THE FORBIDDEN TEXT A TRANSFORMATIONAL THRILLER
DAWN CLARK
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drenaline pushed James Clark hard. Twenty-two minutes and three and a half miles of mountainous terrain behind him, a
woods. Explosions erupted in the distance, shaking clumps of lingering to look back. Fire painted the night sky orange. trated the secret Soviet compound to extract her before the airstrike hit. Startled awake, she had opened her mouth to scream, but Clark’s hand
searched out his shadowed face. “Hello, Eliza,” he whispered, his breath falling warm against her face. Her eyes softened in recognition and he released her mouth. “Get dressed,” he urged her. “We don’t have much time.” “I had given up. I thought you were dead!” “I’m hard to kill,” he replied as he pulled back the scratchy woolen blanket. Everything was going according to plan until he saw the newborn infant swaddled on her chest.
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“What the hell?” he stammered. the sleeping baby to Clark, leaving unspoken questions unanswered. Awkwardly, he accepted the tiny bundle and his stomach knotted. His plans hadn’t included extra passengers. Sensing his tension, the child began to stir in his arms. Clark didn’t know much about babies. A nuclear warhead would have been easier for him to handle—those he knew how to disarm. ter into a well-worn, brown leather bag. Seconds counted down inside Clark like a timer on a detonator. He didn’t have to look at his watch. He could sense it—the airstrike was in motion. “Hurry!” “We can’t leave until I go to the lab!”
Eliza hurriedly handed Clark the bag and slipped into a threadbare gray overcoat. “I’ve got to get the map. I can’t leave it behind!” she said. “Damn it, Eliza! Forget the map,” Clark said, as he awkwardly jiggled the bundle to keep it quiet. “We have got to leave now!” “You’re the real asset. You can re-create the fucking map!” and ciphers.” Clark wanted to let her retrieve it, but every second spent at Blackheart’s lair—Himmelshaus—was a second closer to death. Unceremoniously and without another word, he shoved the baby back into her arms, slung the satchel over his shoulder, and motioned toward the door. “We’re moving out,” he ordered leaving no time for a reply. With a frustrated sigh, Eliza complied, and hurriedly, they retraced Clark’s earlier footsteps through the hall and down the stairs, his weapon leading the way. Stopping short in a darkened stairwell, Clark paused to scout ahead with his senses. He had learned much from his Apache grandfather, Tsóyéé, during childhood; becoming ‘one’ with his surroundings had saved his life countless times.
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He felt it before he heard it—a forewarning in his gut. Instinctively,
carbonized dagger. In Eliza’s arms, the blanketed bundle stirred, threatening to cry. She kissed her daughter’s forehead softly, and began almost imperceptibly swaying from side to side, praying that her racing heart would not further alarm the child. From down the hall, two long shadows approached, hurriedly making their way across the white tile. Clark couldn’t see the shorter man’s face, but immediately recognized the taller of the pair as Nikolai Kruebuilt, slick-haired, pinch-faced Russian had the smile of a charlatan and a razor-like mind. Cunning, Krueger was determined to procure, to steal if he had to, the maximum personal gain from the system in which he lived. What the hell was he doing here? Clark wondered. He was supposed to be dead! Regardless, in a few short moments, the airstrike would introduce Krueger to his maker. As the shadows passed, Clark grabbed Eliza’s hand and sneaked the dark shadow of the building. A crackling, cold Siberian wind bit Clark’s face as he surveyed their escape route through the compound. tibly.
“Wait here,” Eliza said as she thrust Alexia into his arms. “I’m not cealed all but a few golden tresses. Her sapphire eyes showed no fear, only determination. Clark shot her a stern look. “My job is to get you out!” he snapped, shoving the child back at her. “It’s too dangerous!” Eliza understood his fear, but ignored his warning. Meeting his gaze, she took his hand in hers and placed it on the brown satchel. “Sewn inside the lining,” she began, her voice low and earnest, “are
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my journals, along with notes about Blackheart’s master plan. I can bidden Text can never be allowed to fall into Father’s hands!” “Just tell me where to look. I’ll go.” no doubt. She would be going with or without his permission. “If you’re not back in eight minutes, I’m coming after you.” She leaned in and placed a quick kiss on her daughter’s cheek. Wisps of the baby’s auburn hair glinted in the moonlight. She glanced at the timer on Clark’s wristwatch—fourteen minutes until Himmelshaus would be leveled. Pausing only a second longer to press her lips against his, she turned to leave. Clark pulled her back, against his better judgment, and deepened the kiss. Despite himself, emotions—a counterining searchlight descended out of the blackness and snapped them back to the bitter, cold reality at hand. “I’ll be right back,” Eliza whispered. Turning, she darted through the shadows and disappeared into a neighboring building. Clark crouched and carefully laid the sleeping infant down, tucking it out of harm’s way. Silently, he threaded a suppressor onto the barrel of his custom .45 caliber Colt Commander. Six terrible minutes passed. A shrill alarm sliced through the air.
“Run!” Clark roared, drawing his gun up to aim. Quickly regaining her footing, Eliza sprinted full-tilt in his direction. Clark’s suppressed Colt with his temple, falling in a heap that the second guard nearly tripped over. rounds into the second man’s chest. As the second guard hit the ground, Eliza was closing the distance.
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But a third guard leapt sideways from the door, placing himself behind Eliza—Clark had no shot. managed to jump to the side and land a bullet in the man’s knee. But, the guard’s single shot had been enough. Eliza staggered and careened to the ground. Her blood splattered red onto the snow and slowly pooled around her. Clark charged to protect her, emptying the rest of his magazine into her assailant before pulling out his knife, just as another guard emerged. With deadly accuracy, Clark hurled his dagger. Spinning through the air, the blade slammed hilt-deep into the man’s solar plexus, instantly dropping him to the wet stone. Clark’s world went into slow motion. Heart racing with adrenaline, he ejected the empty magazine from his pistol and clicked a second one into place as he knelt beside her, anxiously searching for signs of life. Her eyes, light fading, locked on to his. Her breath came in short, ashen. furl and reveal a bloodied, crumpled piece of paper inked with strange geometric shapes. Taking the note, his eyes brimmed with unspoken emotion. “Keep Alexia safe,” she said. “I promise,” he choked out. A faint smile graced Eliza’s lips before death arrived to soften the pained expression on her face. with the salt of his tears. He pressed her eyelids closed. His focus shifted onto escaping with the child. She was all he would have left of Eliza. With his mind reeling, he raced back and scooped up the now mewling infant. Gun in hand, he carried the baby like a football and ran, escaping into the misty cover of the dark spruce forest. Moments later, explosions cracked through the crisp night air. Clark
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heart’s secret base of operations—was history. Struggling to catch his breath, he looked down into the infant’s pale blue eyes and wondered, How in the hell am I going to save this child?
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BOSTON, PRESENT DAY
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r. Katrina Walker’s pale blue eyes surveyed the clear Boston skyline as she walked toward the subway. S ished presenting to a packed auditorium at Harvard University. Prompted by concerns of terrorism, and in light of a recent study fail, the National Academy of Sciences had demanded that new initiatives be explored, and Katrina was one of the experts whose advice they had sought. Dr. Katrina Walker was highly regarded by her colleagues; her with its applications and fusion in biology, physics, and psychology, were considered next-generation thinking. Today, her leading-edge
At the nape of her neck, a loose bun concealed long, reddish locks and bespoke academia, adding an intellectual twist to her natural beauty. Walking alongside the Charles River, Katrina looked more like a student than a professor.
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With the presentation over, she thought her tension would have Once before, she had harbored a similar sensation of unrest. Two hours later, her mom had been airlifted to the hospital.
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glowed pale green: 17:28. His senses were on high alert. Washington DC was home to more spies than anywhere else in the world. Even the pavement had eyes. Keeping to the shadows of the residential block, he pulled up the lapels on his black overcoat and walked briskly through the evening air. A few moments earlier a sedan with dark tinted was now making a distinctly unremarkable pedestrian approach to the Diamond Club—an upscale gentlemen’s club boasting an immodest 23,000 square feet of adult entertainment. As he walked inside, a scantily clad brunette with a generous smile and conspicuously large breasts purred, “May I take your coat?”
toned physique.
and rich burgundy love seats sported intoxicated men draped with luscious silicone beauties. Five blocks from the White House, the
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women everywhere. Clark made a beeline for the bar and ordered himself a single malt scotch, neat. Dressed in a black business suit, he blended in with the hundreds of other suits attempting to escape reality. Downstairs, two large stages featured an erotic extravaganza. Upstairs, a tribal beat pounded as a dark-skinned beauty seductively made love to a tall chrome pole and mesmerized the crowd. Peering over his now half-empty glass, Clark spotted her. Black hair cascaded over her bare shoulders, accentuating an ample bosom pressed high by a tight black bustier. She prowled across the room, her emerald Arriving at his side, she wrapped a shapely, tan leg around one of his and stroked the side of his roguish face. “What can I do for you?” she vamped with a smile. A faint smile crossed Clark’s lips. She was striking. Silently they have revisited their past, but now was not the time. Vanessa had been an operative as long as he’d known her. At the Diamond Club, she was the gatekeeper. “L before taking him by the hand. For years, Vanessa had tried to set Clark’s heart free from the invisible fortress that held it hostage, and although not yet successful, she hadn’t given up. Passing the VIP champagne rooms, Vanessa led Clark down a long hall and past the back rooms, where money could buy more than a man could, or perhaps should, ever wish to experience. Finally stopping in front of a door marked Private, she pulled a key out from between her generous breasts. Teasing him, she pressed her scantily clad form against him and kissed him deeply and slowly, silently hoping to stir him.