Authors: Derek Blass
“
We—Martinez and I—knew some sort of list existed. The Chief told us, but we had no idea what it was about.”
Cruz's words seemed to knock Sphinx out of his trance. He straightened up and adjusted his tie to tighten more closely around his neck. He looked dismayed by the fact that it had been loose in the first place. “I don't know if that's the same list, but you should be thanking me for bringing this notebook to you first in any event.” A scowl manifested on Sphinx's face like a cloud covering the sun. “You're lucky I was so generous with you, Mr. Marquez.”
Cruz looked at Sphinx with some surprise and amusement at the change in his tone. With a smile, Cruz said, “Sphinx is back.”
“
I've no idea what you're talking about,” Sphinx said with his own attempt at a smile, which the two shared for a fleeting moment before Sphinx spun around on a dime and walked out of the caf
é
.
Cruz remained at the table, alone, the sounds of the caf
é replaced in his mind by racing thoughts. He opened the first page of the notebook and read.
Accounting of Work Performed
Dr. Xavier Kastenoff
Sheryl Petrow
Mark Lunstrom
Harvey Theobald
The list under Dr. Xavier Kastenoff went on for many pages, and then a heading for Sergeant Shaver started, went on for several pages, and the notebook ended with a list apparently related to Tyler Smith. The list contained people's names, their places of employment and home addresses. Cruz flipped all the way to the end of the notebook, bewildered by its contents, until he saw an inscription on the inside back cover.
To YOU. If you found this notebook, then I am dead. But, the remains of my work and the work of the other men listed in this notebook will take years to find..
The souls in this book were consumed, burned, buried, stuffed into bags part by part, and disposed of in an array of other manners. All on behalf of Chief Edwin Colgate, whose reasons for disposing of the souls knew no bounds.
We were all monsters, and if you're reading this, at least one of us has tasted justice.
--Dr. Xavier Kastenoff
THE END
A F T E R W O R D
__________________________________________________
Thank you for reading
Enemy in Blue
! Much has happened since I released this, my debut novel, in May of 2011. Almost a year later, over 5,000 copies of the book have sold, and it has reached #2 in all legal thrillers on Amazon on multiple occasions.
The support from my readers has been phenomenal. THANK YOU ALL. I also appreciate the fact that so many people have chosen to challenge themselves with the subject matter of this book. Some acknowledge the issues raised, some do not, but in either case I am happy to have so many people at least contemplating what's going on around us.
My next book, which revs up four years after
Enemy in Blue
ends, will be out by May 1, 2012. Cruz, Martinez, and even a surprise character return. I promise plenty more thrills and suspense in
Allegiance
! As a reward for finishing, here are the first pages of
Allegiance:
* * * *
Blown sand stung his face like tiny darts shot from an invisible enemy. He lay prone in the desert, his tan and chocolate fatigues doing little to combat the heat that emanated through the earth. A row of ants marched just beyond his shadow, providing him a distraction as he waited for his targets to crest the hill in front of him.
He turned his head when he heard the howl of wind from his left—the incessant source of the sand. Grainy pellets struck the back of his cap and then subsided. He looked back at the hill and thought he saw the hazy outline of a person's head, surely a mirage. With a quick snap, he pulled binoculars from a side pocket and propped up on his elbows.
It was the top of a person's head, the molecules around the figure shimmering in the distant heat wave. The rest of the body appeared slowly as the head bobbed from side to side. Bushy, caterpillar eyebrows poked up. A glossy, heat soaked face took form.
He put the binoculars down and whispered to the woman next to him, “
¿
Hay m
á
s?”
She put her own binoculars down and pulled the bandanna from her mouth. “Many more.” He looked back at the hill and four other people surrounded the man struggling up the incline. They all panted and struck various poses while catching their breath—hands on knees, hands behind head, crouched down with head between legs.
“Go time?” she asked.
“Let them get closer,” he answered. The group of people was about four hundred yards away. He watched them as they battled the intense heat and worked to recoup their energy. The sun's unrelenting rays beat down on them. Their lips were chalky white and their normally brown skin was pale and sickly—initial signs of heat exhaustion.
They managed to press forward though, a testament to the oft-forgotten or unused human will. When they neared a little over two hundred yards away, he turned to her, gave a quick gesture with his head in the direction of the group of people, and picked up two jugs of water. She grabbed her bag of food and jogged toward them. He followed behind her, the water sloshing in the jugs and making balance challenging over the uneven desert terrain.
The people froze when they saw these two figures coming their direction. A man, the same one who first crested the hill, put his hands out to his sides to get the rest of the group to stop. He stood alone, the tip of a triangle.
When they were just about to reach yelling distance from the group, they all heard a crack, like a distant tree branch falling. Both he and the woman froze. Another crack and one of the jugs of water spun out of his hand. Water gushed out onto the sand, creating a silhouette on a golden background. Then it seemed as if a shooting gallery erupted. He fell face down, the desert floor grinding against his cheek.
The lead man in the group of people waved his arms in the direction of the firing until one of the bullets connected. He screamed as his hand was ripped off. A second shot and he was silent, lifted into the air, angelic for a moment before crashing to the ground.
With the jug of water by his side, the man in fatigues grabbed the woman's foot. She glanced at him, a look of terror in her bloodshot eyes. The bandanna had fallen off of her face, revealing her trembling lips.
The sound of firing ended as abruptly as it had started and was replaced by the crescendo of engines. The grumble grew louder until he worried they were going to get run over. Without moving his body he shifted his head to look in the direction of the engines.
Three tan jeeps bellowed across the ripples in the desert sand. He could smell trace exhaust fumes. The jeeps closed on him and the woman until the last moment. The unrefined roar of the engines deafened every other sound, including his own breathing. The lead jeep braked, spun sideways, and sent up a plume of dust and sand which enveloped them.
The crunch of several footsteps were all he could make out in the dust around them. Then, nothing but a face emerged from the brown cloud, peering at him from several inches away. A copperish-brown stream of spit shot from the person's mouth.
“Well, look like we got two-of-'em angels.”
The man couldn't see the butt of a rifle swing up and then come down toward his face until the last moment, which coincided with the world turning black.
* * * *
Another of the wonderful benefits of writing this book has been meeting a host of wonderful authors. One of them stands out in particular: Carolyn McCray. If you enjoy thrillers, then check out a gritty police procedural from her (under her pen name Cristyn West) entitled
Plain Jane: Brunettes Beware
. Here's a teaser:
#1 Bestselling Police Procedural and Hard-Boiled Mystery…
Plain Jane: Brunettes Beware. A Patterson-style thriller with a dash of Hannibal.
In the words of New York Times best-selling author James Rollins (Devil Colony)…
“Wickedly macabre and blisteringly paced, PLAIN JANE marks the debut of a thriller for the new millennium. Brash, funny, terrifying, and shocking, here is a story best enjoyed with all the lights on. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
A quick overview of Plain Jane…
A city paralyzed by a serial killer stalking the night, taking a most gruesome trophy. The only thing standing in the murderer's way is an F.B.I. profiler...recently released from a mental institution.
Plain Jane combines the swift pace of Patterson with the macabre of Harris.
More Praise for Plain Jane…
“
A perfect mix of suspense, romance and phenomenally developed characters. I heeded the warning of the reviewers preceding me, and chose a day that I wanted and was able to get lost in a story.
Cristyn West, you have spoiled me for other crime novels that I may read in the future, setting the bar quite high.”
Kara Haas (@karahaas)
THANK YOU AGAIN!