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About the novel:
Peter Paul is a DNA mixture of a human and a cheetah, the result of a government experiment that got out of control. His only friend and confidant is Roy Pierce. However, Roy’s friendship threatens danger and exposure to Peter Paul.
Special investigative teams, Team New York and Team Vegas, are formed to capture them consisting of Navy Seals, Marine Recons, and undercover CIA operatives commonly known as assassins. Set in the blazing streets of California. Get ready to go on a journey deep into the world of deception, adventure, romance, and sizzling action.
Preface
It wasn’t the first time my
mother woke me in the middle of the night, but it
was to be the last.
“Get up, Peter Paul,” she whispered loudly. “Up,
up, up! Get dressed quickly. We’re going for a ride.
C’mon, honey, chop-chop!”
I was too tired to ask why, too tired to
argue. And five minutes later we were racing down
the California cliffside highway in the pouring
rain.
I didn’t understand these middle-of-the-night
drives. I didn’t know why I had to get dressed in
two minutes flat and if I wasn’t finished dressing,
my father would pick me up and whisk me out the
door, even if I still had one more shoe to put on.
My father would tear out the driveway, run red
lights, and my mother wouldn’t say a word the whole
time.
Tonight, though, she spoke. I noticed that my
father kept looking in the rear-view mirror every
few seconds. A car was following us. And then I
caught the flash of fear in my father’s eye. That’s
when my mother asked in a quiet voice, “Is it them?”
Them. My parents had told me about
them. They were always on the lookout for
them. Them meant the bad guys, the men who
wanted us dead. And from where I was sitting in the
backseat, I watched my father’s eyes in the
rear-view mirror flash a sliver of gold. Then he
gave a quick nod to my mother. A nod that said,
Yes, it’s them.
I turned around in the back seat and looked out
the rear window.
“Peter Paul, don’t look!” my mother shouted.
I think that scared me most of all.
“Hang on,” my father said, and off we went,
tearing down the rain-slick road and swerving up a
side street. I looked back and the car was still
there. I couldn’t see the driver in the dark and the
rain. Then I couldn’t see the car at all because my
father swerved again and lost the car.
For only a moment. Another met us when we
returned to the cliffside road. It felt like we
would sail right off of the cliff, the way the car
spun around when my father yanked at the steering
wheel. The other car turned around, too, and
followed us. We made a right turn down the valley
and now there were two cars on our trail.
My parents decided that we were going to get out of
the car and go up the valley and into the woods.
My mother turned around in the front seat and
held my face in her hands as she said, “Peter Paul,
do you remember the game? The game we play at night
in the woods? Can we play it now?”
I nodded, but I knew it wasn’t just a pretend
game this time, not tonight. Tonight there weren’t
pretend bad men chasing us; there were real bad men,
and they were in the car right behind us.
“Can you do it, honey?” she whispered to me.
I nodded. Of course I could do it. I might have
been only three years old, but I was the size of an
eleven-year-old. Already my blood pressure was
rising, and saliva dripped down my chin as my glands
fed my rage. I uttered a low growl. I wanted to kill
them—those men who hunted us night and day. I wanted
to kill them with my hands and teeth.
I looked out the rear window of our car and saw
there were three men in one van and four men in the
other. I can do this, I thought to myself.
“Hang on,” my father shouted, and swerved the
car off the road. My mother grabbed me by the neck
with her fierce hands as the car tore down a steep
embankment into a rough and heavily wooded terrain.
“Listen!” my father shouted. “When I give, as
soon as the car stops, get out and run up the
valley! Got that, Peter Paul?”
I nodded mutely. I can do this… I can do
this…
“Now! Out of the car! Get out! Run!”
Every hair on my body was on edge. My heart was
pumping furiously. We dashed out of the moving
vehicle. Wood and sticks splintered into my body,
but I kept running with my speed ever-accelerating.
We ran with our hands and feet. But that wasn’t good
enough. As my father neared the top of the valley at
blazing speed, he was shot and killed. My mother was
also killed as she was several paces behind him. I
dashed behind a rock as shots kept blazing their way
uphill. I started growling. I wanted to fight. But
imprinted in my mind were the words my mother had
told me every night when she tucked me in, If
something should happen to me and your father—if
they catch us—what do you do?
Keep running, I replied.
Even if we’re hurt? Or killed?
That was the hardest question to answer.
Peter Paul? Even if we’re hurt or
killed—what do you do?
Keep running, I said. Don’t look
back.
Say it again, Peter Paul. Say it again!
Keep running, don’t look back. Keep
running, don’t look back. Keep running.
Don’t look back. Keep running…
Excerpt from Chapter Fifteen- Team Vegas
Doctor Ripken laced his shoes, sipped some coffee, and pondered his next move. He was growing agitated by the day.
“They thought they had the hybrids contained, but they were wrong,” he said on his walkie-talkie. “Team Vegas. Come in, Team Vegas. Come in.”
“This is Team Vegas.” It was the voice of Commander James.
Ripken replied, “This is Team New York. What is your location?”
“Grand Central Terminal. We have three, I repeat, three on cloud nine. Two on rover and five on apple’s eye.”
Ripken ordered, “Assemble your men. Meet me at Queensboro Bridge at 1400 hours.”
The three teams met and Doctor Ripken gave them a rousing speech on what had to be done and the importance—no, the necessity—of capturing the fugitives. These special teams had an arsenal of organizations and trained men at their disposal, using the full resources of the military, the local police, the FBI, the CIA, and Homeland Security. All collaborated in forming a vast, multi-branched, tight knit network dedicated at locating the hybrids.
In their search they would get leads on where other hybrids might be. One thing led into the next and into the next. Commander Ripken said, “Team New York. You’re going to go back to your posts. This time you’re also going to be on the lookout for these people.” He gave them a list of people with their faces on it. “Team BlueNet. Go to Five Points station. Dress as civilians and ride the trains all day. We’ve placed upgraded scanners on trains code 654, 227, and 895. Mr. Jennings…”
“Yes sir.”
“If the signal goes off, follow them and watch them closely. Take down every detail of what they do and say. I want seven men on each of these trains. Two on high noon and one on star.”
Ripken was pointing on the map. The two teams disassembled. And now Ripken turned his attention to Team Vegas.
“Team Vegas, we’re going to need you to go to Penn Station in Manhattan and look for these people. We have identified them as possible suspects.” He handed Commander James the list of new faces. James was a black man, medium build and in his late forties.
“Suspects in what?” Commander James asked.
“We’re working on a need-to-know basis,” Ripken replied.
Commander James responded hotly, “Well, I need to know because I need to know what I’m up against.”
Ripken replied authoritatively pausing between each word he spoke, “I … said … we … are … working … on … a . . . need . . . to … know… basis.”
Commander James was infuriated. He said, “Blackjack, Ace, High Roller. You three come with me. Rick, Lucky, and Spade. You go up on top. We’ll rotate positions at 1800.” He pointed at two other team members. “You two will be drifters.”
Ripken said, “What’s with all the sissy names? Are these soldiers or interior decorators?” He looked at all of them and then looked back at Commander James. “Where are the queens in this deck?”
Commander James gritted his teeth and said angrily as he stepped up closer to Ripken, “Listen. Blackjack has been in the jungles of Columbia killing drug dealers, commandos, snipers. You name it!” He pointed to another team member. “He’s a trained killer. Been on assignments I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. And High Roller’s crazy! He takes out terrorist camps! Militia leaders in Cuba! So don’t be callin’ us no sissies! Boy!”
Ripken interrupted, “Do you know who you’re talking to?”
James was inches away from Ripken. “I don’t care if you’re the Second Coming of Christ Almighty! Boy!”
Ripken nodded. “Okay. Take your posts.”
The men left. Ripken liked the fire in James. He was going to keep him around.