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I began working as an investigative journalist to expose the truth, but the truth brought a lot of enemies out of the woodwork. So I went undercover, and EYES ONLY was born. For years, with the help of a lot of good people, we’ve uncovered many wrongs and made them right. No matter what the dangers, this work needs to survive, and continue . . . especially some of the more explosive facts still need to be revealed. Facts concerning the Grand Coulee massacre, the secret government program known as The Phoenix Project, and the Conclave’s breeding program, to name but a few.
Putting these documents together in one place poses a big risk—not just to the corrupt, but to the innocent as well. Yet the chance that these truths might remain unspoken is an even bigger risk.
People may die, but the truth must live on.
Like a relentless boxer, rain beat down on the city, first jabbing with sharp needles, then smacking Seattle with huge fat drops that hit like haymakers, the barrage punctuated by the ominous rumble of thunder and the eerie flash of lightning.
An unmarked black car drew to a stop in a rat-infested
Sector Three alley, the rain rattling the metal roof like machine-gun fire. Two men in dark suits climbed out, to be instantly drenched, though neither seemed to notice. Each wore a radio earplug with a short microphone bent toward his mouth.
Sage Thompson--the man who'd emerged from the passenger's side--was relieved that the headsets, at least,
seemed to be waterproof. In their coat pockets, each man carried one of the new portable thermal imagers that, just this week, had become standard equipment. Thompson--
barely six feet, almost skinny at 180 pounds--wondered if water-tightness was among the gizmo's various high-tech bells and whistles.
Water sluiced down the alley in a torrent that seemed to express the sky's anger, eventually bubbling over the edge of a rusty grate maybe ten yards in front of them. Thompson was forced to jump the stream and his feet nearly slid out from under him as he landed and bumped into a triangle of garbage cans, sending them crashing into each other, creating a din that rivaled the storm's, his hands flying wide to help maintain his balance. Then his hands dropped back to his sides, the one holding his flashlight clanging off the imager in his coat pocket, the other moving to make sure his pistol was still secure in its holster on his belt.
The hefty man who'd been driving--Cal Hankins--shone his flashlight in Thompson's face, huffed once, and eased around a dumpster that looked like it hadn't been emptied since before the Pulse. Moving slowly ahead, their flashlights sweeping back and forth over the brick hulk in front of them, the two men finally halted in front of what had once been a mullioned window.
The interior of the six-story brick building--an abandoned warehouse, Thompson surmised--seemed a black hole waiting to devour them without so much as a belch.
Next to Thompson, his partner Hankins swept a flashlight through one of the broken panes, painting the rainy night with slow, even strokes. Darkness surrendered only brief glimpses of the huge first-floor room as it swallowed up the light.
"You sure this is the right place?" Hankins asked gruffly.
There was no fear in the man's voice--Thompson sensed only that his partner didn't want his time wasted. At forty,
bucket-headed Hankins--the senior partner of the duo--
wore his blondish hair in a short brush cut that revealed only a wisp or two of gray. His head rested squarely on his shoulders,
without apparent benefit of a neck, and he stood nearly six-three, weighing in (Thompson estimated) at over 230.
But the man wasn't merely fat--there was enough gristle and muscle and bone in there to make Hankins formidable.
Still, Thompson knew their boss--that nasty company man, Ames White, a conscienceless yuppie prick if there ever was one--had been all over Hankins about his weight and rode the older guy mercilessly about it. Though he knew better than to ever say it out loud, Thompson considered
White the worst boss in his experience--which was saying something.
White was smart, no doubting that, but he had a sarcastic tongue and a whiplash temper that Thompson had witnessed enough times to know he should keep his mouth shut and his head low.
"This is the right place, all right," Thompson said, raising his voice over the battering rain. "Dispatch said the thermal imager team picked up a transgenic in the market in
"This is Sector Three."
"Yeah--they followed him here before they lost him."
Hankins shook his head in disgust. "Then why the fuck ain't they lookin' for him, then? What makes us the clean-up crew for their sorry asses?"
These questions were rhetorical, Thompson knew, though they did have answers, the same answer in fact: Ames White.
And Hankins spent much of his time bitching about
White, behind the boss's back, of course. But they both knew it was only a matter of time before White found a way to get rid of Hankins ...
. . . and then Thompson would have to break in a new partner, possibly one even younger than himself. Then he would be the old-timer. The thought made him cringe.
Not exactly a kid at twenty-seven, Thompson was the antithesis of Hankins: the younger man seemed like a long-neck bottle standing next to the pop-top beer can that was his partner. Married to his college sweetheart, Melanie, and with a new baby daughter, Thompson was the antithesis of
Hankins in terms of home life, as well: the gristled bulldog had been divorced twice and had three or four kids he never saw and didn't really seem to give a damn about.
Posted June 3, 2013
Wow. LOVE IT KATE!!! :) For names, maybe Brooklyn (Brooke for short) and Andrew (Drew for short). Or if you want to go long and Hawiian (for girl) Liliivilahua. (Pronounved Lee-lee-ee-vy-lay-hoo-ah) Lili for short. Another boy name could be Cory. Keep writing!Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted June 3, 2013
Posted May 30, 2013
"I hate you!" Elle yelled at her ex over the phone. "You cheater! Stop calling me!" She hung up and threw her phone onto her bed. She ploped down and started crying. Never had she ever felt rhis way before. Her boyfriend had been caught kissing Ari in an empty classroom. Elle hated Ari. In the second grade Ari always did things better than she did. Its been like that ever since. She was pretty though. Dark brown hair dyed blonde at the tips. She had wonderful brown eyes that seemed so innocent. But the thing Elle hated most was that she had to "attract" every boy in the school. Like Derik. Who was the guy Elle just broke up with... Elle found herself in a dream. She always had this dream. She was playing the loveliest song on the piano while watching Derik smile at her. But this was different. Now the song had turned dark and all she saw was Derik kissing Ari... she woke up quickly. It was dark in her room but she did not remember turning the lights out. She sat up and turned her head. Before she turned it more a hand was placed over her mouth and she heard a gun click by the side of her head. More tears came out her eyes. "Shh" came a voice. She closed her eyes as she felt her hands being tied behind her back. A moment later she was blacked out and the only this she could do was stay there and wait to see what morning will bring. ((Hey ppl. I am sorry i did not write more. It is kate here and im tired so i hope you enjoyed this. Btw i need 2 more names. A name for a girl and a name for a boy. See ya.))Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted June 15, 2003