly offers of assistance. Just this once, I want to be utterly on my own.

    Minutes later, perched on a bench facing the ocean, she digested some new wisdom. Greasy fish eaten in freedom was infinitely more delicious than Turbot Rôti eaten under control of her father. I guess that's what Art means when he says freedom adds a tasty sauce.

    A number of people passed—some alone, some chattering with friends, some on clattering skateboards. Part of Ember wanted to meet all of them, but the rest of her proved surprisingly shy.

    She was both apprehensive and excited when two young male voices approached her bench from behind. They were whispering, but Ember's acute hearing sorted them out, even over the background of human hubbub. Maybe she's got a friend.

    Let's chat her up. Australian accent. You sit on her left.

    She heard them move around the two sides of the bench, but instead of sitting, they hovered for a moment in front. Ember grasped her right knuckles firmly in her left hand to stop the trembling. This is the hard part. I knew I'd have to face this someday, and I've practiced, but I never thought about meeting two guys at once.

    I just hope I don't look too ugly. Let them get used to me with my glasses first, then I'll remove them.

    When neither of the two said anything, Ember's resolve began to erode. Could they be sending me nonverbal signals, waiting for me to respond?

    So that's a flaw in my plan. I want them to know me as I really am. Blind—with no surprises later. Hesitatingly, she offered her best smile. The one Art had taught her. She allowed time for the smile to sink in while she mentally counted to ten.

    She removed her dark glasses.

    She heard a gasp.

    Now they see I'm blind, but at least they're not taking advantage and groping me like my father's friends. Come on, girl, say something. Time you learned to handle these awkward situations.

    Before she could concoct a response, the boys shuffled away, whispering again. Ugh, grunted the Aussie. Did you see those eyes? No pupils. Nothing. Jeez, what's wrong with her?

    I don't know. And that expression ...

    That freaky blue makes her look like an she's from outer space. But I don't think ... His voice faded as they moved away. Ember heard no more. She didn't want to hear more. She replaced her dark glasses to hide the cool wet streaks trailing down her cheeks. I knew it would take some time, but it still hurts. Worse than any of those useless operations.

    Get over it, girl. That's what Art would say. Just enjoy the beach. Guys like that don't matter at all.

    She fed the remnants of her meal to the squawking gulls, who lost interest in her once the paper was empty. Carrying her shoes, she ventured onto the beach, relishing the squirming of hot, gritty sand between her toes. She could sense how far the waves had come up the beach by the cooler press of wet sand on her toes. Once she determined from the succession of waves that the tide was probably ebbing, she ventured further out in measured steps. The cool salt water and soft foam surged0000 around her ankles. The ocean doesn't care what I look like. Paradise cannot be better than this.

    Ember Wells, right? A young voice said.

    Early twenties, she thought, but a crude accent. Who would know I'm here? They have to be Art's guys. I'm just worrying because I haven't met them. Who are you? Do you have names?

    A second voice, somewhat older, answered. Never mind names. We'd like you to come with us. Quickly. Our boss is eager to meet you.

    Do guys always travel in pairs? This pair sounds worse than the other. Sorry, but I'm not eager to meet your boss. I don't even know who you are. And who's this boss. If he's Art, why don't you just say so? They aren't the usual type Art sends to fetch me.

    A large hand clamped onto her shoulder. You have no need to know just now.

    She tried to pry the hand away. She wasn't weak, but his hand was like a steel clamp. You're hurting me. Let go or I'll scream.

    Nobody around to hear you, so scream all you want. Her ears strained. He was right. Somehow, this strip of beach had become empty. The loudest sound was her own heart thumping in her chest. My own body seems to know their boss isn't Art. I think I'm being kidnapped, not brought home from a runaway attempt.

    He pulled her firmly against him. The younger voice said, He's not going to hurt you, Miss Wells, so just come along quietly. Part of our job is to protect you—

    With a forceful yank, the older fellow said, —but I'll do what I have to, if you fail to cooperate.

    This sounds like a stupid movie cliché from Prison Break, but he doesn't feel like a goon. She detested his forceful grip, hating herself for being too weak to resist. She wanted desperately to satisfy her anger. I could use my power to escape, but I meant it when I vowed never to harm anyone again.

    But maybe I could just use a little bit of—

    —No, not even a little bit.

    Besides, I might not be able to stop before killing them.

    Chapter 2. Twins of Evil

    Gina Red Bear sat in the idling van, smoking, cursing the heat, trying not to pay attention to the familiar cramps in her belly. Her paraplegic twin brother George sat securely strapped in his computer-equipped wheelchair beside her, watching the flags fluttering in front of half the houses on Omaha's uptown Harney Street. In the muggy air outside, not much was happening. This is as exciting as a snail race.

    Four houses ahead of her, a matron in a pink pantsuit coaxed a white poodle to do its business under a mature maple tree. Half a block behind her, two men sat talking in a dark silver-gray Mercedes. From across the street, Gina could smell hot dogs grilling. Firecrackers popped, children shouted. I hate working on holidays, she thought. No, I hate working, period. And holidays. No Independence Day for me. Not with George to support. No independence at all.

    Gina despised Omaha, especially these pretentiously wealthy, tree-lined residential neighborhoods. This distance from the brewery, the air still stank of brewer's yeast. No hiding from the truth.

    The damp air from the Missouri River made her sweat, even in cotton jeans and linen shirt. People from the neighborhood wore expensive fashions that still looked like they were rejected by the Salvation Army. As if in response to her thought, the poodle woman lost patience and headed down the hill toward Elmwood park. The dog, at least, seemed happy.

    What made it all worse was the way her brother never seemed bothered. Not by the stink. Not by the humidity. Not by the fashions. She removed her Versache sun shades for a moment and studied his tiny body, enlarged chest, and crooked smile. What I want to know, George, is if we're twins, how come you're always cold and I'm always hot?

    Hey, you're just a hot piece of ass, Sis, George squeaked, all bundled in a red, black, and yellow striped Pendleton blanket.

    Very funny. The poor guy's misshapen body totally lacked the physical capability for any kind of sexual activity, so she forced herself to tolerate his obnoxious preoccupation with sex. She pretended to be embarrassed by his off-color remarks. A moment later, she induced in him a feeling of satisfaction, as if he'd scored a joke.

    When she slapped him playfully on the face, he blanched comedically as if he'd been severely wounded. Well, Sis, if you're going to play S-and-M games with me over this heat business, why don't you just get this clunker air-conditioned? I don't think I can live through any more of your savage beatings.

    She didn't want to tell him they couldn't afford a new van. His life was so limited, she never wanted to deny him anything. But even with all the cash flow from her drug deals, she could barely keep up with his endless, uninsurable medical expenses. And her own.

    This clunker, as you call it, is so old that I have to buy parts in an antique shop. And it barely goes up hills now. Even if I could find an air-conditioner, the extra strain would probably burn out the engine. She posed the back of her hand on her forehead and breathed an exaggerated sigh. So, I'll just suffer for your sake. As usual.

    Thank you, Sis.

    She heard genuine apology in his voice at the same time she felt the contrition in his mind. Her power to sense other people's feelings might be her curse, but it never lied.

    Actually, he said, the real reason you're hot and I'm not is that I'm a lot smaller than you. Size matters. Larger surface-to-volume ratio.

    Gina never understood his technical explanations, so she waved it off. And don't you smell the exhaust, sitting here with the engine idling?

    All I smell is you stupid cigarette. But I just neutralize it before it touches my nose.

    She tossed her half-finished Dunhill Menthol out onto the street.Nobody else can do that, George. Only you.

    If it bothers you, why don't you turn off the engine?

    She surveyed the street again. You know I can't do that. We might have to move fast.

    Maybe so, but we don't have to sit here like drug wholesalers you saw in some B movie.

    We are drug wholesalers, Bro. And Dr. Opthamologist Ensworth is our top retailer. He needs this delivery. Today.

    George made a corkscrew motion with his finger next to his temple. But we're not in a B movie. We're in real life, like those guys in that car back there. They can't be good news. Just take the merchandise up to Ensworth's house. Cross your eyes. You'll look like one of his patients.

    Gina glanced in the rear-view mirror and shuddered. Very funny, bro, but I can't risk it. You're the one who's worried about the guys back there. Whether they're competitors or police, if they move on us, I need you here to vanish the evidence.

    So, wheel me up with you.

    She lit another Dunhill, then dropped the empty box out the window. And leave the rest of our merchandise in the van? I may not be as smart as you, Georgy, but I'm not utterly stupid. Anyway, here's the doctor now.

    As the poodle lady disappeared among the trees, a tubby, balding man in a green and brown plaid jacket emerged from the brick house. He stood on the front porch, door half open, and looked up and down the quiet street. Hesitating, he reached inside and brought out a fat leather briefcase.

    Gina did a quick check to be sure the briefcase matched the one she had hidden from sight next to her brother. Dr. Palmer Ensworth had been known to forget such details.

    Satisfied, she lowered the window all the way. Ensworth scurried down the walkway, still nervously scanning the street. When he reached the van, he exchanged briefcases. Without saying a word, he hustled back into his house.

    Gina rolled the window back up before she counted the cash in the briefcase. She had just reached $22,500 when the Mercedes behind her roared its engine, shot up the street, and angled to a stop in front of the van, blocking her exit. While she cursed to herself, the well-dressed passenger with thick glasses stepped out and tapped on her window, making a rolling motion with his left hand.

    It's not police, she thought. Not this time. Not with bad eyesight. And not in a Mercedes. Maybe he's just one of Ensworth's patients.

    She signaled George to hold off destroying their remaining inventory of narcotics and faux-prescription drugs, then slid down her window, focusing on the man's face. Hey, pal. You're blocking my van. I've got deliveries to make. My customers need their cosmetics to dress up for the holiday. Her voice took on its special command tone. Tell your friend to back up. She projected feelings of sympathy and the desire to be helpful.

    He held his forehead in one hand, as if fighting a headache, but then grinned, showing perfect teeth. I know, Miss Red Bear. We'll move, but first, why don't you sit a while?

    Why can't I sway him?

    He took his hand away from his forehead, covering his glasses for a moment. We're here to talk to you about those deliveries. But not cosmetics.

    Gina glanced quickly back and forth between their right hands. Hers held a cigarette that was burning her fingers. His held a pistol.

    Chapter 3. Santa Fe

    Bolton Tinetti's leg throbbed.

    His left leg ached because it always hurt when he sat still too long—like when he waited to pick up his grandmother from her swimming workouts. Then again, it always pained him when he moved around too much. In fact, the only difference between sitting and moving was the way the leg hurt.

    Deep ache when sitting still. Sudden electric shocks when moving, like now, in his Jeep, when his short left leg used the specially elevated clutch. Even so, he refused to trade for a car with automatic transmission. Real men drove only manual shifts.

    Since his birth, Bolton had suffered a hundred different kinds of pain in his withered leg. The only feeling he didn't know was painlessness. But driving up to Santa Fe, today's pain was particularly acute. Usually, he could shut out the feeling by focusing his entire mind on his computers and remote-controlled cars and planes. Today, however, Grandma Cathy was taking him to a fancy restaurant, so he had to leave his toys behind.

    His Uncle Garland was supposed to come, but as usual, his absentee uncle finked out at the last minute. His mother's brother hadn't said boo to him since his high school graduation—and then all the words had been negative. Garland hadn't even showed up for any of his college commencements. Even the one in May, when he was the youngest student ever to earn a Ph.D. in Information Science from the University of New Mexico. Probably Uncle Garland couldn't think of anything negative to say about that.

    Bolton had planned to take his uncle to Española, where El Paragua's fiery salsa would have given him a night to remember. Bolton's native New Mexican stomach thrived on hot chili, but it mutinied in his uncle's guts. I know it's juvenile, but I deserve retribution for the way he ignores me.

    They approached the Plaza. Well, be fair, he's paying for this dinner as a graduation present. Guilt, probably. So I'll get my vengeance by treating Cathy to the most expensive restaurant in the state. He had heard about the fabulous steaks at the Bull Ring, half a block away from the Plaza. I'll probably be uncomfortable in such a fancy place, but what the heck—I hear they serve massive portions. And the waitresses are drop-dead gorgeous.

    Time for a decision. Bolton saw the Saint Francis Cathedral, which made him remember his mother's tales about the gentle Saint. He recalled how much his mother had loved her brother. He decided to be merciful. A bit.

    Even though traffic on the Plaza was unusually light, he couldn't find a parking place close to the restaurant. He found a spot two blocks away, expertly backing into the space in one try, despite the pain in his clutch leg.

    He steeled himself for the walk. I could drive around until a closer spot opens up, but I don't think I can tolerate this pain for another minute. At least walking will change it to some other variety of pain.

    In typical Santa Fe style, the Plaza showed only subdued, tasteful signs of the holiday. Other than a few red-white-and-blue rosettes on the lampposts, a whiff of burned black powder was the only clue that the nation was celebrating its independence. Perhaps Santa Fe, having been around long before 1776, wasn't impressed by the holiday.

    The Bull Ring wasn't crowded, confirming Bolton's theory about blasé Santa Feans. The furnishings certainly looked expensive—way out of his class—but it would be Garland's treat. He'll probably put it on an expense account, which he'll justify by asking Cathy to nag me into going to work for the government.

    He knows I like to eat. Probably believes I'll be more receptive when my stomach is full. No thanks.

    But I might as well enjoy myself before the lecture starts. Anyway, Cathy doesn't usually lecture me. Not like Garland.

    True to her gentle nature, his grandmother said nothing when Bolton ordered the largest porterhouse steak, with giant sides of onion rings and au gratin potatoes.

    Cathy contented herself with broiled trout with steamed tomatoes and broccoli on the side, offering to share the vegetables. While they waited in awkward silence for their order, Bolton stuffed himself with crusty bread, thickly buttered. He gawked at the starched white table cloths, the dark wood decor, and the stunning waitresses who provided impeccable service. Though he was impressed, his grandmother seemed indifferent to the ambiance. She belongs in an executive setting like this. She looks twenty years younger than her age, and she's the most beautiful woman here. Must be the vegetables.

    Cathy scanned the patrons unobtrusively, but she didn't seem to notice when the shapely red-haired waitress leaned over her to brush away bread crumbs. Bolton noticed. He took off his glasses and tucked them in his jacket pocket. She's close to my age, but she treats me like a piece of furniture. I'm better looking than any of the older guys here—except for a few zits—but to her I'm just a chubby cripple.

    Forcing his fingers away from touching the bumps on his cheek, he took out his hand-held computer, his latest toy. The waitress, fussing with Cathy's place setting, didn't seem to notice. It's useless. She doesn't know a CPU from a thumb drive. She pays more attention to Cathy's bread crumbs than she does to me or my latest hardware.

    He put away the computer while they ate. No way he would risk grease in the mechanism. Besides, he could mentally access the machine while it was in his pocket. He refrained from doing that, but busied himself with cutting his steak. Porterhouse was one of the few things in the world that trumped computers.

    Since Cathy ate only about half her portions, Bolton finished her tomatoes. He ignored the broccoli except for dipping the tomatoes in its cheese sauce, but ordered a triple chocolate fudge brownie a la mode. When he asked if he could order a second dessert, Cathy frowned, You can eat whatever you want. It might help with your weight, though, if you got some exercise.

    Before Bolton could say anything, Cathy held up her hand, forestalling the familiar response. Yes, I know your leg is a problem, but your weight only makes it worse. You could find something—swim, for instance, like I do. I'd love to swim with you.

    Bolton tried to ignore the comment about his weight, but couldn't resist responding with an attack. Maybe if my uncle was around more often, he could motivate me.

    Would you like that? Cathy said calmly, not taking the bait. I guess I'm not much of a father figure for you.

    I would ... Of course I'd like that, Bolton said, silently cursing his nasty habit of starting sentences before his thoughts were fully formed. And you're the perfect grandmother. I don't need a father figure.

    You're my only living relative, Bolton. You don't appreciate how lucky you are to have your mother's brother. I know he's not around much, but he's an important man in the government. Did you know I've been working with him on this trip?

    I suppose he's a big shot, Bolton said, suddenly realizing that Garland had not come to New Mexico to visit him, but to work with Cathy at Sandia Lab. Typical.

    I think that ... Why does everybody judge people by their work? I wouldn't be caught dead slaving in a cubicle all day. He poked his fork at some food bits. I know your job is evaluating people at the lab, but why does someone have to measure their own family?

    I judge people because it's my job, Bolton. Human Resources. People. And mostly I measure people for their value to our government. Your uncle's job is to judge their danger.

    And who is he measuring now? Does he ... Are there some terrorists here in New Mexico, so I can expect to see him more often? If he shows up for our dinner dates?

    Cathy brushed three crumbs from the white tablecloth into her palm, then deposited them on her plate. As a matter of fact, yes. Have you ever heard of a religious cult that calls themselves 'The Sons of the Fathers?' Apparently they claim to be great patriots—

    Don't they all?

    —and they're heavily armed—

    Nothing new there. Yes, I've heard of them. Domestic terrorists. They beat up people and blow up buildings. Are they his new assignment?

    Apparently.

    In spite of himself, Bolton was intrigued. He tried not to show it. Why him? Doesn't ATF handle this kind of thing?

    They're supposed to, but they've failed. Your uncle is the guy they assign to a case when nobody else can solve a problem.

    We're a lot alike, Bolton thought. I hate that. Cathy knows she can hook me with a problem nobody else can solve. Failed how?

    Every time ATF brings one of the terrorist leaders into their offices for questioning, they somehow plant a bomb. Three or four days afterward, there's an explosion in the same interrogation room.

    Why don't they ... They should just check the offices after each interview.

    Apparently they did. ATF brought in bomb dogs.

    That should do it. Joe and Lily could track a bomb that had been driven by in a truck two days ago. Joe and Lily were Cathy's own German Shepherd Dogs. Both had won many tracking awards. So what did the dogs find?

    They should have been able to sniff the kind of explosives The Sons are using, but they never found the bombs. And the bombings continued.

    Okay, so the dogs didn't work. I know the government has sniffer devices better than dogs.

    The red-head stopped at their table. Cathy remained quiet until the waitress finished brushing away some non-existent crumbs. You know I can't tell you about such things. It violates Lab security.

    It doesn't ... You don't have to tell me anything. You might be amazed at what I can find on the internet.

    Cathy smiled at their shared secret, then excused herself for a visit to the ladies' room. Bolton lost himself in thinking about design parameters for his next toy rocket. When he looked up, his grandmother was standing next to their table with her arm around the shoulders of a rather attractive young woman dressed all in shades of purple. Her eye makeup was streaked with tears, and her eyes were so red and puffy that even unobservant Bolton noticed. Oh, no, he groaned to himself. She's picked up another stray.

    Cathy made a small gesture to remind him it was the gentlemanly thing to stand. Bolton, this is Phyllis. She desperately needs help with a computer problem.

    Chapter 4. Runaway

    I may be captured, but I'm not helpless. On the way to the car, Ember several times managed to bump into her captors, each time garnering a bit more information. By the time they reached their vehicle, she knew their heights, weights, and musculature. She wished they wore some deodorant—or at least after-shave—but the upside was her ability to identify them by body odors. No two people smelled alike, though most people were too culture-bound to notice. Ember could not afford the luxury of conventional politeness.

    One captor smelled of unwashed locker room and a distinctive acid. The other clearly had an abscessed tooth. She filed these away in her olfactory memory, then turned her attention to their clothing.

    Both men wore leather jackets, though she didn't think the leather smell would be sufficiently unique to identify them. The younger one seemed to be wearing a knife under his jacket, while the older one, the larger one, definitely carried something the size of a pistol. She knew how to defend herself, but these were serious criminals. Not Art's crew, that's for sure.

    If I don't want to hurt anyone, I have to control my anger, but this is outrageous. You can't allow people to be kidnapped off the beach in broad daylight. She didn't know why broad daylight should make a difference—it didn't to her—but it was one of those expressions sighted people used unconsciously. And these two kidnappers were obviously sighted.

    She heard a car door open, memorizing the sound. The larger man put his hand on her head and guided her inside with surprising gentleness. When she grabbed the leather sleeve of his jacket for support, she felt some sort of raised emblem just below the shoulder. I won't be able to tell police what these guys look like, but maybe this will help. She traced the emblem with her sensitive fingers. At first she thought it was a circle—common enough as a symbol—but there was a line sticking out from the circle, with an arrow on the end. Mars! Or male?

    Wait, there's more. Inside the circle. Another Mars!

    Her captor pulled his arm away. Slide over, girlie, and get your hand inside unless you want to smash your fingers in the door.

    The door slammed. She tried the handle, but it wouldn't move. Probably one of those child-safety locks.

    Outside, someone approached the men and began speaking softly. With her fingers, she mapped out the controls on the door. Seems like the same layout as a Chrysler limo. That may be useful information—more useful than the repulsive cigarette smell in here. I can't tell one brand from another. Not from ashes, anyway. I'm no Sherlock Holmes.

    The conversation outside was turning into an argument. Something, or someone, thumped against the car, knocking Ember sideways.

    As the men began to shout, she recognized Art's voice. She yelled, as loud as she could. Art, the big one's got a gun. She wasn't sure he could hear her. I wish I didn't have such a pipsqueak voice. She shouted again. The other one has a knife.

    Suddenly, all was quiet outside.

    Someone tried to open her door, failed, and stopped trying.

    A moment later, something smashed the glass up front.

    She heard the lock click.

    The door opened. An instant later, she recognized the weight of Art's meaty hand on her shoulder. Only now, she realized she'd been holding her breath.

    That's taken care of, Ember. Art's throaty voice overshadowed the soft ocean sounds. I don't know where you thought you were going with these two gentlemen, but the holiday's over. They decided to stay here and sleep by the beach.

    There was nothing she could do. Once again, she would give in, go home, and try to learn from the experience.

    I have to go back to the motel and pick up my computer. I'm lost without it.

    I already have it, her tutor said.

    She swallowed her anger and touched her watch. Four-thirty. Less than six hours to find me. Next time, I'll go farther away. Much farther.

    Chapter 5. Weird Woman

    I shouldn't be feeling this way. We prepared for just this situation.

    But these are real criminals, not make-believe.

    None of her practice sessions with George had ever produced this sinking feeling deep in Gina's bowels. The gun barrel looked like the yawning mouth of a dragon, much more frightening than any surgeon's scalpel she'd ever faced.

    She struggled to gain control of her own emotions. First, she had to block out George's screechy yelling. For a moment, she considered contesting for control of the gun—until she saw that the Mercedes driver held another. I'm not sure I can control two men at a time. Not with guns, anyway. One slip and someone dies.

    The first gunman climbed into the back of her van and ordered her to drive down the hill to a secluded area of Elmwood Park. In the dimming twilight, Gina could see the Mercedes following, but couldn't read the license plate or discern any markings.

    The man in back directed her to pull over the curb onto the grass and park with her front bumper touching a huge cottonwood tree. She felt the van bounce as the Mercedes nudged her rear bumper. Now the van was pinned in place between the Mercedes and the tree. A small broken branch with three leaves fell onto her windshield. Though she could still see light among the foliage, the parking spot was dark and growing darker. Gray cumulus clouds threatened another Omaha summer thundershower.

    Hoping to fix her assailant's eyes with hers, Gina started to turn to the back and face him. He jammed the barrel of his pistol into her neck. Just look straight ahead and listen to my proposition. Agreed?

    I'll be too nervous to listen unless you put the gun down? Her command voice was not nearly as effective when she couldn't meet his eyes. It makes me nervous.

    She detected his mind radiating some concern, but he managed to say, No thanks. I'd be nervous without it.

    Gina turned her head slightly towards George, hoping he wouldn't forget their practices, but he sat still as a log of petrified wood. When I get nervous, my stomach gets upset. It can give a person the runs.

    Then you'll just have to hold it, the gunman said. This won't take long—not if you cooperate.

    She squirmed in her seat to make the story more credible. Then hurry. Just tell us what you want, then leave. I'd hate to have to use these bushes for a toilet.

    From the back seat came an uncomfortable grunt, but he told his story in a chilling, calm voice. We've been watching your business for a few months now. Omaha looks like a fine territory. Our grapevine tells us your merchandise is of finest quality, so you're lucky. We're offering you a partnership.

    Gina could hear his stomach gurgling, which told her George had taken the hint. It won't be long now. Stall. I might be interested. What sort of partnership?

    Fifty ... uh ... fifty. And we protect you.

    A foul odor from the rear told her the time had almost come. Gross or net?

    Just a minute. He opened the side door and called out to his companion. "Hey, Bud. Get over here

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