A plot to render the populations of the world submissive goes horribly wrong, and a geneticist operates inside the conspiracy to save mankind from a horrible future.
What if there was a parasite had the ability to change the behavior of its hosts, causing them not only to lose all fear of their predators, but to seek them out? What if it could wreak havoc on the human brain, breaking down individual thought, rendering men passive and obedient?
In Eyes Wide Shut: An Enigma - Hide
On the edge, 108,000 word “it can’t be true book!”
Sample – First Chapter!
“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.” John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton (1834-1902)
Curtis fought back a surge of nausea and stared out the side window as the chopper began a bumpy descent. Damn motion sickness. “That it?”
“Yes, sir.” The pilot barked a military response, the first words out of his mouth since they took flight. “Mojave Air and Space Port, sir, welcome, sir.”
“Not where I’d expect to find the General.”
The pilot banked to the left, and Curtis watched as the dun- colored fields rolled and a long black runway and service roads suddenly rotated and veered to the right. His guts lurched. He closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth until he gained control of his queasiness. When he looked again, he was staring at a field full of parked airplanes. Not a military marking in sight. “Definitely not.”
The pilot touched a button on his earpiece. “Didn’t catch that, sir.”
“This is a civilian base.” Straight rows of hangers, squat white rectangles against a dusty backdrop, grew ever larger. “And this is a civilian aircraft.”
“Yes, sir. It is, sir.” The pilot’s mouth closed in a tight line; he had nothing more to say on the subject.
Curtis stifled a sigh of irritation. “I’m not an officer, don’t wear a uniform, and you needn’t call me sir.”
“Sorry, sir,” the young Lieutenant answered with no trace of humor. He turned his full attention to the dials and controls, speaking into his mouthpiece. “Flight Beta Tango Four to helipad four. Permission to land?”
A tinny voice emanated from the pilot’s headset, just loud enough to register to Curtis as a scratchy unintelligible whisper. The approaching buildings commanded all his attention. Once again, the gyroscope in his belly shuddered in outrage as the horizon zoomed out of sight. The craft turned to the west and the flat roofs lined up by some engineer’s delight in precision slid under him. When they straightened up again, his eyes caught the yellow circle of a helipad close by one of the larger buildings, still aligned with the others, but distanced, set apart.
As the craft approached roof level, Curtis noted the separate fence around this building and helipad. Though several of the other buildings had also been fenced – nothing unusual in that. To the rear and previously unnoticed, three silver Quonsets shimmered like a liquid mirage in the midday heat.
No visible activity on the surface gave any hint they approached a multi-billion dollar, recently completed military base. That is if the rumors are true,Curtis corrected himself.
A heavy thump jolted the craft and sent a twinge of pain up the length of his spine, rendering unnecessary the pilot’s announcement. “Sir, we’ve landed, sir.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. What did you say your name was?” Curtis stretched his back, sure the descending whine from the recently killed motor and slowing rotors actually emanated from his cramped muscles.
“I didn’t, sir.” The pilot busied himself with post landing activity and muttered, “Check, check, roger that, check,” into his mouthpiece. He looked up. “Yes, sir, here they come.”
Curtis followed the pilot’s gaze as a silver overhead door slid up on the corner of the building and a normal civilian Chevy Silverado crew cab, driven by one uniformed military police officer and carrying another, drove out, kicking up yellow dust in its wake.
“Your escort, sir,” said the Lieutenant. He slid out, ducked under the still revolving blades, came around to Curtis’s side, and offered a hand down.
Curtis jumped down, ignored the younger man’s assistance, and steeled himself not to wince at the impact. “Pass me my case, will you?” He tucked his computer case under his arm. “Thanks, and for the ride, too.” When the MP’s arrived he turned to face them. “Curtis Reid.”
“Sir.” The well-muscled officer barely restrained a salute. “General Armstrong is waiting for you. This way, sir.”
Curtis climbed into the back seat, cradling his computer case beside him. The desert breeze scraped his cheek like a dull razor – hot, dry, and dusty. “Hope the General has a drink waiting for me,” he muttered to himself.
“Sir?” The second MP turned.
“Nothing.” He was flung forcefully back against the seat as the truck leapt into motion. Just what my back needs next, he grumbled internally, and dismissed the thought. He needed to focus, to prepare himself for what was to come: his meeting with the General.
Proverb. One who has total authority is very likely to abuse his position…