Striketeam Book One: Spy on the Finish Line

By BC Wesley and GS Robison

StrikeTeam Book One: Spy On the Finish Line

When the racing bug bites Derik Westford, he takes his extended family on a wild adventure from Idaho to Florida. Coming in contact with ex-KGB agents and a plot to over throw the government, Derik Westford is brought face to face with a mysterious spy on the finish line who may hold a key to his past in this face paced sci-fi comedy adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 4, 2000
• ISBN: 9781462099429

BC Wesley

BC Wesley and GS Robison have been writing together for over a decade, creating the universe of StrikeTeam with 12 books completed. Today BC lives in Florida while GS calls a little town in Illinois his home.

Book preview

© 2000 by Derik Wesley and Scott Robison

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Writers Club Press

an imprint of iUniverse.com, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse.com, Inc.

5220 S 16th, Ste. 200

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

ISBN: 0-595-15372-0

ISBN: 978-1-4620-9942-9 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Foreword

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

About the Authors

This book is dedicated to the following:

G S Robison would like to dedicate this book to Tracey Stanchfield and Neisha Eirhart. Love always.

B C Wesley would like to dedicate this book to Wynona Wesley, my mother, for her courage and love.

Foreword

Nearly fifteen years ago, I perchance came across a person who would become my future partner in crime. Even from the beginning, as ideas and thoughts came into existence creating the StrikeTeam universe, GS and I knew we had something worth keeping. A story about a unique bunch of characters living in a world of humor and science fiction.

The tests and trials to get Spy On the Finish Line published have been long and hard. From the myriad rewrites to the time the disk containing our only copy mysteriously crashed. There were times when we never believed our work would ever see the light of day.

But here it is today, in your hands, and soon in your mind as well. We have no pretence that this is in anyway classic literature, but rather a good excuse to escape reality for a few hours. GS and I both hope you enjoy your jaunt into StrikeTeam territory.

—BC Wesley

1

The winds blew and the clouds drifted by overhead. With nary a thought to the puny humans below, they drifted through the sky and deposited their moisture wherever they fancied. The rains ruined picnics and canceled ball games throughout the region, but finally they acknowledged their own passing and moved on to parts unknown, leaving behind many drenched and angry people anxious to get on with their lives.

The roar of racing engines drowned out most of the screams and yells of the crowd. With the rains all dried up they were out in full force again, enjoying the famed (and sometimes exaggerated) California sunny weather. This particular audience had found a small stock car race to relish, and they hooped and hollered for the winner for this particular round then waited with anticipation for the next race to start.

Off on the edge of the race grounds, two men stood watching from behind a low stone wall. The redheaded man grinned from behind his narrow funky sunglasses and favorite I’m with Stupid tee shirt which had an arrow pointing towards his companion.

The other, a decidedly younger man in a dark blue business suit and ever-present dark glasses, paid the redhead no heed. Instead he leaned across the stone wall and tried to get a better view of the track, where six stock cars were approaching the starting line. Their engines revved loudly as they prepared to race.

The suit turned to his friend and said, I still don’t get the meaning of this, Derik.

Derik made a sour face. Awww, c’mon, Scott. It’s not that complicated, he admonished, and proceeded to recite for the hundredth time in a week the history and theory of auto racing, from Jeff Gordon to Diddy Kong Racing. Geez, you’d think even an extraterrestrial would get the point sooner or later, he added mentally.

Scott, holding his ears, walked back towards two Lamborghini Countachs parked nearby, one silver-colored and the other gold. Okay, okay, never you mind! He took a seat on the hood of the silver car and watched as the green flag went down and the race began.

Derik, to say the least, was instantly and entirely engrossed in the event. Man, oh man, come on twenty-two! Oh, for cryin’ out loud, this is like watching snails racing earthworms! GC could beat these sloth cars with one headlight closed and one tire flat. Suddenly his eyes lit up with an insane light—which was a normal occurrence. Hey…why not?

He turned and hurried back to where the cars were sitting, pausing just long enough to take his sunglasses off and give Scott a wiggly eyebrow look. Don’t leave without me, he said cheerfully, as he climbed into the gold Lamborghini and started it up. The electronic computer-graphic dashboard glowed to life as the turbine engine began to whine.

NOW what are you getting us into? came the onboard computer’s adolscent-like high-pitched voice. As if having me towed at my own expense last week wasn’t enough!

Shut up, GC, we’re gonna race! Derik fastened the double shoulder straps, closed the door, and gunned the engine. The vehicle rocketed forward, veered around the stone wall and onto the track. The crowd began screaming like total fanatics as Derik shot like a missile across the starting line.

Scott just rolled his eyes behind his glasses (his number one pastime when gallivanting around with Derik) as he sat there on his silver car, watching as Derik whipped around the first turn, speedily catching up with the other cars.

Scott, where is Derik and GC being gone to? came an electronic voice from beneath the hood of the car, much deeper than the voice of the golden car but equally pubescent.

Scott smiled slightly. You mean, where are Derik and GC going. Actually I haven’t the slightest idea, SB. It seems to have something to do with this ‘racing’ nonsense, he shrugged. I don’t know.

I have noticed that Derik contains many several repressed flamboyancies which occasionally burst to the surface from time to time, SB noted.

Y-y-y-yeah, that’s one way to put it, I suppose, Scott concurred.

Meantime, Derik’s car roared at the rear of the pack, edging and pushing its way to the front. The announcer was babbling over the PA system about this last minute entry, and the crowd was howling its approval.

Finally, Derik’s car managed to bump and poke its way into a tie for first place, running side by side with a green streamlined Pontiac. They rounded the final turn together and bore down on the finish line, still abreast of each other.

But you see Derik wanted to WIN! He called up a command function on the smooth, touch-sensitive control panel and activated it, and suddenly his car shot forward with a burst of speed and met the checkered flag three lengths ahead.

It seems that Derik is not loser, said SB. For once. Can this be called human ritual of competition?

You can call it whatever you like, Scott conceded as he walked around and climbed into the driver’s seat. I just call it illogical.

Derik completed his victory lap, engaged in a brief but huge argument with the officials about his disqualification on the grounds of not having registered in advance, then returned to the side of the track where Scott sat waiting. What do you think of racing now? I won! Derik goaded as he hopped out of his car and did a little victory dance for Scott’s benefit.

Scott tried to ignore his turning stomach. Really? he smirked. I saw you over there arguing over there with the officials. Disqualified on the grounds of not having registered in advance, hmm?

Okay, so I forgot to sign up for the race, Derik admitted. I still won and you didn’t! He gave Scott the raspberries.

Yeah, yeah, whatever. Although you have to BE in a race in order to lose it, and registered to WIN it.

To save his own endangered butt, Derik changed the subject. Aren’t our wives waiting for you at home?

Aren’t they always? They need me to approve another hundred-thousand-dollar purchase. As if those diamond mines and Indian tribes weren’t enough.

When do we become honorary Apache? Derik asked.

Scott decided to return to reality. Let’s go, I’m hungry.

Derik smiled and saluted as he got back into his car, and the two vehicles turned and departed from the track.

And now, for a brief (yeah-right) history of the main characters of this book you’re reading.

Ten years ago life was as normal as it could be for Derik Westford, an average eighteen-year-old from an average Midwestern town. There was work, and play, the everyday daydreaming of a life of adventure.

Then, one cold dark rainy morning, as Derik and his friend Juliet Zimmerman were opening the local McDonald’s, unexpected visitors met them. Actual aliens from another world.

You see, there was this huge struggle occurring in space between a race of aliens called the Oeneaux (pronounced OH-now) Star Kingdom and, well, practically everyone else in the galaxy. Their principal opponents at this moment, however, were a benevolent race from the planet Todlea. It was these Todleans who visited Derik Westford and Juliet Zimmerman that early morning, and hundreds of others around the world, recruiting the humans to battle the ever-advancing Oeneaux war machine.

During this time serving along side the Todleans, Derik and Juliet came into contact with several other Terran recruits; most notable among these were John Duke, Pam Garrison and her childhood friend Sheryl Reinhold. These five formed a lasting friendship that has endured even beyond the war.

The Oeneaux targeted Earth twice over the course of a year, both times meeting defeat at the hands of humans. Another alien, Globreidi Allionorre Jgigole, also came into contact with this wayward band and joined them as well, bringing along his powerful starship, a small unintrusive craft that looked remarkably like an Earth Lamborghini but which housed a computer, weapons, and shields beyond any other known technology. A little ship he called the Silver Bullet.

But the Oeneaux were not the only forces of evil to contend with. The space lanes were also filled with pirate gangs and cutthroats bent on their own selfish needs; and for awhile, the combined Todlean/Human forces combated these as well, facing a rogue Todlean named Zonnie (who will become more important to you some day down the road).

There were also friends to be made, such as Dellan Frogarr, an orphan thanks to the Oeneaux, who gave his life so that the last great leader of the Oeneaux, Prince Gugia, would not destroy Earth.

At Earth’s sun, the Todlean fleet gave a last ditch effort to halt the advance of a ten mile wide magnetic gun wielding station. A battle that cost the lives of everyone in the fleet except the small band of friends: Derik, Juliet, John, Pam, Sheryl, and Globreidi.

Once back on Earth, now out of intergalactic warfare, Globreidi Allionorre Jgigole adopted the name Scottrick Daniel Roberts and later wed Sheryl, whom he puts forth as his real reason for staying.

Derik Westford suffered a mild nervous breakdown after the war, blaming himself for some of the casualties. But the love of Pam Garrigus helped to heal him, and they too were wed.

And as if that wasn’t enough mush mush, even before the war was over, John and Juliet got hitched and Juliet even got pregnant.

So, there you have it. They fought in a war in outer space, and even flew Todlean space fighters called laserhawks. Back on Earth they had three of these fighters in their possession, which later they discovered were made of almost ninety-five percent pure gold. And as all thinking, logical people who have important alien technology in their hands would naturally do, they melted the ships down to get some dough.

But it doesn’t stop there. During the time of crisis when the Oeneaux were threatening Earth, the Todleans made official contact with the governments of Earth, handing over massive amounts of technology and knowledge as repayment for the human lives lost thus far in the war.

In honor of these lives, and the fact that the six friends had fought so valiantly to protect their world, the United States government provided a permanent home for them on what was once Alcatraz Island, refurbishing it, landscaping it, and building them a beautiful white mansion.

In respect for those who had brought them together, the veterans renamed the place Todlea Island, and they live there to this day, with John and Juliet’s nine-year-old son Stan Lee Duke. And thanks to their melting down of the laserhawks for their gold, the extended family was rolling in money. Millions, actually. With shrewd investments and not a little corner marketing, they were set for life.

But money didn’t mean that much to them, so Derik and John, to break the boredom and just to have something to do (since they love to eat donuts) opened a small donut shop in downtown San Francisco called Terrific Tastries.

And that’s about all you need to know to understand where they’re at and what they’re doing. Oh, and you have to understand that Derik is the kind of person that can’t stand it when somebody has something he doesn’t, so he used the blueprints of Scott’s super-car and built his own, the golden Lamborghini, which he calls the Golden Condor. There. Whew.

Back in the here and now, Derik and Scott journeyed back toward their island home. Driving down a tiny service lane along a beach not far from the Golden Gate Bridge, the two looked around to make sure no one was watching then veered sharply from the lane directly toward the bay. As they left the relative smoothness of the lane and began traversing the sandy, car-hating terrain, the cars lifted off the ground, their wheels swiveling underneath to sit parallel to the ground when tiny anti-gravity generators within the hubs began humming. The cars shot out across the water in this sort of ‘hovercraft’ mode.

Upon reaching the sculpted beaches of the former Alcatraz Island, the cars reverted to ‘land’ mode and rolled up onto the shore. Derik drove on up the asphalt lane that led to the mansion but Scott parked his car, climbed out and surveyed the beach. A single child was playing in the sand about a hundred yards away. Scott watched the boy for a moment, wondering what terror he had planned for the small sea turtle he had in his left hand and the well-shaken bottle of soda he carried in his right one. When the boy began trying to force-feed the turtle with the soda, Scott decided he could watch no more. Hey, Stan! he called at last.

Nine-year-old Stan Lee Duke quickly tried to hide the bottle while putting the turtle on the ground. He only succeeded in drenching the poor animal in the sticky soda. Stan gave up, put the turtle back in the water and then ran over to where Scott was sitting on the spoiler of his silver car.

Hey kid, how goes it? Scott asked as Stan caught up with him.

My life is over, Stan lamented. Liver and onions on Tuesdays and Spam the rest of the week.

Who let your mother in the kitchen? Scott questioned, making a gagging gesture. Let’s head for the house and see if we can save dinner.

As if, Stan smiled. They started to get into the car, when Stan’s eyes lit up with an idea—which could only mean trouble. Hey, Uncle Scott, can I drive?

Scott stopped in his tracks as if he’d hit a brick wall; in fact, Stan’s ideas often had that brick-wall effect on people. Well, uh, I don’t know if I… He really didn’t know if he was brave enough to allow Stan anywhere near the steering yoke.

Aww, c’mon. I can drive this thing. Uncle Derik lets me drive his car all the time and he says I do pretty good.

Yeah, he would.

And since your car is just like his… Stan let the implied question hang there.

From within the car came the onboard computer’s voice. How about that? They’re discussing me as if I were a mere can opener! I am insulted! Maligned!

Scott quickly grew tired of both SB and Stan’s ranting, and gave in like the wuss he was. Okay, all right, I’ll let you drive. But be prepared; I’m a worse back-seat driver than any mother on this planet.

But your car doesn’t have a back seat, Stan said, mock-innocently.

Scott merely grunted as he walked around to the passenger side of the car and got in. Stan fairly cheered and leaped into the driver’s seat. Scott sat back, watching the boy handle the machine like a pro, despite his diminutive size.

They had nearly reached the top of the driveway, when Stan mused, There’s just one thing I’ve always wondered.

Yes, you were found under a rock, Scott said, half-listening.

Not that! Stan had called up a command menu on the computer-screen-like dashboard panel, and his finger hovered over a particular graphic. I’ve always wanted to know what this does.

Scott glanced over and recognized the icon: THRUST. His eyes widened. No! Don’t push that—

Stan pressed on the icon.

The THRUST function was activated.

The Silver Bullet lurched forward, powered by a sudden burst from the atomic turbo-thrusters, which propelled the car into the two-hundred-mile-an-hour range and beyond. Before either Stan or Scott could blink an eye, they had shot past the house, just barely missing the terrace; in the next second, they were out over the bay and still going. Scott finally recovered enough to reach over and transform the car into ‘hovercraft’ mode just before they fell into the brine. The car smacked the waves like a skipped stone and zoomed on, passing a small sailboat floating alone in the bay.

Stan, naturally, was absolutely thrilled to pieces. Aww RIGHT! That was so cool! Can we do it again, huh, can we, please?

No! Scott barked. Just sit there and touch nothing. SB, take us back to the house. Slowly.

The computer assumed control, and the vehicle turned and darted back toward the now-distant island.

Derik waited for them in the foyer. As they entered, Scott caught the look on Derik’s face—the one he reserved for the times when he was ready to blurt out a smart-aleck remark. He opened his mouth to try and head off that remark, but Derik was quicker.

So…have a nice little flight?

Scott scowled. Stan smiled a bright smile, as if the entire world had been handed to him.

They walked out into the main area of the mansion. The outside of the house was bright white; in like manner, the interior walls were painted white and cheerful. From this huge cathedral-ceiling anteroom, which was roughly the size of a modest three-bedroom home, the entire mansion radiated like a wheel, with every room accessible from here. A staircase on either side led to the upper story, whose balcony/hallway circled the anteroom all the way around to a terrace on the front of the house. The stairway on the left side continued up, leading to a wide rooftop patio.

Sheryl Roberts, Scott’s wife, stood at the far end of the room, near the kitchen. Hello, boys, she called to them, treating them all as if they were Stan’s age. Supper’s ready but I’m afraid Julie fixed it. Nevertheless, I want you all to get washed up and take some Rolaids.

Yes sir, Madame sir, Derik mumbled, jokingly, moving toward the washroom.

Sheryl sauntered up to Scott. So, flyboy, have a nice flight? she asked. She was unaware of Stan’s little flying escapade and hadn’t heard Derik make this same comment; nonetheless, Scott could swear that there was some kind of conspiracy. Such was his nature.

Come on, Mister Roberts, she cooed in a deliberately over-sexy voice. Let’s go get ready for supper.

Instantly inflamed, Scott planted a passionate kiss on her lips. His arms encircled her; the kiss continued; her hands rubbed his back; he bent her backward; the kiss escalated; Stan spoke.

So, ah, when do I get to do that?

Scott nearly dropped Sheryl on the floor. Both jerked upright and struggled to regain their composure.

Stan was standing at the foot of the near staircase, with Derik’s wife, Pam Westford, behind him. John and Juliet Duke, Stan’s parents, stood in the doorway to the dining room. Derik was near the foyer’s washroom behind Scott.

As soon as the kissing couple parted, the household cheered and clapped, mockingly. The two blushed at their public passion.

Scott braced himself for the sarcastic comment he knew Derik was about to spit out, but the comment never came. He